[
    {
        "short_book_title": "Walking by Henry David Thoreau",
        "publication_date": 1862,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/1022",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Q Myers\n\n\n\n\n\nWALKING\n\nby Henry David Thoreau\n\n\nI wish to speak a word for Nature, for absolute freedom and wildness, as\ncontrasted with a freedom and culture merely civil--to regard man as\nan inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member\nof society. I wish to make an extreme statement, if so I may make\nan emphatic one, for there are enough champions of civilization: the\nminister and the school committee and every one of you will take care of\nthat.\n\n\n\nI have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who\nunderstood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks--who had a\ngenius, so to speak, for SAUNTERING, which word is beautifully derived\n\"from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and\nasked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre,\" to the Holy\nLand, till the children exclaimed, \"There goes a Sainte-Terrer,\" a\nSaunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their\nwalks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they\nwho do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some,\nhowever, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home,\nwhich, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular\nhome, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of\nsuccessful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be\nthe greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is\nno more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while\nsedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the\nfirst, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is\na sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth\nand reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.\n\nIt is true, we are but faint-hearted crusaders, even the walkers,\nnowadays, who undertake no persevering, never-ending enterprises. Our\nexpeditions are but tours, and come round again at evening to the old\nhearth-side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our\nsteps. We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the\nspirit of undying adventure, never to return--prepared to send back\nour embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are\nready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife\nand child and friends, and never see them again--if you have paid your\ndebts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free\nman--then you are ready for a walk.\n\nTo come down to my own experience, my companion and I, for I sometimes\nhave a companion, take pleasure in fancying ourselves knights of a new,\nor rather an old, order--not Equestrians or Chevaliers, not Ritters or\nRiders, but Walkers, a still more ancient and honorable class, I trust.\nThe Chivalric and heroic spirit which once belonged to the Rider seems\nnow to reside in, or perchance to have subsided into, the Walker--not\nthe Knight, but Walker, Errant. He is a sort of fourth estate, outside\nof Church and State and People.\n\nWe have felt that we almost alone hereabouts practiced this noble art;\nthough, to tell the truth, at least if their own assertions are to be\nreceived, most of my townsmen would fain walk sometimes, as I do, but\nthey cannot. No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and\nindependence which are the capital in this profession. It comes only\nby the grace of God. It requires a direct dispensation from Heaven\nto become a walker. You must be born into the family of the Walkers.\nAmbulator nascitur, non fit. Some of my townsmen, it is true, can\nremember and have described to me some walks which they took ten years\nago, in which they were so blessed as to lose themselves for half\nan hour in the woods; but I know very well that they have confined\nthemselves to the highway ever since, whatever pretensions they may make\nto belong to this select class. No doubt they were elevated for a moment\nas by the reminiscence of a previous state of existence, when even they\nwere foresters and outlaws.\n\n         \"When he came to grene wode,\n            In a mery mornynge,\n          There he herde the notes small\n            Of byrdes mery syngynge.\n\n         \"It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,\n            That I was last here;\n          Me Lyste a lytell for to shote\n            At the donne dere.\"\n\nI think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend\nfour hours a day at least--and it is commonly more than that--sauntering\nthrough the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from\nall worldly engagements. You may safely say, A penny for your thoughts,\nor a thousand pounds. When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics\nand shopkeepers stay in their shops not only all the forenoon, but all\nthe afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs, so many of them--as if the\nlegs were made to sit upon, and not to stand or walk upon--I think that\nthey deserve some credit for not having all committed suicide long ago.\n\nI, who cannot stay in my chamber for a single day without acquiring some\nrust, and when sometimes I have stolen forth for a walk at the eleventh\nhour, or four o'clock in the afternoon, too late to redeem the day,\nwhen the shades of night were already beginning to be mingled with the\ndaylight, have felt as if I had committed some sin to be atoned for,--I\nconfess that I am astonished at the power of endurance, to say nothing\nof the moral insensibility, of my neighbors who confine themselves to\nshops and offices the whole day for weeks and months, aye, and years\nalmost together. I know not what manner of stuff they are of--sitting\nthere now at three o'clock in the afternoon, as if it were three o'clock\nin the morning. Bonaparte may talk of the three-o'clock-in-the-morning\ncourage, but it is nothing to the courage which can sit down cheerfully\nat this hour in the afternoon over against one's self whom you have\nknown all the morning, to starve out a garrison to whom you are bound\nby such strong ties of sympathy. I wonder that about this time, or say\nbetween four and five o'clock in the afternoon, too late for the morning\npapers and too early for the evening ones, there is not a general\nexplosion heard up and down the street, scattering a legion of\nantiquated and house-bred notions and whims to the four winds for an\nairing-and so the evil cure itself.\n\nHow womankind, who are confined to the house still more than men, stand\nit I do not know; but I have ground to suspect that most of them do not\nSTAND it at all. When, early in a summer afternoon, we have been shaking\nthe dust of the village from the skirts of our garments, making haste\npast those houses with purely Doric or Gothic fronts, which have such\nan air of repose about them, my companion whispers that probably about\nthese times their occupants are all gone to bed. Then it is that I\nappreciate the beauty and the glory of architecture, which itself never\nturns in, but forever stands out and erect, keeping watch over the\nslumberers.\n\nNo doubt temperament, and, above all, age, have a good deal to do with\nit. As a man grows older, his ability to sit still and follow indoor\noccupations increases. He grows vespertinal in his habits as the\nevening of life approaches, till at last he comes forth only just before\nsundown, and gets all the walk that he requires in half an hour.\n\nBut the walking of which I speak has nothing in it akin to taking\nexercise, as it is called, as the sick take medicine at stated hours--as\nthe Swinging of dumb-bells or chairs; but is itself the enterprise and\nadventure of the day. If you would get exercise, go in search of the\nsprings of life. Think of a man's swinging dumbbells for his health,\nwhen those springs are bubbling up in far-off pastures unsought by him!\n\nMoreover, you must walk like a camel, which is said to be the only beast\nwhich ruminates when walking. When a traveler asked Wordsworth's servant\nto show him her master's study, she answered, \"Here is his library, but\nhis study is out of doors.\"\n\nLiving much out of doors, in the sun and wind, will no doubt produce\na certain roughness of character--will cause a thicker cuticle to grow\nover some of the finer qualities of our nature, as on the face and\nhands, or as severe manual labor robs the hands of some of their\ndelicacy of touch. So staying in the house, on the other hand, may\nproduce a softness and smoothness, not to say thinness of skin,\naccompanied by an increased sensibility to certain impressions. Perhaps\nwe should be more susceptible to some influences important to our\nintellectual and moral growth, if the sun had shone and the wind blown\non us a little less; and no doubt it is a nice matter to proportion\nrightly the thick and thin skin. But methinks that is a scurf that will\nfall off fast enough--that the natural remedy is to be found in the\nproportion which the night bears to the day, the winter to the summer,\nthought to experience. There will be so much the more air and sunshine\nin our thoughts. The callous palms of the laborer are conversant with\nfiner tissues of self-respect and heroism, whose touch thrills the\nheart, than the languid fingers of idleness. That is mere sentimentality\nthat lies abed by day and thinks itself white, far from the tan and\ncallus of experience.\n\nWhen we walk, we naturally go to the fields and woods: what would become\nof us, if we walked only in a garden or a mall? Even some sects\nof philosophers have felt the necessity of importing the woods to\nthemselves, since they did not go to the woods. \"They planted groves and\nwalks of Platanes,\" where they took subdiales ambulationes in porticos\nopen to the air. Of course it is of no use to direct our steps to the\nwoods, if they do not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens\nthat I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there\nin spirit. In my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning\noccupations and my obligations to Society. But it sometimes happens that\nI cannot easily shake off the village. The thought of some work will run\nin my head and I am not where my body is--I am out of my senses. In\nmy walks I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the\nwoods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods? I suspect myself,\nand cannot help a shudder when I find myself so implicated even in what\nare called good works--for this may sometimes happen.\n\nMy vicinity affords many good walks; and though for so many years I have\nwalked almost every day, and sometimes for several days together, I have\nnot yet exhausted them. An absolutely new prospect is a great happiness,\nand I can still get this any afternoon. Two or three hours' walking\nwill carry me to as strange a country as I expect ever to see. A single\nfarmhouse which I had not seen before is sometimes as good as the\ndominions of the King of Dahomey. There is in fact a sort of harmony\ndiscoverable between the capabilities of the landscape within a circle\nof ten miles' radius, or the limits of an afternoon walk, and the\nthreescore years and ten of human life. It will never become quite\nfamiliar to you.\n\nNowadays almost all man's improvements, so called, as the building of\nhouses and the cutting down of the forest and of all large trees, simply\ndeform the landscape, and make it more and more tame and cheap. A people\nwho would begin by burning the fences and let the forest stand! I saw\nthe fences half consumed, their ends lost in the middle of the prairie,\nand some worldly miser with a surveyor looking after his bounds, while\nheaven had taken place around him, and he did not see the angels\ngoing to and fro, but was looking for an old post-hole in the midst of\nparadise. I looked again, and saw him standing in the middle of a boggy\nStygian fen, surrounded by devils, and he had found his bounds without\na doubt, three little stones, where a stake had been driven, and looking\nnearer, I saw that the Prince of Darkness was his surveyor.\n\nI can easily walk ten, fifteen, twenty, any number of miles, commencing\nat my own door, without going by any house, without crossing a road\nexcept where the fox and the mink do: first along by the river, and then\nthe brook, and then the meadow and the woodside. There are square miles\nin my vicinity which have no inhabitant. From many a hill I can see\ncivilization and the abodes of man afar. The farmers and their works\nare scarcely more obvious than woodchucks and their burrows. Man and\nhis affairs, church and state and school, trade and commerce, and\nmanufactures and agriculture even politics, the most alarming of them\nall--I am pleased to see how little space they occupy in the landscape.\nPolitics is but a narrow field, and that still narrower highway yonder\nleads to it. I sometimes direct the traveler thither. If you would go to\nthe political world, follow the great road--follow that market-man, keep\nhis dust in your eyes, and it will lead you straight to it; for it, too,\nhas its place merely, and does not occupy all space. I pass from it as\nfrom a bean field into the forest, and it is forgotten. In one half-hour\nI can walk off to some portion of the earth's surface where a man does\nnot stand from one year's end to another, and there, consequently,\npolitics are not, for they are but as the cigar-smoke of a man.\n\nThe village is the place to which the roads tend, a sort of expansion of\nthe highway, as a lake of a river. It is the body of which roads are\nthe arms and legs--a trivial or quadrivial place, the thoroughfare and\nordinary of travelers. The word is from the Latin villa which together\nwith via, a way, or more anciently ved and vella, Varro derives from\nveho, to carry, because the villa is the place to and from which things\nare carried. They who got their living by teaming were said vellaturam\nfacere. Hence, too, the Latin word vilis and our vile, also villain.\nThis suggests what kind of degeneracy villagers are liable to. They\nare wayworn by the travel that goes by and over them, without traveling\nthemselves.\n\nSome do not walk at all; others walk in the highways; a few walk across\nlots. Roads are made for horses and men of business. I do not travel\nin them much, comparatively, because I am not in a hurry to get to any\ntavern or grocery or livery-stable or depot to which they lead. I am\na good horse to travel, but not from choice a roadster. The\nlandscape-painter uses the figures of men to mark a road. He would not\nmake that use of my figure. I walk out into a nature such as the old\nprophets and poets, Menu, Moses, Homer, Chaucer, walked in. You may\nname it America, but it is not America; neither Americus Vespueius,\nnor Columbus, nor the rest were the discoverers of it. There is a truer\namount of it in mythology than in any history of America, so called,\nthat I have seen.\n\nHowever, there are a few old roads that may be trodden with profit, as\nif they led somewhere now that they are nearly discontinued. There\nis the Old Marlborough Road, which does not go to Marlborough now,\nme-thinks, unless that is Marlborough where it carries me. I am the\nbolder to speak of it here, because I presume that there are one or two\nsuch roads in every town.\n\n\n\n       THE OLD MARLBOROUGH ROAD\n\n        Where they once dug for money,\n        But never found any;\n        Where sometimes Martial Miles\n        Singly files,\n        And Elijah Wood,\n        I fear for no good:\n        No other man,\n        Save Elisha Dugan--\n        O man of wild habits,\n        Partridges and rabbits\n        Who hast no cares\n        Only to set snares,\n        Who liv'st all alone,\n        Close to the bone\n        And where life is sweetest\n        Constantly eatest.\n     When the spring stirs my blood\n      With the instinct to travel,\n      I can get enough gravel\n     On the Old Marlborough Road.\n        Nobody repairs it,\n        For nobody wears it;\n        It is a living way,\n        As the Christians say.\n     Not many there be\n      Who enter therein,\n     Only the guests of the\n      Irishman Quin.\n     What is it, what is it\n      But a direction out there,\n     And the bare possibility\n        Of going somewhere?\n        Great guide-boards of stone,\n        But travelers none;\n        Cenotaphs of the towns\n        Named on their crowns.\n        It is worth going to see\n\n        Where you MIGHT be.\n        What king\n        Did the thing,\n        I am still wondering;\n        Set up how or when,\n        By what selectmen,\n        Gourgas or Lee,\n        Clark or Darby?\n        They're a great endeavor\n        To be something forever;\n        Blank tablets of stone,\n        Where a traveler might groan,\n        And in one sentence\n        Grave all that is known\n        Which another might read,\n        In his extreme need.\n        I know one or two\n        Lines that would do,\n        Literature that might stand\n        All over the land\n        Which a man could remember\n        Till next December,\n        And read again in the spring,\n        After the thawing.\n     If with fancy unfurled\n      You leave your abode,\n     You may go round the world\n      By the Old Marlborough Road.\n\nAt present, in this vicinity, the best part of the land is not private\nproperty; the landscape is not owned, and the walker enjoys comparative\nfreedom. But possibly the day will come when it will be partitioned off\ninto so-called pleasure-grounds, in which a few will take a narrow and\nexclusive pleasure only--when fences shall be multiplied, and man-traps\nand other engines invented to confine men to the PUBLIC road, and\nwalking over the surface of God's earth shall be construed to mean\ntrespassing on some gentleman's grounds. To enjoy a thing exclusively\nis commonly to exclude yourself from the true enjoyment of it. Let us\nimprove our opportunities, then, before the evil days come.\n\n\n\nWhat is it that makes it so hard sometimes to determine whither we will\nwalk? I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we\nunconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright. It is not indifferent\nto us which way we walk. There is a right way; but we are very liable\nfrom heedlessness and stupidity to take the wrong one. We would fain\ntake that walk, never yet taken by us through this actual world, which\nis perfectly symbolical of the path which we love to travel in the\ninterior and ideal world; and sometimes, no doubt, we find it difficult\nto choose our direction, because it does not yet exist distinctly in our\nidea.\n\nWhen I go out of the house for a walk, uncertain as yet whither I will\nbend my steps, and submit myself to my instinct to decide for me,\nI find, strange and whimsical as it may seem, that I finally and\ninevitably settle southwest, toward some particular wood or meadow\nor deserted pasture or hill in that direction. My needle is slow to\nsettle,--varies a few degrees, and does not always point due southwest,\nit is true, and it has good authority for this variation, but it always\nsettles between west and south-southwest. The future lies that way to\nme, and the earth seems more unexhausted and richer on that side.\nThe outline which would bound my walks would be, not a circle, but a\nparabola, or rather like one of those cometary orbits which have been\nthought to be non-returning curves, in this case opening westward, in\nwhich my house occupies the place of the sun. I turn round and round\nirresolute sometimes for a quarter of an hour, until I decide, for a\nthousandth time, that I will walk into the southwest or west. Eastward I\ngo only by force; but westward I go free. Thither no business leads\nme. It is hard for me to believe that I shall find fair landscapes or\nsufficient wildness and freedom behind the eastern horizon. I am not\nexcited by the prospect of a walk thither; but I believe that the forest\nwhich I see in the western horizon stretches uninterruptedly toward\nthe setting sun, and there are no towns nor cities in it of enough\nconsequence to disturb me. Let me live where I will, on this side is the\ncity, on that the wilderness, and ever I am leaving the city more and\nmore, and withdrawing into the wilderness. I should not lay so much\nstress on this fact, if I did not believe that something like this is\nthe prevailing tendency of my countrymen. I must walk toward Oregon, and\nnot toward Europe. And that way the nation is moving, and I may say that\nmankind progress from east to west. Within a few years we have witnessed\nthe phenomenon of a southeastward migration, in the settlement of\nAustralia; but this affects us as a retrograde movement, and, judging\nfrom the moral and physical character of the first generation of\nAustralians, has not yet proved a successful experiment. The eastern\nTartars think that there is nothing west beyond Thibet. \"The world ends\nthere,\" say they; \"beyond there is nothing but a shoreless sea.\" It is\nunmitigated East where they live.\n\nWe go eastward to realize history and study the works of art and\nliterature, retracing the steps of the race; we go westward as into the\nfuture, with a spirit of enterprise and adventure. The Atlantic is a\nLethean stream, in our passage over which we have had an opportunity\nto forget the Old World and its institutions. If we do not succeed\nthis time, there is perhaps one more chance for the race left before\nit arrives on the banks of the Styx; and that is in the Lethe of the\nPacific, which is three times as wide.\n\nI know not how significant it is, or how far it is an evidence of\nsingularity, that an individual should thus consent in his pettiest walk\nwith the general movement of the race; but I know that something akin\nto the migratory instinct in birds and quadrupeds--which, in some\ninstances, is known to have affected the squirrel tribe, impelling them\nto a general and mysterious movement, in which they were seen, say some,\ncrossing the broadest rivers, each on its particular chip, with its tail\nraised for a sail, and bridging narrower streams with their dead--that\nsomething like the furor which affects the domestic cattle in the\nspring, and which is referred to a worm in their tails,--affects both\nnations and individuals, either perennially or from time to time. Not\na flock of wild geese cackles over our town, but it to some extent\nunsettles the value of real estate here, and, if I were a broker, I\nshould probably take that disturbance into account.\n\n   \"Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,\n   And palmeres for to seken strange strondes.\"\n\nEvery sunset which I witness inspires me with the desire to go to a West\nas distant and as fair as that into which the sun goes down. He appears\nto migrate westward daily, and tempt us to follow him. He is the Great\nWestern Pioneer whom the nations follow. We dream all night of those\nmountain-ridges in the horizon, though they may be of vapor only, which\nwere last gilded by his rays. The island of Atlantis, and the islands\nand gardens of the Hesperides, a sort of terrestrial paradise, appear\nto have been the Great West of the ancients, enveloped in mystery and\npoetry. Who has not seen in imagination, when looking into the sunset\nsky, the gardens of the Hesperides, and the foundation of all those\nfables?\n\nColumbus felt the westward tendency more strongly than any before. He\nobeyed it, and found a New World for Castile and Leon. The herd of men\nin those days scented fresh pastures from afar,\n\n  \"And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,\n  And now was dropped into the western bay;\n  At last HE rose, and twitched his mantle blue;\n  Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new.\"\n\nWhere on the globe can there be found an area of equal extent with that\noccupied by the bulk of our States, so fertile and so rich and varied in\nits productions, and at the same time so habitable by the European, as\nthis is? Michaux, who knew but part of them, says that \"the species of\nlarge trees are much more numerous in North America than in Europe; in\nthe United States there are more than one hundred and forty species that\nexceed thirty feet in height; in France there are but thirty that attain\nthis size.\" Later botanists more than confirm his observations. Humboldt\ncame to America to realize his youthful dreams of a tropical vegetation,\nand he beheld it in its greatest perfection in the primitive forests of\nthe Amazon, the most gigantic wilderness on the earth, which he has so\neloquently described. The geographer Guyot, himself a European, goes\nfarther--farther than I am ready to follow him; yet not when he says:\n\"As the plant is made for the animal, as the vegetable world is made for\nthe animal world, America is made for the man of the Old World.... The\nman of the Old World sets out upon his way. Leaving the highlands of\nAsia, he descends from station to station towards Europe. Each of his\nsteps is marked by a new civilization superior to the preceding, by a\ngreater power of development. Arrived at the Atlantic, he pauses on the\nshore of this unknown ocean, the bounds of which he knows not, and turns\nupon his footprints for an instant.\" When he has exhausted the rich soil\nof Europe, and reinvigorated himself, \"then recommences his adventurous\ncareer westward as in the earliest ages.\" So far Guyot.\n\nFrom this western impulse coming in contact with the barrier of the\nAtlantic sprang the commerce and enterprise of modern times. The younger\nMichaux, in his Travels West of the Alleghanies in 1802, says that the\ncommon inquiry in the newly settled West was, \"'From what part of\nthe world have you come?' As if these vast and fertile regions would\nnaturally be the place of meeting and common country of all the\ninhabitants of the globe.\"\n\nTo use an obsolete Latin word, I might say, Ex Oriente lux; ex Occidente\nFRUX. From the East light; from the West fruit.\n\nSir Francis Head, an English traveler and a Governor-General of Canada,\ntells us that \"in both the northern and southern hemispheres of the New\nWorld, Nature has not only outlined her works on a larger scale, but has\npainted the whole picture with brighter and more costly colors than she\nused in delineating and in beautifying the Old World.... The heavens of\nAmerica appear infinitely higher, the sky is bluer, the air is fresher,\nthe cold is intenser, the moon looks larger, the stars are brighter the\nthunder is louder, the lightning is vivider, the wind is stronger,\nthe rain is heavier, the mountains are higher, the rivers longer, the\nforests bigger, the plains broader.\" This statement will do at least\nto set against Buffon's account of this part of the world and its\nproductions.\n\nLinnaeus said long ago, \"Nescio quae facies laeta, glabra plantis\nAmericanis\" (I know not what there is of joyous and smooth in the aspect\nof American plants); and I think that in this country there are no,\nor at most very few, Africanae bestiae, African beasts, as the Romans\ncalled them, and that in this respect also it is peculiarly fitted for\nthe habitation of man. We are told that within three miles of the\ncenter of the East-Indian city of Singapore, some of the inhabitants\nare annually carried off by tigers; but the traveler can lie down in\nthe woods at night almost anywhere in North America without fear of wild\nbeasts.\n\nThese are encouraging testimonies. If the moon looks larger here than\nin Europe, probably the sun looks larger also. If the heavens of America\nappear infinitely higher, and the stars brighter, I trust that these\nfacts are symbolical of the height to which the philosophy and poetry\nand religion of her inhabitants may one day soar. At length, perchance,\nthe immaterial heaven will appear as much higher to the American mind,\nand the intimations that star it as much brighter. For I believe that\nclimate does thus react on man--as there is something in the mountain\nair that feeds the spirit and inspires. Will not man grow to greater\nperfection intellectually as well as physically under these influences?\nOr is it unimportant how many foggy days there are in his life? I trust\nthat we shall be more imaginative, that our thoughts will be clearer,\nfresher, and more ethereal, as our sky--our understanding more\ncomprehensive and broader, like our plains--our intellect generally on a\ngrander scale, like our thunder and lightning, our rivers and mountains\nand forests-and our hearts shall even correspond in breadth and depth\nand grandeur to our inland seas. Perchance there will appear to the\ntraveler something, he knows not what, of laeta and glabra, of joyous\nand serene, in our very faces. Else to what end does the world go on,\nand why was America discovered?\n\nTo Americans I hardly need to say--\n\n\"Westward the star of empire takes its way.\"\n\nAs a true patriot, I should be ashamed to think that Adam in paradise\nwas more favorably situated on the whole than the backwoodsman in this\ncountry.\n\nOur sympathies in Massachusetts are not confined to New England; though\nwe may be estranged from the South, we sympathize with the West. There\nis the home of the younger sons, as among the Scandinavians they took to\nthe sea for their inheritance. It is too late to be studying Hebrew; it\nis more important to understand even the slang of today.\n\nSome months ago I went to see a panorama of the Rhine. It was like\na dream of the Middle Ages. I floated down its historic stream in\nsomething more than imagination, under bridges built by the Romans, and\nrepaired by later heroes, past cities and castles whose very names were\nmusic to my ears, and each of which was the subject of a legend. There\nwere Ehrenbreitstein and Rolandseck and Coblentz, which I knew only in\nhistory. They were ruins that interested me chiefly. There seemed to\ncome up from its waters and its vine-clad hills and valleys a hushed\nmusic as of Crusaders departing for the Holy Land. I floated along under\nthe spell of enchantment, as if I had been transported to an heroic age,\nand breathed an atmosphere of chivalry.\n\nSoon after, I went to see a panorama of the Mississippi, and as I\nworked my way up the river in the light of today, and saw the steamboats\nwooding up, counted the rising cities, gazed on the fresh ruins of\nNauvoo, beheld the Indians moving west across the stream, and, as before\nI had looked up the Moselle, now looked up the Ohio and the Missouri and\nheard the legends of Dubuque and of Wenona's Cliff--still thinking more\nof the future than of the past or present--I saw that this was a Rhine\nstream of a different kind; that the foundations of castles were yet to\nbe laid, and the famous bridges were yet to be thrown over the river;\nand I felt that THIS WAS THE HEROIC AGE ITSELF, though we know it not,\nfor the hero is commonly the simplest and obscurest of men.\n\nThe West of which I speak is but another name for the Wild; and what I\nhave been preparing to say is, that in Wildness is the preservation of\nthe World. Every tree sends its fibers forth in search of the Wild. The\ncities import it at any price. Men plow and sail for it. From the\nforest and wilderness come the tonics and barks which brace mankind. Our\nancestors were savages. The story of Romulus and Remus being suckled by\na wolf is not a meaningless fable. The founders of every state which has\nrisen to eminence have drawn their nourishment and vigor from a similar\nwild source. It was because the children of the Empire were not suckled\nby the wolf that they were conquered and displaced by the children of\nthe northern forests who were.\n\nI believe in the forest, and in the meadow, and in the night in which\nthe corn grows. We require an infusion of hemlock, spruce or arbor\nvitae in our tea. There is a difference between eating and drinking\nfor strength and from mere gluttony. The Hottentots eagerly devour the\nmarrow of the koodoo and other antelopes raw, as a matter of course.\nSome of our northern Indians eat raw the marrow of the Arctic reindeer,\nas well as various other parts, including the summits of the antlers, as\nlong as they are soft. And herein, perchance, they have stolen a march\non the cooks of Paris. They get what usually goes to feed the fire. This\nis probably better than stall-fed beef and slaughterhouse pork to make\na man of. Give me a wildness whose glance no civilization can endure--as\nif we lived on the marrow of koodoos devoured raw.\n\nThere are some intervals which border the strain of the wood thrush,\nto which I would migrate--wild lands where no settler has squatted; to\nwhich, methinks, I am already acclimated.\n\nThe African hunter Cumming tells us that the skin of the eland, as well\nas that of most other antelopes just killed, emits the most delicious\nperfume of trees and grass. I would have every man so much like a wild\nantelope, so much a part and parcel of nature, that his very person\nshould thus sweetly advertise our senses of his presence, and remind us\nof those parts of nature which he most haunts. I feel no disposition to\nbe satirical, when the trapper's coat emits the odor of musquash even;\nit is a sweeter scent to me than that which commonly exhales from the\nmerchant's or the scholar's garments. When I go into their wardrobes and\nhandle their vestments, I am reminded of no grassy plains and flowery\nmeads which they have frequented, but of dusty merchants' exchanges and\nlibraries rather.\n\nA tanned skin is something more than respectable, and perhaps olive is\na fitter color than white for a man--a denizen of the woods. \"The pale\nwhite man!\" I do not wonder that the African pitied him. Darwin the\nnaturalist says, \"A white man bathing by the side of a Tahitian was like\na plant bleached by the gardener's art, compared with a fine, dark green\none, growing vigorously in the open fields.\"\n\nBen Jonson exclaims,--\n\n \"How near to good is what is fair!\"\n\nSo I would say,--\n\n \"How near to good is what is WILD!\"\n\nLife consists with wildness. The most alive is the wildest. Not yet\nsubdued to man, its presence refreshes him. One who pressed forward\nincessantly and never rested from his labors, who grew fast and made\ninfinite demands on life, would always find himself in a new country\nor wilderness, and surrounded by the raw material of life. He would be\nclimbing over the prostrate stems of primitive forest trees.\n\nHope and the future for me are not in lawns and cultivated fields, not\nin towns and cities, but in the impervious and quaking swamps. When,\nformerly, I have analyzed my partiality for some farm which I had\ncontemplated purchasing, I have frequently found that I was attracted\nsolely by a few square rods of impermeable and unfathomable bog--a\nnatural sink in one corner of it. That was the jewel which dazzled me.\nI derive more of my subsistence from the swamps which surround my native\ntown than from the cultivated gardens in the village. There are no\nricher parterres to my eyes than the dense beds of dwarf andromeda\n(Cassandra calyculata) which cover these tender places on the earth's\nsurface. Botany cannot go farther than tell me the names of the shrubs\nwhich grow there--the high blueberry, panicled andromeda, lambkill,\nazalea, and rhodora--all standing in the quaking sphagnum. I often\nthink that I should like to have my house front on this mass of dull red\nbushes, omitting other flower plots and borders, transplanted spruce\nand trim box, even graveled walks--to have this fertile spot under my\nwindows, not a few imported barrowfuls of soil only to cover the sand\nwhich was thrown out in digging the cellar. Why not put my house, my\nparlor, behind this plot, instead of behind that meager assemblage of\ncuriosities, that poor apology for a Nature and Art, which I call my\nfront yard? It is an effort to clear up and make a decent appearance\nwhen the carpenter and mason have departed, though done as much for the\npasser-by as the dweller within. The most tasteful front-yard fence was\nnever an agreeable object of study to me; the most elaborate ornaments,\nacorn tops, or what not, soon wearied and disgusted me. Bring your sills\nup to the very edge of the swamp, then (though it may not be the best\nplace for a dry cellar), so that there be no access on that side to\ncitizens. Front yards are not made to walk in, but, at most, through,\nand you could go in the back way.\n\nYes, though you may think me perverse, if it were proposed to me to\ndwell in the neighborhood of the most beautiful garden that ever human\nart contrived, or else of a Dismal Swamp, I should certainly decide for\nthe swamp. How vain, then, have been all your labors, citizens, for me!\n\nMy spirits infallibly rise in proportion to the outward dreariness. Give\nme the ocean, the desert, or the wilderness! In the desert, pure air\nand solitude compensate for want of moisture and fertility. The traveler\nBurton says of it--\"Your MORALE improves; you become frank and cordial,\nhospitable and single-minded.... In the desert, spirituous liquors\nexcite only disgust. There is a keen enjoyment in a mere animal\nexistence.\" They who have been traveling long on the steppes of Tartary\nsay, \"On re-entering cultivated lands, the agitation, perplexity, and\nturmoil of civilization oppressed and suffocated us; the air seemed to\nfail us, and we felt every moment as if about to die of asphyxia.\" When\nI would recreate myself, I seek the darkest woods the thickest and most\ninterminable and, to the citizen, most dismal, swamp. I enter a swamp as\na sacred place,--a sanctum sanctorum. There is the strength, the marrow,\nof Nature. The wildwood covers the virgin mould,--and the same soil is\ngood for men and for trees. A man's health requires as many acres of\nmeadow to his prospect as his farm does loads of muck. There are\nthe strong meats on which he feeds. A town is saved, not more by the\nrighteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it. A\ntownship where one primitive forest waves above while another primitive\nforest rots below--such a town is fitted to raise not only corn and\npotatoes, but poets and philosophers for the coming ages. In such a\nsoil grew Homer and Confucius and the rest, and out of such a wilderness\ncomes the Reformer eating locusts and wild honey.\n\nTo preserve wild animals implies generally the creation of a forest for\nthem to dwell in or resort to. So it is with man. A hundred years ago\nthey sold bark in our streets peeled from our own woods. In the very\naspect of those primitive and rugged trees there was, methinks, a\ntanning principle which hardened and consolidated the fibers of men's\nthoughts. Ah! already I shudder for these comparatively degenerate days\nof my native village, when you cannot collect a load of bark of good\nthickness, and we no longer produce tar and turpentine.\n\nThe civilized nations--Greece, Rome, England--have been sustained by the\nprimitive forests which anciently rotted where they stand. They survive\nas long as the soil is not exhausted. Alas for human culture! little is\nto be expected of a nation, when the vegetable mould is exhausted, and\nit is compelled to make manure of the bones of its fathers. There\nthe poet sustains himself merely by his own superfluous fat, and the\nphilosopher comes down on his marrow-bones.\n\nIt is said to be the task of the American \"to work the virgin soil,\" and\nthat \"agriculture here already assumes proportions unknown everywhere\nelse.\" I think that the farmer displaces the Indian even because he\nredeems the meadow, and so makes himself stronger and in some respects\nmore natural. I was surveying for a man the other day a single straight\nline one hundred and thirty-two rods long, through a swamp at whose\nentrance might have been written the words which Dante read over the\nentrance to the infernal regions,--\"Leave all hope, ye that enter\"--that\nis, of ever getting out again; where at one time I saw my employer\nactually up to his neck and swimming for his life in his property,\nthough it was still winter. He had another similar swamp which I\ncould not survey at all, because it was completely under water, and\nnevertheless, with regard to a third swamp, which I did SURVEY from a\ndistance, he remarked to me, true to his instincts, that he would not\npart with it for any consideration, on account of the mud which it\ncontained. And that man intends to put a girdling ditch round the whole\nin the course of forty months, and so redeem it by the magic of his\nspade. I refer to him only as the type of a class.\n\nThe weapons with which we have gained our most important victories,\nwhich should be handed down as heirlooms from father to son, are not the\nsword and the lance, but the bushwhack, the turf-cutter, the spade, and\nthe bog hoe, rusted with the blood of many a meadow, and begrimed with\nthe dust of many a hard-fought field. The very winds blew the Indian's\ncornfield into the meadow, and pointed out the way which he had not\nthe skill to follow. He had no better implement with which to intrench\nhimself in the land than a clam-shell. But the farmer is armed with plow\nand spade.\n\nIn literature it is only the wild that attracts us. Dullness is but\nanother name for tameness. It is the uncivilized free and wild thinking\nin Hamlet and the Iliad, in all the scriptures and mythologies, not\nlearned in the schools, that delights us. As the wild duck is more swift\nand beautiful than the tame, so is the wild--the mallard--thought, which\n'mid falling dews wings its way above the fens. A truly good book is\nsomething as natural, and as unexpectedly and unaccountably fair and\nperfect, as a wild-flower discovered on the prairies of the West or\nin the jungles of the East. Genius is a light which makes the darkness\nvisible, like the lightning's flash, which perchance shatters the temple\nof knowledge itself--and not a taper lighted at the hearthstone of the\nrace, which pales before the light of common day.\n\nEnglish literature, from the days of the minstrels to the Lake\nPoets--Chaucer and Spenser and Milton, and even Shakespeare,\nincluded--breathes no quite fresh and, in this sense, wild strain. It\nis an essentially tame and civilized literature, reflecting Greece and\nRome. Her wilderness is a green wood, her wild man a Robin Hood. There\nis plenty of genial love of Nature, but not so much of Nature herself.\nHer chronicles inform us when her wild animals, but not when the wild\nman in her, became extinct.\n\nThe science of Humboldt is one thing, poetry is another thing. The\npoet today, notwithstanding all the discoveries of science, and the\naccumulated learning of mankind, enjoys no advantage over Homer.\n\nWhere is the literature which gives expression to Nature? He would be a\npoet who could impress the winds and streams into his service, to speak\nfor him; who nailed words to their primitive senses, as farmers drive\ndown stakes in the spring, which the frost has heaved; who derived his\nwords as often as he used them--transplanted them to his page with earth\nadhering to their roots; whose words were so true and fresh and natural\nthat they would appear to expand like the buds at the approach of\nspring, though they lay half smothered between two musty leaves in a\nlibrary--aye, to bloom and bear fruit there, after their kind, annually,\nfor the faithful reader, in sympathy with surrounding Nature.\n\nI do not know of any poetry to quote which adequately expresses this\nyearning for the Wild. Approached from this side, the best poetry is\ntame. I do not know where to find in any literature, ancient or modern,\nany account which contents me of that Nature with which even I am\nacquainted. You will perceive that I demand something which no Augustan\nnor Elizabethan age, which no culture, in short, can give. Mythology\ncomes nearer to it than anything. How much more fertile a Nature,\nat least, has Grecian mythology its root in than English literature!\nMythology is the crop which the Old World bore before its soil was\nexhausted, before the fancy and imagination were affected with blight;\nand which it still bears, wherever its pristine vigor is unabated. All\nother literatures endure only as the elms which overshadow our houses;\nbut this is like the great dragon-tree of the Western Isles, as old as\nmankind, and, whether that does or not, will endure as long; for the\ndecay of other literatures makes the soil in which it thrives.\n\nThe West is preparing to add its fables to those of the East. The\nvalleys of the Ganges, the Nile, and the Shine having yielded their\ncrop, it remains to be seen what the valleys of the Amazon, the Plate,\nthe Orinoco, the St. Lawrence, and the Mississippi will produce.\nPerchance, when, in the course of ages, American liberty has become\na fiction of the past--as it is to some extent a fiction of the\npresent--the poets of the world will be inspired by American mythology.\n\nThe wildest dreams of wild men, even, are not the less true, though they\nmay not recommend themselves to the sense which is most common among\nEnglishmen and Americans today. It is not every truth that recommends\nitself to the common sense. Nature has a place for the wild Clematis\nas well as for the cabbage. Some expressions of truth are\nreminiscent--others merely SENSIBLE, as the phrase is,--others\nprophetic. Some forms of disease, even, may prophesy forms of health.\nThe geologist has discovered that the figures of serpents, griffins,\nflying dragons, and other fanciful embellishments of heraldry, have\ntheir prototypes in the forms of fossil species which were extinct\nbefore man was created, and hence \"indicate a faint and shadowy\nknowledge of a previous state of organic existence.\" The Hindus dreamed\nthat the earth rested on an elephant, and the elephant on a tortoise,\nand the tortoise on a serpent; and though it may be an unimportant\ncoincidence, it will not be out of place here to state, that a fossil\ntortoise has lately been discovered in Asia large enough to support\nan elephant. I confess that I am partial to these wild fancies, which\ntranscend the order of time and development. They are the sublimest\nrecreation of the intellect. The partridge loves peas, but not those\nthat go with her into the pot.\n\nIn short, all good things are wild and free. There is something in\na strain of music, whether produced by an instrument or by the human\nvoice--take the sound of a bugle in a summer night, for instance--which\nby its wildness, to speak without satire, reminds me of the cries\nemitted by wild beasts in their native forests. It is so much of their\nwildness as I can understand. Give me for my friends and neighbors wild\nmen, not tame ones. The wildness of the savage is but a faint symbol of\nthe awful ferity with which good men and lovers meet.\n\nI love even to see the domestic animals reassert their native\nrights--any evidence that they have not wholly lost their original wild\nhabits and vigor; as when my neighbor's cow breaks out of her pasture\nearly in the spring and boldly swims the river, a cold, gray tide,\ntwenty-five or thirty rods wide, swollen by the melted snow. It is the\nbuffalo crossing the Mississippi. This exploit confers some dignity\non the herd in my eyes--already dignified. The seeds of instinct are\npreserved under the thick hides of cattle and horses, like seeds in the\nbowels of the earth, an indefinite period.\n\nAny sportiveness in cattle is unexpected. I saw one day a herd of a\ndozen bullocks and cows running about and frisking in unwieldy sport,\nlike huge rats, even like kittens. They shook their heads, raised their\ntails, and rushed up and down a hill, and I perceived by their horns, as\nwell as by their activity, their relation to the deer tribe. But, alas!\na sudden loud WHOA! would have damped their ardor at once, reduced them\nfrom venison to beef, and stiffened their sides and sinews like the\nlocomotive. Who but the Evil One has cried \"Whoa!\" to mankind?\nIndeed, the life of cattle, like that of many men, is but a sort of\nlocomotiveness; they move a side at a time, and man, by his machinery,\nis meeting the horse and the ox halfway. Whatever part the whip has\ntouched is thenceforth palsied. Who would ever think of a SIDE of any of\nthe supple cat tribe, as we speak of a SIDE of beef?\n\nI rejoice that horses and steers have to be broken before they can be\nmade the slaves of men, and that men themselves have some wild oats\nstill left to sow before they become submissive members of society.\nUndoubtedly, all men are not equally fit subjects for civilization;\nand because the majority, like dogs and sheep, are tame by inherited\ndisposition, this is no reason why the others should have their natures\nbroken that they may be reduced to the same level. Men are in the main\nalike, but they were made several in order that they might be various.\nIf a low use is to be served, one man will do nearly or quite as well as\nanother; if a high one, individual excellence is to be regarded. Any man\ncan stop a hole to keep the wind away, but no other man could serve so\nrare a use as the author of this illustration did. Confucius says,--\"The\nskins of the tiger and the leopard, when they are tanned, are as the\nskins of the dog and the sheep tanned.\" But it is not the part of a true\nculture to tame tigers, any more than it is to make sheep ferocious; and\ntanning their skins for shoes is not the best use to which they can be\nput.\n\n\n\nWhen looking over a list of men's names in a foreign language, as\nof military officers, or of authors who have written on a particular\nsubject, I am reminded once more that there is nothing in a name. The\nname Menschikoff, for instance, has nothing in it to my ears more human\nthan a whisker, and it may belong to a rat. As the names of the Poles\nand Russians are to us, so are ours to them. It is as if they had been\nnamed by the child's rigmarole,--IERY FIERY ICHERY VAN, TITTLE-TOL-TAN.\nI see in my mind a herd of wild creatures swarming over the earth,\nand to each the herdsman has affixed some barbarous sound in his own\ndialect. The names of men are, of course, as cheap and meaningless as\nBOSE and TRAY, the names of dogs.\n\nMethinks it would be some advantage to philosophy if men were named\nmerely in the gross, as they are known. It would be necessary only to\nknow the genus and perhaps the race or variety, to know the individual.\nWe are not prepared to believe that every private soldier in a Roman\narmy had a name of his own--because we have not supposed that he had a\ncharacter of his own.\n\nAt present our only true names are nicknames. I knew a boy who, from his\npeculiar energy, was called \"Buster\" by his playmates, and this rightly\nsupplanted his Christian name. Some travelers tell us that an Indian had\nno name given him at first, but earned it, and his name was his fame;\nand among some tribes he acquired a new name with every new exploit.\nIt is pitiful when a man bears a name for convenience merely, who has\nearned neither name nor fame.\n\nI will not allow mere names to make distinctions for me, but still\nsee men in herds for all them. A familiar name cannot make a man less\nstrange to me. It may be given to a savage who retains in secret his\nown wild title earned in the woods. We have a wild savage in us, and\na savage name is perchance somewhere recorded as ours. I see that my\nneighbor, who bears the familiar epithet William or Edwin, takes it off\nwith his jacket. It does not adhere to him when asleep or in anger, or\naroused by any passion or inspiration. I seem to hear pronounced by some\nof his kin at such a time his original wild name in some jaw-breaking or\nelse melodious tongue.\n\n\n\nHere is this vast, savage, hovering mother of ours, Nature, lying all\naround, with such beauty, and such affection for her children, as the\nleopard; and yet we are so early weaned from her breast to society, to\nthat culture which is exclusively an interaction of man on man--a sort\nof breeding in and in, which produces at most a merely English nobility,\na civilization destined to have a speedy limit.\n\nIn society, in the best institutions of men, it is easy to detect a\ncertain precocity. When we should still be growing children, we are\nalready little men. Give me a culture which imports much muck from the\nmeadows, and deepens the soil--not that which trusts to heating manures,\nand improved implements and modes of culture only!\n\nMany a poor sore-eyed student that I have heard of would grow faster,\nboth intellectually and physically, if, instead of sitting up so very\nlate, he honestly slumbered a fool's allowance.\n\nThere may be an excess even of informing light. Niepce, a Frenchman,\ndiscovered \"actinism,\" that power in the sun's rays which produces a\nchemical effect; that granite rocks, and stone structures, and statues\nof metal \"are all alike destructively acted upon during the hours of\nsunshine, and, but for provisions of Nature no less wonderful, would\nsoon perish under the delicate touch of the most subtle of the agencies\nof the universe.\" But he observed that \"those bodies which underwent\nthis change during the daylight possessed the power of restoring\nthemselves to their original conditions during the hours of night,\nwhen this excitement was no longer influencing them.\" Hence it has been\ninferred that \"the hours of darkness are as necessary to the inorganic\ncreation as we know night and sleep are to the organic kingdom.\" Not\neven does the moon shine every night, but gives place to darkness.\n\nI would not have every man nor every part of a man cultivated, any more\nthan I would have every acre of earth cultivated: part will be tillage,\nbut the greater part will be meadow and forest, not only serving an\nimmediate use, but preparing a mould against a distant future, by the\nannual decay of the vegetation which it supports.\n\nThere are other letters for the child to learn than those which Cadmus\ninvented. The Spaniards have a good term to express this wild and dusky\nknowledge--Gramatica parda--tawny grammar, a kind of mother-wit derived\nfrom that same leopard to which I have referred.\n\nWe have heard of a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. It is\nsaid that knowledge is power, and the like. Methinks there is equal need\nof a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance, what we will call\nBeautiful Knowledge, a knowledge useful in a higher sense: for what\nis most of our boasted so-called knowledge but a conceit that we know\nsomething, which robs us of the advantage of our actual ignorance?\nWhat we call knowledge is often our positive ignorance; ignorance our\nnegative knowledge. By long years of patient industry and reading of\nthe newspapers--for what are the libraries of science but files of\nnewspapers--a man accumulates a myriad facts, lays them up in his\nmemory, and then when in some spring of his life he saunters abroad into\nthe Great Fields of thought, he, as it were, goes to grass like a horse\nand leaves all his harness behind in the stable. I would say to the\nSociety for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, sometimes,--Go to grass.\nYou have eaten hay long enough. The spring has come with its green crop.\nThe very cows are driven to their country pastures before the end of\nMay; though I have heard of one unnatural farmer who kept his cow in the\nbarn and fed her on hay all the year round. So, frequently, the Society\nfor the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge treats its cattle.\n\nA man's ignorance sometimes is not only useful, but beautiful--while his\nknowledge, so called, is oftentimes worse than useless, besides being\nugly. Which is the best man to deal with--he who knows nothing about a\nsubject, and, what is extremely rare, knows that he knows nothing, or he\nwho really knows something about it, but thinks that he knows all?\n\nMy desire for knowledge is intermittent, but my desire to bathe my head\nin atmospheres unknown to my feet is perennial and constant. The highest\nthat we can attain to is not Knowledge, but Sympathy with Intelligence.\nI do not know that this higher knowledge amounts to anything more\ndefinite than a novel and grand surprise on a sudden revelation of the\ninsufficiency of all that we called Knowledge before--a discovery that\nthere are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our\nphilosophy. It is the lighting up of the mist by the sun. Man cannot\nKNOW in any higher sense than this, any more than he can look serenely\nand with impunity in the face of the sun: \"You will not perceive that,\nas perceiving a particular thing,\" say the Chaldean Oracles.\n\nThere is something servile in the habit of seeking after a law which we\nmay obey. We may study the laws of matter at and for our convenience,\nbut a successful life knows no law. It is an unfortunate discovery\ncertainly, that of a law which binds us where we did not know before\nthat we were bound. Live free, child of the mist--and with respect to\nknowledge we are all children of the mist. The man who takes the liberty\nto live is superior to all the laws, by virtue of his relation to the\nlawmaker. \"That is active duty,\" says the Vishnu Purana, \"which is not\nfor our bondage; that is knowledge which is for our liberation: all\nother duty is good only unto weariness; all other knowledge is only the\ncleverness of an artist.\"\n\n\n\nIt is remarkable how few events or crises there are in our histories,\nhow little exercised we have been in our minds, how few experiences we\nhave had. I would fain be assured that I am growing apace and rankly,\nthough my very growth disturb this dull equanimity--though it be with\nstruggle through long, dark, muggy nights or seasons of gloom. It would\nbe well if all our lives were a divine tragedy even, instead of this\ntrivial comedy or farce. Dante, Bunyan, and others appear to have been\nexercised in their minds more than we: they were subjected to a kind of\nculture such as our district schools and colleges do not contemplate.\nEven Mahomet, though many may scream at his name, had a good deal more\nto live for, aye, and to die for, than they have commonly.\n\nWhen, at rare intervals, some thought visits one, as perchance he is\nwalking on a railroad, then, indeed, the cars go by without his hearing\nthem. But soon, by some inexorable law, our life goes by and the cars\nreturn.\n\n   \"Gentle breeze, that wanderest unseen,\n   And bendest the thistles round Loira of storms,\n   Traveler of the windy glens,\n   Why hast thou left my ear so soon?\"\n\nWhile almost all men feel an attraction drawing them to society, few are\nattracted strongly to Nature. In their reaction to Nature men appear\nto me for the most part, notwithstanding their arts, lower than the\nanimals. It is not often a beautiful relation, as in the case of the\nanimals. How little appreciation of the beauty of the land-scape there\nis among us! We have to be told that the Greeks called the world Beauty,\nor Order, but we do not see clearly why they did so, and we esteem it at\nbest only a curious philological fact.\n\nFor my part, I feel that with regard to Nature I live a sort of border\nlife, on the confines of a world into which I make occasional and\ntransient forays only, and my patriotism and allegiance to the state\ninto whose territories I seem to retreat are those of a moss-trooper.\nUnto a life which I call natural I would gladly follow even a\nwill-o'-the-wisp through bogs and sloughs unimaginable, but no moon nor\nfirefly has shown me the causeway to it. Nature is a personality so vast\nand universal that we have never seen one of her features. The walker in\nthe familiar fields which stretch around my native town sometimes finds\nhimself in another land than is described in their owners' deeds, as it\nwere in some faraway field on the confines of the actual Concord, where\nher jurisdiction ceases, and the idea which the word Concord suggests\nceases to be suggested. These farms which I have myself surveyed, these\nbounds which I have set up, appear dimly still as through a mist; but\nthey have no chemistry to fix them; they fade from the surface of the\nglass, and the picture which the painter painted stands out dimly from\nbeneath. The world with which we are commonly acquainted leaves no\ntrace, and it will have no anniversary.\n\nI took a walk on Spaulding's Farm the other afternoon. I saw the setting\nsun lighting up the opposite side of a stately pine wood. Its golden\nrays straggled into the aisles of the wood as into some noble hall. I\nwas impressed as if some ancient and altogether admirable and shining\nfamily had settled there in that part of the land called Concord,\nunknown to me--to whom the sun was servant--who had not gone into\nsociety in the village--who had not been called on. I saw their\npark, their pleasure-ground, beyond through the wood, in Spaulding's\ncranberry-meadow. The pines furnished them with gables as they grew.\nTheir house was not obvious to vision; the trees grew through it. I do\nnot know whether I heard the sounds of a suppressed hilarity or not.\nThey seemed to recline on the sunbeams. They have sons and daughters.\nThey are quite well. The farmer's cart-path, which leads directly\nthrough their hall, does not in the least put them out, as the muddy\nbottom of a pool is sometimes seen through the reflected skies.\nThey never heard of Spaulding, and do not know that he is their\nneighbor--notwithstanding I heard him whistle as he drove his team\nthrough the house. Nothing can equal the serenity of their lives. Their\ncoat-of-arms is simply a lichen. I saw it painted on the pines and oaks.\nTheir attics were in the tops of the trees. They are of no politics.\nThere was no noise of labor. I did not perceive that they were weaving\nor spinning. Yet I did detect, when the wind lulled and hearing was done\naway, the finest imaginable sweet musical hum,--as of a distant hive in\nMay, which perchance was the sound of their thinking. They had no idle\nthoughts, and no one without could see their work, for their industry\nwas not as in knots and excrescences embayed.\n\nBut I find it difficult to remember them. They fade irrevocably out\nof my mind even now while I speak, and endeavor to recall them and\nrecollect myself. It is only after a long and serious effort to\nrecollect my best thoughts that I become again aware of their\ncohabitancy. If it were not for such families as this, I think I should\nmove out of Concord.\n\n\n\nWe are accustomed to say in New England that few and fewer pigeons visit\nus every year. Our forests furnish no mast for them. So, it would seem,\nfew and fewer thoughts visit each growing man from year to year, for\nthe grove in our minds is laid waste--sold to feed unnecessary fires of\nambition, or sent to mill--and there is scarcely a twig left for them\nto perch on. They no longer build nor breed with us. In some more genial\nseason, perchance, a faint shadow flits across the landscape of the\nmind, cast by the WINGS of some thought in its vernal or autumnal\nmigration, but, looking up, we are unable to detect the substance of\nthe thought itself. Our winged thoughts are turned to poultry. They\nno longer soar, and they attain only to a Shanghai and Cochin-China\ngrandeur. Those GRA-A-ATE THOUGHTS, those GRA-A-ATE men you hear of!\n\nWe hug the earth--how rarely we mount! Methinks we might elevate\nourselves a little more. We might climb a tree, at least. I found my\naccount in climbing a tree once. It was a tall white pine, on the top\nof a hill; and though I got well pitched, I was well paid for it, for\nI discovered new mountains in the horizon which I had never seen\nbefore--so much more of the earth and the heavens. I might have walked\nabout the foot of the tree for threescore years and ten, and yet I\ncertainly should never have seen them. But, above all, I discovered\naround me--it was near the end of June--on the ends of the topmost\nbranches only, a few minute and delicate red conelike blossoms,\nthe fertile flower of the white pine looking heavenward. I carried\nstraightway to the village the topmost spire, and showed it to stranger\njurymen who walked the streets--for it was court week--and to farmers\nand lumber-dealers and woodchoppers and hunters, and not one had ever\nseen the like before, but they wondered as at a star dropped down. Tell\nof ancient architects finishing their works on the tops of columns as\nperfectly as on the lower and more visible parts! Nature has from\nthe first expanded the minute blossoms of the forest only toward the\nheavens, above men's heads and unobserved by them. We see only the\nflowers that are under our feet in the meadows. The pines have developed\ntheir delicate blossoms on the highest twigs of the wood every summer\nfor ages, as well over the heads of Nature's red children as of her\nwhite ones; yet scarcely a farmer or hunter in the land has ever seen\nthem.\n\n\n\nAbove all, we cannot afford not to live in the present. He is blessed\nover all mortals who loses no moment of the passing life in remembering\nthe past. Unless our philosophy hears the cock crow in every barnyard\nwithin our horizon, it is belated. That sound commonly reminds us\nthat we are growing rusty and antique in our employments and habits of\nthoughts. His philosophy comes down to a more recent time than ours.\nThere is something suggested by it that is a newer testament,--the\ngospel according to this moment. He has not fallen astern; he has got\nup early and kept up early, and to be where he is is to be in season,\nin the foremost rank of time. It is an expression of the health and\nsoundness of Nature, a brag for all the world,--healthiness as of a\nspring burst forth, a new fountain of the Muses, to celebrate this last\ninstant of time. Where he lives no fugitive slave laws are passed. Who\nhas not betrayed his master many times since last he heard that note?\n\nThe merit of this bird's strain is in its freedom from all\nplaintiveness. The singer can easily move us to tears or to laughter,\nbut where is he who can excite in us a pure morning joy? When, in\ndoleful dumps, breaking the awful stillness of our wooden sidewalk on\na Sunday, or, perchance, a watcher in the house of mourning, I hear a\ncockerel crow far or near, I think to myself, \"There is one of us well,\nat any rate,\"--and with a sudden gush return to my senses.\n\n\n\nWe had a remarkable sunset one day last November. I was walking in a\nmeadow, the source of a small brook, when the sun at last, just before\nsetting, after a cold, gray day, reached a clear stratum in the horizon,\nand the softest, brightest morning sunlight fell on the dry grass and on\nthe stems of the trees in the opposite horizon and on the leaves of the\nshrub oaks on the hillside, while our shadows stretched long over the\nmeadow east-ward, as if we were the only motes in its beams. It was such\na light as we could not have imagined a moment before, and the air also\nwas so warm and serene that nothing was wanting to make a paradise of\nthat meadow. When we reflected that this was not a solitary phenomenon,\nnever to happen again, but that it would happen forever and ever, an\ninfinite number of evenings, and cheer and reassure the latest child\nthat walked there, it was more glorious still.\n\nThe sun sets on some retired meadow, where no house is visible, with all\nthe glory and splendor that it lavishes on cities, and perchance as it\nhas never set before--where there is but a solitary marsh hawk to have\nhis wings gilded by it, or only a musquash looks out from his cabin, and\nthere is some little black-veined brook in the midst of the marsh, just\nbeginning to meander, winding slowly round a decaying stump. We walked\nin so pure and bright a light, gilding the withered grass and leaves,\nso softly and serenely bright, I thought I had never bathed in such a\ngolden flood, without a ripple or a murmur to it. The west side of every\nwood and rising ground gleamed like the boundary of Elysium, and the sun\non our backs seemed like a gentle herdsman driving us home at evening.\n\nSo we saunter toward the Holy Land, till one day the sun shall shine\nmore brightly than ever he has done, shall perchance shine into our\nminds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a great awakening\nlight, as warm and serene and golden as on a bankside in autumn.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Walking, by Henry David Thoreau\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "The Atlantic Monthly Vol. 7 No. 42 April 1861 by Various",
        "publication_date": 1861,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/11155",
        "text": "42, APRIL, 1861***\n\n\nE-text prepared by Joshua Hutchinson, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg\nDistributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\nTHE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.\n\nA MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.\n\nVOL. VII.--APRIL, 1861.--NO. XLII.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAPRIL DAYS.\n\n\n  \"Can trouble dwell with April days?\"\n\n_In Memoriam._\n\n\nIn our methodical New England life, we still recognize some magic in\nsummer. Most persons reluctantly resign themselves to being decently\nhappy in June, at least. They accept June. They compliment its weather.\nThey complained of the earlier months as cold, and so spent them in\nthe city; and they will complain of the later months as hot, and so\nrefrigerate themselves on some barren sea-coast. God offers us yearly a\nnecklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June,\nand cast the rest away. It is time to chant a hymn of more liberal\ngratitude.\n\nThere are no days in the whole round year more delicious than those\nwhich often come to us in the latter half of April. On these days one\ngoes forth in the morning, and an Italian warmth broods over all the\nhills, taking visible shape in a glistening mist of silvered azure, with\nwhich mingles the smoke from many bonfires. The sun trembles in his\nown soft rays, till one understands the old English tradition, that he\ndances on Easter-Day. Swimming in a sea of glory, the tops of the hills\nlook nearer than their bases, and their glistening watercourses seem\nclose to the eye, as is their liberated murmur to the ear. All across\nthis broad interval the teams are ploughing. The grass in the meadow\nseems all to have grown green since yesterday. The blackbirds jangle\nin the oak, the robin is perched upon the elm, the song-sparrow on the\nhazel, and the bluebird on the apple-tree. There rises a hawk and sails\nslowly, the stateliest of airy things, a floating dream of long and\nlanguid summer-hours. But as yet, though there is warmth enough for a\nsense of luxury, there is coolness enough for exertion. No tropics can\noffer such a burst of joy; indeed, no zone much warmer than our Northern\nStates can offer a genuine spring. There can be none where there is no\nwinter, and the monotone of the seasons is broken only by wearisome\nrains. Vegetation and birds being distributed over the year, there is no\nburst of verdure nor of song. But with us, as the buds are swelling, the\nbirds are arriving; they are building their nests almost simultaneously;\nand in all the Southern year there is no such rapture of beauty and of\nmelody as here marks every morning from the last of April onward.\n\nBut days even earlier than these in April have a charm,--even days that\nseem raw and rainy, when the sky is dull and a bequest of March-wind\nlingers, chasing the squirrel from the tree and the children from the\nmeadows. There is a fascination in walking through these bare early\nwoods,--there is such a pause of preparation, winter's work is so\ncleanly and thoroughly done. Everything is taken down and put away;\nthroughout the leafy arcades the branches show no remnant of last year,\nsave a few twisted leaves of oak and beech, a few empty seed-vessels of\nthe tardy witch-hazel, and a few gnawed nutshells dropped coquettishly\nby the squirrels into the crevices of the bark. All else is bare, but\nprophetic: buds everywhere, the whole splendor of the coming summer\nconcentrated in those hard little knobs on every bough; and clinging\nhere and there among them, a brown, papery chrysalis, from which shall\nyet wave the superb wings of the Luna moth. An occasional shower patters\non the dry leaves, but it does not silence the robin on the outskirts of\nthe wood: indeed, he sings louder than ever, though the song-sparrow and\nthe bluebird are silent.\n\nThen comes the sweetness of the nights in latter April. There is as yet\nno evening-primrose to open suddenly, no cistus to drop its petals;\nbut the May-flower knows the hour, and becomes more fragrant in the\ndarkness, so that one can then often find it in the woods without\naid from the eye. The pleasant night-sounds are begun; the hylas are\nuttering their shrill _peep_ from the meadows, mingled soon with hoarser\ntoads, who take to the water at this season to deposit their spawn. The\ntree-toads soon join them; but one listens in vain for bullfrogs, or\nkatydids, or grasshoppers, or whippoorwills, or crickets: we must wait\nfor them until the delicious June.\n\nThe earliest familiar token of the coming season is the expansion of the\nstiff catkins of the alder into soft, drooping tresses. These are so\nsensitive, that, if you pluck them at almost any time during the winter,\na day's bright sunshine will make them open in a glass of water, and\nthus they eagerly yield to every moment of April warmth. The blossom\nof the birch is more delicate, that of the willow more showy, but the\nalders come first. They cluster and dance everywhere upon the bare\nboughs above the watercourses; the blackness of the buds is softened\ninto rich brown and yellow; and as this graceful creature thus comes\nwaving into the spring, it is pleasant to remember that the Norse Eddas\nfabled the first woman to have been named Embla, because she was created\nfrom an alder-bough.\n\nThe first wild-flower of the spring is like land after sea. The two\nwhich, throughout the Northern Atlantic States, divide this interest are\nthe _Epigaea repens_ (May-flower, ground-laurel, or trailing-arbutus)\nand the _Hepatica triloba_ (liverleaf, liverwort, or blue anemone). Of\nthese two, the latter is perhaps more immediately exciting on first\ndiscovery; because it does not, like the epigaea, exhibit its buds all\nwinter, but opens its blue eyes almost as soon as it emerges from the\nground. Without the rich and delicious odor of its compeer, it has\nan inexpressibly fresh and earthy scent, that seems to bring all the\npromise of the blessed season with it; indeed, that clod of fresh turf\nwith the inhalation of which Lord Bacon delighted to begin the day must\nundoubtedly have been full of the roots of our little hepatica. Its\nhealthy sweetness belongs to the opening year, like Chaucer's poetry;\nand one thinks that anything more potent and voluptuous would be less\nenchanting,--until one turns to the May-flower. Then comes a richer\nfascination for the senses. To pick the May-flower is like following in\nthe footsteps of some spendthrift army which has scattered the contents\nof its treasure-chest among beds of scented moss. The fingers sink in\nthe soft, moist verdure, and make at each instant some superb discovery\nunawares; again and again, straying carelessly, they clutch some new\ntreasure; and, indeed, all is linked together in bright necklaces by\nsecret threads beneath the surface, and where you grasp at one, you hold\nmany. The hands go wandering over the moss as over the keys of a piano,\nand bring forth fragrance for melody. The lovely creatures twine and\nnestle and lay their glowing faces to the very earth beneath withered\nleaves, and what seemed mere barrenness becomes fresh and fragrant\nbeauty. So great is the charm of the pursuit, that the epigaea is really\nthe one wild-flower for which our country-people have a hearty passion.\nEvery village child knows its best haunts, and watches for it eagerly\nin the spring; boys wreathe their hats with it, girls twine it in their\nhair, and the cottage-windows are filled with its beauty.\n\nIn collecting these early flowers, one finds or fancies singular natural\naffinities. I flatter myself with being able always to find hepatica, if\nthere is any within reach, for I was brought up with it (\"Cockatoo\nhe know me berry well\"); but other persons, who were brought up\nwith May-flower, and remember searching for it with their almost\nbaby-fingers, can find that better. The most remarkable instance\nof these natural affinities was in the case of L.T. and his double\nanemones. L. had always a gift for wild-flowers, and used often to bring\nto Cambridge the largest white anemones that ever were seen, from a\ncertain special hill in Watertown; they were not only magnificent in\nsize and whiteness, but had that exquisite blue on the outside of\nthe petals, as if the sky had bent down in ecstasy at last over its\ndarlings, and left visible kisses there. But even this success was\nnot enough, and one day he came with something yet choicer. It was a\nrue-leaved anemone (_A. thalictraides_); and, if you will believe it,\neach one of the three white flowers was _double,_ not merely with that\nmultiplicity of petals in the disk which is common with this species,\nbut technically and horticulturally double, like the double-flowering\nalmond or cherry,--the most exquisitely delicate little petals, seeming\nlike lace-work. He had three specimens,--gave one to the Autocrat of\nBotany, who said it was almost or quite unexampled, and another to me.\nAs the man in the fable says of the chameleon,--\"I have it yet, and can\nproduce it.\"\n\nNow comes the marvel. The next winter L. went to New York for a year,\nand wrote to me, as spring drew near, with solemn charge to visit his\nfavorite haunt and find another specimen. Armed with this letter of\nintroduction, I sought the spot, and tramped through and through its\nleafy corridors. Beautiful wood-anemones I found, to be sure, trembling\non their fragile stems, deserving all their pretty names,--Wind-flower,\nEaster-flower, Pasque-flower, and homeopathic Pulsatilla; rue-leaved\nanemones I found also, rising taller and straighter and firmer in stem,\nwith the whorl of leaves a little higher up on the stalk than one\nfancies it ought to be, as if there were a supposed danger that the\nflowers would lose their balance, and as if the leaves must be all ready\nto catch them. These I found, but the special wonder was not there for\nme. Then I wrote to L. that he must evidently come himself and search;\nor that, perhaps, as Sir Thomas Browne avers that \"smoke doth follow the\nfairest,\" so his little treasures had followed him towards New York.\nJudge of my surprise, when, on opening his next letter, out dropped,\nfrom those folds of metropolitan paper, a veritable double anemone. He\nhad just been out to Hoboken, or some such place, to spend an afternoon,\nand, of course, his pets were there to meet him; and from that day to\nthis, I have never heard of the thing happening to any one else.\n\nMay-Day is never allowed to pass in this community without profuse\nlamentations over the tardiness of our spring as compared with that\nof England and the poets. Yet it is very common to exaggerate this\ndifference. Even so good an observer as Wilson Flagg is betrayed into\nsaying that the epigaea and hepatica \"seldom make their appearance until\nafter the middle of April\" in Massachusetts, and that \"it is not unusual\nfor the whole month of April to pass away without producing more than\ntwo or three species of wild-flowers.\" But I have formerly found the\nhepatica in bloom at Mount Auburn, for three successive years, on the\ntwenty-seventh of March; and last spring it was actually found, farther\ninland, where the season is later, on the seventeenth. The May-flower is\nusually as early, though the more gradual expansion of the buds renders\nit less easy to give dates. And there are nearly twenty species which I\nhave noted, for five or six years together, as found before May-Day, and\nwhich may therefore be properly assigned to April. The list includes\nbloodroot, cowslip, houstonia, saxifrage, dandelion, chickweed,\ncinquefoil, strawberry, mouse-ear, bellwort, dog's-tooth violet, five\nspecies of violet proper, and two of anemone. These are all common\nflowers, and easily observed; and the catalogue might be increased by\nrare ones, as the white corydalis, the smaller yellow violet, (_V.\nrotundifolia_,) and the claytonia or spring-beauty.\n\nBut in England the crocus and the snowdrop--neither being probably an\nindigenous flower, since neither is mentioned by Chaucer--usually open\nbefore the first of March; indeed, the snowdrop was formerly known by\nthe yet more fanciful name of \"Fair Maid of February.\" Chaucer's daisy\ncomes equally early; and March brings daffodils, narcissi, violets,\ndaisies, jonquils, hyacinths, and marsh-marigolds. This is altogether in\nadvance of our season, so far as the flowers give evidence,--though we\nhave plucked snowdrops in February. But, on the other hand, it would\nappear, that, though a larger number of birds winter in England than in\nMassachusetts, yet the return of those which migrate is actually earlier\namong us. From journals kept during sixty years in England, and an\nabstract of which is printed in Hone's \"Every-Day Book,\" it appears that\nonly two birds of passage revisit England before the fifteenth of April,\nand only thirteen more before the first of May; while with us the\nsong-sparrow and the bluebird appear about the first of March, and quite\na number more by the middle of April. This is a peculiarity of the\nEnglish spring which I have never seen explained or even mentioned.\n\nAfter the epigaea and the hepatica have opened, there is a slight pause\namong the wild-flowers,--these two forming a distinct prologue for their\nannual drama, as the brilliant witch-hazel in October brings up its\nseparate epilogue. The truth is, Nature attitudinizes a little, liking\nto make a neat finish with everything, and then to begin again with\n_eclat_. Flowers seem spontaneous things enough, but there is evidently\na secret marshalling among them, that all may be brought out with due\neffect. As the country-people say that so long as any snow is left on\nthe ground more snow may be expected, it must all vanish simultaneously\nat last,--so every seeker of spring-flowers has observed how accurately\nthey seem to move in platoons, with little straggling. Each species\nseems to burst upon us with a united impulse; you may search for them\nday after day in vain, but the day when you find one specimen the spell\nis broken and you find twenty. By the end of April all the margins\nof the great poem of the woods are illuminated with these exquisite\nvignettes.\n\nMost of the early flowers either come before the full unfolding of their\nleaves or else have inconspicuous ones. Yet Nature always provides for\nher bouquets the due proportion of green. The verdant and graceful\nsprays of the wild raspberry are unfolded very early, long before its\ntime of flowering. Over the meadows spread the regular Chinese-pagodas\nof the equisetum, (horsetail or scouring-rush,) and the rich coarse\nvegetation of the veratrum, or American hellebore. In moist copses the\nferns and osmundas begin to uncurl in April, opening their soft coils\nof spongy verdure, coated with woolly down, from which the humming-bird\nsteals the lining of her nest.\n\nThe early blossoms represent the aboriginal epoch of our history: the\nblood-root and the May-flower are older than the white man, older\nperchance than the red man; they alone are the true Native Americans. Of\nthe later wild plants, many of the most common are foreign importations.\nIn our sycophancy we attach grandeur to the name _exotic_: we call\naristocratic garden-flowers by that epithet; yet they are no more exotic\nthan the humbler companions they brought with them, which have become\nnaturalized. The dandelion, the buttercup, duckweed, celandine, mullein,\nburdock, yarrow, whiteweed, nightshade, and most of the thistles,--these\nare importations. Miles Standish never crushed these with his heavy heel\nas he strode forth to give battle to the savages; they never kissed the\ndaintier foot of Priscilla, the Puritan maiden. It is noticeable that\nthese are all of rather coarser texture than our indigenous flowers; the\nchildren instinctively recognize this, and are apt to omit them, when\ngathering the more delicate native blossoms of the woods.\n\nThere is something touching in the gradual retirement before\ncivilization of these delicate aborigines. They do not wait for the\nactual brute contact of red bricks and curbstones, but they feel the\ndanger miles away. The Indians called the low plantain \"the white man's\nfootstep\"; and these shy creatures gradually disappear, the moment\nthe red man gets beyond their hearing. Bigelow's delightful \"Florula\nBostoniensis\" is becoming a series of epitaphs. Too well we know it,--we\nwho in happy Cambridge childhood often gathered, almost within a stone's\nthrow of Professor Agassiz's new Museum, the arethusa and the gentian,\nthe cardinal-flower and the gaudy rhexia,--we who remember the last\nsecret hiding-place of the rhodora in West Cambridge, of the yellow\nviolet and the _Viola debilis_ in Watertown, of the _Convallaria\ntrifolia_ near Fresh Pond, of the _Hottonia_ beyond Wellington's Hill,\nof the _Cornus florida_ in West Roxbury, of the _Clintonia_ and the\ndwarf ginseng in Brookline,--we who have found in its one chosen nook\nthe sacred _Andromeda polyfolia_ of Linnaeus. Now vanished almost or\nwholly from city-suburbs, these fragile creatures still linger in\nmore rural parts of Massachusetts; but they are doomed everywhere,\nunconsciously, yet irresistibly; while others still more shy, as the\n_Linnoea_, the yellow _Cypripedium_, the early pink _Azalea_, and the\ndelicate white _Corydalis_ or \"Dutchman's breeches,\" are being chased\ninto the very recesses of the Green and the White Mountains. The relics\nof the Indian tribes are supported by the legislature at Martha's\nVineyard, while these precursors of the Indian are dying unfriended\naway.\n\nAnd with these receding plants go also the special insects which haunt\nthem. Who that knew that pure enthusiast, Dr. Harris, but remembers the\naccustomed lamentations of the entomologist over the departure of these\nwinged companions of his lifetime? Not the benevolent Mr. John Beeson\nmore tenderly mourns the decay of the Indians than he the exodus of\nthese more delicate native tribes. In a letter which I happened to\nreceive from him a short time previous to his death, he thus renewed\nthe lament:--\"I mourn for the loss of many of the beautiful plants\nand insects that were once found in this vicinity. _Clethra, Rhodora,\nSanguinaria, Viola debilis, Viola acuta, Dracoena borealis, Rhexia,\nCypripedium, Corallorhiza verna, Orchis spectabilis_, with others of\nless note, have been rooted out by the so-called hand of improvement.\n_Cicindela rugifrons, Helluo proeusta, Sphoeroderus stenostomus,\nBlethisa quadricollis, (Americana mi,) Carabus, Horia_, (which for\nseveral years occurred in profusion on the sands beyond Mount Auburn,)\nwith others, have entirely disappeared from their former haunts, driven\naway, or exterminated perhaps, by the changes effected therein. There\nmay still remain in your vicinity some sequestered spots, congenial\nto these and other rarities, which may reward the botanist and the\nentomologist who will search them carefully. Perhaps you may find there\nthe pretty coccinella-shaped, silver-margined _Omophron_, or the still\nrarer _Panagoeus fasciatus_, of which I once took two specimens on\nWellington's Hill, but have not seen it since.\" Is not this indeed\nhandling one's specimens \"gently as if you loved them,\" as Isaak Walton\nbids the angler do with his worm?\n\nThere is this merit, at least, among the coarser crew of imported\nflowers, that they bring their own proper names with them, and we know\nprecisely whom we have to deal with. In speaking of our own native\nflowers, we must either be careless and inaccurate, or else resort\nsometimes to the Latin, in spite of the indignation of friends. There\nis something yet to be said on this point. In England, where the old\nhousehold and monkish names adhere, they are sufficient for popular\nand poetic purposes, and the familiar use of scientific names seems an\naffectation. But here, where many native flowers have no popular names\nat all, and others are called confessedly by wrong ones,--where\nit really costs less trouble to use Latin names than English, the\naffectation seems the other way. Think of the long list of wild-flowers\nwhere the Latin name is spontaneously used by all who speak of\nthe flower: as, Arethusa, Aster, Cistus, (\"after the fall of the\ncistus-flower,\") Clematis, Clethra, Geranium, Iris, Lobdia, Bhodora,\nSpirtea, Tiarella, Trientalis, and so on. Even those formed from proper\nnames (the worst possible system of nomenclature) become tolerable at\nlast, and we forget the man in the more attractive flower. Are those\nwho pick the Houstonia to be supposed thereby to indorse the Texan\nPresident? Or are the deluded damsels who chew Cassia-buds to be\nregarded as swallowing the late Secretary of State? The names have long\nsince been made over to the flowers, and every questionable aroma has\nvanished. When the godfather happens to be a botanist, there is a\npeculiar fitness in the association; the Linaea, at least, would not\nsmell so sweet by any other name.\n\nIn other cases the English name is a mere modification of the Latin\none, and our ideal associations have really a scientific basis: as with\nViolet, Lily, Laurel, Gentian, Vervain. Indeed, our enthusiasm for\nvernacular names is like that for Indian names, one-sided: we enumerate\nonly the graceful ones, and ignore the rest. It would be a pity to\nLatinize Touch-me-not, or Yarrow, or Gold-Thread, or Self-Heal, or\nColumbine, or Blue-Eyed-Grass,--though, to be sure, this last has an\nannoying way of shutting up its azure orbs the moment you gather it, and\nyou reach home with a bare, stiff blade, which deserves no better\nname than _Sisyrinchium anceps._ But in what respect is Cucumber-Root\npreferable to Medeola, or Solomon's-Seal to Convallaria, or Rock-Tripe\nto Umbilicaria, or Lousewort to Pedicularis? In other cases the merit\nis divided: Anemone may dispute the prize of melody with Windflower,\nCampanula with Harebell, Neottia with Ladies'-Tresses, Uvularia with\nBellwort and Strawbell, Potentilla with Cinquefoil, and Sanguinaria with\nBloodroot. Hepatica may be bad, but Liverleaf is worse. The pretty name\nof May-flower is not so popular, after all, as that of Trailing-Arbutus,\nwhere the graceful and appropriate adjective redeems the substantive,\nwhich happens to be Latin and incorrect at the same time. It does seem a\nwaste of time to say _Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_ instead of Whiteweed;\nthough, if the long scientific name were an incantation to banish the\nintruder, our farmers would gladly consent to adopt it.\n\nBut the great advantage of a reasonable use of the botanical name is,\nthat it does not deceive us. Our primrose is not the English primrose,\nany more than it was our robin who tucked up the babes in the wood;\nour cowslip is not the English cowslip, it is the English\nmarsh-marigold,--Tennyson's \"wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in\nswamps and hollows gray.\" The pretty name of Azalea means something\ndefinite; but its rural name of Honeysuckle confounds under that name\nflowers without even an external resemblance,--Azalea, Diervilla,\nLonioera, Aquilegia,--just as every bird which sings loud in deep woods\nis popularly denominated a thrush. The really rustic names of both\nplants and animals are very few with us,--the different species are\nmany; and as we come to know them better and love them more, we\nabsolutely require some way to distinguish them from their half-sisters\nand second-cousins. It is hopeless to try to create new popular\nepithets, or even to revive those which are thoroughly obsolete. Miss\nCooper may strive in vain, with benevolent intent, to christen her\nfavorite spring-blossoms \"May-Wings\" and \"Gay-Wings,\" and \"Fringe-Cup\"\nand \"Squirrel-Cup,\" and \"Cool-Wort\" and \"Bead-Ruby\"; there is no\nconceivable reason why these should not be the familiar appellations,\nexcept the irresistible fact that they are not. It is impossible to\ncreate a popular name: one might as well attempt to invent a legend or\ncompose a ballad. _Nascitur, non fit_.\n\nAs the spring comes on, and the densening outlines of the elm give daily\na new design for a Grecian urn,--its hue, first brown with blossoms,\nthen emerald with leaves,--we appreciate the vanishing beauty of the\nbare boughs. In our favored temperate zone, the trees denude themselves\neach year, like the goddesses before Paris, that we may see which\nunadorned loveliness is the fairest. Only the unconquerable delicacy of\nthe beech still keeps its soft vestments about it: far into spring, when\nworn to thin rags and tatters, they cling there still; and when they\nfall, the new appear as by magic. It must be owned, however, that the\nbeech has good reasons for this prudishness, and possesses little beauty\nof figure; while the elms, maples, chestnuts, walnuts, and even oaks,\nhave not exhausted all their store of charms for us, until we have seen\nthem disrobed. Only yonder magnificent pine-tree,--that pitch-pine,\nnobler when seen in perfection than white-pine, or Norwegian, or Norfolk\nIslander,--that pitch-pine, herself a grove, _una nemus_, holds her\nunchanging beauty throughout the year, like her half-brother, the ocean,\nwhose voice she shares; and only marks the flowing of her annual tide of\nlife by the new verdure that yearly submerges all trace of last year's\nebb.\n\nHow many lessons of faith and beauty we should lose, if there were no\nwinter in our year! Sometimes, in following up a watercourse among our\nhills, in the early spring, one comes to a weird and desolate place,\nwhere one huge wild grapevine has wreathed its ragged arms around a\nwhole thicket and brought it to the ground,--swarming to the tops of\nhemlocks, clenching a dozen young maples at once and tugging them\ndownward, stretching its wizard black length across the underbrush, into\nthe earth and out again, wrenching up great stones in its blind, aimless\nstruggle. What a piece of chaos is this! Yet come here again, two months\nhence, and you shall find all this desolation clothed with beauty\nand with fragrance, one vast bower of soft green leaves and graceful\ntendrils, while summer-birds chirp and flutter amid these sunny arches\nall the livelong day. \"Out of the strong cometh forth sweetness.\"\n\nTo the end of April, and often later, one still finds remains of\nsnowbanks in sheltered woods, especially those consisting of evergreen\ntrees; and this snow, like that upon high mountains, has become hardened\nby the repeated thawing and freezing of the surface, till it is more\nimpenetrable than ice. But the snow that actually falls during April is\nusually only what Vermonters call \"sugar-snow,\"--falling in the night\nand just whitening the surface for an hour or two, and taking its name,\nnot so much from its looks as from the fact that it denotes the\nproper weather for \"sugaring,\" namely, cold nights and warm days. Our\nsaccharine associations, however, remain so obstinately tropical, that\nit seems almost impossible for the imagination to locate sugar in New\nEngland trees; though it is known that not the maple only, but the birch\nand the walnut even, afford it in appreciable quantities.\n\nAlong our maritime rivers the people associate April, not with\n\"sugaring,\" but with \"shadding.\" The pretty _Amelanchier Canadensis_ of\nGray--the _Aronia_ of Whittler's song--is called Shad-bush or Shad-blow\nin Essex County, from its connection with this season; and there is a\nbird known as the Shad-spirit, which I take to be identical with the\nflicker or golden-winged woodpecker, whose note is still held to\nindicate the first day when the fish ascend the river. Upon such slender\nwings flits our New England romance!\n\nIn April the creative process described by Thales is repeated, and the\nworld is renewed by water. The submerged creatures first feel the touch\nof spring, and many an equivocal career, beginning in the ponds and\nbrooks, learns later to ignore this obscure beginning, and hops or\nflutters in the dusty daylight. Early in March, before the first male\ncanker-moth appears on the elm-tree, the whirlwig beetles have begun to\nplay round the broken edges of the ice, and the caddis-worms to\ncrawl beneath it; and soon come the water-skater _(Gerris)_ and the\nwater-boatman _(Notonecta)_. Turtles and newts are in busy motion when\nthe spring-birds are only just arriving. Those gelatinous masses in\nyonder wayside-pond are the spawn of water-newts or tritons: in the\nclear transparent jelly are imbedded, at regular intervals, little\nblackish dots; these elongate rapidly, and show symptoms of head and\ntail curled up in a spherical cell; the jelly is gradually absorbed for\ntheir nourishment, until on some fine morning each elongated dot gives\none vigorous wriggle, and claims thenceforward all the privileges\nattendant on this dissolution of the union. The final privilege is often\nthat of being suddenly snapped up by a turtle or a snake: for Nature\nbrings forth her creatures liberally, especially the aquatic ones,\nsacrifices nine-tenths of them as food for their larger cousins, and\nreserves only a handful to propagate their race, on the same profuse\nscale, next season.\n\nIt is surprising, in the midst of our Museums and Scientific Schools,\nhow little we yet know of the common things before our eyes. Our\n_savans_ still confess their inability to discriminate with certainty\nthe egg or tadpole of a frog from that of a toad; and it is strange that\nthese hopping creatures, which seem so unlike, should coincide so nearly\nin their juvenile career, while the tritons and salamanders, which\nborder so closely on each other in their maturer state as sometimes to\nbe hardly distinguishable, yet choose different methods and different\nelements for laying their eggs. The eggs of our salamanders or\nland-lizards are deposited beneath the moss on some damp rock, without\nany gelatinous envelope; they are but few in number, and the anxious\nmamma may sometimes be found coiled in a circle around them, like the\nsymbolic serpent of eternity.\n\nThe small number of birds yet present in early April gives a better\nopportunity for careful study,--more especially if one goes armed with\nthat best of fowling-pieces, a small spy-glass: the best,--since how\nvalueless for purposes of observation is the bleeding, gasping, dying\nbody, compared with the fresh and living creature, as it tilts,\ntrembles, and warbles on the bough before you! Observe that robin in the\noak-tree's top: as he sits and sings, every one of the dozen different\nnotes which he flings down to you is accompanied by a separate flirt and\nflutter of his whole body, and, as Thoreau says of the squirrel, \"each\nmovement seems to imply a spectator,\" and to imply, further, that the\nspectator is looking through a spy-glass. Study that song-sparrow: why\nis it that he always goes so ragged in spring, and the bluebird so\nneat? is it that the song-sparrow is a wild artist, absorbed in the\ncomposition of his lay, and oblivious of ordinary proprieties, while the\nsmooth bluebird and his ash- mate cultivate their delicate warble\nonly as a domestic accomplishment, and are always nicely dressed before\nsitting down to the piano? Then how exciting is the gradual arrival of\nthe birds in their summer-plumage! to watch it is as good as sitting at\nthe window on Easter Sunday to observe the new bonnets. Yonder, in that\nclump of alders by the brook, is the delicious jargoning of the first\nflock of yellow-birds; there are the little gentlemen in black and\nyellow, and the little ladies in olive-brown; \"sweet, sweet, sweet\" is\nthe only word they say, and often they will so lower their ceaseless\nwarble, that, though almost within reach, the little minstrels seem far\naway. There is the very earliest cat-bird, mimicking the bobolink before\nthe bobolink has come: what is the history of his song, then? is it a\nreminiscence of last year? or has the little coquette been practising it\nall winter, in some gay Southern society, where cat-birds and bobolinks\ngrow intimate, just as Southern fashionables from different States\nmay meet and sing duets at Saratoga? There sounds the sweet, low,\nlong-continued trill of the little hair-bird, or chipping-sparrow, a\nsuggestion of insect sounds in sultry summer, and produced, like them,\nby a slight fluttering of the wings against the sides: by-and-by we\nshall sometimes hear that same delicate rhythm burst the silence of the\nJune midnights, and then, ceasing, make stillness more still. Now watch\nthat woodpecker, roving in ceaseless search, travelling over fifty trees\nin an hour, running from top to bottom of some small sycamore, pecking\nat every crevice, pausing to dot a dozen inexplicable holes in a row\nupon an apple-tree, but never once intermitting the low, querulous\nmurmur of housekeeping anxiety: now she stops to hammer with all her\nlittle life at some tough piece of bark, strikes harder and harder\nblows, throws herself back at last, flapping her wings furiously as she\nbrings down her whole strength again upon it; finally it yields, and\ngrub after grub goes down her throat, till she whets her beak after the\nmeal as a wild beast licks its claws, and off on her pressing business\nonce more.\n\nIt is no wonder that there is so little substantial enjoyment of Nature\nin the community, when we feed children on grammars and dictionaries\nonly, and take no pains to train them to see that which is before\ntheir eyes. The mass of the community have \"summered and wintered\" the\nuniverse pretty regularly, one would think, for a good many years; and\nyet nine persons out of ten in the town or city, and two out of three\neven in the country, seriously suppose, for instance, that the buds upon\ntrees are formed in the spring; they have had them before their eyes\nall winter, and never seen them. As large a proportion suppose, in good\nfaith, that a plant grows at the base of the stem, instead of at the\ntop: that is, if they see a young sapling in which there is a crotch\nat five feet from the ground, they expect to see it ten feet from the\nground by-and-by,--confounding the growth of a tree with that of a man\nor animal. But perhaps the best of us could hardly bear the severe test\nunconsciously laid down by a small child of my acquaintance. The boy's\nfather, a college-bred man, had early chosen the better part, and\nemployed his fine faculties in rearing laurels in his own beautiful\nnursery-gardens, instead of in the more arid soil of court-rooms or\nstate-houses. Of course the young human scion knew the flowers by name\nbefore he knew his letters, and used their symbols more readily; and\nafter he got the command of both, he was one day asked by his younger\nbrother what the word _idiot_ meant,--for somebody in the parlor had\nbeen saying that somebody else was an idiot. \"Don't you know?\" quoth\nBen, in his sweet voice: \"an idiot is a person who doesn't know an\narbor-vitae from a pine,--he doesn't know anything.\" When Ben grows up\nto maturity, bearing such terrible tests in his unshrinking hands, who\nof us will be safe?\n\nThe softer aspects of Nature, especially, require time and culture\nbefore man can enjoy them. To rude races her processes bring only\nterror, which is very slowly outgrown. Humboldt has best exhibited the\nscantiness of finer natural perceptions in Greek and Roman literature,\nin spite of the grand oceanic anthology of Homer, and the delicate\nwater-coloring of the Greek Anthology and of Horace. The Oriental and\nthe Norse sacred books are full of fresh and beautiful allusions; but\nthe Greek saw in Nature only a framework for Art, and the Roman only\na camping-ground for men. Even Virgil describes the grotto of Aeneas\nmerely as a \"black grove\" with \"horrid shade,\"--\"_Horrenti atrum\nnemus imminet umbra_.\" Wordsworth points out, that, even in English\nliterature, the \"Windsor Forest\" of Anne, Countess of Winchelsea, was\nthe first poem which represented Nature as a thing to be consciously\nenjoyed; and as she was almost the first English poetess, we might be\ntempted to think that we owe this appreciation, like some other good\nthings, to the participation of woman in literature. But, on the other\nhand, it must be remembered that the voluminous Duchess of Newcastle, in\nher \"Ode on Melancholy,\" describes among the symbols of hopeless gloom\n\"the still moonshine night\" and \"a mill where rushing waters run\nabout,\"--the sweetest natural images. So woman has not so much to claim,\nafter all. In our own country, the early explorers seemed to find only\nhorror in its woods and waterfalls. Josselyn, in 1672, could only\ndescribe the summer splendor of the White Mountain region as \"dauntingly\nterrible, being full of rocky hills, as thick as mole-hills in a meadow,\nand full of infinite thick woods.\" Father Hennepin spoke of Niagara,\nin the narrative still quoted in the guide-books, as a \"frightful\ncataract\"; though perhaps his original French phrase was softer. And\neven John Adams could find no better name than \"horrid chasm\" for the\ngulf at Egg Rock, where he first saw the sea-anemone.\n\nBut we are lingering too long, perhaps, with this sweet April of smiles\nand tears. It needs only to add that all her traditions are beautiful.\nOvid says well, that she was not named from _aperire_, to open, as some\nhave thought, but from _Aphrodite_, goddess of beauty. April holds\nEaster-time, St. George's Day, and the Eve of St. Mark's. She has not,\nlike her sister May in Germany, been transformed to a verb and made a\nsynonyme for joy,--\"_Deine Seele maiet den trueben Herbst_\"--but April\nwas believed in early ages to have been the birth-time of the world.\nAccording to Venerable Bede, the point was first accurately determined\nat a council held at Jerusalem about A.D. 200, when, after much profound\ndiscussion, it was finally decided that the world's birthday occurred on\nSunday, April eighth,--that is, at the vernal equinox and the full moon.\nBut April is certainly the birth-time of the year, at least, if not of\nthe planet. Its festivals are older than Christianity, older than the\nmemory of man. No sad associations cling to it, as to the month of June,\nin which month, says William of Malmesbury, kings are wont to go to\nwar,--\"_Quando solent reges ad arma procedere_,\"--but it holds the Holy\nWeek, and it is the Holy Month. And in April Shakspeare was born, and in\nApril he died.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROFESSOR'S STORY.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nTHE WHITE ASH.\n\n\nWhen Helen returned to Elsie's bedside, it was with a new and still\ndeeper feeling of sympathy, such as the story told by Old Sophy might\nwell awaken. She understood, as never before, the singular fascination\nand as singular repulsion which she had long felt in Elsie's presence.\nIt had not been without a great effort that she had forced herself to\nbecome the almost constant attendant of the sick girl; and now she was\nlearning, but not for the first time, the blessed truth which so many\ngood women have found out for themselves, that the hardest duty bravely\nperformed soon becomes a habit, and tends in due time to transform\nitself into a pleasure.\n\nThe old Doctor was beginning to look graver, in spite of himself. The\nfever, if such it was, went gently forward, wasting the young girl's\npowers of resistance from day to day; yet she showed no disposition\nto take nourishment, and seemed literally to be living on air. It was\nremarkable that with all this her look was almost natural, and her\nfeatures were hardly sharpened so as to suggest that her life was\nburning away. He did not like this, nor various other unobtrusive signs\nof danger which his practised eye detected. A very small matter might\nturn the balance which held life and death poised against each other.\nHe surrounded her with precautions, that Nature might have every\nopportunity of cunningly shifting the weights from the scale of death\nto the scale of life, as she will often do, if not rudely disturbed or\ninterfered with.\n\nLittle tokens of good-will and kind remembrance were constantly coming\nto her from the girls in the school and the good people in the village.\nSome of the mansion-house people obtained rare flowers which they sent\nher, and her table was covered with fruits--which tempted her in vain.\nSeveral of the school-girls wished to make her a basket of their own\nhandiwork, and, filling it with autumnal flowers, to send it as a joint\noffering. Mr. Bernard found out their project accidentally, and, wishing\nto have his share in it, brought home from one of his long walks some\nboughs full of variously tinted leaves, such as were still clinging\nto the stricken trees. With these he brought also some of the already\nfallen leaflets of the white ash, remarkable for their rich olive-purple\ncolor, forming a beautiful contrast with some of the lighter-hued\nleaves. It so happened that this particular tree, the white ash, did not\ngrow upon The Mountain, and the leaflets were more welcome for their\ncomparative rarity. So the girls made their basket, and the floor of it\nthey covered with the rich olive-purple leaflets. Such late flowers as\nthey could lay their hands upon served to fill it, and with many kindly\nmessages they sent it to Miss Elsie Venner at the Dudley mansion-house.\n\nElsie was sitting up in her bed when it came, languid, but tranquil, and\nHelen was by her, as usual, holding her hand, which was strangely cold,\nHelen thought, for one who--was said to have some kind of fever. The\nschool-girls' basket was brought in with its messages of love and hopes\nfor speedy recovery. Old Sophy was delighted to see that it pleased\nElsie, and laid it on the bed before her. Elsie began looking at the\nflowers and taking them from the basket, that she might see the leaves.\nAll at once she appeared to be agitated; she looked at the basket,--then\naround, as if there were some fearful presence about her which she was\nsearching for with her eager glances. She took out the flowers, one\nby one, her breathing growing hurried, her eyes staring, her hands\ntrembling,--till, as she came near the bottom of the basket, she flung\nout all the rest with a hasty movement, looked upon the olive-purple\nleaflets as if paralyzed for a moment, shrunk up, as it were, into\nherself in a curdling terror, dashed the basket from her, and fell back\nsenseless, with a faint cry which chilled the blood of the startled\nlisteners at her bedside.\n\n\"Take it away!--take it away!--quick!\" said Old Sophy, as she hastened\nto her mistress's pillow. \"It's the leaves of the tree that was always\ndeath to her,--take it away! She can't live wi' it in the room!\"\n\nThe poor old woman began chafing Elsie's hands, and Helen to try to\nrouse her with hartshorn, while a third frightened attendant gathered up\nthe flowers and the basket and carried them out of the apartment. She\ncame to herself after a time, but exhausted and then wandering. In her\ndelirium, she talked constantly as if she were in a cave, with such\nexactness of circumstance that Helen could not doubt at all that she had\nsome such retreat among the rocks of The Mountain, probably fitted up in\nher own fantastic way, where she sometimes hid herself from all human\neyes, and of the entrance to which she alone possessed the secret.\n\nAll this passed away, and left her, of course, weaker than before. But\nthis was not the only influence the unexplained paroxysm had left behind\nit. From this time forward there was a change in her whole expression\nand her manner. The shadows ceased flitting over her features, and the\nold woman, who watched her from day to day and from hour to hour as a\nmother watches her child, saw the likeness she bore to her mother coming\nforth more and more, as the cold glitter died out of the diamond eyes,\nand the scowl disappeared from the dark brows and low forehead.\n\nWith all the kindness and indulgence her father had bestowed upon her,\nElsie had never felt that he loved her. The reader knows well enough\nwhat fatal recollections and associations had frozen up the springs of\nnatural affection in his breast. There was nothing in the world he would\nnot do for Elsie. He had sacrificed his whole life to her. His very\nseeming carelessness about restraining her was all calculated; he knew\nthat restraint would produce nothing but utter alienation. Just so\nfar as she allowed him, he shared her studies, her few pleasures, her\nthoughts; but she was essentially solitary and uncommunicative. No\nperson, as was said long ago, could judge him,--because his task was not\nmerely difficult, but simply impracticable to human powers. A nature\nlike Elsie's had necessarily to be studied by itself, and to be followed\nin its laws where it could not be led.\n\nEvery day, at different hours, during the whole of his daughter's\nillness, Dudley Venner had sat by her, doing all he could to soothe and\nplease her: always the same thin film of some emotional non-conductor\nbetween them; always that kind of habitual regard and family-interest,\nmingled with the deepest pity on one side and a sort of respect on the\nother, which never warmed into outward evidences of affection.\n\nIt was after this occasion, when she had been so profoundly agitated\nby a seemingly insignificant cause, that her father and Old Sophy were\nsitting, one at one side of her bed and one at the other. She had fallen\ninto a light slumber. As they were looking at her, the same thought came\ninto both their minds at the same moment. Old Sophy spoke for both, as\nshe said, in a low voice,--\n\n\"It's her mother's look,--it's her mother's own face right over\nagain,--she never look' so before,--the Lord's hand is on her! His will\nbe done!\"\n\nWhen Elsie woke and lifted her languid eyes upon her father's face, she\nsaw in it a tenderness, a depth of affection, such as she remembered\nat rare moments of her childhood, when she had won him to her by some\nunusual gleam of sunshine in her fitful temper.\n\n\"Elsie, dear,\" he said, \"we were thinking how much your expression was\nsometimes like that of your sweet mother. If you could but have seen\nher, so as to remember her!\"\n\nThe tender look and tone, the yearning of the daughter's heart for the\nmother she had never seen, save only with the unfixed, undistinguishing\neyes of earliest infancy, perhaps the under-thought that she might soon\nrejoin her in another state of being,--all came upon her with a sudden\noverflow of feeling which broke through all the barriers between her\nheart and her eyes, and Elsie wept. It seemed to her father as if the\nmalign influence,--evil spirit it might almost be called,--which had\npervaded her being, had at last been driven forth or exorcised, and that\nthese tears were at once the sign and the pledge of her redeemed nature.\nBut now she was to be soothed, and not excited. After her tears she\nslept again, and the look her face wore was peaceful as never before.\n\nOld Sophy met the Doctor at the door and told him all the circumstances\nconnected with the extraordinary attack from which Elsie had suffered.\nIt was the purple leaves, she said. She remembered that Dick once\nbrought home a branch of a tree with some of the same leaves on it, and\nElsie screamed and almost fainted then. She, Sophy, had asked her, after\nshe had got quiet, what it was in the leaves that made her feel so bad.\nElsie couldn't tell her,--didn't like to speak about it,--shuddered\nwhenever Sophy mentioned it.\n\nThis did not sound so strangely to the old Doctor as it does to some\nwho listen to this narrative. He had known some curious examples of\nantipathies, and remembered reading of others still more singular.\nHe had known those who could not bear the presence of a cat, and\nrecollected the story, often told, of a person's hiding one in a chest\nwhen one of these sensitive individuals came into the room, so as not to\ndisturb him; but he presently began to sweat and turn pale, and cried\nout that there must be a cat hid somewhere. He knew people who were\npoisoned by strawberries, by honey, by different meats,--many who could\nnot endure cheese,--some who could not bear the smell of roses. If he\nhad known all the stories in the old books, he would have found that\nsome have swooned and become as dead men at the smell of a rose,--that\na stout soldier has been known to turn and run at the sight or smell of\nrue,--that cassia and even olive-oil have produced deadly faintings in\ncertain individuals,--in short, that almost everything has seemed to be\na poison to somebody.\n\n\"Bring me that basket, Sophy,\" said the old Doctor, \"if you can find\nit.\"\n\nSophy brought it to him,--for he had not yet entered Elsie's apartment.\n\n\"These purple leaves are from the white ash,\" he said. \"You don't know\nthe notion that people commonly have about that tree, Sophy?\"\n\n\"I know they say the Ugly Things never go where the white ash grows,\"\nSophy answered. \"Oh, Doctor dear, what I'm thinkin' of a'n't true, is\nit?\"\n\nThe Doctor smiled sadly, but did not answer. He went directly to Elsie's\nroom. Nobody would have known by his manner that he saw any special\nchange in his patient. He spoke with her as usual, made some slight\nalteration in his prescriptions, and left the room with a kind, cheerful\nlook. He met her father on the stairs.\n\n\"Is it as I thought?\" said Dudley Venner.\n\n\"There is everything to fear,\" the Doctor said, \"and not much, I am\nafraid, to hope. Does not her face recall to you one that you remember,\nas never before?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" her father answered,--\"oh, yes! What is the meaning of this\nchange which has come over her features, and her voice, her temper, her\nwhole being? Tell me, oh, tell me, what is it? Can it be that the curse\nis passing away, and my daughter is to be restored to me,--such as her\nmother would have had her,--such as her mother was?\"\n\n\"Walk out with me into the garden,\" the Doctor said, \"and I will tell\nyou all I know and all I think about this great mystery of Elsie's\nlife.\"\n\nThey walked out together, and the Doctor began:--\n\n\"She has lived a twofold being, as it were,--the consequence of the\nblight which fell upon her in the dim period before consciousness. You\ncan see what she might have been but for this. You know that for these\neighteen years her whole existence has taken its character from that\ninfluence which we need not name. But you will remember that few of the\nlower forms of life last as human beings do; and thus it might have been\nhoped and trusted with some show of reason, as I have always suspected\nyou hoped and trusted, perhaps more confidently than myself, that the\nlower nature which had become ingrafted on the higher would die out and\nleave the real woman's life she inherited to outlive this accidental\nprinciple which had so poisoned her childhood and youth. I believe it\nis so dying out; but I am afraid,--yes, I must say it, I fear it has\ninvolved the centres of life in its own decay. There is hardly any pulse\nat Elsie's wrist; no stimulants seem to rouse her; and it looks as if\nlife were slowly retreating inwards, so that by-and-by she will sleep as\nthose who lie down in the cold and never wake.\"\n\nStrange as it may seem, her father heard all this not without deep\nsorrow, and such marks of it as his thoughtful and tranquil nature, long\nschooled by suffering, claimed or permitted, but with a resignation\nitself the measure of his past trials. Dear as his daughter might become\nto him, all he dared to ask of Heaven was that she might be restored to\nthat truer self which lay beneath her false and adventitious being. If\nhe could once see that the icy lustre in her eyes had become a soft,\ncalm light,--that her soul was at peace with all about her and with Him\nabove,--this crumb from the children's table was enough for him, as it\nwas for the Syro-Phoenician woman who asked that the dark spirit might\ngo out from her daughter.\n\nThere was little change the next day, until all at once she said in a\nclear voice that she should like to see her master at the school,\nMr. Langdon. He came accordingly, and took the place of Helen at her\nbedside. It seemed as if Elsie had forgotten the last scene with him.\nMight it be that pride had come in, and she had sent for him only to\nshow how superior she had grown to the weakness which had betrayed her\ninto that extraordinary request, so contrary to the instincts and usages\nof her sex? Or was it that the singular change which had come over her\nhad involved her passionate fancy for him and swept it away with her\nother habits of thought and feeling? Or perhaps, rather, that she felt\nthat all earthly interests were becoming of little account to her, and\nwished to place herself right with one to whom she had displayed a\nwayward movement of her unbalanced imagination? She welcomed Mr.\nBernard as quietly as she had received Helen Darley. He  at the\nrecollection of that last scene, when he came into her presence; but\nshe smiled with perfect tranquillity. She did not speak to him of any\napprehension; but he saw that she looked upon herself as doomed. So\nfriendly, yet so calm did she seem through all their interview, that Mr.\nBernard could only look back upon her manifestation of feeling towards\nhim on their walk from the school as a vagary of a mind laboring\nunder some unnatural excitement, and wholly at variance with the true\ncharacter of Elsie Venner, as he saw her before him in her subdued,\nyet singular beauty. He looked with almost scientific closeness of\nobservation into the diamond eyes; but that peculiar light which he knew\nso well was not there. She was the same in one sense as on that first\nday when he had seen her coiling and uncoiling her golden chain, yet how\ndifferent in every aspect which revealed her state of mind and emotion!\nSomething of tenderness there was, perhaps, in her tone towards him;\nshe would not have sent for him, had she not felt more than an ordinary\ninterest in him. But through the whole of his visit she never lost her\ngracious self-possession. The Dudley race might well be proud of the\nlast of its daughters, as she lay dying, but unconquered by the feeling\nof the present or the fear of the future.\n\nAs for Mr. Bernard, he found it very hard to look upon her and listen to\nher unmoved. There was nothing that reminded him of the stormy-browed,\nalmost savage girl he remembered in her fierce loveliness,--nothing of\nall her singularities of air and of costume. Nothing? Yes, one thing.\nWeak and suffering as she was, she had never parted with one particular\nornament, such as a sick person would naturally, as it might be\nsupposed, get rid of at once. The golden cord which she wore round her\nneck at the great party was still there. A bracelet was lying by her\npillow; she had unclasped it from her wrist.\n\nBefore Mr. Bernard left her, she said,--\"I shall never see you again.\nSome time or other, perhaps, you will mention my name to one whom you\nlove. Give her this from your scholar and friend Elsie.\"\n\nHe took the bracelet, raised her hand to his lips, then turned his face\naway; in that moment he was the weaker of the two.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" she said; \"thank you for coming.\"\n\nHis voice died away in his throat, as he tried to answer her. She\nfollowed him with her eyes as he passed from her sight through the door,\nand when it closed after him sobbed tremulously once or twice,--but\nstilled herself, and met Helen, as she entered, with a composed\ncountenance.\n\n\"I have had a very pleasant visit from Mr. Langdon,\" Elsie said. \"Sit\nby me, Helen, awhile without speaking; I should like to sleep, if I\ncan,--and to dream.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nTHE GOLDEN CORD IS LOOSED.\n\n\nThe Reverend Chauncy Fairweather, hearing that his parishioner's\ndaughter, Elsie, was very ill, could do nothing less than come to the\nmansion-house and tender such consolations as he was master of. It was\nrather remarkable that the old Doctor did not exactly approve of his\nvisit. He thought that company of every sort might be injurious in her\nweak state. He was of opinion that Mr. Fairweather, though greatly\ninterested in religious matters, was not the most sympathetic person\nthat could be found; in fact, the old Doctor thought he was too much\ntaken up with his own interests for eternity to give himself quite so\nheartily to the need of other people as some persons got up on a rather\nmore generous scale (our good neighbor Dr. Honeywood, for instance)\ncould do. However, all these things had better be arranged to suit her\nwants; if she would like to talk with a clergyman, she had a great\ndeal better see one as often as she liked, and run the risk of the\nexcitement, than have a hidden wish for such a visit and perhaps find\nherself too weak to see him by-and-by.\n\nThe old Doctor knew by sad experience that dreadful mistake against\nwhich all medical practitioners should be warned. His experience may\nwell be a guide for others. Do not overlook the desire for spiritual\nadvice and consolation which patients sometimes feel, and, with the\nfrightful _mauvaise honte_ peculiar to Protestantism, alone among all\nhuman beliefs, are ashamed to tell. As a part of medical treatment, it\nis the physician's business to detect the hidden longing for the food of\nthe soul, as much as for any form of bodily nourishment. Especially in\nthe higher walks of society, where this unutterably miserable false\nshame of Protestantism acts in proportion to the general acuteness of\nthe cultivated sensibilities, let no unwillingness to suggest the sick\nperson's real need suffer him to languish between his want and his\nmorbid sensitiveness. What an infinite advantage the Mussulmans and the\nCatholics have over many of our more exclusively spiritual sects in the\nway they keep their religion always by them and never blush for it! And\nbesides this spiritual longing, we should never forget that\n\n  \"On some fond breast the parting soul relies,\"\n\nand the minister of religion, in addition to the sympathetic nature\nwhich we have a right to demand in him, has trained himself to the art\nof entering into the feelings of others.\n\nThe reader must pardon this digression, which introduces the visit of\nthe Reverend Chauncy Fairweather to Elsie Venner. It was mentioned\nto her that he would like to call and see how she was, and she\nconsented,--not with much apparent interest, for she had reasons of her\nown for not feeling any very deep conviction of his sympathy for persons\nin sorrow. But he came, and worked the conversation round to religion,\nand confused her with his hybrid notions, half made up of what he had\nbeen believing and teaching all his life, and half of the new doctrines\nwhich he had veneered upon the surface of his old belief. He got so\nfar as to make a prayer with her,--a cool, well-guarded prayer, which\ncompromised his faith as little as possible, and which, if devotion were\na game played against Providence, might have been considered a cautious\nand sagacious move.\n\nWhen he had gone, Elsie called Old Sophy to her.\n\n\"Sophy,\" she said, \"don't let them send that cold-hearted man to me any\nmore. If your old minister comes to see you, I should like to hear him\ntalk. He looks as if he cared for everybody, and would care for me. And,\nSophy, if I should die one of these days, I should like to have that old\nminister come and say whatever is to be said over me. It would comfort\nDudley more, I know, than to have that hard man here, when you're in\ntrouble: for some of you will be sorry when I'm gone,--won't you,\nSophy?\"\n\nThe poor old black woman could not stand this question. The cold\nminister had frozen Elsie until she felt as if nobody cared for her or\nwould regret her,--and her question had betrayed this momentary feeling.\n\n\"Don' talk so! don' talk so, darlin'!\" she cried, passionately. \"When\nyou go, Ol' Sophy'll go; 'n' where you go, Ol' Sophy'll go: 'n' we'll\nboth go t' th' place where th' Lord takes care of all his children,\nwhether their faces are white or black. Oh, darlin', darlin'! if th'\nLord should let me die fus', you shall fin' all ready for you when you\ncome after me. On'y don' go 'n' leave poor Ol' Sophy all 'lone in th'\nworld!\"\n\nHelen came in at this moment and quieted the old woman with a look. Such\nscenes were just what were most dangerous, in the state in which Elsie\nwas lying: but that is one of the ways in which an affectionate friend\nsometimes unconsciously wears out the life which a hired nurse, thinking\nof nothing but her regular duties and her wages, would have spared from\nall emotional fatigue.\n\nThe change which had come over Elsie's disposition was itself the cause\nof new excitements. How was it possible that her father could keep away\nfrom her, now that she was coming back to the nature and the very look\nof her mother, the bride of his youth? How was it possible to refuse\nher, when she said to Old Sophy that she should like to have her\nminister come in and sit by her, even though his presence might perhaps\nprove a new source of excitement?\n\nBut the Reverend Doctor did come and sit by her, and spoke such soothing\nwords to her, words of such peace and consolation, that from that hour\nshe was tranquil as never before. All true hearts are alike in the\nhour of need; the Catholic has a reserved fund of faith for his\nfellow-creature's trying moment, and the Calvinist reread those springs\nof human brotherhood and chanty in his soul which are only covered over\nby the iron tables inscribed with the harder dogmas of his creed. It was\nenough that the Reverend Doctor knew all Elsie's history. He could not\njudge her by any formula, like those which have been moulded by past\nages out of their ignorance. He did not talk with her as if she were an\noutside sinner, worse than himself. He found a bruised and languishing\nsoul, and bound up its wounds. A blessed office,--one which is confined\nto no sect or creed, but which good men in all times, under various\nnames and with varying ministries, to suit the need of each age, of each\nrace, of each individual soul, have come forward to discharge for their\nsuffering fellow-creatures.\n\nAfter this there was little change in Elsie, except that her heart beat\nmore feebly every day,--so that the old Doctor himself, with all his\nexperience, could see nothing to account for the gradual failing of the\npowers of life, and yet could find no remedy which seemed to arrest its\nprogress in the smallest degree.\n\n\"Be very careful,\" he said, \"that she is not allowed to make any\nmuscular exertion. Any such effort, when a person is so enfeebled, may\nstop the heart in a moment; and if it stops, it will never move again.\"\n\nHelen enforced this rule with the greatest care. Elsie was hardly\nallowed to move her hand or to speak above a whisper. It seemed to be\nmainly the question now, whether this trembling flame of life would be\nblown out by some light breath of air, or whether it could be so nursed\nand sheltered by the hollow of these watchful hands that it would have a\nchance to kindle to its natural brightness.\n\n--Her father came in to sit with her in the evening. He had never talked\nso freely with her as during the hour he had passed at her bedside,\ntelling her little circumstances of her mother's life, living over with\nher all that was pleasant in the past, and trying to encourage her with\nsome cheerful gleams of hope for the future. A faint smile played over\nher face, but she did not answer his encouraging suggestions. The hour\ncame for him to leave her with those who watched by her.\n\n\"Good-night, my dear child,\" he said, and, stooping down, kissed her\ncheek.\n\nElsie rose by a sudden effort, threw her arms round his neck, kissed\nhim, and said, \"Good-night, my dear father!\"\n\nThe suddenness of her movement had taken him by surprise, or he would\nhave checked so dangerous an effort. It was too late now. Her arms\nslid away from him like lifeless weights,--her head fell back upon her\npillow,--a long sigh breathed through her lips.\n\n\"She is faint,\" said Helen, doubtfully; \"bring me the hartshorn, Sophy.\"\n\nThe old woman had started from her place, and was now leaning over her,\nlooking in her face, and listening for the sound of her breathing.\n\n\"She's dead! Elsie's dead! My darlin' 's dead!\" she cried aloud, filling\nthe room with her utterance of anguish.\n\nDudley Venner drew her away and silenced her with a voice of authority,\nwhile Helen and an assistant plied their restoratives. It was all in\nvain.\n\nThe solemn tidings passed from the chamber of death through the family.\nThe daughter, the hope of that old and honored house, was dead in the\nfreshness of her youth, and the home of its solitary representative was\nhereafter doubly desolate.\n\nA messenger rode hastily out of the avenue. A little after this the\npeople of the village and the outlying farm-houses were startled by the\nsound of a bell.\n\nOne,--two,--three,--four,--\n\nThey stopped in every house, as far as the wavering vibrations reached,\nand listened--\n\n--five,--six,--seven,--\n\nIt was not the little child which had been lying so long at the point of\ndeath; that could not be more than three or four years old--\n\n--eight,--nine,--ten,--and so on to\nfifteen,--sixteen,--seventeen,--eighteen----\n\nThe pulsations seemed to keep on,--but it was the brain, and not the\nbell, that was throbbing now.\n\n\"Elsie's dead!\" was the exclamation at a hundred firesides.\n\n\"Eighteen year old,\" said old Widow Peake, rising from her chair.\n\"Eighteen year ago I laid two gold eagles on her mother's eyes,--he\nwouldn't have anything but gold touch her eyelids,--and now Elsie's to\nbe straightened,--the Lord have mercy on her poor sinful soul!\"\n\nDudley Venner prayed that night that he might be forgiven, if he had\nfailed in any act of duty or kindness to this unfortunate child of his,\nnow freed from all the woes born with her and so long poisoning her\nsoul. He thanked God for the brief interval of peace which had been\ngranted her, for the sweet communion they had enjoyed in these last\ndays, and for the hope of meeting her with that other lost friend in a\nbetter world.\n\nHelen mingled a few broken thanks and petitions with her tears: thanks\nthat she had been permitted to share the last days and hours of this\npoor sister in sorrow; petitions that the grief of bereavement might be\nlightened to the lonely parent and the faithful old servant.\n\nOld Sophy said almost nothing, but sat day and night by her dead\ndarling. But sometimes her anguish would find an outlet in strange\nsounds, something between a cry and a musical note,--such as none had\never heard her utter before. These were old remembrances surging up from\nher childish days,--coming through her mother from the cannibal chief,\nher grandfather,--death-wails, such as they sing in the mountains of\nWestern Africa, when they see the fires on distant hill-sides and know\nthat their own wives and children are undergoing the fate of captives.\n\nThe time came when Elsie was to be laid by her mother in the small\nsquare marked by the white stone.\n\nIt was not unwillingly that the Reverend Chauncy Fairweather had\nrelinquished the duty of conducting the service to the Reverend Doctor\nHoneywood, in accordance with Elsie's request. He could not, by any\nreasoning, reconcile his present way of thinking with a hope for the\nfuture of his unfortunate parishioner. Any good old Roman Catholic\npriest, born and bred to his faith and his business, would have found a\nloop-hole into some kind of heaven for her, by virtue of his doctrine of\n\"invincible ignorance,\" or other special proviso; but a recent convert\ncannot enter into the working conditions of his new creed. Beliefs must\nbe lived in for a good while, before they accommodate themselves to the\nsoul's wants, and wear loose enough to be comfortable.\n\nThe Reverend Doctor had no such scruples. Like thousands of those who\nare classed nominally with the despairing believers, he had never prayed\nover a departed brother or sister without feeling and expressing a\nguarded hope that there was mercy in store for the poor sinner, whom\nparents, wives, children, brothers and sisters could not bear to give up\nto utter ruin without a word,--and would not, as he knew full well,\nin virtue of that human love and sympathy which nothing can ever\nextinguish. And in this poor Elsie's history he could read nothing\nwhich the tears of the recording angel might not wash away. As the good\nphysician of the place knew the diseases that assailed the bodies of men\nand women, so he had learned the mysteries of the sickness of the soul.\n\nSo many wished to look upon Elsie's face once more, that her father\nwould not deny them; nay, he was pleased that those who remembered her\nliving should see her in the still beauty of death. Helen and those with\nher arrayed her for this farewell-view. All was ready for the sad or\ncurious eyes which were to look upon her. There was no painful change to\nbe concealed by any artifice. Even her round neck was left uncovered,\nthat she might be more like one who slept. Only the golden cord was left\nin its place: some searching eye might detect a trace of that birth-mark\nwhich it was whispered she had always worn a necklace to conceal.\n\nAt the last moment, when all the preparations were completed, Old Sophy\nstooped over her, and, with trembling hand, loosed the golden cord. She\nlooked intently, for some little space: there was no shade nor blemish\nwhere the ring of gold had encircled her throat. She took it gently away\nand laid it in the casket which held her ornaments.\n\n\"The Lord be praised!\" the old woman cried, aloud. \"He has taken away\nthe mark that was on her; she's fit to meet his holy angels now!\"\n\nSo Elsie lay for hours in the great room, in a kind of state, with\nflowers all about her,--her black hair braided, as in life,--her\nbrows smooth, as if they had never known the scowl of passion,--and\non her lips the faint smile with which she had uttered her last\n\"Good-night.\" The young girls from the school looked at her, one after\nanother, and passed on, sobbing, carrying in their hearts the picture\nthat would be with them all their days. The great people of the place\nwere all there with their silent sympathy. The lesser kind of gentry,\nand many of the plainer folk of the village, half-pleased to find\nthemselves passing beneath the stately portico of the ancient\nmansion-house, crowded in, until the ample rooms were overflowing. All\nthe friends whose acquaintance we have made were there, and many from\nremoter villages and towns.\n\nThere was a deep silence at last. The hour had come for the parting\nwords to be spoken over the dead. The good old minister's voice rose out\nof the stillness, subdued and tremulous at first, but growing firmer and\nclearer as he went on, until it reached the ears of the visitors who\nwere in the far, desolate chambers, looking at the pictured hangings and\nthe old dusty portraits. He did not tell her story in his prayer. He\nonly spoke of our dear departed sister as one of many whom Providence in\nits wisdom has seen fit to bring under bondage from their cradles. It\nwas not for us to judge them by any standard of our own. He who made the\nheart alone knew the infirmities it inherited or acquired. For all that\nour dear sister had presented that was interesting and attractive in her\ncharacter we were to be grateful; for whatever was dark or inexplicable\nwe must trust that the deep shadow which rested on the twilight dawn of\nher being might render a reason before the bar of Omniscience; for the\ngrace which had lightened her last days we should pour out our hearts in\nthankful acknowledgment. From the life and the death of this our dear\nsister we should learn a lesson of patience with our fellow-creatures in\ntheir inborn peculiarities, of charity in judging what seem to us wilful\nfaults of character, of hope and trust, that, by sickness or affliction,\nor such inevitable discipline as life must always bring with it, if by\nno gentler means, the soul which had been left by Nature to wander into\nthe path of error and of suffering might be reclaimed and restored to\nits true aim, and so led on by divine grace to its eternal welfare. He\nclosed his prayer by commending each member of the afflicted family to\nthe divine blessing.\n\nThen all at once rose the clear sound of the girls' voices, in the\nsweet, sad melody of a funeral hymn,--one of those which Elsie had\nmarked, as if prophetically, among her own favorites.\n\nAnd so they laid her in the earth, and showered down flowers upon her,\nand filled her grave, and covered it with green sods. By the side of it\nwas another oblong ridge, with a white stone standing at its head. Mr.\nBernard looked upon it, as he came close to the place where Elsie was\nlaid, and read the inscription,--\n\n  CATALINA\n\n  WIFE TO DUDLEY VENNER\n\n  DIED\n\n  OCTOBER 13TH 1840\n\n  AGED XX YEARS.\n\nA gentle rain fell on the turf after it was laid. This was the beginning\nof a long and dreary autumnal storm, a deferred \"equinoctial,\" as many\nconsidered it. The mountain-streams were all swollen and turbulent, and\nthe steep declivities were furrowed in every direction by new channels.\nIt made the house seem doubly desolate to hear the wind howling and the\nrain beating upon the roofs. The poor relation who was staying at the\nhouse would insist on Helen's remaining a few days: Old Sophy was in\nsuch a condition, that it kept her in continual anxiety and there were\nmany cares which Helen could take off from her.\n\nThe old black woman's life was buried in her darling's grave. She did\nnothing but moan and lament for her. At night she was restless, and\nwould get up and wander to Elsie's apartment and look for her and call\nher by name. At other times she would lie awake and listen to the wind\nand the rain,--sometimes with such a wild look upon her face, and with\nsuch sudden starts and exclamations, that it seemed, as if she heard\nspirit-voices and were answering the whispers of unseen visitants. With\nall this were mingled hints of her old superstition,--forebodings of\nsomething fearful about to happen,--perhaps the great final catastrophe\nof all things, according to the prediction current in the kitchens of\nRockland.\n\n\"Hark!\" Old Sophy would say,--\"don' you hear th' crackin' 'n' th'\nsnappin' up in 'Th' Mountain, 'n' th' rollin' o' th' big stones? The' 's\nsomethin' stirrin' among th' rocks; I hear th' soun' of it in th' night,\nwhen th' wind has stopped blowin'. Oh, stay by me a little while, Miss\nDarlin'! stay by me! for it's th' Las' Day, may be, that's close on us,\n'n' I feel as if I couldn' meet th' Lord all alone!\"\n\nIt was curious,--but Helen did certainly recognize sounds, during the\nlull of the storm, which were not of falling rain or running streams,\n--short snapping sounds, as of tense cords breaking,--long uneven\nsounds, as of masses rolling down steep declivities. But the morning\ncame as usual; and as the others said nothing of these singular noises,\nHelen did not think it necessary to speak of them. All day long she\nand the humble relative of Elsie's mother, who had appeared, as poor\nrelations are wont to in the great crises of life, were busy in\narranging the disordered house, and looking over the various objects\nwhich Elsie's singular tastes had brought together, to dispose of them\nas her father might direct. They all met together at the usual hour for\ntea. One of the servants came in, looking very blank, and said to the\npoor relation,--\n\n\"The well is gone dry; we have nothing but rain-water.\"\n\nDudley Venner's countenance changed; he sprang to his feet and went to\nassure himself of the fact, and, if he could, of the reason of it. For\na well to dry up during such a rain-storm was extraordinary,--it was\nominous.\n\nHe came back, looking very anxious.\n\n\"Did any of you notice any remarkable sounds last night,\" he said,--\n\"or this morning? Hark! do you hear anything now?\"\n\nThey listened in perfect silence for a few moments. Then there came a\nshort cracking sound, and two or three snaps, as of parting cords.\n\nDudley Venner called all his household together.\n\n\"We are in danger here, as I think, to-night,\" he said,--\"not very\ngreat danger, perhaps, but it is a risk I do not wish you to run. These\nheavy rains have loosed some of the rocks above, and they may come down\nand endanger the house. Harness the horses, Elbridge, and take all the\nfamily away. Miss Darley will go to the Institute; the others will pass\nthe night at the Mountain House. I shall stay here, myself: it is not\nat all likely that anything will come of these warnings; but if there\nshould, I choose to be here and take my chance.\"\n\nIt needs little, generally, to frighten servants, and they were all\nready enough to go. The poor relation was one of the timid sort, and was\nterribly uneasy to be got out of the house. This left no alternative, of\ncourse, for Helen, but to go also. They all urged upon Dudley Venner to\ngo with them: if there was danger, why should he remain to risk it, when\nhe sent away the others?\n\nOld Sophy said nothing until the time came for her to go with the second\nof Elbridge's carriage-loads.\n\n\"Come, Sophy,\" said Dudley Venner, \"get your things and go. They will\ntake good care of you at the Mountain House; and when we have made sure\nthat there is no real danger, you shall come back at once.\"\n\n\"No, Massa!\" Sophy answered. \"I've seen Elsie into th' ground, 'n' I\na'n't goin' away to come back 'n' fin' Massa Venner buried under th'\nrocks. My darlin' 's gone; 'n' now, if Massa goes, 'n' th' ol' place\ngoes, it's time for Ol' Sophy to go, too. No, Massa Venner, we'll both\nstay in th' ol' mansion 'n' wait for th' Lord!\"\n\nNothing could change the old woman's determination; and her master, who\nonly feared, but did not really expect the long-deferred catastrophe,\nwas obliged to consent to her staying. The sudden drying of the well at\nsuch a time was the most alarming sign; for he remembered that the same\nthing had been observed just before great mountain-slides. This long\nrain, too, was just the kind of cause which was likely to loosen the\nstrata of rock piled up in the ledges; if the dreaded event should ever\ncome to pass, it would be at such a time.\n\nHe paced his chamber uneasily until long past midnight. If the morning\ncame without accident, he meant to have a careful examination made of\nall the rents and fissures above, of their direction and extent, and\nespecially whether, in case of a mountain-slide, the huge masses would\nbe like to reach so far to the east and so low down the declivity as the\nmansion.\n\nAt two o'clock in the morning he was dozing in his chair. Old Sophy had\nlain down on her bed, and was muttering in troubled dreams.\n\nAll at once a loud crash seemed to rend the very heavens above them: a\ncrack as of the thunder that follows close upon the bolt,--a rending and\ncrushing as of a forest snapped through all its stems, torn, twisted,\nsplintered, dragged with all its ragged boughs into one chaotic ruin.\nThe ground trembled under them as in an earthquake; the old mansion\nshuddered so that all its windows chattered in their casements; the\ngreat chimney shook off its heavy cap-stones, which came down on the\nroof with resounding concussions; and the echoes of The Mountain roared\nand bellowed in long reduplication, as if its whole foundations were\nrent, and this were the terrible voice of its dissolution.\n\nDudley Venner rose from his chair, folded his arms, and awaited his\nfate. There was no knowing where to look for safety; and he remembered\ntoo well the story of the family that was lost by rushing out of the\nhouse, and so hurrying into the very jaws of death.\n\nHe had stood thus but for a moment, when he heard the voice of Old Sophy\nin a wild cry of terror:--\n\n\"It's the Las' Day! It's the Las' Day! The Lord is comin' to take us\nall!\"\n\n\"Sophy!\" he called; but she did not hear him or heed him, and rushed out\nof the house.\n\nThe worst danger was over. If they were to be destroyed, it would\nnecessarily be in a few seconds from the first thrill of the terrible\nconvulsion. He waited in awful suspense, but calm. Not more than one or\ntwo minutes could have passed before the frightful tumult and all its\nsounding echoes had ceased. He called Old Sophy; but she did not answer.\nHe went to the western window and looked forth into the darkness. He\ncould not distinguish the outlines of the landscape, but the white stone\nwas clearly visible, and by its side the new-made mound. Nay, what was\nthat which obscured its outline, in shape like a human figure? He flung\nopen the window and sprang through. It was all that there was left of\npoor Old Sophy, stretched out, lifeless, upon her darling's grave.\n\nHe had scarcely composed her limbs and drawn the sheet over her, when\nthe neighbors began to arrive from all directions. Each was expecting to\nhear of houses overwhelmed and families destroyed; but each came with\nthe story that his own household was safe. It was not until the morning\ndawned that the true nature and extent of the sudden movement was\nascertained. A great seam had opened above the long cliff, and the\nterrible Rattlesnake Ledge, with all its envenomed reptiles, its\ndark fissures and black caverns, was buried forever beneath a mighty\nincumbent mass of ruin.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nMR. SILAS PECKHAM RENDERS HIS ACCOUNT.\n\n\nThe morning rose clear and bright. The long storm was over, and the calm\nautumnal sunshine was now to return, with all its infinite repose and\nsweetness. With the earliest dawn exploring parties were out in every\ndirection along the southern <DW72> of The Mountain, tracing the ravages\nof the great slide and the track it had followed. It proved to be not so\nmuch a slide as the breaking off and falling of a vast line of cliff,\nincluding the dreaded Ledge. It had folded over like the leaves of a\nhalf-opened book when they close, crushing the trees below, piling its\nruins in a glacis at the foot of what had been the overhanging wall of\nthe cliff, and filling up that deep cavity above the mansion-house which\nbore the ill-omened name of Dead Man's Hollow. This it was which had\nsaved the Dudley mansion. The falling masses, or huge fragments\nbreaking off from them, would have swept the house and all around it to\ndestruction but for this deep shelving dell, into which the stream of\nruin was happily directed. It was, indeed, one of Nature's conservative\nrevolutions; for the fallen masses made a kind of shelf, which\ninterposed a level break between the inclined planes above and below it,\nso that the nightmare-fancies of the dwellers in the Dudley mansion, and\nin many other residences under the shadow of The Mountain, need not keep\nthem lying awake hereafter to listen for the snapping of roots and the\nsplitting of the rocks above them.\n\nTwenty-four hours after the falling of the cliff, it seemed as if it had\nhappened ages ago. The new fact had fitted itself in with all the old\npredictions, forebodings, fears, and acquired the solidarity belonging\nto all events which have slipped out of the fingers of Time and\ndissolved in the antecedent eternity.\n\nOld Sophy was lying dead in the Dudley mansion. If there were tears shed\nfor her, they could not be bitter ones; for she had lived out her full\nmeasure of days, and gone--who could help fondly believing it?--to\nrejoin her beloved mistress. They made a place for her at the foot of\nthe two mounds. It was thus she would have chosen to sleep, and not to\nhave wronged her humble devotion in life by asking to lie at the side of\nthose whom she had served so long and faithfully. There were very few\npresent at the simple ceremony. Helen Darley was one of these few. The\nold black woman had been her companion in all the kind offices of which\nshe had been the ministering angel to Elsie.\n\nAfter it was all over, Helen was leaving with the rest, when Dudley\nVenner begged her to stay a little, and he would send her back: it was\na long walk; besides, he wished to say some things to her, which he had\nnot had the opportunity of speaking. Of course Helen could not refuse\nhim; there must be many thoughts coming into his mind which he would\nwish to share with her who had known his daughter so long and been with\nher in her last days.\n\nShe returned into the great parlor with the wrought cornices and the\nmedallion-portraits on the ceiling.\n\n\"I am now alone in the world,\" Dudley Venner said.\n\nHelen must have known that before he spoke. But the tone in which he\nsaid it had so much meaning, that she could not find a word to answer\nhim with. They sat in silence, which the old tall clock counted out in\nlong seconds; but it was a silence which meant more than any words they\nhad ever spoken.\n\n\"Alone in the world! Helen, the freshness of my life is gone, and there\nis little left of the few graces which in my younger days might have\nfitted me to win the love of women. Listen to me,--kindly, if you can;\nforgive me, at least. Half my life has been passed in constant fear and\nanguish, without any near friend to share my trials. My task is done\nnow; my fears have ceased to prey upon me; the sharpness of early\nsorrows has yielded something of its edge to time. You have bound me to\nyou by gratitude in the tender care you have taken of my poor child.\nMore than this. I must tell you all now, out of the depth of this\ntrouble through which I am passing. I have loved you from the moment\nwe first met; and if my life has anything left worth accepting, it is\nyours. Will you take the offered gift?\"\n\nHelen looked in his face, surprised, bewildered.\n\n\"This is not for me,--not for me,\" she said. \"I am but a poor faded\nflower, not worth the gathering of such a one as you. No, no,--I have\nbeen bred to humble toil all my days, and I could not be to you what\nyou ought to ask. I am accustomed to a kind of loneliness and\nself-dependence. I have seen nothing, almost, of the world, such as you\nwere born to move in. Leave me to my obscure place and duties; I shall\nat least have peace;--and you--you will surely find in due time some one\nbetter fitted by Nature and training to make you happy.\"\n\n\"No, Miss Darley!\" Dudley Venner said, almost sternly. \"You must not\nspeak to a man who has lived through my experiences of looking about for\na new choice after his heart has once chosen. Say that you can never\nlove me; say that I have lived too long to share your young life; say\nthat sorrow has left nothing in me for Love to find his pleasure in; but\ndo not mock me with the hope of a new affection for some unknown object.\nThe first look of yours brought me to your side. The first tone of your\nvoice sunk into my heart. From this moment my life must wither out or\nbloom anew. My home is desolate. Come under my roof and make it bright\nonce more,--share my life with me,--or I shall give the halls of the old\nmansion to the bats and the owls, and wander forth alone without a hope\nor a friend!\"\n\nTo find herself with a man's future at the disposal of a single word of\nhers!--a man like this, too, with a fascination for her against which\nshe had tried to shut her heart, feeling that he lived in another sphere\nthan hers, working as she was for her bread, a poor operative in the\nfactory of a hard master and jealous overseer, the salaried drudge of\nMr. Silas Peckham! Why, she had thought he was grateful to her as a\nfriend of his daughter; she had even pleased herself with the feeling\nthat he liked her, in her humble place, as a woman of some cultivation\nand many sympathetic! points of relation with himself; but that he\n_loved_ her,--that this deep, fine nature, in a man so far removed from\nher in outward circumstance, should have found its counterpart in one\nwhom life had treated so coldly as herself,--that Dudley Venner should\nstake his happiness on a breath of hers,--poor Helen Darley's,--it was\nall a surprise, a confusion, a kind of fear not wholly fearful. Ah, me!\nwomen know what it is,--that mist over the eyes, that trembling in the\nlimbs, that faltering of the voice, that sweet, shame-faced, unspoken\nconfession of weakness which does not wish to be strong, that sudden\noverflow in the soul where thoughts loose their hold on each other and\nswim single and helpless in the flood of emotion,--women know what it\nis!\n\nNo doubt she was a little frightened and a good deal bewildered, and\nthat her sympathies were warmly excited for a friend to whom she had\nbeen brought so near, and whose loneliness she saw and pitied. She lost\nthat calm self-possession she had hoped to maintain.\n\n\"If I thought that I could make you happy,--if I should speak from my\nheart, and not my reason,--I am but a weak woman,--yet if I can be to\nyou--What can I say?\"\n\nWhat more could this poor, dear Helen say?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Elbridge, harness the horses and take Miss Darley back to the school.\"\n\nWhat conversation had taken place since Helen's rhetorical failure is\nnot recorded in the minutes from which this narrative is constructed.\nBut when the man who had been summoned had gone to get the carriage\nready, Helen resumed something she had been speaking of.\n\n\"Not for the world! Everything must go on just as it has gone on, for\nthe present. There are proprieties to be consulted. I cannot be\nhard with you, that out of your very affliction has sprung\nthis--this--well--you must name it for me,--but the world will never\nlisten to explanations. I am to be Helen Darley, lady assistant in Mr.\nSilas Peckham's school, as long as I see fit to hold my office. And I\nmean to attend to my scholars just as before; so that I shall have very\nlittle time for visiting or seeing company. I believe, though, you are\none of the Trustees and a Member of the Examining Committee; so that, if\nyou should happen to visit the school, I shall try to be civil to you.\"\n\nEvery lady sees, of course, that Helen was quite right; but perhaps here\nand there one will think that Dudley Venner was all wrong,--that he was\ntoo hasty,--that he should have been too full of his recent grief for\nsuch a confession as he has just made, and the passion from which it\nsprung. Perhaps they do not understand the sudden recoil of a strong\nnature long compressed. Perhaps they have not studied the mystery of\n_allotropism_ in the emotions of the human heart. Go to the nearest\nchemist and ask him to show you some of the dark-red phosphorus which\nwill not burn, without fierce heating, but at 500 deg., Fahrenheit, changes\nback again to the inflammable substance we know so well. Grief seems\nmore like ashes than like fire; but as grief has been love once, so it\nmay become love again. This is emotional allotropism.\n\nHelen rode back to the Institute and inquired for Mr. Peckham. She had\nnot seen him during the brief interval between her departure from the\nmansion-house and her return to Old Sophy's funeral. There were various\nquestions about the school she wished to ask.\n\n\"Oh, how's your haaelth, Miss Darley?\" Silas began. \"We've missed you\nconsid'able. Glad to see you back at the post of dooty. Hope the Squire\ntreated you hahnsomely,--liberal pecooniary compensation,--hey? A'n't\nmuch of a loser, I guess, by acceptin' his propositions?\"\n\nHelen blushed at this last question, as if Silas had meant something by\nit beyond asking what money she had received; but his own double-meaning\nexpression and her blush were too nice points for him to have taken\ncognizance of. He was engaged in a mental calculation as to the amount\nof the deduction he should make under the head of \"damage to the\ninstitootion,\"--this depending somewhat on that of the \"pecooniary\ncompensation\" she might have received for her services as the friend of\nElsie Venner.\n\nSo Helen slid back at once into her routine, the same faithful, patient\ncreature she had always been. But what was this new light which seemed\nto have kindled in her eyes? What was this look of peace, which nothing\ncould disturb, which smiled serenely through all the little meannesses\nwith which the daily life of the educational factory surrounded\nher,--which not only made her seem resigned, but overflowed all her\nfeatures with a thoughtful, subdued happiness? Mr. Bernard did not\nknow,--perhaps he did not guess. The inmates of the Dudley mansion were\nnot scandalized by any mysterious visits of a veiled or unveiled lady.\nThe vibrating tongues of the \"female youth\" of the Institute were not\nset in motion by the standing of an equipage at the gate, waiting for\ntheir lady teacher. The servants at the mansion did not convey numerous\nletters with superscriptions in a bold, manly hand, sealed with the arms\nof a well-known house, and directed to Miss Helen Darley; nor, on the\nother hand, did Hiram, the man from the lean streak in New Hampshire,\ncarry sweet-smelling, rose-hued, many-layered, criss-crossed,\nfine-stitch-lettered packages of note-paper directed to Dudley Venner,\nEsq., and all too scanty to hold that incredible expansion of the famous\nthree words which a woman was born to say,--that perpetual miracle which\nastonishes all the go-betweens who wear their shoes out in carrying a\nwoman's infinite variations on the theme, \"I love you.\"\n\nBut the reader must remember that there are walks in country-towns where\npeople are liable to meet by accident, and that the hollow of an old\ntree has served the purpose of a post-office sometimes; so that he has\nher choice (to divide the pronouns impartially) of various hypotheses to\naccount for the new glory of happiness which seemed to have irradiated\nour poor Helen's features, as if her dreary life were awakening in the\ndawn of a blessed future.\n\nWith all the alleviations which have been hinted at, Mr. Dudley Venner\nthought that the days and the weeks had never moved so slowly as through\nthe last period of the autumn that was passing. Elsie had been a\nperpetual source of anxiety to him, but still she had been a companion.\nHe could not mourn for her; for he felt that she was safer with her\nmother, in that world where there are no more sorrows and dangers, than\nshe could have been with him. But as he sat at his window and looked at\nthe three mounds, the loneliness of the great house made it seem more\nlike the sepulchre than these narrow dwellings where his beloved and her\ndaughter lay close to each other, side by side,--Catalina, the bride\nof his youth, and Elsie, the child whom he had nurtured, with poor Old\nSophy, who had followed them like a black shadow, at their feet, under\nthe same soft turf, sprinkled with the brown autumnal leaves. It was not\ngood for him to be thus alone. How should he ever live through the long\nmonths of November and December?\n\nThe months of November and December did, in some way or other, get\nrid of themselves at last, bringing with them the usual events of\nvillage-life and a few unusual ones. Some of the geologists had been up\nto look at the great slide, of which they gave those prolix accounts\nwhich everybody remembers who read the scientific journals of the time.\nThe engineers reported that there was little probability of any further\nconvulsion along the line of rocks which overhung the more thickly\nsettled part of the town. The naturalists drew up a paper on the\n\"Probable Extinction of the _Crotalus Durissus_ in the Township of\nRockland.\" The engagement of the Widow Rowens to a Little Millionville\nmerchant was announced,--\"Sudding 'n' onexpected,\" Widow Leech\nsaid,--\"waaelthy, or she wouldn't ha' looked at him,--fifty year old, if\nhe is a day, _'n' ha'n't got a white hair in his head.\"_ The Reverend\nChauncy Fairweather had publicly announced that he was going to join the\nRoman Catholic communion,--not so much to the surprise or consternation\nof the religious world as he had supposed. Several old ladies forthwith\nproclaimed their intention of following him; but, as one or two of them\nwere deaf, and another had been threatened with an attack of that mild,\nbut obstinate complaint, _dementia senilis_, many thought it was not so\nmuch the force of his arguments as a kind of tendency to jump as the\nbellwether jumps, well known in flocks not included in the Christian\nfold. His bereaved congregation immediately began pulling candidates on\nand off, like new boots, on trial. Some pinched in tender places; some\nwere too loose; some were too square-toed; some were too coarse, and\ndidn't please; some were too thin, and wouldn't last;--in short, they\ncouldn't possibly find a fit. At last people began to drop in to hear\nold Doctor Honeywood. They were quite surprised to find what a human old\ngentleman he was, and went back and told the others, that, instead of\nbeing a case of confluent sectarianism, as they supposed, the good old\nminister had been so well vaccinated with charitable virus that he was\nnow a true, open-souled Christian of the mildest type. The end of all\nwhich was, that the liberal people went over to the old minister almost\nin a body, just at the time that Deacon Shearer and the \"Vinegar-Bible\"\nparty split off, and that not long afterwards they sold their own\nmeeting-house to the malecontents, so that Deacon Soper used often to\nremind Colonel Sprowle of his wish that \"our little man and him [the\nReverend Doctor] would swop pulpits,\" and tell him it had \"pooty nigh\ncome trew.\"--But this is anticipating the course of events, which were\nmuch longer in coming about; for we have but just got through that\nterribly long month, as Mr. Dudley Venner found it, of December.\n\nOn the first of January, Mr. Silas Peckham was in the habit of settling\nhis quarterly accounts, and making such new arrangements as his\nconvenience or interest dictated. New-Year was a holiday at the\nInstitute. No doubt this accounted for Helen's being dressed so\ncharmingly,--always, to be sure, in her own simple way, but yet with\nsuch a true lady's air that she looked fit to be the mistress of any\nmansion in the land.\n\nShe was in the parlor alone, a little before noon, when Mr. Peckham came\nin.\n\n\"I'm ready to settle my account with you now, Miss Darley,\" said Silas.\n\n\"As you please, Mr. Peckham,\" Helen answered, very graciously.\n\n\"Before payin' you your selary,\" the Principal continued, \"I wish to\ncome to an understandin' as to the futur'. I consider that I've been\npayin' high, very high, for the work you do. Women's wages can't be\nexpected to do more than feed and clothe 'em, as a gineral thing, with\na little savin', in case of sickness, and to bury 'em, if they\nbreak daown, as all of 'em are liable to do at any time. If I a'n't\nmisinformed, you not only support yourself out of my establishment, but\nlikewise relatives of yours, who I don't know that I'm called upon to\nfeed and clothe. There is a young woman, not burdened with destitoot\nrelatives, has signified that she would be glad to take your dooties for\nless pecooniary compensation, by a consid'able amaount, than you now\nreceive. I shall be willin', however, to retain your services at sech\nredooced rate as we shall fix upon,--provided sech redooced rate be as\nlow or lower than the same services can be obtained elsewhere.\"\n\n\"As you please, Mr. Peckham,\" Helen answered, with a smile so sweet that\nthe Principal (who of course had trumped up this opposition-teacher for\nthe occasion) said to himself she would stand being cut down a quarter,\nperhaps a half, of her salary.\n\n\"Here is your accaount, Miss Darley, and the balance doo you,\"\nsaid Silas Peckham, handing her a paper and a small roll of\ninfectious-flavored bills wrapping six poisonous coppers of the old\ncoinage.\n\nShe took the paper and began looking at it. She could not quite make up\nher mind to touch the feverish bills with the cankering copper in them,\nand left them airing themselves on the table.\n\nThe document she held ran as follows:\n\n  _Silas Peckham, Esq., Principal of the Apollinean Institute,\n  In Account with Helen Darley, Assist. Teacher._\n\n  _Dr._\n  To Salary for quarter ending Jan. 1st,\n  @ $75 per quarter  .  .  .  .  .  . $75.00\n\n  ______\n  $75.00\n\n  _Cr._\n  By Deduction for absence, 1 week 8\n  days   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . $10.00\n  \" Board, lodging, etc., for 10 days,\n  @ 75 cts. per day  .  .  .  .  .  .   7.50\n  \" Damage to Institution by absence\n  of teacher from duties, say .  .  .  25.00\n  \" Stationery furnished .  .  .  .  .    43\n  \" Postage-stamp  .  .  .  .  .  .  .    01\n  \" Balance due Helen Darley   .  .   $32.06\n  ______\n  $75.00\n\n  ROCKLAND, Jan. 1st, 1859.\n\nNow Helen had her own private reasons for wishing to receive the\nsmall sum which was due her at this time without any unfair\ndeduction,--reasons which we need not inquire into too particularly,\nas we may be very sure that they were right and womanly. So, when she\nlooked over this account of Mr. Silas Peckham's, and saw that he had\ncontrived to pare down her salary to something less than half its\nstipulated amount, the look which her countenance wore was as near to\nthat of righteous indignation as her gentle features and soft blue eyes\nwould admit of its being.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Peckham,\" she said, \"do you mean this? If I am of so much\nvalue to you that you must take off twenty-five dollars for ten days'\nabsence, how is it that my salary is to be cut down to less than\nseventy-five dollars a quarter, if I remain here?\"\n\n\"I gave you fair notice,\" said Silas. \"I have a minute of it I took down\nimmed'ately after the intervoo.\"\n\nHe lugged out his large pocket-book with the strap going all round it,\nand took from it a slip of paper which confirmed his statement.\n\n\"Besides,\" he added, slyly, \"I presoom you have received a liberal\npecooniary compensation from Squire Venner for nussin' his daughter.\"\n\nHelen was looking over the bill while he was speaking.\n\n\"Board and lodging for ten days, Mr. Peckham,--_whose_ board and\nlodging, pray?\"\n\nThe door opened before Silas Peckham could answer, and Mr. Bernard\nwalked into the parlor. Helen was holding the bill in her hand, looking\nas any woman ought to look who has been at once wronged and insulted.\n\n\"The last turn of the thumbscrew!\" said Mr. Bernard to himself. \"What is\nit, Helen? You look troubled.\"\n\nShe handed him the account.\n\nHe looked at the footing of it. Then he looked at the items. Then he\nlooked at Silas Peckham.\n\nAt this moment Silas was sublime. He was so transcendency unconscious of\nthe emotions going on in Mr. Bernard's mind at the moment, that he had\nonly a single thought.\n\n\"The accaount's correc'ly cast, I presoom;--if the' 's any mistake\nof figgers or addin' 'em up, it'll be made all right. Everything's\naccordin' to agreement. The minute written immed'ately after the\nintervoo is here in my possession.\"\n\nMr. Bernard looked at Helen. Just what would have happened to Silas\nPeckham, as he stood then and there, but for the interposition of a\nmerciful Providence, nobody knows or ever will know; for at that moment\nsteps were heard upon the stairs, and Hiram threw open the parlor-door\nfor Mr. Dudley Venner to enter.\n\nHe saluted them all gracefully with the good-wishes of the season, and\neach of them returned his compliment,--Helen blushing fearfully, of\ncourse, but not particularly noticed in her embarrassment by more than\none.\n\nSilas Peckham reckoned with perfect confidence on his Trustees, who had\nalways said what he told them to, and done what he wanted. It was a good\nchance now to show off his power, and, by letting his instructors know\nthe unstable tenure of their offices, make it easier to settle his\naccounts and arrange his salaries. There was nothing very strange in Mr.\nVenner's calling; he was one of the Trustees, and this was New Year's\nDay. But he had called just at the lucky moment for Mr. Peckham's\nobject.\n\n\"I have thought some of makin' changes in the department of\ninstruction,\" he began. \"Several accomplished teachers have applied to\nme, who would be glad of sitooations. I understand that there never have\nbeen so many fust-rate teachers, male and female, out of employment as\ndoorin' the present season. If I can make sahtisfahctory arrangements\nwith my present corpse of teachers, I shall be glad to do so; otherwise\nI shell, with the permission of the Trustees, make sech noo arrangements\nas circumstahnces compel.\"\n\n\"You may make arrangements for a new assistant in my department, Mr.\nPeckham,\" said Mr. Bernard, \"at once,--this day,--this hour. I am not\nsafe to be trusted with your person five minutes out of this lady's\npresence,--of whom I beg pardon for this strong language. Mr. Venner, I\nmust beg you, as one of the Trustees of this Institution, to look at the\nmanner in which its Principal has attempted to swindle this faithful\nteacher, whose toils and sacrifices and self-devotion to the school\nhave made it all that it is, in spite of this miserable trader's\nincompetence. Will you look at the paper I hold?\"\n\nDudley Venner took the account and read it through, without changing a\nfeature. Then he turned to Silas Peckham.\n\n\"You may make arrangements for a new assistant in the branches this lady\nhas taught. Miss Helen Darley is to be my wife. I had hoped to announce\nthis news in a less abrupt and ungraceful manner. But I came to tell\nyou with my own lips what you would have learned before evening from my\nfriends in the village.\"\n\nMr. Bernard went to Helen, who stood silent, with downcast eyes, and\ntook her hand warmly, hoping she might find all the happiness she\ndeserved. Then he turned to Dudley Venner, and said,--\n\n\"She is a queen, but has never found it out. The world has nothing\nnobler than this dear woman, whom you have discovered in the disguise of\na teacher. God bless her and you!\"\n\nDudley Venner returned his friendly grasp, without answering a word in\narticulate speech.\n\nSilas remained dumb and aghast for a brief space. Coming to himself\na little, he thought there might have been some mistake about the\nitems,--would like to have Miss Darley's bill returned,--would make it\nall right,--had no idee that Squire Venner had a special int'rest in\nMiss Darley,--was sorry he had given offence,--if he might take that\nbill and look it over--\n\n\"No, Mr. Peckham,\" said Mr. Dudley Venner; \"there will be a full meeting\nof the Board next week, and the bill, and such evidence with reference\nto the management of the Institution and the treatment of its\ninstructors as Mr. Langdon sees fit to bring forward, will be laid\nbefore them.\"\n\nMiss Helen Darley became that very day the guest of Miss Arabella\nThornton, the Judge's daughter. Mr. Bernard made his appearance a week\nor two later at the Lectures, where the Professor first introduced him\nto the reader.\n\nHe stayed after the class had left the room.\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Langdon! how do you do? Very glad to see you back again. How\nhave you been since our correspondence on Fascination and other curious\nscientific questions?\"\n\nIt was the Professor who spoke,--whom the reader will recognize as\nmyself, the teller of this story.\n\n\"I have been well,\" Mr. Bernard answered, with a serious look which\ninvited a further question.\n\n\"I hope you have had none of those painful or dangerous experiences you\nseemed to be thinking of when you wrote; at any rate, you have escaped\nhaving your obituary written.\"\n\n\"I have seen some things worth remembering. Shall I call on you this\nevening and tell you about them?\"\n\n\"I shall be most happy to see you.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis was the way in which I, the Professor, became acquainted with some\nof the leading events of this story. They interested me sufficiently\nto lead me to avail myself of all those other extraordinary methods of\nobtaining information well known to writers of narrative.\n\nMr. Langdon seemed to me to have gained in seriousness and strength of\ncharacter by his late experiences. He threw his whole energies into\nhis studies with an effect which distanced all his previous efforts.\nRemembering my former hint, he employed his spare hours in writing for\nthe annual prizes, both of which he took by a unanimous vote of the\njudges. Those who heard him read his Thesis at the Medical Commencement\nwill not soon forget the impression made by his fine personal appearance\nand manners, nor the universal interest excited in the audience, as\nhe read, with his beautiful enunciation, that striking paper entitled\n\"Unresolved Nebulas in Vital Science.\" It was a general remark of the\nFaculty,--and old Doctor Kittredge, who had come down on purpose to hear\nMr. Langdon, heartily agreed to it,--that there had never been a diploma\nfilled up, since the institution which conferred upon him the degree of\n_Doctor Medicinae_ was founded, which carried with it more of promise to\nthe profession than that which bore the name of\n\nBernardus Caryl Langdon\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nMr. Bernard Langdon had no sooner taken his degree, than, in accordance\nwith the advice of one of his teachers whom he frequently consulted, he\ntook an office in the heart of the city where he had studied. He had\nthought of beginning in a suburb or some remoter district of the city\nproper.\n\n\"No,\" said his teacher,--to wit, myself,--\"don't do any such thing. You\nare made for the best kind of practice; don't hamper yourself with an\noutside constituency, such as belongs to a practitioner of the second\nclass. When a fellow like you chooses his beat, he must look ahead a\nlittle. Take care of all the poor that apply to you, but leave the\nhalf-pay classes to a different style of doctor,--the people who spend\none half their time in taking care of their patients, and the other half\nin squeezing out their money. Go for the swell-fronts and south-exposure\nhouses; the folks inside are just as good as other people, and the\npleasantest, on the whole, to take care of. They must have somebody, and\nthey like a gentleman best. Don't throw yourself away. You have a\ngood presence and pleasing manners. You wear white linen by inherited\ninstinct. You can pronounce the word _view_. You have all the elements\nof success; go and take it. Be polite and generous, but don't undervalue\nyourself. You will be useful, at any rate; you may just as well be\nhappy, while you are about it. The highest social class furnishes\nincomparably the best patients, taking them by and large. Besides, when\nthey won't get well and bore you to death, you can send 'em off to\ntravel. Mind me now, and take the tops of your sparrowgrass. Somebody\nmust have 'em,--why shouldn't you? If you don't take your chance, you'll\nget the butt-ends as a matter of course.\"\n\nMr. Bernard talked like a young man full of noble sentiments. He wanted\nto be useful to his fellow-beings. Their social differences were nothing\nto him. He would never court the rich,--he would go where he was called.\nHe would rather save the life of a poor mother of a family than that of\nhalf a dozen old gouty millionnaires whose heirs had been yawning and\nstretching these ten years to get rid of them.\n\n\"Generous emotions!\" I exclaimed. \"Cherish 'em; cling to 'em till you\nare fifty,--till you are seventy,--till you are ninety! But do as I tell\nyou,--strike for the best circle of practice, and you'll be sure to get\nit!\"\n\nMr. Langdon did as I told him,--took a genteel office, furnished it\nneatly, dressed with a certain elegance, soon made a pleasant circle\nof acquaintances, and began to work his way into the right kind of\nbusiness. I missed him, however, for some days, not long after he had\nopened his office. On his return, he told me he had been up at Rockland,\nby special invitation, to attend the wedding of Mr. Dudley Venner and\nMiss Helen Darley. He gave me a full account of the ceremony, which\nI regret that I cannot relate in full. \"Helen looked like an\nangel,\"--that, I am sure, was one of his expressions. As for her dress,\nI should like to give the details, but am afraid of committing blunders,\nas men always do, when they undertake to describe such matters. White\ndress, anyhow,--that I am sure of,--with orange-flowers, and the most\nwonderful lace veil that was ever seen or heard of. The Reverend Doctor\nHoneywood performed the ceremony, of course. The good people seemed to\nhave forgotten they ever had had any other minister,--except Deacon\nShearer and his set of malecontents, who were doing a dull business in\nthe meeting-house lately occupied by the Reverend Mr. Fairweather.\n\n\"Who was at the wedding?\"\n\n\"Everybody, pretty much. They wanted to keep it quiet, but it was of no\nuse. Married at church. Front pews, old Doctor Kittredge and all the\nmansion-house people and distinguished strangers,--Colonel Sprowle and\nfamily, including Matilda's young gentleman, a graduate of one of\nthe fresh-water colleges,--Mrs. Pickins (late Widow Rowens) and\nhusband,--Deacon Soper and numerous parishioners. A little nearer the\ndoor, Abel, the Doctor's man, and Elbridge, who drove them to church in,\nthe family-coach. Father Fairweather, as they all call him now, came in\nlate, with Father McShane.\"\n\n\"And Silas Peckham?\"\n\n\"Oh, Silas had left The School and Rockland. Cut up altogether too\nbadly in the examination instituted by the Trustees. Had moved over\nto Tamarack, and thought of renting a large house and 'farming' the\ntown-poor.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome time after this, as I was walking with a young friend along by the\nswell-fronts and south-exposures, whom should I see but Mr. Bernard\nLangdon, looking remarkably happy, and keeping step by the side of a\nvery handsome and singularly well-dressed young lady? He bowed and\nlifted his hat as we passed.\n\n\"Who is that pretty girl my young doctor has got there?\" I said to my\ncompanion.\n\n\"Who is that?\" he answered. \"You don't know? Why, that is neither more\nnor less than Miss Letitia Forester, daughter of--of--why, the great\nbanking-firm, you know, Bilyuns Brothers & Forester. Got acquainted with\nher in the country, they say. There's a story that they're engaged, or\nlike to be, if the firm consents.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I said.\n\nI did not like the look of it in the least. Too young,--too young. Has\nnot taken any position yet. No right to ask for the hand of Bilyuns\nBrothers & Co.'s daughter. Besides, it will spoil him for practice, if\nhe marries a rich girl before he has formed habits of work.\n\nI looked in at his office the next day. A box of white kids was lying\nopen on the table. A three-cornered note, directed in a very delicate\nlady's-hand, was distinguishable among a heap of papers. I was just\ngoing to call him to account for his proceedings, when he pushed\nthe three-cornered note aside and took up a letter with a great\ncorporation-seal upon it. He had received the offer of a professor's\nchair in an ancient and distinguished institution.\n\n\"Pretty well for three-and-twenty, my boy,\" I said. \"I suppose you'll\nthink you must be married one of these days, if you accept this office.\"\n\nMr. Langdon blushed.--There had been stories about him, he knew. His\nname had been mentioned in connection with that of a very charming young\nlady. The current reports were not true. He had met this young lady,\nand been much pleased with her, in the country, at the house of her\ngrandfather, the Reverend Doctor Honeywood,--you remember Miss Letitia\nForester, whom I have mentioned repeatedly? On coming to town, he found\nhis country-acquaintance in a social position which seemed to discourage\nhis continued intimacy. He had discovered, however, that he was a not\nunwelcome visitor, and had kept up friendly relations with her. But\nthere was no truth in the current reports,--none at all.\n\nSome months had passed, after this visit, when I happened one evening to\nstroll into a box in one of the principal theatres of the city. A small\nparty sat on the seats before me: a middle-aged gentleman and his lady,\nin front, and directly behind them my young doctor and the same very\nhandsome young lady I had seen him walking with on the side-walk before\nthe swell-fronts and south-exposures. As Professor Langdon seemed to be\nvery much taken up with his companion, and both of them looked as if\nthey were enjoying themselves, I determined not to make my presence\nknown to my young friend, and to withdraw quietly after feasting my eyes\nwith the sight of them for a few minutes.\n\n\"It looks as if something might come of it,\" I said to myself.\n\nAt that moment the young lady lifted her arm accidentally, in such a way\nthat the light fell upon the clasp of a chain which encircled her wrist.\nMy eyes filled with tears as I read upon the clasp, in sharp-cut Italic\nletters, _E.V._ They were tears at once of sad remembrance and of joyous\nanticipation; for the ornament on which I looked was the double\npledge of a dead sorrow and a living affection. It was the golden\nbracelet,--the parting-gift of Elsie Venner.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nBUBBLES.\n\n\nI.\n\n  I stood on the brink in childhood,\n  And watched the bubbles go\n  From the rock-fretted sunny ripple\n  To the smoother lymph below;\n\n  And over the white creek-bottom,\n  Under them every one,\n  Went golden stars in the water,\n  All luminous with the sun.\n\n  But the bubbles brake on the surface,\n  And under, the stars of gold\n  Brake, and the hurrying water\n  Flowed onward, swift and cold.\n\n\nII.\n\n  I stood on the brink in manhood,\n  And it came to my weary heart,--\n  In my breast so dull and heavy,\n  After the years of smart,--\n\n  That every hollowest bubble\n  Which over my life had passed\n  Still into its deeper current\n  Some sky-sweet gleam had cast;\n\n  That, however I mocked it gayly,\n  And guessed at its hollowness,\n  Still shone, with each bursting bubble,\n  One star in my soul the less.\n\n\n\n\nCITIES AND PARKS:\n\nWITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE NEW YORK CENTRAL PARK.\n\n\nThe first murderer was the first city-builder; and a good deal of\nmurdering has been carried on in the interest of city-building ever\nsince Cain's day. Narrow and crooked streets, want of proper sewerage\nand ventilation, the absence of forethought in providing open spaces for\nthe recreation of the people, the allowance of intramural burials,\nand of fetid nuisances, such as slaughter-houses and manufactories of\noffensive stuffs, have converted cities into pestilential inclosures,\nand kept Jefferson's saying--\"Great cities are great sores\"--true in its\nmost literal and mortifying sense.\n\nThere is some excuse for the crowded and irregular character of\nOld-World cities. They grew, and were not builded. Accumulations\nof people, who lighted like bees upon a chance branch, they found\nthemselves hived in obdurate brick and mortar before they knew it; and\nthen, to meet the necessities of their cribbed, cabined, and confined\ncondition, they must tear down sacred landmarks, sacrifice invaluable\npossessions, and trample on prescriptive rights, to provide\nbreathing-room for their gasping population. Besides, air, water, light,\nand cleanliness are modern innovations. The nose seems to have acquired\nits sensitiveness within a hundred years,--the lungs their objection to\nfoul air, and the palate its disgust at ditch-water like the Thames,\nwithin a more recent period. Honestly dirty, and robustly indifferent to\nwhat mortally offends our squeamish senses, our happy ancestors fattened\non carbonic acid gas, and took the exhalations of graveyards and gutters\nwith a placidity of stomach that excites our physiological admiration.\nIf they died, it was not for want of air. The pestilence carried, them\noff,--and that was a providential enemy, whose home-bred origin nobody\nsuspected.\n\nIt must seem to foreigners of all things the strangest, that, in a\ncountry where land is sold at one dollar and twenty-five cents the acre\nby the square mile, there should in any considerable part of it be a\nwant of room,--any necessity for crowding the population into pent-up\ncities,--any narrowness of streets, or want of commons and parks. And\nyet it is an undeniable truth that our American cities are all suffering\nthe want of ample thoroughfares, destitute of adequate parks and\ncommons, and too much crowded for health, convenience, or beauty. Boston\nhas for its main street a serpentine lane, wide enough to drive the cows\nhome from their pastures, but totally and almost fatally inadequate\nto be the great artery of a city of two hundred thousand people.\nPhiladelphia is little better off with her narrow Chestnut Street,\nwhich purchases what accommodation it affords by admitting the parallel\nstreets to nearly equal use, and thus sacrificing the very idea of a\nmetropolitan thoroughfare, in which the splendor and motion and life\nof a metropolis ought to be concentrated. New York succeeds in making\nBroadway what the Toledo, the Strand, the Linden Strasse, the Italian\nBoulevards are; but the street is notoriously blocked and confused, and\noccasions more loss of time and temper and life and limb than would\namply repay, once in five years, the widening of it to double its\npresent breadth.\n\nIt is a great misfortune, that our commercial metropolis, the\npredestined home of five millions of people, should not have a single\nstreet worthy of the population, the wealth, the architectural ambition\nready to fill and adorn it. Wholesale trade, bankers, brokers, and\nlawyers seek narrow streets. There must be swift communication between\nthe opposite sides, and easy recognition of faces across the way. But\nretail trade requires no such conditions. The passers up and down on\nopposite sides of Broadway are as if in different streets, and neither\nexpect to recognize each other nor to pass from one to the other without\nset effort. It took a good while to make Broad and Canal Streets\nattractive business-streets, and to get the importers and jobbers out\nof Pearl Street; but the work is now done. The Bowery affords the only\nremaining chance of building a magnificent metropolitan thoroughfare in\nNew York; and we anticipate the day--when Broadway will surrender its\npretensions to that now modest Cheapside. Already, about the confluence\nof the Third and Fourth Avenues at Eighth Street are congregated some\nof the chief institutions of the city,--the Bible House, the Cooper\nInstitute, the Astor Library, the Mercantile Library. Farther down,\nthe continuation of Canal Street affords the most commanding sites for\nfuture public edifices; while the neighborhoods of Franklin and Chatham\nSquares ought to be seized upon to embellish the city at imperial points\nwith its finest architectural piles. The capacities of New York, below\nUnion Square, for metropolitan splendor are entirely undeveloped; the\nbest points are still occupied by comparatively worthless buildings, and\nthe future will produce a now unlooked-for change in the whole character\nof that great district.\n\nThe huddling together of our American cities is due to the recentness\nof the time when space was our greatest enemy and sparseness our chief\ndiscouragement. Our founders hated room as much as a backwoods farmer\nhates trees. The protecting walls, which narrowed the ways and cramped\nthe houses of the Old-World cities, did not put a severer compress\nupon them, than the disgust of solitude and the craving for \"the sweet\nsecurity of streets\" threw about our city-builders. In the Western towns\nnow, they carefully give a city air to their villages by crowding the\nfew stores and houses of which they are composed into the likeliest\nappearance of an absolute scarcity of space.\n\nThey labor unconsciously to look crowded, and would sooner go into a\ncellar to eat their oysters than have them in the finest saloon above\nground. And so, if a peninsula like Boston, or a miniature Mesopotamia\nlike New York, or a basin like Cincinnati, could be found to tuck away\na town in, in which there was a decent chance of covering over the\nnakedness of the land within a thousand years, they rejoiced to seize\non it and warm their shivering imaginations in the idea of the possible\nsnugness which their distant posterity might enjoy.\n\nBoston owes its only park worth naming--the celebrated Common--to\nthe necessity of leaving a convenient cow-pasture for the babes and\nsucklings of that now mature community. Forty acres were certainly\nnever more fortunately situated for their predestined service, nor more\nprovidentially rescued for the higher uses of man. May the memory of the\nweaning babes who pleaded for the spot where their \"milky mothers\" fed\nbe ever sacred in our Athens, and may the cows of Boston be embalmed\nwith the bulls of Egypt! A white heifer should be perpetually grazing,\nat her tether, in the shadow of the Great Elm. Would it be wholly\nunbecoming one born in full view of that lovely inclosure to suggest\nthat the straightness of the lines in which the trees are planted on\nBoston Common, and the rapidly increasing thickness of their foliage,\ndestroy in the summer season the effect of breadth and liberty, hide\nboth the immediate and the distant landscape, stifle the breeze, and\ndiminish the attractiveness of the spot? Fewer trees, scattered in\nclumps and paying little regard to paths, would vastly improve the\neffect. The colonnades of the malls furnish all the shade desirable in\nso small an inclosure.\n\nFor the most part, the proper laying-out of cities is both a matter of\ngreater ease and greater importance in America than anywhere else. We\nare much in the condition of those old Scriptural worthies, of whom it\ncould be so coolly said, \"So he went and built a city,\" as if it were\na matter of not much greater account than \"So be went and built a\nlog-house.\" Very likely some of those Biblical cities, extemporized\nso tersely, were not much more finished than those we now and then\nencounter in our Western and Southern tours, where a poor shed at four\ncross-roads is dignified with the title. We believe it was Samuel\nDexter, the pattern of Webster, who, on hanging out his shingle in a\nNew England village, where a tavern, a schoolhouse, a church, and a\nblacksmith's shop constituted the whole settlement, gave as a reason,\nthat, having to break into the world somewhere, he had chosen the\nweakest place. He would have tried a new Western city, had they then\nbeen in fashion, as a still softer spot in the social crust. But this\nrage for cities in America is prophetic. The name is a spell; and most\nof the sites, surveyed and distributed into town-lots with squares and\nparks staked out, are only a century before their time, and will redound\nto the future credit, however fatal to the immediate cash of their\nprojectors. Who can doubt that Cairo of Illinois--the standing joke of\ntourists, (and the standing-water of the Ohio and Mississippi,) though\nno joke to its founders--will one day rival its Egyptian prototype?\nAmerica runs to cities, and particularly in its Northern latitudes.\nAs cities have been the nurses of democratic institutions and ideas,\ndemocratic nations, for very obvious reasons, tend to produce them. They\nare the natural fruits of a democracy. And with no people are great\ncities so important, or likely to be so increasingly populous, as with\na great agricultural and commercial nation like our own, covered with\na free and equal population. The vast wealth of such a people, evenly\ndistributed, and prevented from over-accumulation in special families by\nthe absence of primogeniture and entail,--their general education\nand refined tastes,--the intense community of ideas, through the\nall-pervading influence of a daily press reaching with simultaneous\ndiffusion over thousands of square miles,--the facilities of\nlocomotion,--all inevitably cooperate with commercial necessities to\ncreate great cities,--not merely as the homes of the mercantile and\nwealthy class, but as centres where the leisure, the tastes, the\npride, and the wants of the people at large repair more and more for\nsatisfaction. Free populations, educated in public schools and with an\nopen career for all, soon instinctively settle the high economies of\nlife.\n\nMany observers have ascribed the rapid change which for twenty years\npast has been going on in the relative character of towns and villages\non the one hand, and cities on the other, to the mere operation of the\nrailroad-system. But that system itself grew out of higher instincts.\nEqual communities demand equal privileges and advantages. They tend\nto produce a common level. The country does not acquiesce in the\nsuperiority of the city in manners, comforts, or luxuries. It demands\na market at its door,--first-rate men for its advisers in all medical,\nlegal, moral, and political matters. It demands for itself the\namusements, the refinements, the privileges of the city. This is to\nbe brought about only by the application, at any cost, of the most\nimmediate methods of communication with the city; and behold our\nrailroad system,--the Briarean shaking of hands which the country gives\nthe city! The growth of this system is a curious commentary on the\npurely mercenary policy which is ordinarily supposed to govern the\ninvestments of capital. The railroads of the United States are as much\nthe products of social rivalries and the fruits of an ineradicable\ndemocratic instinct for popularizing all advantages, as of any\ncommercial emulation. The people have willingly bandaged their own eyes,\nand allowed themselves to believe a profitable investment was made,\nbecause their inclinations were so determined to have the roads,\nprofitable or not. Their wives and daughters _would_ shop in the city;\nthe choicest sights and sounds were there; there concentrated themselves\nthe intellectual and moral lights; there were the representative\nsplendors of the state or nation;--and a swift access to them was\nessential to true equality and self-respect.\n\nOne does not need to be a graybeard to recall the time when every\ncounty-town in New England had, because it needs must have, its\nfirst rate lawyer, its distinguished surgeon, its comprehensive\nbusiness-man,--and when a fixed and unchanging population gave to our\nvillages a more solid and a more elegant air than they now possess. The\nConnecticut river-villages, with a considerable increase in population,\nand a vast improvement in the general character of the dwellings, have\nnevertheless lost their most characterizing features,--the large and\ndignified residences of their founders, and the presence of the once\nable and widely known men that were identified with their local\nimportance and pride. The railroads have concentrated the ability of all\nthe professions in the cities, and carried thither the wealth of all the\nold families. To them, and not to the county-town, repair the people for\nadvice in all critical matters, for supplies in all important purchases,\nfor all their rarest pleasures, and all their most prized and memorable\nopportunities.\n\nCities, and the immediate neighborhood of cities, are rapidly becoming\nthe chosen residences of the enterprising, successful, and intelligent.\nAs might be supposed, the movement works both ways: the locomotive\nfacilities carry citizens into the country, as well as countrymen into\nthe city. But those who have once tasted the city are never wholly\nweaned from it, and every citizen who moves into a village-community\nsends two countrymen back to take his place. He infects the country with\ncivic tastes, and acts as a great conductor between the town and the\ncountry. It is apparent, too, that the experience of ten years, during\nwhich some strong reaction upon the centripetal tendencies of the\nprevious ten years drove many of the wealthy and the self-supposed\nlovers of quietude and space into the country, has dispersed several\nvery natural prejudices, and returned the larger part of the truants\nto their original ways. One of these prejudices was, that our ordinary\nNorthern climate was as favorable to the outdoor habits of the leisurely\nclass as the English climate; whereas, besides not having a leisurely\nclass, and never being destined to have any, under our wise\nwealth-distributing customs, and not having any out-door habits, which\ngrow up only on estates and on hereditary fortunes, experience has\nconvinced most who have tried it that we have only six months when\nout-of-doors allows any comfort, health, or pleasure away from the city.\nThe roads are sloughs; side-walks are wanting; shelter is gone with the\nleaves; non-intercourse is proclaimed; companionship cannot be found;\nleisure is a drug; books grow stupid; the country is a stupendous bore.\nAnother prejudice was the anticipated economy of the country. This has\nturned out to be, as might have been expected, an economy to those who\nfall in with its ways, which citizens are wholly inapt and unprepared to\ndo. It is very economical not to want city comforts and conveniences.\nBut it proves more expensive to those who go into the country to want\nthem there than it did to have them where they abound. They are not to\nbe had in the country at any price,--water, gas, fuel, food, attendance,\namusement, locomotion in all weathers; but such a moderate measure of\nthem as a city-bred family cannot live without involves so great an\nexpense, that the expected economy of life in the country to those not\nactually brought up there turns out a delusion. The expensiveness of\nlife in the city comes of the generous and grand scale on which it there\nproceeds, not from the superior cost of the necessaries or comforts of\nlife. They are undoubtedly cheaper in the city, all things considered,\nthan anywhere in the country. Where everything is to be had, in the\nsmallest or the largest quantities,--where every form of service can be\ncommanded at a moment's notice,--where the wit, skill, competition of a\ncountry are concentrated upon the furnishing of all commodities at the\nmost taking rates,--there prices will, of course, be most reasonable;\nand the expensiveness of such communities, we repeat, is entirely due to\nthe abundant wealth which makes such enormous demands and secures such\nvarious comforts and luxuries;--in short, it is the high standard of\nliving, not the cost of the necessaries of life. This high standard\nis, of course, an evil to those whose social ambition drives them to a\nrivalry for which they are not prepared. But no special pity is due to\nhardships self-imposed by pride and folly. The probability is, that,\nproportioned to their income from labor, the cost of living in the city,\nfor the bulk of its population, is lighter, their degree of comfort\nconsidered, than in the country. And for the wealthy class of society,\nno doubt, on the whole, economy is served by living in the city. Our\nmost expensive class is that which lives in the country after the manner\nof the city.\n\nA literary man, of talents and thorough respectability, lately informed\nus, that, after trying all places, cities, villages, farmhouses,\nboarding-houses, hotels, taverns, he had discovered that keeping house\nin New York was the cheapest way to live,--vastly the cheapest, if\nthe amount of convenience and comfort was considered,--and absolutely\ncheapest in fact. To be sure, being a bachelor, his housekeeping was\ndone in a single room, the back-room of a third-story, in a respectable\nand convenient house and neighborhood. His rent was ninety-six dollars a\nyear. His expenses of every other kind, (clothing excepted,) one dollar\na week. He could not get his chop or steak cooked well enough, nor his\ncoffee made right, until he took them in hand himself,--nor his bed\nmade, nor his room cleaned. His conveniences were incredibly great. He\ncooked by alcohol, and expected to warm himself the winter through on\ntwo gallons of alcohol at seventy-five cents a gallon. This admirable\nhousekeeping is equalled in economy only by that of a millionnaire, a\nNew-Yorker, and a bachelor also, whose accounts, all accurately kept by\nhis own hand, showed, after death, that (1st) his own living, (2d) his\nsupport of religion, (3d) his charities, (4th) his gifts to a favorite\nniece, had not averaged, for twenty years, over five hundred dollars.\nTruly, the city is a cheap place to live in, for those who know how! And\nwhat place is cheap for those who do not?\n\nContrary to the old notion, the more accurate statistics of recent times\nhave proved the city, as compared with the country, the more healthy,\nthe more moral, and the more religious place. What used to be considered\nthe great superiority of the country--hardship, absence of social\nexcitements and public amusements, simple food, freedom from moral\nexposure--a better knowledge of the human constitution, considered\neither physically or morally, has shown to be decidedly opposed to\nhealth and virtue. More constitutions are broken down in the hardening\nprocess than survive and profit by it. Cold houses, coarse food\nunskilfully cooked, long winters, harsh springs, however favorable to\nthe heroism of the stomach, the lungs, and the spirits, are not found\nconducive to longevity. In like manner, monotony, seclusion, lack of\nvariety and of social stimulus lower the tone of humanity, drive to\nsensual pleasures and secret vices, and nourish a miserable pack of\nmean and degrading immoralities, of which scandal, gossip, backbiting,\ntale-bearing are the better examples.\n\nIn the Old World, the wealth of states is freely expended in the\nembellishment of their capitals. It is well understood, not only that\nloyalty is never more economically secured than by a lavish appeal to\nthe pride of the citizen in the magnificence of the public buildings\nand grounds which he identifies with his nationality, but that popular\nrestlessness is exhaled and dangerous passions drained off in the\nroominess which parks and gardens afford the common people. In the\nNew World, it has not yet proved necessary to provide against popular\ndiscontents or to bribe popular patriotism with spectacles and\nstate-parade; and if it were so, there is no government with an interest\nof its own separate from that of the people to adopt this policy. It has\ntherefore been concluded that democratic institutions must necessarily\nlack splendor and great public provision for the gratification of the\naesthetic tastes or the indulgence of the leisure of the common people.\nThe people being, then, our sovereigns, it has not been felt that they\nwould or could have the largeness of view, the foresight, the sympathy\nwith leisure, elegance, and ease, to provide liberally and expensively\nfor their own recreation and refreshment. A bald utility has been the\nanticipated genius of our public policy. Our national Mercury was to be\nsimply the god of the post-office, or the sprite of the barometer,--our\nPan, to keep the crows from the corn-fields,--our Muses, to preside over\ndistrict-schools. It begins now to appear that the people are not likely\nto think anything too good for themselves, or to higgle about the\nexpense of whatever ministers largely to their tastes and fancies,--that\npolitical freedom, popular education, the circulation of newspapers,\nbooks, engravings, pictures, have already created a public which\nunderstands that man does not live by bread alone,--which demands\nleisure, beauty, space, architecture, landscape, music, elegance, with\nan imperative voice, and is ready to back its demands with the necessary\nself-taxation. This experience our absolute faith in free institutions\nenabled us to anticipate as the inevitable result of our political\nsystem; but let us confess that the rapidity with which it has developed\nitself has taken us by surprise. We knew, that, when the people truly\nrealized their sovereignty, they would claim not only the utilitarian,\nbut the artistic and munificent attributes of their throne,--and that\nall the splendors and decorations, all the provisions for leisure,\ntaste, and recreation, which kings and courts have made, would be found\nto be mere preludes and rehearsals to the grander arrangements and\nachievements of the vastly richer and more legitimate sovereign, the\nPeople, when he understood his own right and duty. As dynasties and\nthrones have been predictions of the royalty of the people, so old\ncourts and old capitals, with all their pomp and circumstance, their\nparks and gardens, galleries and statues, are but dim prefigurings of\nthe glories of architecture, the grandeur of the grounds, the splendor\nand richness of the museums and conservatories with which the people\nwill finally crown their own self-respect and decorate their own\nmajesty. But we did not expect to see this sure prophecy turning itself\ninto history in our day. We thought the people were too busy with the\nspade and the quill to care for any other sceptres at present. But it\nis now plain that they have been dreaming princely dreams and thinking\nroyal thoughts all the while, and are now ready to put them into costly\nexpression.\n\nPassing by all other evidences of this, we come at once to the most\nmajestic and indisputable witness of this fact, the actual existence\nof the Central Park in New York,--the most striking evidence of\nthe sovereignty of the people yet afforded in the history of free\ninstitutions,--the best answer yet given to the doubts and fears which\nhave frowned on the theory of self-government,--the first grand proof\nthat the people do not mean to give up the advantages and victories of\naristocratic governments, in maintaining a popular one, but to engraft\nthe energy, foresight, and liberality of concentrated powers upon\ndemocratic ideas, and keep all that has adorned and improved the past,\nwhile abandoning what has impaired and disgraced it. That the American\npeople appreciate and are ready to support what is most elegant,\nrefined, and beautiful in the greatest capitals of Europe,--that they\nvalue and intend to provide the largest and most costly opportunities\nfor the enjoyment of their own leisure, artistic tastes, and rural\ninstincts, is emphatically declared in the history, progress, and\nmanifest destiny of the Central Park; while their competency to use\nwisely, to enjoy peacefully, to protect sacredly, and to improve\nindustriously the expensive, exposed, and elegant pleasure-ground they\nhave devised, is proved with redundant testimony by the year and more of\nexperience we have had in the use of the Park, under circumstances far\nless favorable than any that can ever again arise. As a test of the\nability of the people to know their own higher wants, of the power of\ntheir artistic instincts, their docility to the counsels of their most\njudicious representatives, their superiority to petty economies, their\nstrength to resist the natural opposition of heavy tax-payers to\nexpensive public works, their gentleness and amenableness to just\nauthority in the pursuit of their pleasures, of their susceptibility to\nthe softening influences of elegance and beauty, of their honest pride\nand rejoicing in their own splendor, of their superior fondness for what\nis innocent and elevating over what is base and degrading, when\nbrought within equal reach, the Central Park has already afforded most\nencouraging, nay, most decisive proof.\n\nThe Central Park is an anomaly to those who have not deeply studied the\ntendencies of popular governments. It is a royal work, undertaken and\nachieved by the Democracy,--surprising equally themselves and their\nskeptical friends at home and abroad,--and developing, both in its\ncreation and growth, in its use and application, new and almost\nincredible tastes, aptitudes, capacities, and powers in the people\nthemselves. That the people should be capable of the magnanimity of\nlaying down their authority, when necessary to concentrate it in\nthe hands of energetic and responsible trustees requiring large\npowers,--that they should be willing to tax themselves heavily for the\nbenefit of future generations,--that they should be wise enough to\ndistrust their own judgment and defer modestly to the counsels of\nexperts,--that they should be in favor of the most solid and substantial\nwork,--that they should be willing to have the better half of their\nmoney under ground and out of sight, invested in drains and foundations\nof roads,--that they should acquiesce cheerfully in all the restrictions\nnecessary to the achievement of the work, while admitted freely to the\nuse and enjoyment of its inchoate processes,--that their conduct and\nmanners should prove so unexceptionable,--their disposition to trespass\nupon strict rules so small,--their use and improvement of the work so\nfree, so easy, and so immediately justificatory of all the cost of so\ngenerous and grand an enterprise: these things throw light and cheer\nupon the prospects of popular institutions, at a period when they are\nseriously clouded from other quarters.\n\nWe do not propose to enter into any description of the Central Park.\nThose who have not already visited it will find a description,\naccompanying a study for the plan submitted for competition in 1858, by\nMessrs. Olmsted and Vaux, and published among the Documents of the New\nYork Senate, which will satisfy their utmost expectations. We wish\nmerely to throw out some replies to the leading objections we have met\nin the papers and other quarters to the plan itself. We need hardly say\nthat the Central Park requires no advocate and no defence. Its great\nproprietor, the Public, is perfectly satisfied with his purchase and his\nagents. He thinks himself providentially guided in the choice of his\nSuperintendent, and does not vainly pique himself upon his sagacity in\nselecting Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted for the post. This gentleman, in his\nplace, offsets at least a thousand square plugs in round holes. He is\nprecisely the man for the place,--and that is precisely the place for\nthe man. Among final causes, it would be difficult not to assign the\nCentral Park as the reason of his existence. To fill the duties of his\noffice as he has filled them,--to prove himself equally competent as\noriginal designer, patient executor, potent disciplinarian, and model\npolice-officer,--to enforce a method, precision, and strictness, equally\nmarked in the workmanship, in the accounts, and in the police of the\nPark,--to be equally studious of the highest possible use and enjoyment\nof the work by the public of to-day, and of the prospects and privileges\nof the coming generations,--to sympathize with the outside people,\nwhile in the closest fellowship with the inside,--to make himself\nequally the favorite and friend of the people and of the workmen:\nthis proves an original adaptation, most carefully improved, which we\nseriously believe not capable of being paralleled in any other public\nwork, of similar magnitude, ever undertaken. The union of prosaic\nsense with poetical feeling, of democratic sympathies with refined\nand scholarly tastes, of punctilious respect for facts with tender\nhospitality for ideas, has enabled him to appreciate and embody, both in\nthe conception and execution of the Park, the beau-ideal of a people's\npleasure-ground. If he had not borne, as an agriculturist, and as the\nkeenest, most candid, and instructive of all our writers on the moral\nand political economy of our American Slavery, a name to be long\nremembered, he might safely trust his reputation to the keeping of New\nYork city and all her successive citizens, as the author and achiever of\nthe Central Park,--which, when completed, will prove, we are confident,\nthe most splendid, satisfactory, and popular park in the world.\n\nTwo grand assumptions have controlled the design from the inception.\n\nFirst, That the Park would be the only park deserving the name, for a\ntown of twice or thrice the present population of New York; that\nthis town would be built compactly around it (and in this respect\nof centrality it would differ from any extant metropolitan park of\nmagnitude); and that it would be a town of greater wealth and more\nluxurious demands than any now existing.\n\nSecond, That, while in harmony with the luxury of the rich, the Park\nshould and would be used more than any existing park by people of\nmoderate wealth and by poor people, and that its use by these people\nmust be made safe, convenient, agreeable; that they must be expected\nto have a pride and pleasure in using it rightly, in cherishing and\nprotecting it against all causes of injury and dilapidation, and that\nthis is to be provided for and encouraged.\n\nA want of appreciation of the first assumption is the cause of all\nsincere criticism against the Transverse Roads. Some engineers\noriginally pronounced them impracticable of construction; but all their\ngrounds of apprehension have been removed by the construction of two of\nthem, especially by the completion of the tunnel under Vista Rock, and\nbelow the foundation of the Reservoir embankment and wall. They were\nplanned for the future; they are being built solidly, massively,\npermanently, for the future. Less thoroughly and expensively\nconstructed, they would need to be rebuilt in the future at enormously\nincreased cost, and with great interruption to the use of the Park; and\nthe grounds in their vicinity, losing the advantage of age, would need\nto be remodelled and remade. An engineer, visiting the Park for the\nfirst time, and hearing the criticism to which we refer applied to the\nwalls and bridges of the Transverse Roads, observed,--\"People in this\ncountry are so unaccustomed to see genuine substantial work, they do not\nknow what it means when they meet with it.\" We think he did not do the\npeople justice.\n\nThe Transverse Roads passing through the Park will not be seen from\nit; and although they will not be, when deep in the shadow of the\noverhanging bridges and groves, without a very grand beauty, this will\nbe the beauty of utility and of permanence, not of imaginative grace.\nThe various bridges and archways of the Park proper, while equally\nthorough in their mode of construction, and consequently expensive,\nare in all cases embellished each with special decorations in form and\ncolor. These decorations have the same quality of substantiality and\nthorough good workmanship. Note the clean under-cutting of the leaves,\n(of which there are more than fifty different forms in the decorations\nof the Terrace arch,) and their consequent sharp and expressive shadows.\nAdmitting the need of these structures, and the economy of a method of\nconstruction which would render them permanent, the additional cost of\ntheir permanent decoration in this way could not have been rationally\ngrudged.\n\nRegard for the distant future has likewise controlled the planting; and\nthe Commissioners, in so far as they have resisted the clamor of the\nday, that the Park must be immediately shaded, have done wisely. Every\nhorticulturist knows that this immediate shade would be purchased at an\nexpense of dwarfed, diseased, and deformed trees, with stinted shade, in\nthe future. No man has planted large and small trees together without\nregretting the former within twenty years. The same consideration\nanswers an objection which has been made, that the trees are too much\narranged in masses of color. Imagine a growth of twenty years, with the\nproper thinnings, and most of these masses will resolve each into one\ntree, singled out, as the best individual of its mass, to remain. There\nis a large scale in the planting, as in everything else.\n\nRegard to the convenience, comfort, and safety of those who cannot\nafford to visit the Park in carriages has led to an unusual extent and\nvariety of character in the walks, and also to a peculiar arrangement by\nwhich they are carried in many instances beneath and across the line of\nthe carriage-roads. Thus access can be had by pedestrians to all parts\nof the Park at times when the roads are thronged with vehicles, without\nany delays or dangers in crossing the roads, and without the humiliation\nto sensitive democrats of being spattered or dusted, or looked down upon\nfrom luxurious equipages.\n\nThe great irregularity of the surface offers facilities for this\npurpose,--the walks being carried through the heads of valleys which are\ncrossed by the carriage-ways upon arches of masonry. Now with regard to\nthese archways, if no purposes of convenience were to be served by them,\nthe Park would not, we may admit, be beautified by them. But we assume\nthat the population of New York is to be doubled; that, when it is so,\nif not sooner, the walks and drives of the Park will often be densely\nthronged; and, for the comfort of the people, when that shall be the\ncase, we consider that these archways will be absolutely necessary.[A]\nAssuming further, then, that they are to be built, and, if ever, built\nnow,--since it would involve an entirely new-modelling of the Park to\nintroduce them in the future,--it was necessary to pay some attention to\nmake them agreeable and unmonotonous objects, or the general impression\nof ease, freedom, and variety would be interfered with very materially.\nIt is not to make the Park architectural, as is commonly supposed, that\nvarious and somewhat expensive _design_ is introduced; on the contrary,\nit is the intention to plant closely in the vicinity of all the arches,\nso that they may be unnoticed in the general effect, and be seen only\njust at the time they are being used, when, of course, they must come\nunder notice. The charge is made, that the features of the natural\nlandscape have been disregarded in the plan. To which we answer, that on\nthe ground of the Lower Park there was originally no landscape, in the\nartistic sense. There were hills, and hillocks, and rocks, and swampy\nvalleys. It would have been easy to flood the swamps into ponds, to\nclothe the hillocks with grass and the hills with foliage, and leave the\nrocks each unscathed in its picturesqueness. And this would have been a\ngreat improvement; yet there would be no landscape: there would be\nan unassociated succession of objects,--many nice \"bits\" of scenery,\nappropriate to a villa-garden or to an artist's sketch-book, but no\nscenery such as an artist arranges for his broad canvas, no composition,\nno _park-like_ prospect. It would have afforded a good place for\nloitering; but if this were all that was desirable, forty acres would\nhave done as well as a thousand, as is shown in the Ramble. Space,\nbreadth, objects in the distance, clear in outline, but obscure,\nmysterious, exciting curiosity, in their detail, were wanting.\n\n[Footnote A: The length of roads, walks, etc., completed, will be found\nin the last Annual Report, pp. 47-52.\n\nThe length of the famous drive in Hyde Park (the King Road) is 2 1\/2\nmiles. There is another road, straight between two gates, 1 1\/4 miles in\nlength. \"Rotten Bow\" (the Ride) is a trifle over a mile in length.\n\nThe length of Drive in Central Park will be 9 1\/3 miles; the length of\nBridle Roads, 5 1\/3 miles; the length of Walks, 20 miles.\n\nTen miles of walk, gravelled and substantially underlaid, are now\nfinished.\n\nEighteen archways are planned, beside those of the Transverse Roads,\nequal 1 to 46 acres. When the planting is well-grown, no two of the\narchways will be visible from the same point.]\n\nTo their supply there were hard limitations. On each side, within half\na mile of each other, there were to be lines of stone and brick houses,\ncutting off any great lateral distance. Suppose one to have entered\nthe Park at the south end, and to have moved far enough within it to\ndispossess his mind of the sentiments of the streets: he will have\nthreaded his way between hillocks and rocks, one after another,\ndiffering in magnitude, but never opening a landscape having breadth or\ndistance. He ascends a hill and looks northward: the most distant\nobject is the hard, straight, horizontal line of the stone wall of the\nReservoir, flanked on one side by the peak of Vista Rock. It is a little\nover a mile distant,--but, standing clear out against the horizon,\nappears much less than that. Hide it with foliage, as well as the houses\nright and left, and the limitation of distance is a mile in front and a\nquarter of a mile upon each side. Low hills or ridges of rock in a great\ndegree cut off the intermediate ground from view: cross these, and the\nsame unassociated succession of objects might be visited, but no one of\nthem would have engaged the visitor's attention and attracted him onward\nfrom a distance. The plan has evidently been to make a selection of\nthe natural features to form the leading ideas of the new scenery, to\nmagnify the most important quality of each of these, and to remove or\ntone down all the irregularities of the ground between them, and by all\nmeans to make the limit of vision undefined and obscure. Thus, in the\ncentral portion of the Lower Park the low grounds have been generally\nfilled, and the high grounds reduced; but the two largest areas of low\nground have been excavated, the excavation being carried laterally into\nthe hills as far as was possible, without extravagant removal of rock,\nand the earth obtained transferred to higher ground connecting hillocks\nwith hills. Excavations have also been made about the base of all the\nmore remarkable ledges and peaks of rock, while additional material has\nbeen conveyed to their sides and summits to increase their size and\ndignity.\n\nThis general rule of the plan was calculated to give, in the first\nplace, breadth, and, in the second, emphasis, to any general prospect\nof the Park. A want of unity, or rather, if we may use the word, of\nassemblage, belonged to the ground; and it must have been one of the\nfirst problems to establish some one conspicuous, salient idea which\nshould take the lead in the composition, and about which all minor\nfeatures should seem naturally to group as accessories. The straight,\nevidently artificial, and hence distinctive and notable, Mall, with its\nterminating Terrace, was the resolution of this problem. It will be,\nwhen the trees are fully grown, a feature of the requisite importance,\n--and will serve the further purpose of opening the view toward, and, as\nit were, framing and keeping attention directed upon, Vista Rock, which\nfrom the southern end of the Mall is the most distant object that can be\nbrought into view.\n\nFor the same purpose, evidently, it was thought desirable to insist,\nas far as possible, upon a pause at the point where, to the visitor\nproceeding northward, the whole hill-side and glen before Vista Rock\nfirst came under view, and where an effect of distance in that direction\nwas yet attainable. This is provided for by the Terrace, with its\nseveral stairs and stages, and temptations to linger and rest. The\nintroduction of the Lake to the northward of the Terrace also obliges a\ndiversion from the direct line of proceeding; the visitor's attention is\nhenceforth directed laterally, or held by local objects, until at length\nby a circuitous route he reaches and ascends (if he chooses) the summit\nof Vista Rock, when a new landscape of entirely different character, and\none not within our control, is opened to him. Thus the apparent distance\nof Vista Rock from the lower part of the Park (which is increased\nby means which we have not thought it necessary to describe) is not\nfalsified by any experience of the visitor in his subsequent journey to\nit.\n\nThere was a fine and completely natural landscape in the Upper Park. The\nplan only simplifies it,--removing and modifying those objects which\nwere incongruous with its best predominating character, and here and\nthere adding emphasis or shadow.\n\nThe Park (with the extension) is two and three quarter miles in length\nand nearly half a mile wide. It contains 843 acres, including the\nReservoir (136 acres).\n\n  Original cost of land to 106th Street,             $5,444,369.90\n  Of this, assessed on adjoining property,            1,657,590.00\n                                                      ____________\n  To be paid by corporation direct,                   3,786,779.90\n  Assessed value of extension land, (106th to 110th,) 1,400,000.00\n                                                      ____________\n  Total cost of land,                                $6,800,000.00[B]\n\n[Footnote B: The amount thus far expended in construction and\nmaintenance is nearly $3,000,000. The plan upon which the work is\nproceeding will require a further expenditure of $1,600,000. The\nexpenditure is not squandered. Much the larger part of it is paid for\nday-labor. Account with laborers is kept by the hour, the rate of wages\nbeing scarcely above the lowest contractor's rates, and 30 per cent.\nbelow the rate of other public works of the city; always paid directly\ninto the laborer's hands,--in specie, however.\n\nThe thorough government of the work, and the general efficiency of its\ndirection, are indicated by the remarkable good order and absence of\n\"accidents\" which have characterized it. See p. 64 of Annual Report,\n1860. For some particulars of cost, see pp. 61, 62, of same Report.]\n\nIn all European parks, there is more or less land the only use of which\nis to give a greater length to the roads which pass around it,--it being\nout of sight, and, in American phrase, unimproved. There is not an acre\nof land in Central Park, which, if not wanted for Park purposes, would\nnot sell for at least as much as the land surrounding the Park and\nbeyond its limits,--that is to say, for at least $60,000, the legal\nannual interest of which is $4,200. This would be the ratio of the\nannual waste of property in the case of any land not put to use; but,\nin elaborating the plan, care has been taken that no part of the Park\nshould be without its special advantages, attractions, or valuable uses,\nand that these should as far as possible be made immediately available\nto the public.\n\nThe comprehensiveness of purpose and the variety of detail of the plan\nfar exceed those of any other park in the world, and have involved, and\ncontinue to involve, a greater amount of study and invention than has\never before been given to a park. A consideration of this should enforce\nan unusually careful method of maintenance, both in the gardening and\npolice departments. Sweeping with a broom of brush-wood once a week is\nwell enough for a hovel; but the floors of a palace must needs be daily\nwaxed and polished, to justify their original cost. We are unused to\nthorough gardening in this country. There are not in all the United\nStates a dozen lawns or grass-plots so well kept as the majority of\ntradesmen's door-yards in England or Holland. Few of our citizens have\never seen a really well-kept ground. During the last summer, much of the\nPark was in a state of which the Superintendent professed himself to be\nashamed; but it caused not the slightest comment with the public, so far\nas we heard. As nearly all men in office, who have not a personal taste\nto satisfy, are well content, if they succeed in satisfying the public,\nwe fear the Superintendent will be forced to \"economize\" on the keeping\nof the Park, as he was the past year, to a degree which will be as far\nfrom true economy as the cleaning of mosaic floors with birch brooms.\nThe Park is laid out in a manner which assumes and requires cleanly and\norderly habits in those who use it; much of its good quality will be\nlost, if it be not very neatly kept; and such negligence in the keeping\nwill tend to negligence in the using.\n\nIn the plan, there is taken for granted a generally good inclination, a\ncleanly, temperate, orderly disposition, on the part of the public which\nis to frequent the Park, and finally to be the governors of its keeping,\nand a good, well-disposed, and well-disciplined police force, who would,\nin spite of \"the inabilities of a republic,\" adequately control the\ncases exceptional to the assumed general good habits of that public,--at\nthe same time neglecting no precaution to facilitate the convenient\nenforcement of the laws, and reduce the temptation to disorderly\npractices to a minimum.\n\nHow thoroughly justified has been this confidence in the people, taking\ninto account the novelty of a good public ground, of cleanliness in our\npublic places, and indeed the novelty of the whole undertaking, we have\nalready intimated. How much the privileges of the Park in its present\nincomplete condition are appreciated, and how generally the requirements\nof order are satisfied, the following summary, compiled from the\nPark-keeper's reports of the first summer's use after the roads of the\nLower Park were opened, will inadequately show.\n\n  Number of visitors in six months.    Foot.    Saddle.    Carriages.\n  May,                                184,450    8,017       26,500\n  June,                               294,300    9,050       31,300\n  July,                                71,035    2,710        4,945\n  August,                              63,800      875       14,905\n  September,                           47,433    2,645       20,708\n  October,                            160,187    3,014       26,813\n  Usual number of visitors on a\n                 fine summer's day,     2,000       90        1,200\n  Usual number of visitors on a\n                       fine Sunday,    35,000       60        1,500\n             (Men 20,000, Women 13,000, Children 2,000.)\n  Sunday, May 29, entrances counted,   75,000      120        3,200\n  Usual number of visitors,\n                 fine Concert day,      7,500      180        2,500\n  Saturday, Sept. 22, (Concert day,)\n                  entrances counted,   13,000      225        4,650\n\nDuring this time, (six months,) but thirty persons were detected upon\nthe Park tipsy. Of these, twenty-four were sufficiently drunk to justify\ntheir arrest,--the remainder going quietly off the grounds, when\nrequested to do so. That is to say, it is not oftener than once a week\nthat a man is observed to be the worse for liquor while on the Park; and\nthis, while three to four thousand laboring men are at work within it,\nare paid upon it, and grog-shops for their accommodation are all along\nits boundaries. In other words, about one in thirty thousand of the\nvisitors to the Park has been under the influence of drink when induced\nto visit it.\n\nOn Christmas and New-Year's Days, it was estimated by many experienced\nreporters that over 100,000 persons, each day, were on the Park,\ngenerally in a frolicksome mood. Of these, but one (a small boy) was\nobserved by the keepers to be drunk; there was not an instance of\nquarrelling, and no disorderly conduct, except a generally good-natured\nresistance to the efforts of the police to maintain safety on the ice.\n\nThe Bloomingdale Road and Harlem Lane, two famous trotting-courses,\nwhere several hundred famously fast horses may be seen at the top of\ntheir speed any fine afternoon, both touch an entrance to the Park. The\nPark roads are, of course, vastly attractive to the trotters, and for\na few weeks there were daily instances of fast driving there: as soon,\nhowever, as the law and custom of the Park, restricting speed to a\nmoderate rate, could be made generally understood, fast driving became\nvery rare,--more so, probably, than in Hyde Park or the Bois de\nBoulogne. As far as possible, an arrest has been made in every case\nof intentionally fast driving observed by the keepers: those arrested\nnumber less than one to ten thousand of the vehicles entering the Park\nfor pleasure-driving. In each case a fine (usually three dollars) has\nbeen imposed by the magistrate.\n\nIn six months there have been sixty-four arrests for all sorts of\n\"disorderly conduct,\" including walking on the grass after being\nrequested to quit it, quarrelling, firing crackers, etc.,--one in\neighteen thousand visitors. So thoroughly established is the good\nconduct of people on the Park, that many ladies walk daily in the Ramble\nwithout attendance.\n\nA protest, as already intimated, is occasionally made against the\ncompleteness of detail to which the Commissioners are disposed to\ncarry their work, on the ground that the habits of the masses of our\ncity-population are ill-calculated for its appreciation, and that loss\nand damage to expensive work must often be the result. To which we\nwould answer, that, if the authorities of the city hitherto have so far\nmisapprehended or neglected their duty as to allow a large industrious\npopulation to continue so long without the opportunity for public\nrecreations that it has grown up ignorant of the rights and duties\nappertaining to the general use of a well-kept pleasure-ground, any\nlosses of the kind apprehended, which may in consequence occur, should\nbe cheerfully borne as a necessary part of the responsibility of a\ngood government. Experience thus far, however, does not justify these\napprehensions.\n\nTo collect exact evidence showing that the Park is already exercising a\ngood influence upon the character of the people is not in the nature of\nthe case practicable. It has been observed that rude, noisy fellows,\nafter entering the more advanced or finished parts of the Park, become\nhushed, moderate, and careful. Observing the generally tranquil and\npleased expression, and the quiet, sauntering movement, the frequent\nexclamations of pleasure in the general view or in the sight of some\nspecial object of natural beauty, on the part of the crowds of idlers in\nthe Ramble on a Sunday afternoon, and recollecting the totally opposite\ncharacter of feeling, thought, purpose, and sentiment which is expressed\nby a crowd assembled anywhere else, especially in the public streets of\nthe city, the conviction cannot well be avoided that the Park already\nexercises a beneficent influence of no inconsiderable value, and of a\nkind which could have been gained in no other way. We speak of Sunday\nafternoons and of a crowd; but the Park evidently does induce many a\npoor family, and many a poor seamstress and journeyman, to take a day or\na half-day from the working-time of the week, to the end of retaining\ntheir youth and their youthful relations with purer Nature, and to their\ngain in strength, good-humor, safe citizenship, and--if the economists\nmust be satisfied--money-value to the commonwealth. Already, too, there\nare several thousand men, women, and children who resort to the Park\nhabitually: some daily, before business or after business, and women\nand children at regular hours during the day; some weekly; and some at\nirregular, but certain frequent chances of their business. Mr. Astor,\nwhen in town, rarely misses his daily ride; nor Mr. Bancroft; Mr. Mayor\nHarper never his drive. And there are certain working-men with their\nfamilies equally sure to be met walking on Sunday morning or Sunday\nafternoon; others on Saturday. The number of these _habitues_ constantly\nincreases. When we meet those who depend on the Park as on the butcher\nand the omnibus, and the thousands who are again drawn by whatever\nimpulse and suggestion of the hour, we often ask, What would they have\ndone, where would they have been, to what sort of recreation would they\nhave turned, _if to any_, had there been no park? Of one sort the answer\nis supplied by the keeper of a certain saloon, who came to the Park, as\nhe said, to see his old Sunday customers. The enjoyment of the ice had\nmade them forget their grog.\n\nSix or seven years ago, an opposition brought down the prices and\nquadrupled the accommodations of the Staten Island ferry-boats. Clifton\nPark and numerous German gardens were opened; and the consequence was\ndescribed, in common phrase, as the transformation of a portion of the\nisland, on Sunday, to a Pandemonium. We thought we would, like Dante,\nhave a cool look at it. We had read so much about it, and heard it\ntalked about and preached about so much, that we were greatly surprised\nto find the throng upon the sidewalks quite as orderly and a great deal\nmore evidently good-natured than any we ever saw before in the United\nStates. We spent some time in what we had been led to suppose the\nhottest place, Clifton Park, in which there was a band of music and\nseveral thousand persons, chiefly Germans, though with a good sprinkling\nof Irish servant-girls with their lovers and brothers, with beer\nand ices; but we saw no rudeness, and no more impropriety, no more\nexcitement, no more (week-day) sin, than we had seen at the church in\nthe morning. Every face, however, was foreign. By-and-by came in three\nAmericans, talking loudly, moving rudely, proclaiming contempt for\n\"lager\" and yelling for \"liquor,\" bantering and offering fight, joking\ncoarsely, profane, noisy, demonstrative in any and every way, to the end\nof attracting attention to themselves, and proclaiming that they were\n\"on a spree\" and highly excited. They could not keep it up; they became\nawkward, ill at ease, and at length silent, standing looking about them\nin stupid wonder. Evidently they could not understand what it meant:\npeople drinking, smoking in public, on Sunday, and yet not excited, not\ntrying to make it a spree. It was not comprehensible. We ascertained\nthat one of the ferry-boat bars had disposed of an enormous stock of\nlemonade, ginger-beer, and soda-water before three o'clock,--but, till\nthis was all gone, not half a dozen glasses of intoxicating drinks.\nWe saw no quarrelling, no drunkenness, and nothing like the fearful\ndisorder which had been described,--with a few such exceptions as we\nhave mentioned of native Americans who had no conception of enjoyment\nfree from bodily excitement.\n\nTo teach and induce habits of orderly, tranquil, contemplative, or\nsocial amusement, moderate exercises and recreation, soothing to the\nnerves, has been the most needed \"mission\" for New York. We think we\nsee daily evidence that the Park accomplishes not a little in this way.\nUnfortunately, the evidence is not of a character to be expressed in\nFederal currency, else the Commissioners would not be hesitating about\ntaking the ground from One-Hundred-and-Sixth to One-Hundred-and-Tenth\nStreet, because it is to cost half a million more than was anticipated.\nWhat the Park is worth to us to-day is, we trust, but a trifle to what\nit will be worth when the bulk of our hard-working people, of our\nover-anxious Marthas, and our gutter-skating children shall live nearer\nto it, and more generally understand what it offers them,--when its\nplay-grounds are ready, its walks more shaded,--when cheap and wholesome\nmeals, to the saving, occasionally, of the dreary housewife's daily\npottering, are to be had upon it,--when its system of cheap cabs shall\nhave been successfully inaugurated,--and when a daily discourse of sweet\nsounds shall have been made an essential part of its functions in the\nbody-politic.\n\nWe shall not probably live to see \"the gentility of Sir Philip Sidney\nmade universal,\" but we do hope that we shall live to know many\nresidents of towns of ten thousand population who will be ashamed to\nsubscribe for the building of new churches while no public play-ground\nis being prepared for their people.\n\n\n\n\nLIFE IN THE IRON-MILLS.\n\n  \"Is this the end?\n  O Life, as futile, then, as frail!\n  What hope of answer or redress?\"\n\n\nA cloudy day: do you know what that is in a town of iron-works? The sky\nsank down before dawn, muddy, flat, immovable. The air is thick, clammy\nwith the breath of crowded human beings. It stifles me. I open the\nwindow, and, looking out, can scarcely see through the rain the grocer's\nshop opposite, where a crowd of drunken Irishmen are puffing Lynchburg\ntobacco in their pipes. I can detect the scent through all the foul\nsmells ranging loose in the air.\n\nThe idiosyncrasy of this town is smoke. It rolls sullenly in slow folds\nfrom the great chimneys of the iron-foundries, and settles down in\nblack, slimy pools on the muddy streets. Smoke on the wharves, smoke on\nthe dingy boats, on the yellow river,--clinging in a coating of greasy\nsoot to the house-front, the two faded poplars, the faces of the\npassers-by. The long train of mules, dragging masses of pig-iron through\nthe narrow street, have a foul vapor hanging to their reeking sides.\nHere, inside, is a little broken figure of an angel pointing upward from\nthe mantel-shelf; but even its wings are covered with smoke, clotted\nand black. Smoke everywhere! A dirty canary chirps desolately in a\ncage beside me. Its dream of green fields and sunshine is a very old\ndream,--almost worn out, I think.\n\nFrom the back-window I can see a narrow brick-yard sloping down to\nthe river-side, strewed with rain-butts and tubs. The river, dull and\ntawny-, _(la belle riviere!)_ drags itself sluggishly along,\ntired of the heavy weight of boats and coal-barges. What wonder? When I\nwas a child, I used to fancy a look of weary, dumb appeal upon the face\nof the <DW64>-like river slavishly bearing its burden day after day.\nSomething of the same idle notion comes to me to-day, when from the\nstreet-window I look on the slow stream of human life creeping past,\nnight and morning, to the great mills. Masses of men, with dull,\nbesotted faces bent to the ground, sharpened here and there by pain\nor cunning; skin and muscle and flesh begrimed with smoke and ashes;\nstooping all night over boiling caldrons of metal, laired by day in\ndens of drunkenness and infamy; breathing from infancy to death an air\nsaturated with fog and grease and soot, vileness for soul and body. What\ndo you make of a case like that, amateur psychologist? You call it an\naltogether serious thing to be alive: to these men it is a drunken jest,\na joke,--horrible to angels perhaps, to them commonplace enough. My\nfancy about the river was an idle one: it is no type of such a life.\nWhat if it be stagnant and slimy here? It knows that beyond there waits\nfor it odorous sunlight,--quaint old gardens, dusky with soft, green\nfoliage of apple-trees, and flushing crimson with roses,--air, and\nfields, and mountains. The future of the Welsh puddler passing just now\nis not so pleasant. To be stowed away, after his grimy work is done, in\na hole in the muddy graveyard, and after that,--_not_ air, nor green\nfields, nor curious roses.\n\nCan you see how foggy the day is? As I stand here, idly tapping the\nwindow-pane, and looking out through the rain at the dirty back-yard and\nthe coal-boats below, fragments of an old story float up before me,--a\nstory of this old house into which I happened to come to-day. You may\nthink it a tiresome story enough, as foggy as the day, sharpened by no\nsudden flashes of pain or pleasure.--I know: only the outline of a dull\nlife, that long since, with thousands of dull lives like its own, was\nvainly lived and lost: thousands of them,--massed, vile, slimy lives,\nlike those of the torpid lizards in yonder stagnant water-butt.--Lost?\nThere is a curious point for you to settle, my friend, who study\npsychology in a lazy, _dilettante_ way. Stop a moment. I am going to be\nhonest. This is what I want you to do. I want you to hide your disgust,\ntake no heed to your clean clothes, and come right down with me,--here,\ninto the thickest of the fog and mud and foul effluvia. I want you to\nhear this story. There is a secret down here, in this nightmare fog,\nthat has lain dumb for centuries: I want to make it a real thing to you.\nYou, Egoist, or Pantheist, or Arminian, busy in making straight paths\nfor your feet on the hills, do not see it clearly,--this terrible\nquestion which men here have gone mad and died trying to answer. I dare\nnot put this secret into words. I told you it was dumb. These men, going\nby with drunken faces and brains full of unawakened power, do not ask it\nof Society or of God. Their lives ask it; their deaths ask it. There is\nno reply. I will tell you plainly that I have a great hope; and I bring\nit to you to be tested. It is this: that this terrible dumb question is\nits own reply; that it is not the sentence of death we think it, but,\nfrom the very extremity of its darkness, the most solemn prophecy which\nthe world has known of the Hope to come. I dare make my meaning no\nclearer, but will only tell my story. It will, perhaps, seem to you as\nfoul and dark as this thick vapor about us, and as pregnant with death;\nbut if your eyes are free as mine are to look deeper, no perfume-tinted\ndawn will be so fair with promise of the day that shall surely come.\n\nMy story is very simple,--only what I remember of the life of one\nof these men,--a furnace-tender in one of Kirby & John's\nrolling-mills,--Hugh Wolfe. You know the mills? They took the great\norder for the Lower Virginia railroads there last winter; run usually\nwith about a thousand men. I cannot tell why I choose the half-forgotten\nstory of this Wolfe more than that of myriads of these furnace-hands.\nPerhaps because there is a secret underlying sympathy between that story\nand this day with its impure fog and thwarted sunshine,--or perhaps\nsimply for the reason that this house is the one where the Wolfes lived.\nThere were the father and son,--both hands, as I said, in one of Kirby\n& John's mills for making railroad-iron,--and Deborah, their cousin, a\npicker in some of the cotton-mills. The house was rented then to half\na dozen families. The Wolfes had two of the cellar-rooms. The old man,\nlike many of the puddlers and feeders of the mills, was Welsh,--had\nspent half of his life in the Cornish tin-mines. You may pick the Welsh\nemigrants, Cornish miners, out of the throng passing the windows, any\nday. They are a trifle more filthy; their muscles are not so brawny;\nthey stoop more. When they are drunk, they neither yell, nor shout, nor\nstagger, but skulk along like beaten hounds. A pure, unmixed blood, I\nfancy: shows itself in the slight angular bodies and sharply-cut facial\nlines. It is nearly thirty years since the Wolfes lived here. Their\nlives were like those of their class: incessant labor, sleeping in\nkennel-like rooms, eating rank pork and molasses, drinking--God and the\ndistillers only know what; with an occasional night in jail, to atone\nfor some drunken excess. Is that all of their lives?--of the portion\ngiven to them and these their duplicates swarming the streets to-day?\n--nothing beneath?--all? So many a political reformer will tell\nyou,--and many a private reformer, too, who has gone among them with a\nheart tender with Christ's charity, and come out outraged, hardened.\n\nOne rainy night, about eleven o'clock, a crowd of half-clothed women\nstopped outside of the cellar-door. They were going home from the\ncotton-mill.\n\n\"Good-night, Deb,\" said one, a mulatto, steadying herself against the\ngas-post. She needed the post to steady her. So did more than one of\nthem.\n\n\"Dah's a ball to Miss Potts' to-night. Ye'd best come.\"\n\n\"Inteet, Deb, if hur 'll come, hur 'll hef fun,\" said a shrill Welsh\nvoice in the crowd.\n\nTwo or three dirty hands were thrust out to catch the gown of the woman,\nwho was groping for the latch of the door.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No? Where's Kit Small, then?\"\n\n\"Begorra! on the spools. Alleys behint, though we helped her, we dud.\nAn wid ye! Let Deb alone! It's ondacent frettin' a quite body. Be\nthe powers, an' we'll have a night of it! there'll be lashin's o'\ndrink,--the Vargent be blessed and praised for 't!\"\n\nThey went on, the mulatto inclining for a moment to show fight, and drag\nthe woman Wolfe off with them; but, being pacified, she staggered away.\n\nDeborah groped her way into the cellar, and, after considerable\nstumbling, kindled a match, and lighted a tallow dip, that sent a yellow\nglimmer over the room. It was low, damp,--the earthen floor covered with\na green, slimy moss,--a fetid air smothering the breath. Old Wolfe lay\nasleep on a heap of straw, wrapped in a torn horse-blanket. He was a\npale, meek little man, with a white face and red rabbit-eyes. The woman\nDeborah was like him; only her face was even more ghastly, her lips\nbluer, her eyes more watery. She wore a faded cotton gown and a\nslouching bonnet. When she walked, one could see that she was deformed,\nalmost a hunchback. She trod softly, so as not to waken him, and went\nthrough into the room beyond. There she found by the half-extinguished\nfire an iron saucepan filled with cold boiled potatoes, which she put\nupon a broken chair with a pint-cup of ale. Placing the old candlestick\nbeside this dainty repast, she untied her bonnet, which hung limp and\nwet over her face, and prepared to eat her supper. It was the first\nfood that had touched her lips since morning. There was enough of it,\nhowever: there is not always. She was hungry,--one could see that easily\nenough,--and not drunk, as most of her companions would have been found\nat this hour. She did not drink, this woman,--her face told that,\ntoo,--nothing stronger than ale. Perhaps the weak, flaccid wretch had\nsome stimulant in her pale life to keep her up,--some love or hope, it\nmight be, or urgent need. When that stimulant was gone, she would take\nto whiskey. Man cannot live by work alone. While she was skinning the\npotatoes, and munching them, a noise behind her made her stop.\n\n\"Janey!\" she called, lifting the candle and peering into the darkness.\n\"Janey, are you there?\"\n\nA heap of ragged coats was heaved up, and the face of a young girl\nemerged, staring sleepily at the woman.\n\n\"Deborah,\" she said, at last, \"I'm here the night.\"\n\n\"Yes, child. Hur's welcome,\" she said, quietly eating on.\n\nThe girl's face was haggard and sickly; her eyes were heavy with sleep\nand hunger: real Milesian eyes they were, dark, delicate blue, glooming\nout from black shadows with a pitiful fright.\n\n\"I was alone,\" she said, timidly.\n\n\"Where's the father?\" asked Deborah, holding out a potato, which the\ngirl greedily seized.\n\n\"He's beyant,--wid Haley,--in the stone house.\" (Did you ever hear the\nword _jail_ from an Irish mouth?) \"I came here. Hugh told me never to\nstay me-lone.\"\n\n\"Hugh?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nA vexed frown crossed her face. The girl saw it, and added quickly,--\n\n\"I have not seen Hugh the day, Deb. The old man says his watch lasts\ntill the mornin'.\"\n\nThe woman sprang up, and hastily began to arrange some bread and flitch\nin a tin pail, and to pour her own measure of ale into a bottle. Tying\non her bonnet, she blew out the candle.\n\n\"Lay ye down, Janey dear,\" she said, gently, covering her with the old\nrags. \"Hur can eat the potatoes, if hur 's hungry.\"\n\n\"Where are ye goin', Deb? The rain 's sharp.\"\n\n\"To the mill, with Hugh's supper.\"\n\n\"Let him hide till th' morn. Sit ye down.\"\n\n\"No, no,\"--sharply pushing her off. \"The boy'll starve.\"\n\nShe hurried from the cellar, while the child wearily coiled herself up\nfor sleep. The rain was falling heavily, as the woman, pail in hand,\nemerged from the mouth of the alley, and turned down the narrow street,\nthat stretched out, long and black, miles before her. Here and there a\nflicker of gas lighted an uncertain space of muddy footwalk and gutter;\nthe long rows of houses, except an occasional lager-bier shop, were\nclosed; now and then she met a band of mill-hands skulking to or from\ntheir work.\n\nNot many even of the inhabitants of a manufacturing town know the vast\nmachinery of system by which the bodies of workmen are governed, that\ngoes on unceasingly from year to year. The hands of each mill are\ndivided into watches that relieve each other as regularly as the\nsentinels of an army. By night and day the work goes on, the unsleeping\nengines groan and shriek, the fiery pools of metal boil and surge. Only\nfor a day in the week, in half-courtesy to public censure, the fires are\npartially veiled; but as soon as the clock strikes midnight, the great\nfurnaces break forth with renewed fury, the clamor begins with fresh,\nbreathless vigor, the engines sob and shriek like \"gods in pain.\"\n\nAs Deborah hurried down through the heavy rain, the noise of these\nthousand engines sounded through the sleep and shadow of the city like\nfar-off thunder. The mill to which she was going lay on the river, a\nmile below the city-limits. It was far, and she was weak, aching from\nstanding twelve hours at the spools. Yet it was her almost nightly walk\nto take this man his supper, though at every square she sat down to\nrest, and she knew she should receive small word of thanks.\n\nPerhaps, if she had possessed an artist's eye, the picturesque oddity\nof the scene might have made her step stagger less, and the path seem\nshorter; but to her the mills were only \"summat deilish to look at by\nnight.\"\n\nThe road leading to the mills had been quarried from the solid rock,\nwhich rose abrupt and bare on one side of the cinder-covered road, while\nthe river, sluggish and black, crept past on the other. The mills for\nrolling iron are simply immense tent-like roofs, covering acres of\nground, open on every side. Beneath these roofs Deborah looked in on a\ncity of fires, that burned hot and fiercely in the night. Fire in every\nhorrible form: pits of flame waving in the wind; liquid metal-flames\nwrithing in tortuous streams through the sand; wide caldrons filled with\nboiling fire, over which bent ghastly wretches stirring the strange\nbrewing; and through all, crowds of half-clad men, looking like\nrevengeful ghosts in the red light, hurried, throwing masses of\nglittering fire. It was like a street in Hell. Even Deborah muttered, as\nshe crept through, \"'T looks like t' Devil's place!\" It did,--in more\nways than one.\n\nShe found the man she was looking for, at last, heaping coal on a\nfurnace. He had not time to eat his supper; so she went behind the\nfurnace, and waited. Only a few men were with him, and they noticed her\nonly by a \"Hyur comes t' hunchback, Wolfe.\"\n\nDeborah was stupid with sleep; her back pained her sharply; and her\nteeth chattered with cold, with the rain that soaked her clothes and\ndripped from her at every step. She stood, however, patiently holding\nthe pail, and waiting.\n\n\"Hout, woman! ye look like a drowned cat. Come near to the fire,\"--said\none of the men, approaching to scrape away the ashes.\n\nShe shook her head. Wolfe had forgotten her. He turned, hearing the man,\nand came closer.\n\n\"I did no' think; gi' me my supper, woman.\"\n\nShe watched him eat with a painful eagerness. With a woman's quick\ninstinct, she saw that he was not hungry,--was eating to please her.\nHer pale, watery eyes began to gather a strange light.\n\n\"Is't good, Hugh? T'ale was a bit sour, I feared.\"\n\n\"No, good enough.\" He hesitated a moment. \"Ye're tired, poor lass! Bide\nhere till I go. Lay down there on that heap of ash, and go to sleep.\"\n\nHe threw her an old coat for a pillow, and turned to his work. The\nheap was the refuse of the burnt iron, and was not a hard bed; the\nhalf-smothered warmth, too, penetrated her limbs, dulling their pain and\ncold shiver.\n\nMiserable enough she looked, lying there on the ashes like a limp,\ndirty rag,--yet not an unfitting figure to crown the scene of hopeless\ndiscomfort and veiled crime: more fitting, if one looked deeper into the\nheart of things,--at her thwarted woman's form, her colorless life, her\nwaking stupor that smothered pain and hunger,--even more fit to be a\ntype of her class. Deeper yet if one could look, was there nothing worth\nreading in this wet, faded thing, half-covered with ashes? no story of a\nsoul filled with groping passionate love, heroic unselfishness, fierce\njealousy? of years of weary trying to please the one human being whom\nshe loved, to gain one look of real heart-kindness from him? If anything\nlike this were hidden beneath the pale, bleared eyes, and dull,\nwashed-out-looking face, no one had ever taken the trouble to read its\nfaint signs: not the half-clothed furnace-tender, Wolfe, certainly. Yet\nhe was kind to her: it was his nature to be kind, even to the very rats\nthat swarmed in the cellar: kind to her in just the same way. She knew\nthat. And it might be that very knowledge had given to her face its\napathy and vacancy more than her low, torpid life. One sees that\ndead, vacant look steal sometimes over the rarest, finest of women's\nfaces,--in the very midst, it may be, of their warmest summer's day; and\nthen one can guess at the secret of intolerable solitude that lies hid\nbeneath the delicate laces and brilliant smile. There was no warmth, no\nbrilliancy, no summer for this woman; so the stupor and vacancy had time\nto gnaw into her face perpetually. She was young, too, though no one\nguessed it; so the gnawing was the fiercer.\n\nShe lay quiet in the dark corner, listening, through the monotonous din\nand uncertain glare of the works, to the dull plash of the rain in the\nfar distance,--shrinking back whenever the man Wolfe happened to look\ntowards her. She knew, in spite of all his kindness, that there was that\nin her face and form which made him loathe the sight of her. She felt by\ninstinct, although she could not comprehend it, the finer nature of\nthe man, which made him among his fellow-workmen something unique, set\napart. She knew, that, down under all the vileness and coarseness of\nhis life, there was a groping passion for whatever was beautiful and\npure,--that his soul sickened with disgust at her deformity, even when\nhis words were kindest. Through this dull consciousness, which never\nleft her, came, like a sting, the recollection of the dark blue eyes and\nlithe figure of the little Irish girl she had left in the cellar. The\nrecollection struck through even her stupid intellect with a vivid glow\nof beauty and of grace. Little Janey, timid, helpless, clinging to Hugh\nas her only friend: that was the sharp thought, the bitter thought, that\ndrove into the glazed eyes a fierce light of pain. You laugh at it? Are\npain and jealousy less savage realities down here in this place I am\ntaking you to than in your own house or your own heart,--your heart,\nwhich they clutch at sometimes? The note is the same, I fancy, be the\noctave high or low.\n\nIf you could go into this mill where Deborah lay, and drag out from the\nhearts of these men the terrible tragedy of their lives, taking it as a\nsymptom of the disease of their class, no ghost Horror would terrify\nyou more. A reality of soul-starvation, of living death, that meets you\nevery day under the besotted faces on the street,--I can paint nothing\nof this, only give you the outside outlines of a night, a crisis in the\nlife of one man: whatever muddy depth of soul-history lies beneath you\ncan read according to the eyes God has given you.\n\nWolfe, while Deborah watched him as a spaniel its master, bent over the\nfurnace with his iron pole, unconscious of her scrutiny, only stopping\nto receive orders. Physically, Nature had promised the man but little.\nHe had already lost the strength and instinct vigor of a man, his\nmuscles were thin, his nerves weak, his face (a meek, woman's face)\nhaggard, yellow with consumption. In the mill he was known as one of the\ngirl-men: \"Molly Wolfe\" was his _sobriquet_. He was never seen, in\nthe cockpit, did not own a terrier, drank but seldom; when he did,\ndesperately. He fought sometimes, but was always thrashed, pommelled to\na jelly. The man was game enough, when his blood was up: but he was no\nfavorite in the mill; he had the taint of school-learning on him,--not\nto a dangerous extent, only a quarter or so in the free-school in fact,\nbut enough to ruin him as a good hand in a fight.\n\nFor other reasons, too, he was not popular. Not one of themselves, they\nfelt that, though outwardly as filthy and ash-covered; silent, with\nforeign thoughts and longings breaking out through his quietness in\ninnumerable curious ways: this one, for instance. In the neighboring\nfurnace-buildings lay great heaps of the refuse from the ore after the\npig-metal is run. _Korl_ we call it here: a light, porous substance, of\na delicate, waxen, flesh- tinge. Out of the blocks of this korl,\nWolfe, in his off-hours from the furnace, had a habit of chipping and\nmoulding figures,--hideous, fantastic enough, but sometimes strangely\nbeautiful: even the mill-men saw that, while they jeered at him. It was\na curious fancy in the man, almost a passion. The few hours for rest he\nspent hewing and hacking with his blunt knife, never speaking, until his\nwatch came again,--working at one figure for months, and, when it was\nfinished, breaking it to pieces perhaps, in a fit of disappointment. A\nmorbid, gloomy man, untaught, unled, left to feed his soul in grossness\nand crime, and hard, grinding labor.\n\nI want you to come down and look at this Wolfe, standing there among the\nlowest of his kind, and see him just as he is, that you may judge him\njustly when you hear the story of this night. I want you to look back,\nas he does every day, at his birth in vice, his starved infancy; to\nremember the heavy years he has groped through as boy and man,--the\nslow, heavy years of constant, hot work. So long ago he began, that he\nthinks sometimes he has worked there for ages. There is no hope that it\nwill ever end. Think that God put into this man's soul a fierce thirst\nfor beauty,--to know it, to create it; to _be_--something, he knows not\nwhat,--other than he is. There are moments when a passing cloud, the sun\nglinting on the purple thistles, a kindly smile, a child's face, will\nrouse him to a passion of pain,--when his nature starts up with a mad\ncry of rage against God, man, whoever it is that has forced this vile,\nslimy life upon him. With all this groping, this mad desire, a great\nblind intellect stumbling through wrong, a loving poet's heart, the man\nwas by habit only a coarse, vulgar laborer, familiar with sights and\nwords you would blush to name. Be just; when I tell you about this\nnight, see him as he is. Be just,--not like man's law, which seizes on\none isolated fact, but like God's judging angel, whose clear, sad\neye saw all the countless cankering days of this man's life, all the\ncountless nights, when, sick with starving, his soul fainted in him,\nbefore it judged him for this night, the saddest of all.\n\nI called this night the crisis of his life. If it was, it stole on him\nunawares. These great turning-days of life cast no shadow before, slip\nby unconsciously. Only a trifle, a little turn of the rudder, and the\nship goes to heaven or hell.\n\nWolfe, while Deborah watched him, dug into the furnace of melting iron\nwith his pole, dully thinking only how many rails the lump would yield.\nIt was late,--nearly Sunday morning; another hour, and the heavy work\nwould be done,--only the furnaces to replenish and cover for the next\nday. The workmen were growing more noisy, shouting, as they had to do,\nto be heard over the deep clamor of the mills. Suddenly they grew less\nboisterous,--at the far end, entirely silent. Something unusual had\nhappened. After a moment, the silence came nearer; the men stopped their\njeers and drunken choruses. Deborah, stupidly lifting up her head,\nsaw the cause of the quiet. A group of five or six men were slowly\napproaching, stopping to examine each furnace as they came. Visitors\noften came to see the mills after night: except by growing less noisy,\nthe men took no notice of them. The furnace where Wolfe worked was near\nthe bounds of the works; they halted there hot and tired: a walk over\none of these great foundries is no trifling task. The woman, drawing out\nof sight, turned over to sleep. Wolfe, seeing them stop, suddenly roused\nfrom his indifferent stupor, and watched them keenly. He knew some\nof them: the overseer, Clarke,--a son of Kirby, one of the\nmill-owners,--and a Doctor May, one of the town-physicians. The other\ntwo were strangers. Wolfe came closer. He seized eagerly every chance\nthat brought him into contact with this mysterious class that shone down\non him perpetually with the glamour of another order of being. What made\nthe difference between them? That was the mystery of his life. He had\na vague notion that perhaps to-night he could find it out. One of the\nstrangers sat down on a pile of bricks, and beckoned young Kirby to his\nside.\n\n\"This _is_ hot, with a vengeance. A match, please?\"--lighting his cigar.\n\"But the walk is worth the trouble. If it were not that you must have\nheard it so often, Kirby, I would tell you that your works look like\nDante's Inferno.\"\n\nKirby laughed.\n\n\"Yes. Yonder is Farinata himself in the burning tomb,\"--pointing to some\nfigure in the shimmering shadows.\n\n\"Judging from some of the faces of your men,\" said the other, \"they bid\nfair to try the reality of Dante's vision, some day.\"\n\nYoung Kirby looked curiously around, as if seeing the faces of his hands\nfor the first time.\n\n\"They're bad enough, that's true. A desperate set, I fancy. Eh, Clarke?\"\n\nThe overseer did not hear him. He was talking of net profits just\nthen,--giving, in fact, a schedule of the annual business of the firm to\na sharp peering little Yankee, who jotted down notes on a paper laid on\nthe crown of his hat: a reporter for one of the city-papers, getting up\na series of reviews of the leading manufactories. The other gentlemen\nhad accompanied them merely for amusement. They were silent until the\nnotes were finished, drying their feet at the furnaces, and sheltering\ntheir faces from the intolerable heat. At last the overseer concluded\nwith--\"I believe that is a pretty fair estimate, Captain.\"\n\n\"Here, some of you men!\" said Kirby, \"bring up those boards. We may as\nwell sit down, gentlemen, until the rain is over. It cannot last much\nlonger at this rate.\"\n\n\"Pig-metal,\"--mumbled the reporter,--\"um!--coal facilities,--um!--hands\nemployed, twelve hundred,--bitumen,--um!--'all right, I believe, Mr.\nClarke;--sinking-fund,--what did you say was your sinking-fund?\"\n\n\"Twelve hundred hands?\" said the stranger, the young man who had first\nspoken. \"Do you control their votes, Kirby?\"\n\n\"Control? No.\" The young man smiled complacently. \"But my father brought\nseven hundred votes to the polls for his candidate last November. No\nforce-work, you understand,--only a speech or two, a hint to form\nthemselves into a society, and a bit of red and blue bunting to make\nthem a flag. The Invincible Roughs,--I believe that is their name. I\nforget the motto: 'Our country's hope,' I think.\"\n\nThere was a laugh. The young man talking to Kirby sat with an amused\nlight in his cool gray eye, surveying critically the half-clothed\nfigures of the puddlers, and the slow swing of their brawny muscles. He\nwas a stranger in the city,--spending a couple of months in the\nborders of a Slave State, to study the institutions of the South,--a\nbrother-in-law of Kirby's,--Mitchell. He was an amateur gymnast,--hence\nhis anatomical eye; a patron, in a _blase_ way, of the prize-ring; a man\nwho sucked the essence out of a science or philosophy in an indifferent,\ngentlemanly way; who took Kant, Novalis, Humboldt, for what they were\nworth in his own scales; accepting all, despising nothing, in heaven,\nearth, or hell, but one-idead men; with a temper yielding and brilliant\nas summer water, until his Self was touched, when it was ice, though\nbrilliant still. Such men are not rare in the States.\n\nAs he knocked the ashes from his cigar, Wolfe caught with a quick\npleasure the contour of the white hand, the blood-glow of a red ring he\nwore. His voice, too, and that of Kirby's, touched him like music,--low,\neven, with chording cadences. About this man Mitchell hung the\nimpalpable atmosphere belonging to the thorough-bred gentleman. Wolfe,\nscraping away the ashes beside him, was conscious of it, did obeisance\nto it with his artist sense, unconscious that he did so.\n\nThe rain did not cease. Clarke and the reporter left the mills; the\nothers, comfortably seated near the furnace, lingered, smoking\nand talking in a desultory way. Greek would not have been more\nunintelligible to the furnace-tenders, whose presence they soon forgot\nentirely. Kirby drew out a newspaper from his pocket and read aloud some\narticle, which they discussed eagerly. At every sentence, Wolfe listened\nmore and more like a dumb, hopeless animal, with a duller, more stolid\nlook creeping over his face, glancing now and then at Mitchell, marking\nacutely every smallest sign of refinement, then back to himself, seeing\nas in a mirror his filthy body, his more stained soul.\n\nNever! He had no words for such a thought, but he knew now, in all the\nsharpness of the bitter certainty, that between them there was a great\ngulf never to be passed. Never!\n\nThe bell of the mills rang for midnight. Sunday morning had dawned.\nWhatever hidden message lay in the tolling bells floated past these men\nunknown. Yet it was there. Veiled in the solemn music ushering the risen\nSaviour was a key-note to solve the darkest secrets of a world gone\nwrong,--even this social riddle which the brain of the grimy puddler\ngrappled with madly to-night.\n\nThe men began to withdraw the metal from the caldrons. The mills were\ndeserted on Sundays, except by the hands who fed the fires, and those\nwho had no lodgings and slept usually on the ash-heaps. The three\nstrangers sat still during the next hour, watching the men cover the\nfurnaces, laughing now and then at some jest of Kirby's.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Mitchell, \"I like this view of the works better than\nwhen the glare was fiercest? These heavy shadows and the amphitheatre\nof smothered fires are ghostly, unreal. One could fancy these red\nsmouldering lights to be the half-shut eyes of wild beasts, and the\nspectral figures their victims in the den.\"\n\nKirby laughed. \"You are fanciful. Come, let us get out of the den. The\nspectral figures, as you call them, are a little too real for me to\nfancy a close proximity in the darkness,--unarmed, too.\"\n\nThe others rose, buttoning their overcoats, and lighting cigars.\n\n\"Raining, still,\" said Doctor May, \"and hard. Where did we leave the\ncoach, Mitchell?\"\n\n\"At the other side of the works.--Kirby, what's that?\"\n\nMitchell started back, half-frightened, as, suddenly turning a corner,\nthe white figure of a woman faced him in the darkness,--a woman, white,\nof giant proportions, crouching on the ground, her arms flung out in\nsome wild gesture of warning.\n\n\"Stop! Make that fire burn there!\" cried Kirby, stopping short.\n\nThe flame burst out, flashing the gaunt figure into bold relief.\n\nMitchell drew a long breath.\n\n\"I thought it was alive,\" he said, going up curiously.\n\nThe others followed.\n\n\"Not marble, eh?\" asked Kirby, touching it.\n\nOne of the lower overseers stopped.\n\n\"Korl, Sir.\"\n\n\"Who did it?\"\n\n\"Can't say. Some of the hands; chipped it out in off-hours.\"\n\n\"Chipped to some purpose, I should say. What a flesh-tint the stuff has!\nDo you see, Mitchell?\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\nHe had stepped aside where the light fell boldest on the figure, looking\nat it in silence. There was not one line of beauty or grace in it: a\nnude woman's form, muscular, grown coarse with labor, the powerful limbs\ninstinct with some one poignant longing. One idea: there it was in the\ntense, rigid muscles, the clutching hands, the wild, eager face, like\nthat of a starving wolf's. Kirby and Doctor May walked around it,\ncritical, curious. Mitchell stood aloof, silent. The figure touched him\nstrangely.\n\n\"Not badly done,\" said Doctor May. \"Where did the fellow learn that\nsweep of the muscles in the arm and hand? Look at them! They are\ngroping,--do you see?--clutching: the peculiar action of a man dying of\nthirst.\"\n\n\"They have ample facilities for studying anatomy,\" sneered Kirby,\nglancing at the half-naked figures.\n\n\"Look,\" continued the Doctor, \"at this bony wrist, and the strained\nsinews of the instep! A working-woman,--the very type of her class.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" muttered Mitchell.\n\n\"Why?\" demanded May. \"What does the fellow intend by the figure? I\ncannot catch the meaning.\"\n\n\"Ask him,\" said the other, dryly. \"There he stands,\"--pointing to Wolfe,\nwho stood with a group of men, leaning on his ash-rake.\n\nThe Doctor beckoned him with the affable smile which kind-hearted men\nput on, when talking to these people.\n\n\"Mr. Mitchell has picked you out as the man who did this,--I'm sure I\ndon't know why. But what did you mean by it?\"\n\n\"She be hungry.\"\n\nWolfe's eyes answered Mitchell, not the Doctor.\n\n\"Oh-h! But what a mistake you have made, my fine fellow! You have given\nno sign of starvation to the body. It is strong,--terribly strong. It\nhas the mad, half-despairing gesture of drowning.\"\n\nWolfe stammered, glanced appealingly at Mitchell, who saw the soul of\nthe thing, he knew. But the cool, probing eyes were turned on himself\nnow,--mocking, cruel, relentless.\n\n\"Not hungry for meat,\" the furnace-tender said at last.\n\n\"What then? Whiskey?\" jeered Kirby, with a coarse laugh.\n\nWolfe was silent a moment, thinking.\n\n\"I dunno,\" he said, with a bewildered look. \"It mebbe. Summat to make\nher live, I think,--like you. Whiskey ull do it, in a way.\"\n\nThe young man laughed again. Mitchell flashed a look of disgust\nsomewhere,--not at Wolfe.\n\n\"May,\" he broke out impatiently, \"are you blind? Look at that woman's\nface! It asks questions of God, and says, 'I have a right to know.' Good\nGod, how hungry it is!\"\n\nThey looked a moment; then May turned to the mill-owner:--\n\n\"Have you many such hands as this? What are you going to do with them?\nKeep them at puddling iron?\"\n\nKirby shrugged his shoulders. Mitchell's look had irritated him.\n\n\"_Ce n'est pas mon affaire_. I have no fancy for nursing infant\ngeniuses. I suppose there are some stray gleams of mind and soul among\nthese wretches. The Lord will take care of his own; or else they can\nwork out their own salvation. I have heard you call our American system\na ladder which any man can scale. Do you doubt it? Or perhaps you want\nto banish all social ladders, and put us all on a flat table-land,--eh,\nMay?\"\n\nThe Doctor looked vexed, puzzled. Some terrible problem lay hid in this\nwoman's face, and troubled these men. Kirby waited for an answer, and,\nreceiving none, went on, warning with his subject.\n\n\"I tell you, there's something wrong that no talk of '_Liberte_' or\n'_Egalite_' will do away. If I had the making of men, these men who\ndo the lowest part of the world's work should be machines,--nothing\nmore,--hands. It would be kindness. God help them! What are taste,\nreason, to creatures who must live such lives as that?\" He pointed to\nDeborah, sleeping on the ash-heap. \"So many nerves to sting them to\npain. What if God had put your brain, with all its agony of touch, into\nyour fingers, and bid you work and strike with that?\"\n\n\"You think you could govern the world better?\" laughed the Doctor.\n\n\"I do not think at all.\"\n\n\"That is true philosophy. Drift with the stream, because you cannot dive\ndeep enough to find bottom, eh?\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" rejoined Kirby. \"I do not think. I wash my hands of all\nsocial problems,--slavery, caste, white or black. My duty to my\noperatives has a narrow limit,--the pay-hour on Saturday night. Outside\nof that, if they cut korl, or cut each other's throats, (the more\npopular amusement of the two,) I am not responsible.\"\n\nThe Doctor sighed,--a good honest sigh, from the depths of his stomach.\n\n\"God help us! Who is responsible?\"\n\n\"Not I, I tell you,\" said Kirby, testily. \"What has the man who pays\nthem money to do with their souls' concerns, more than the grocer or\nbutcher who takes it?\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Mitchell's cynical voice, \"look at her! How hungry she\nis!\"\n\nKirby tapped his boot with his cane. No one spoke. Only the dumb face of\nthe rough image looking into their faces with the awful question, \"What\nshall we do to be saved?\" Only Wolfe's face, with its heavy weight of\nbrain, its weak, uncertain mouth, its desperate eyes, out of which\nlooked the soul of his class,--only Wolfe's face turned towards Kirby's.\nMitchell laughed,--a cool, musical laugh.\n\n\"Money has spoken!\" he said, seating himself lightly on a stone with the\nair of an amused spectator at a play. \"Are you answered?\"--turning to\nWolfe his clear, magnetic face.\n\nBright and deep and cold as Arctic air, the soul of the man lay tranquil\nbeneath. He looked at the furnace-tender as he had looked at a rare\nmosaic in the morning; only the man was the more amusing study of the\ntwo.\n\n\"Are you answered? Why, May, look at him! '_De profundis clamavi_.' Or,\nto quote in English, 'Hungry and thirsty, his soul faints in him.' And\nso Money sends back its answer into the depths through you, Kirby!\nVery clear the answer, too!--I think I remember reading the same words\nsomewhere:--washing your hands in Eau de Cologne, and saying, 'I am\ninnocent of the blood of this man. See ye to it!'\"\n\nKirby flushed angrily.\n\n\"You quote Scripture freely.\"\n\n\"Do I not quote correctly? I think I remember another line, which may\namend my meaning: 'Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these,\nye did it unto me.' Deist? Bless you, man, I was raised on the milk of\nthe Word. Now, Doctor, the pocket of the world having uttered its\nvoice, what has the heart to say? You are a philanthropist, in a small\nway,--_n'est ce pas_? Here, boy, this gentleman can show you how to cut\nkorl better,--or your destiny. Go on, May!\"\n\n\"I think a mocking devil possesses you to-night,\" rejoined the Doctor,\nseriously.\n\nHe went to Wolfe and put his hand kindly on his arm. Something of a\nvague idea possessed the Doctor's brain that much good was to be done\nhere by a friendly word or two: a latent genius to be warmed into life\nby a waited-for sunbeam. Here it was: he had brought it. So he went on\ncomplacently:--\n\n\"Do you know, boy, you have it in you to be a great sculptor, a great\nman?--do you understand?\" (talking down to the capacity of his hearer:\nit is a way people have with children, and men like Wolfe,)--\"to live a\nbetter, stronger life than I, or Mr. Kirby here? A man may make himself\nanything he chooses. God has given you stronger powers than many\nmen,--me, for instance.\"\n\nMay stopped, heated, glowing with his own magnanimity. And it was\nmagnanimous. The puddler had drunk in every word, looking through the\nDoctor's flurry, and generous heat, and self-approval, into his will,\nwith those slow, absorbing eyes of his.\n\n\"Make yourself what you will. It is your right.\"\n\n\"I know,\" quietly. \"Will you help me?\"\n\nMitchell laughed again. The Doctor turned now, in a passion,--\n\n\"You know, Mitchell, I have not the means. You know, if I had, it is in\nmy heart to take this boy and educate him for\"----\n\n\"The glory of God, and the glory of John May.\"\n\nMay did not speak for a moment; then, controlled, he said,--\n\n\"Why should one be raised, when myriads are left?--I have not the money,\nboy,\" to Wolfe, shortly.\n\n\"Money?\" He said it over slowly, as one repeals the guessed answer to a\nriddle, doubtfully. \"That is it? Money?\"\n\n\"Yes, money,--that is it,\" said Mitchell, rising, and drawing his\nfurred coat about him. \"You've found the cure for all the world's\ndiseases.--Come, May, find your good-humor, and come home. This damp\nwind chills my very bones. Come and preach your Saint-Simonian doctrines\nto-morrow to Kirby's hands. Let them have a clear idea of the rights of\nthe soul, and I'll venture next week they'll strike for higher wages.\nThat will be the end of it.\"\n\n\"Will you send the coach-driver to this side of the mills?\" asked Kirby,\nturning to Wolfe.\n\nHe spoke kindly: it was his habit to do so. Deborah, seeing the puddler\ngo, crept after him. The three men waited outside. Doctor May walked up\nand down, chafed. Suddenly he stopped.\n\n\"Go back, Mitchell! You say the pocket and the heart of the world speak\nwithout meaning to these people. What has its head to say? Taste,\nculture, refinement? Go!\"\n\nMitchell was leaning against a brick wall. He turned his head\nindolently, and looked into the mills. There hung about the place a\nthick, unclean odor. The slightest motion of his hand marked that he\nperceived it, and his insufferable disgust. That was all. May said\nnothing, only quickened his angry tramp.\n\n\"Besides,\" added Mitchell, giving a corollary to his answer, \"it would\nbe of no use. I am not one of them.\"\n\n\"You do not mean\"--said May, facing him.\n\n\"Yes, I mean just that. Reform is born of need, not pity. No vital\nmovement of the people's has worked down, for good or evil; fermented,\ninstead, carried up the heaving, cloggy mass. Think back through\nhistory, and you will know it. What will this lowest deep--thieves,\nMagdalens, <DW64>s--do with the light filtered through ponderous Church\ncreeds, Baconian theories, Goethe schemes? Some day, out of their bitter\nneed will be thrown up their own light-bringer,--their Jean Paul, their\nCromwell, their Messiah.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" was the Doctor's inward criticism. However, in practice, he\nadopted the theory; for, when, night and morning, afterwards, he prayed\nthat power might be given these degraded souls to rise, he glowed at\nheart, recognizing an accomplished duty.\n\nWolfe and the woman had stood in the shadow of the works as the coach\ndrove off. The Doctor had held out his hand in a frank, generous way,\ntelling him to \"take care of himself, and to remember it was his right\nto rise.\" Mitchell had simply touched his hat, as to an equal, with a\nquiet look of thorough recognition. Kirby had thrown Deborah some money,\nwhich she found, and clutched eagerly enough. They were gone now, all\nof them. The man sat down on the cinder-road, looking up into the murky\nsky.\n\n\"'T be late, Hugh. Wunnot hur come?\"\n\nHe shook his head doggedly, and the woman crouched out of his sight\nagainst the wall. Do you remember rare moments when a sudden\nlight flashed over yourself, your world, God? when you stood on a\nmountain-peak, seeing your life as it might have been, as it is? one\nquick instant, when custom lost its force and every-day usage? when your\nfriend, wife, brother, stood in a new light? your soul was bared, and\nthe grave,--a foretaste of the nakedness of the Judgment-Day? So it came\nbefore him, his life, that night. The slow tides of pain he had borne\ngathered themselves up and surged against his soul. His squalid daily\nlife, the brutal coarseness eating into his brain, as the ashes into\nhis skin: before, these things had been a dull aching into his\nconsciousness; to-night, they were reality. He griped the filthy red\nshirt that clung, stiff with soot, about him, and tore it savagely from\nhis arm. The flesh beneath was muddy with grease and ashes,--and the\nheart beneath that! And the soul? God knows.\n\nThen flashed before his vivid poetic sense the man who had left\nhim,--the pure face, the delicate, sinewy limbs, in harmony with all he\nknew of beauty or truth. In his cloudy fancy he had pictured a Something\nlike this. He had found it in this Mitchell, even when he idly scoffed\nat his pain: a Man all-knowing, all-seeing, crowned by Nature,\nreigning,--the keen glance of his eye falling like a sceptre on other\nmen. And yet his instinct taught him that he too--He! He looked at\nhimself with sudden loathing, sick, wrung his hands with a cry, and then\nwas silent. With all the phantoms of his heated, ignorant fancy, Wolfe\nhad not been vague in his ambitious. They were practical, slowly built\nup before him out of his knowledge of what he could do. Through years\nhe had day by day made this hope a real thing to himself,--a clear,\nprojected figure of himself, as he might become.\n\nAble to speak, to know what was best, to raise these men and women\nworking at his side up with him: sometimes he forgot this defined hope\nin the frantic anguish to escape,--only to escape,--out of the wet, the\npain, the ashes, somewhere, anywhere,--only for one moment of free air\non a hill-side, to lie down and let his sick soul throb itself out in\nthe sunshine. But to-night he panted for life. The savage strength of\nhis nature was roused; his cry was fierce to God for justice.\n\n\"Look at me!\" he said to Deborah, with a low, bitter laugh, striking his\npuny chest savagely. \"What am I worth, Deb? Is it my fault that I am no\nbetter? My fault? My fault?\"\n\nHe stopped, stung with a sudden remorse, seeing her hunchback shape\nwrithing with sobs. For Deborah was crying thankless tears, according to\nthe fashion of women.\n\n\"God forgi' me, woman! Things go harder wi' you nor me. It's a worse\nshare.\"\n\nHe got up and helped her to rise; and they went doggedly down the muddy\nstreet, side by side.\n\n\"It's all wrong,\" he muttered, slowly,--\"all wrong! I dunnot\nunderstan'. But it'll end some day.\"\n\n\"Come home, Hugh!\" she said, coaxingly; for he had stopped, looking\naround bewildered.\n\n\"Home,--and back to the mill!\" He went on saying this over to himself,\nas if he would mutter down every pain in this dull despair.\n\nShe followed him through the fog, her blue lips chattering with cold.\nThey reached the cellar at last. Old Wolfe had been drinking since she\nwent out, and had crept nearer the door. The girl Janey slept heavily In\nthe corner. He went up to her, touching softly the worn white arm with\nhis fingers. Some bitterer thought stung him, as he stood there. He\nwiped the drops from his forehead, and went into the room beyond, livid,\ntrembling. A hope, trifling, perhaps, but very dear, had died just then\nout of the poor puddler's life, as he looked at the sleeping, innocent\ngirl,--some plan for the future, in which she had borne a part. He gave\nit up that moment, then and forever. Only a trifle, perhaps, to us: his\nface grew a shade paler,--that was all. But, somehow, the man's soul, as\nGod and the angels looked down on it, never was the same afterwards.\n\nDeborah followed him into the inner room. She carried a candle, which\nshe placed on the floor, dosing the door after her. She had seen the\nlook on his face, as he turned away: her own grew deadly. Yet, as she\ncame up to him, her eyes glowed. He was seated on an old chest, quiet,\nholding his face in his hands.\n\n\"Hugh!\" she said, softly.\n\nHe did not speak.\n\n\"Hugh, did hur hear what the man said,--him with the clear voice? Did\nhur hear? Money, money,--that it wud do all?\"\n\nHe pushed her away,--gently, but he was worn out; her rasping tone\nfretted him.\n\n\"Hugh!\"\n\nThe candle flared a pale yellow light over the cobwebbed brick walls,\nand the woman standing there. He looked at her. She was young, in deadly\nearnest; her faded eyes, and wet, ragged figure caught from their\nfrantic eagerness a power akin to beauty.\n\n\"Hugh, it is true! Money ull do it! Oh, Hugh, boy, listen till me! He\nsaid it true! It is money!\"\n\n\"I know. Go back! I do not want you here.\"\n\n\"Hugh, it is t' last time. I 'II never worrit hur again.\"\n\nThere were tears in her voice now, but she choked them back.\n\n\"Hear till me only to-night! If one of t' witch people wud come, them we\nheard of t' home, and gif hur all hur wants, what then? Say, Hugh!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean money.\".\n\nHer whisper shrilled through his brain.\n\n\"If one of t' witch dwarfs wud come from t' lane moors to-night, and gif\nhur money, to go out,--_out_, I say,--out, lad, where t' sun shines, and\nt' heath grows, and t' ladies walk in silken gownds, and God stays all\nt' time,--where t' man lives that talked to us to-night,--Hugh knows,\n--Hugh could walk there like a king!\"\n\nHe thought the woman mad, tried to check her, but she went on, fierce in\nher eager haste.\n\n\"If _I_ were t' witch dwarf, if I had f money, wud hur thank me? Wud hur\ntake me out o' this place wid hur and Janey? I wud not come into the\ngran' house hur wud build, to vex hur wid t' hunch,--only at night, when\nt' shadows were dark, stand far off to see hur.\"\n\nMad? Yes! Are many of us mad in this way?\n\n\"Poor Deb! poor Deb!\" he said, soothingly.\n\n\"It is here,\" she said, suddenly jerking into his hand a small roll.\n\"I took it! I did it! Me, me!--not hur! I shall be hanged, I shall be\nburnt in hell, if anybody knows I took it! Out of his pocket, as he\nleaned against t' bricks. Hur knows?\"\n\nShe thrust it into his hand, and then, her errand done, began to gather\nchips together to make a fire, choking down hysteric sobs.\n\n\"Has it come to this?\"\n\nThat was all he said. The Welsh Wolfe blood was honest. The roll was a\nsmall green pocket-book containing one or two gold pieces, and a check\nfor an incredible amount, as it seemed to the poor puddler. He laid it\ndown, hiding his face again in his hands.\n\n\"Hugh, don't be angry wud me! It's only poor Deb,--hur knows?\"\n\nHe took the long skinny fingers kindly in his.\n\n\"Angry? God help me, no! Let me sleep. I am tired.\"\n\nHe threw himself heavily down on the wooden bench, stunned with pain and\nweariness. She brought some old rags to cover him.\n\nIt was late on Sunday evening before he awoke. I tell God's truth, when\nI say he had then no thought of keeping this money. Deborah had hid it\nin his pocket. He found it there. She watched him eagerly, as he took it\nout.\n\n\"I must gif it to him,\" he said, reading her face.\n\n\"Hur knows,\" she said with a bitter sigh of disappointment. \"But it is\nhur right to keep it.\"\n\nHis right! The word struck him. Doctor May had used the same. He washed\nhimself, and went out to find this man Mitchell. His right! Why did this\nchance word cling to him so obstinately? Do you hear the fierce devils\nwhisper in his ear, as he went slowly down the darkening street?\n\nThe evening came on, slow and calm. He seated himself at the end of\nan alley leading into one of the larger streets. His brain was clear\nto-night, keen, intent, mastering. It would not start back, cowardly,\nfrom any hellish temptation, but meet it face to face. Therefore the\ngreat temptation of his life came to him veiled by no sophistry, but\nbold, defiant, owning its own vile name, trusting to one bold blow for\nvictory.\n\nHe did not deceive himself. Theft! That was it. At first the word\nsickened him; then he grappled with it. Sitting there on a broken\ncart-wheel, the fading day, the noisy groups, the church-bells' tolling\npassed before him like a panorama, while the sharp struggle went on\nwithin. This money! He took it out, and looked at it. If he gave it\nback, what then? He was going to be cool about it.\n\nPeople going by to church saw only a sickly mill-boy watching them\nquietly at the alley's mouth. They did not know that he was mad, or they\nwould not have gone by so quietly: mad with hunger; stretching out his\nhands to the world, that had given so much to them, for leave to live\nthe life God meant him to live. His soul within him was smothering to\ndeath; he wanted so much, thought so much, and _knew_--nothing. There\nwas nothing of which he was certain, except the mill and things there.\nOf God and heaven he had heard so little, that they were to him what\nfairy-land is to a child: something real, but not here; very far off.\nHis brain, greedy, dwarfed, full of thwarted energy and unused powers,\nquestioned these men and women going by, coldly, bitterly, that night.\nWas it not his right to live as they,--a pure life, a good, true-hearted\nlife, full of beauty and kind words? He only wanted to know how to use\nthe strength within him. His heart warmed, as he thought of it. He\nsuffered himself to think of it longer. If he took the money?\n\nThen he saw himself as he might be, strong, helpful, kindly. The night\ncrept on, as this one image slowly evolved itself from the crowd of\nother thoughts and stood triumphant. He looked at it. As he might be!\nWhat wonder, if it blinded him to delirium,--the madness that underlies\nall revolution, all progress, and all fall?\n\nYou laugh at the shallow temptation? You see the error underlying\nits argument so clearly,--that to him a true life was one of full\ndevelopment rather than self-restraint? that he was deaf to the higher\ntone in a cry of voluntary suffering for truth's sake than in the\nfullest flow of spontaneous harmony? I do not plead his cause. I only\nwant to show you the mote in my brother's eye: then you can see clearly\nto take it out.\n\nThe money,--there it lay on his knee, a little blotted slip of paper,\nnothing in itself; used to raise him out of the pit; something straight\nfrom God's hand. A thief! Well, what was it to be a thief? He met the\nquestion at last, face to face, wiping the clammy drops of sweat\nfrom his forehead. God made this money--the fresh air, too--for his\nchildren's use. He never made the difference between poor and rich. The\nSomething who looked down on him that moment through the cool gray sky\nhad a kindly face, he knew,--loved his children alike. Oh, he knew that!\n\nThere were times when the soft floods of color in the crimson and purple\nflames, or the clear depth of amber in the water below the bridge, had\nsomehow given him a glimpse of another world than this,--of an infinite\ndepth of beauty and of quiet somewhere,--somewhere,--a depth of quiet\nand rest and love. Looking up now, it became strangely real. The sun had\nsunk quite below the hills, but his last rays struck upward, touching\nthe zenith. The fog had risen, and the town and river were steeped in\nits thick, gray damp; but overhead, the sun-touched smoke-clouds opened\nlike a cleft ocean,--shifting, rolling seas of crimson mist, waves of\nbillowy silver reined with blood-scarlet, inner depths unfathomable of\nglancing light. Wolfe's artist-eye grew drunk with color. The gates of\nthat other world! Fading, flashing before him now! What, in that world\nof Beauty, Content, and Right, were the petty laws, the mine and thine,\nof mill-owners and mill-hands?\n\nA consciousness of power stirred within him. He stood up. A man,--he\nthought, stretching out his hands,--free to work, to live, to love!\nFree! His right! He folded the scrap of paper in his hand. As his\nnervous fingers took it in, limp and blotted, so his soul took in the\nmean temptation, lapped it in fancied rights, in dreams of improved\nexistences, drifting and endless as the cloud-seas of color. Clutching\nit, as if the tightness of his hold would strengthen his sense of\npossession, he went aimlessly down the street. It was his watch at the\nmill. He need not go, need never go again, thank God!--shaking off the\nthought with unspeakable loathing.\n\nShall I go over the history of the hours of that night? how the\nman wandered from one to another of his old haunts, with a\nhalf-consciousness of bidding them farewell,--lanes and alleys and\nback-yards where the mill-hands lodged,--noting, with a new eagerness,\nthe filth and drunkenness, the pig-pens, the ash-heaps covered with\npotato-skins, the bloated, pimpled women at the doors,--with a new\ndisgust, a new sense of sudden triumph, and, under all, a new, vague\ndread, unknown before, smothered down, kept under, but still there? It\nleft him but once during the night, when, for the second time in his\nlife, he entered a church. It was a sombre Gothic pile, where the\nstained light lost itself in far-retreating arches; built to meet the\nrequirements and sympathies of a far other class than Wolfe's. Yet it\ntouched, moved him uncontrollably. The distances, the shadows, the\nstill, marble figures, the mass of silent kneeling worshippers, the\nmysterious music, thrilled, lifted his soul with a wonderful pain. Wolfe\nforgot himself, forgot the new life he was going to live, the mean\nterror gnawing underneath. The voice of the speaker strengthened the\ncharm; it was clear, feeling, full, strong. An old man, who had lived\nmuch, suffered much; whose brain was keenly alive, dominant; whose heart\nwas summer-warm with charity. He taught it to-night. He held up Humanity\nin its grand total; showed the great world-cancer to his people. Who\ncould show it better? He was a Christian reformer; he had studied the\nage thoroughly; his outlook at man had been free, world-wide, over all\ntime. His faith stood sublime upon the Rock of Ages; his fiery zeal\nguided vast schemes by which the gospel was to be preached to all\nnations. How did he preach it to-night? In burning, light-laden words he\npainted the incarnate Life, Love, the universal Man: words that became\nreality in the lives of these people,--that lived again in beautiful\nwords and actions, trifling, but heroic. Sin, as he defied it, was a\nreal foe to them; their trials, temptations, were his. His words passed\nfar over the furnace-tender's grasp, toned to suit another class of\nculture; they sounded in his ears a very pleasant song in an unknown\ntongue. He meant to cure this world-cancer with a steady eye that\nhad never glared with hunger, and a hand that neither poverty nor\nstrychnine-whiskey had taught to shake. In this morbid, distorted heart\nof the Welsh puddler he had failed.\n\nWolfe rose at last, and turned from the church down the street. He\nlooked up; the night had come on foggy, damp; the golden mists had\nvanished, and the sky lay dull and ash-. He wandered again\naimlessly down the street, idly wondering what had become of the\ncloud-sea of crimson and scarlet. The trial-day of this man's life was\nover, and he had lost the victory. What followed was mere drifting\ncircumstance,--a quicker walking over the path,--that was all. Do you\nwant to hear the end of it? You wish me to make a tragic story out of\nit? Why, in the police-reports of the morning paper you can find a dozen\nsuch tragedies: hints of ship-wrecks unlike any that ever befell on the\nhigh seas; hints that here a power was lost to heaven,--that there a\nsoul went down where no tide can ebb or flow. Commonplace enough the\nhints are,--jocose sometimes, done up in rhyme.\n\nDoctor May, a month after the night I have told you of, was reading to\nhis wife at breakfast from this fourth column of the morning-paper: an\nunusual thing,--these police-reports not being, in general, choice\nreading for ladies; but it was only one item he read.\n\n\"Oh, my dear! You remember that man I told you of, that we saw at\nKirby's mill?--that was arrested for robbing Mitchell? Here he is; just\nlisten:--'Circuit Court. Judge Day, Hugh Wolfe, operative in Kirby &\nJohn's Loudon Mills. Charge, grand larceny. Sentence, nineteen years\nhard labor in penitentiary.'--Scoundrel! Serves him right! After all\nour kindness that night! Picking Mitchell's pocket at the very time!\"\n\nHis wife said something about the ingratitude of that kind of people,\nand then they began to talk of something else.\n\nNineteen years! How easy that was to read! What a simple word for Judge\nDay to utter! Nineteen years! Half a lifetime!\n\nHugh Wolfe sat on the window-ledge of his cell, looking out. His ankles\nwere ironed. Not usual in such cases; but he had made two desperate\nefforts to escape. \"Well,\" as Haley, the jailer, said, \"small blame\nto him! Nineteen years' imprisonment was not a pleasant thing to look\nforward to.\" Haley was very good-natured about it, though Wolfe had\nfought him savagely.\n\n\"When he was first caught,\" the jailer said afterwards, in telling the\nstory, \"before the trial, the fellow was cut down at once,--laid there\non that pallet like a dead man, with his hands over his eyes. Never saw\na man so cut down in my life. Time of the trial, too, came the queerest\ndodge of any customer I ever had. Would choose no lawyer. Judge gave him\none, of course. Gibson it was. He tried to prove the fellow crazy; but\nit wouldn't go. Thing was plain as daylight: money found on him. 'Twas a\nhard sentence,--all the law allows; but it was for 'xample's sake. These\nmill-hands are gettin' onbearable. When the sentence was read, he just\nlooked up, and said the money was his by rights, and that all the world\nhad gone wrong. That night, after the trial, a gentleman came to see him\nhere, name of Mitchell,--him as he stole from. Talked to him for an\nhour. Thought he came for curiosity, like. After he was gone, thought\nWolfe was remarkable quiet, and went into his cell. Found him very low;\nbed all bloody. Doctor said he had been bleeding at the lungs. He was as\nweak as a cat; yet, if ye'll b'lieve me, he tried to get a-past me and\nget out. I just carried him like a baby, and threw him on the pallet.\nThree days after, he tried it again: that time reached the wall. Lord\nhelp you! he fought like a tiger,--giv' some terrible blows. Fightin'\nfor life, you see; for he can't live long, shut up in the stone crib\ndown yonder. Got a death-cough now. 'T took two of us to bring him down\nthat day; so I just put the irons on his feet. There he sits, in there.\nGoin' to-morrow, with a batch more of 'em. That woman, hunchback, tried\nwith him,--you remember?--she's only got three years. 'Complice. But\n_she's_ a woman, you know. He's been quiet ever since I put on irons:\ngiv' up, I suppose. Looks white, sick-lookin'. It acts different on 'em,\nbein' sentenced. Most of 'em gets reckless, devilish-like. Some prays\nawful, and sings them vile songs of the mills, all in a breath. That\nwoman, now, she's desper't'. Been beggin' to see Hugh, as she calls him,\nfor three days. I'm a-goin' to let her in. She don't go with him. Here\nshe is in this next cell. I'm a-goin' now to let her in.\"\n\nHe let her in. Wolfe did not see her. She crept into a corner of the\ncell, and stood watching him. He was scratching the iron bars of the\nwindow with a piece of tin which he had picked up, with an idle,\nuncertain, vacant stare, just as a child or idiot would do.\n\n\"Tryin' to get out, old boy?\" laughed Haley. \"Them irons will need a\ncrowbar beside your tin, before you can open 'em.\"\n\nWolfe laughed, too, in a senseless way.\n\n\"I think I'll get out,\" he said.\n\n\"I believe his brain's touched,\" said Haley, when he came out.\n\nThe puddler scraped away with the tin for half an hour. Still Deborah\ndid not speak. At last she ventured nearer, and touched his arm.\n\n\"Blood?\" she said, looking at some spots on his coat with a shudder.\n\nHe looked up at her. \"Why, Deb!\" he said, smiling,--such a bright,\nboyish smile, that it went to poor Deborah's heart directly, and she\nsobbed and cried out loud.\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, lad! Hugh! dunnot look at me, when it wur my fault! To think\nI brought hur to it! And I loved hur so! Oh, lad, I dud!\"\n\nThe confession, even in this wretch, came with the woman's blush through\nthe sharp cry.\n\nHe did not seem to hear her,--scraping away diligently at the bars with\nthe bit of tin.\n\nWas he going mad? She peered closely into his face. Something she saw\nthere made her draw suddenly back,--something which Haley had not seen,\nthat lay beneath the pinched, vacant look it had caught since the trial,\nor the curious gray shadow that rested on it. That gray shadow,--yes,\nshe knew what that meant. She had often seen it creeping over women's\nfaces for months, who died at last of slow hunger or consumption. That\nmeant death, distant, lingering: but this--Whatever it was the woman\nsaw, or thought she saw, used as she was to crime and misery, seemed to\nmake her sick with a new horror. Forgetting her fear of him, she caught\nhis shoulders, and looked keenly, steadily, into his eyes.\n\n\"Hugh!\" she cried, in a desperate whisper,--\"oh, boy, not that! for\nGod's sake, not _that!_\"\n\nThe vacant laugh went off his face, and he answered her in a muttered\nword or two that drove her away. Yet the words were kindly enough.\nSitting there on his pallet, she cried silently a hopeless sort of\ntears, but did not speak again. The man looked up furtively at her now\nand then. Whatever his own trouble was, her distress vexed him with a\nmomentary sting.\n\nIt was market-day. The narrow window of the jail looked down directly on\nthe carts and wagons drawn up in a long line, where they had unloaded.\nHe could see, too, and hear distinctly the clink of money as it changed\nhands, the busy crowd of whites and blacks shoving, pushing one another,\nand the chaffering and swearing at the stalls. Somehow, the sound, more\nthan anything else had done, wakened him up,--made the whole real to\nhim. He was done with the world and the business of it. He let the tin\nfall, and looked out, pressing his face close to the rusty bars. How\nthey crowded and pushed! And he,--he should never walk that pavement\nagain! There came Neff Sanders, one of the feeders at the mill, with\na basket on his arm. Sure enough, Neff was married the other week. He\nwhistled, hoping he would look up; but he did not. He wondered if Neff\nremembered he was there,--if any of the boys thought of him up there,\nand thought that he never was to go down that old cinder-road again.\nNever again! He had not quite understood it before; but now he did. Not\nfor days or years, but never!--that was it.\n\nHow clear the light fell on that stall in front of the market! and how\nlike a picture it was, the dark-green heaps of corn, and the crimson\nbeets, and golden melons! There was another with game: how the light\nflickered on that pheasant's breast, with the purplish blood dripping\nover the brown feathers! He could see the red shining of the drops, it\nwas so near. In one minute he could be down there. It was just a step.\nSo easy, as it seemed, so natural to go! Yet it could never be--not in\nall the thousands of years to come--that he should put his foot on that\nstreet again! He thought of himself with a sorrowful pity, as of some\none else. There was a dog down in the market, walking after his master\nwith such a stately, grave look!--only a dog, yet he could go backwards\nand forwards just as he pleased: he had good luck! Why, the very vilest\ncur, yelping there in the gutter, had not lived his life, had been free\nto act out whatever thought God had put into his brain; while he--No, he\nwould not think of that! He tried to put the thought away, and to listen\nto a dispute between a countryman and a woman about some meat; but it\nwould come back. He, what had he done to bear this?\n\nThen came the sudden picture of what might have been, and now. He knew\nwhat it was to be in the penitentiary,--how it went with men there. He\nknew how in these long years he should slowly die, but not Until soul\nand body had become corrupt and rotten,--how, when he came out, if he\nlived to come, even the lowest of the mill-hands would jeer him,--how\nhis hands would be weak, and his brain senseless and stupid. He believed\nhe was almost that now. He put his hand to his head, with a puzzled,\nweary look. It ached, his head, with thinking. He tried to quiet\nhimself. It was only right, perhaps; he had done wrong. But was there\nright or wrong for such as he? What was right'? And who had ever taught\nhim? He thrust the whole matter away. A dark, cold quiet crept through\nhis brain. It was all wrong; but let it be! It was nothing to him more\nthan the others. Let it be!\n\nThe door grated, as Haley opened it.\n\n\"Come, my woman! Must lock up for t'night. Come, stir yerself!\"\n\nShe went up and took Hugh's hand.\n\n\"Good-night, Deb,\" he said, carelessly.\n\nShe had not hoped he would say more; but the Sired pain on her mouth\njust then was bitterer than death. She took his passive hand and kissed\nit.\n\n\"Hur 'll never see Deb again!\" she ventured, her lips growing colder and\nmore bloodless.\n\nWhat did she say that for? Did he not know it'! Yet he would not\nimpatient with poor old Deb. She had trouble of her own, as well as he.\n\n\"No, never again,\" he said, trying to be cheerful.\n\nShe stood just a moment, looking at him. Do you laugh at her, standing\nthere, with her hunchback, her rags, her bleared, withered face, and the\ngreat despised love tugging at her heart?\n\n\"Come, you!\" called Haley, impatiently.\n\nShe did not move.\n\n\"Hugh!\" she whispered.\n\nIt was to be her last word. What was it?\n\n\"Hugh, boy, not THAT!\"\n\nHe did not answer. She wrung her hands, trying to be silent, looking in\nhis face in an agony of entreaty. He smiled again, kindly.\n\n\"It is best, Deb. I cannot bear to be hurted any more.\"\n\n\"Hur knows,\" she said, humbly.\n\n\"Tell my father good-bye; and--and kiss little Janey.\"\n\nShe nodded, saying nothing, looked in his face again, and went out of\nthe door. As she went, she staggered.\n\n\"Drinkin' to-day?\" broke out Haley, pushing her before him. \"Where the\nDevil did you get it? Here, in with ye!\" and he shoved her into her\ncell, next to Wolfe's, and shut the door.\n\nAlong the wall of her cell there was a crack low down by the floor,\nthrough which she could see the light from Wolfe's. She had discovered\nit days before. She hurried in now, and, kneeling down by it, listened,\nhoping to hear some sound. Nothing but the rasping of the tin on the\nbars. He was at his old amusement again. Something in the noise jarred\non her ear, for she shivered as she heard it. Hugh rasped away at the\nbars. A dull old bit of tin, not fit to cut korl with.\n\nHe looked out of the window again. People were leaving the market now.\nA tall mulatto girl, following her mistress, her basket on her head,\ncrossed the street just below, and looked up. She was laughing; but,\nwhen she caught sight of the haggard face peering out through the bars,\nsuddenly grew grave, and hurried by. A free, firm step, a clear-cut\nolive face, with a scarlet turban tied on one side, dark, shining eyes,\nand on the head the basket poised, filled with fruit and flowers, under\nwhich the scarlet turban and bright eyes looked out half-shadowed. The\npicture caught his eye. It was good to see a face like that. He would\ntry to-morrow, and cut one like it. _To-morrow_! He threw down the tin,\ntrembling, and covered his face with his hands. When he looked up again,\nthe daylight was gone.\n\nDeborah, crouching near by on the other side of the wall, heard no\nnoise. He sat on the side of the low pallet, thinking. Whatever was the\nmystery which the woman had seen on his face, it came out now slowly, in\nthe dark there, and became fixed,--a something never seen on his face\nbefore. The evening was darkening fast. The market had been over for an\nhour; the rumbling of the carts over the pavement grew more infrequent:\nhe listened to each, as it passed, because he thought it was to be for\nthe last time. For the same reason, it was, I suppose, that he strained\nhis eyes to catch a glimpse of each passer-by, wondering who they were,\nwhat kind of homes they were going to, if they had children,--listening\neagerly to every chance word in the street, as if--(God be merciful to\nthe man! what strange fancy was this?)--as if he never should hear human\nvoices again.\n\nIt was quite dark at last. The street was a lonely one. The last\npassenger, he thought, was gone. No,--there was a quick step: Joe Hill,\nlighting the I Joe was a good old chap; never passed a fellow without\nsome joke or other. He remembered once seeing the place where he lived\nwith his wife. \"Granny Hill\" the boys called her. Bedridden she was; but\nso kind as Joe was to her! kept the room so clean!--and the old woman,\nwhen he was there, was laughing at \"some of t' lad's foolishness.\" The\nstep was far down the street; but he could see him place the ladder, run\nup, and light the gas. A longing seized him to be spoken to once more.\n\n\"Joe!\" he called, out of the grating. \"Good-bye, Joe!\"\n\nThe old man stopped a moment, listening uncertainly; then hurried on.\nThe prisoner thrust his hand out of the window, and called again,\nlouder; but Joe was too far down the street. It was a little thing; but\nit hurt him,--this disappointment.\n\n\"Good-bye, Joe!\" he called, sorrowfully enough.\n\n\"Be quiet!\" said one of the jailers, passing the door, striking on it\nwith his club.\n\nOh, that was the last, was it?\n\nThere was an inexpressible bitterness on his face, as he lay down on the\nbed, taking the bit of tin, which he had rasped to a tolerable degree\nof sharpness, in his hand,--to play with, it may be. He bared his arms,\nlooking intently at their corded veins and sinews. Deborah, listening in\nthe next cell, heard a slight clicking sound, often repeated. She shut\nher lips tightly, that she might not scream; the cold drops of sweat\nbroke over her, in her dumb agony.\n\n\"Hur knows best,\" she muttered at last, fiercely clutching the boards\nwhere she lay.\n\nIf she could have seen Wolfe, there was nothing about him to frighten\nher. He lay quite still, his arms outstretched, looking at the pearly\nstream of moonlight coming into the window. I think in that one hour\nthat came then he lived back over all the years that had gone before.\nI think that all the low, vile life, all his wrongs, all his starved\nhopes, came then, and stung him with a farewell poison that made him\nsick unto death. He made neither moan nor cry, only turned his worn face\nnow and then to the pure light, that seemed so far off, as one that\nsaid, \"How long, O Lord? how long?\"\n\nThe hour was over at last. The moon, passing over her nightly path,\nslowly came nearer, and threw the light across his bed on his feet. He\nwatched it steadily, as it crept up, inch by inch, slowly. It seemed to\nhim to carry with it a great silence. He had been so hot and tired there\nalways in the mills! The years had been so fierce and cruel! There was\ncoming now quiet and coolness and sleep. His tense limbs relaxed, and\nsettled in a calm languor. The blood ran fainter and slow from his\nheart. He did not think now with a savage anger of what might be and was\nnot; he was conscious only of deep stillness creeping over him. At first\nhe saw a sea of faces: the mill-men,--women he had known, drunken and\nbloated,--Janeys timid and pitiful,--poor old Debs: then they floated\ntogether like a mist, and faded away, leaving only the clear, pearly\nmoonlight.\n\nWhether, as the pure light crept up the stretched-out figure, it brought\nwith it calm and peace, who shall say? His dumb soul was alone with\nGod in judgment. A Voice may have spoken for it from far-off Calvary,\n\"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!\" Who dare say?\nFainter and fainter the heart rose and fell, slower and slower the moon\nfloated from behind a cloud, until, when at last its full tide of white\nsplendor swept over the cell, it seemed to wrap and fold into a deeper\nstillness the dead figure that never should move again. Silence deeper\nthan the Night! Nothing that moved, save the black, nauseous stream of\nblood dripping slowly from the pallet to the floor!\n\nThere was outcry and crowd enough in the cell the next day. The coroner\nand his jury, the local editors, Kirby himself, and boys with their\nhands thrust knowingly into their pockets and heads on one side, jammed\ninto the corners. Coming and going all day. Only one woman. She came\nlate, and outstayed them all. A Quaker, or Friend, as they call\nthemselves. I think this woman was known by that name in heaven. A\nhomely body, coarsely dressed in gray and white. Deborah (for Haley had\nlet her in) took notice of her. She watched them all--sitting on the\nend of the pallet, holding his head in her arms--with the ferocity of\na watch-dog, if any of them touched the body. There was no meekness,\nsorrow, in her face; the stuff out of which murderers are made, instead.\nAll the time Haley and the woman were laying straight the limbs and\ncleaning the cell, Deborah sat still, keenly watching the Quaker's face.\nOf all the crowd there that day, this woman alone had not spoken to\nher,--only once or twice had put some cordial to her lips. After they\nall were gone, the woman, in the same still, gentle way, brought a vase\nof wood-leaves and berries, and placed it by the pallet, then opened the\nnarrow window. The fresh air blew in, and swept the woody fragrance over\nthe dead face. Deborah looked up with a quick wonder.\n\n\"Did hur know my boy wud like it? Did hur know Hugh?\"\n\n\"I know Hugh now.\"\n\nThe white fingers passed in a slow, pitiful way over the dead, worn\nface. There was a heavy shadow in the quiet eyes.\n\n\"Did hur know where they'll bury Hugh?\" said Deborah in a shrill tone,\ncatching her arm.\n\nThis had been the question hanging on her lips all day.\n\n\"In t' town-yard? Under t'mud and ash? T'lad 'll smother, woman! He wur\nborn on t'lane moor, where t'air is frick and strong. Take hur out, for\nGod's sake, take hur out where t'air blows!\"\n\nThe Quaker hesitated, but only for a moment. She put her strong arm\naround Deborah and led her to the window.\n\n\"Thee sees the hills, friend, over the river? Thee sees how the\nlight lies warm there, and the winds of God blow all the day? I live\nthere,--where the blue smoke is, by the trees. Look at me.\" She turned\nDeborah's face to her own, clear and earnest. \"Thee will believe me? I\nwill take Hugh and bury him there to-morrow.\"\n\nDeborah did not doubt her. As the evening wore on, she leaned against\nthe iron bars, looking at the hills that rose far off, through the thick\nsodden clouds, like a bright, unattainable calm. As she looked, a shadow\nof their solemn repose fell on her face: its fierce discontent faded\ninto a pitiful, humble quiet. Slow, solemn tears gathered in her eyes:\nthe poor weak eyes turned so hopelessly to the place where Hugh was to\nrest, the grave heights looking higher and brighter and more solemn than\never before. The Quaker watched her keenly. She came to her at last, and\ntouched her arm.\n\n\"When thee comes back,\" she said, in a low, sorrowful tone, like one\nwho speaks from a strong heart deeply moved with remorse or pity, \"thee\nshall begin thy life again,--there on the hills. I came too late; but\nnot for thee,--by God's help, it may be.\"\n\nNot too late. Three years after, the Quaker began her work. I end my\nstory here. At evening-time it was light. There is no need to tire\nyou with the long years of sunshine, and fresh air, and slow, patient\nChrist-love, needed to make healthy and hopeful this impure body and\nsoul. There is a homely pine house, on one of these hills, whose windows\noverlook broad, wooded <DW72>s and clover-crimsoned meadows,--niched into\nthe very place where the light is warmest, the air freest. It is the\nFriends' meeting-house. Once a week they sit there, in their grave,\nearnest way, waiting for the Spirit of Love to speak, opening their\nsimple hearts to receive His words. There is a woman, old, deformed, who\ntakes a humble place among them: waiting like them: in her gray dress,\nher worn face, pure and meek, turned now and then to the sky. A woman\nmuch loved by these silent, restful people; more silent than they, more\nhumble, more loving. Waiting: with her eyes turned to hills higher and\npurer than these on which she lives,--dim and far off now, but to be\nreached some day. There may be in her heart some latent hope to meet\nthere the love denied her here,--that she shall find him whom she lost,\nand that then she will not be all-unworthy. Who blames her? Something\nis lost in the passage of every soul from one eternity to the\nother,--something pure and beautiful, which might have been and was not:\na hope, a talent, a love, over which the soul mourns, like Esau deprived\nof his birthright. What blame to the meek Quaker, if she took her lost\nhope to make the hills of heaven more fair?\n\nNothing remains to tell that the poor Welsh puddler once lived, but this\nfigure of the mill-woman cut in korl. I have it here in a corner of my\nlibrary. I keep it hid behind a curtain,--it is such a rough, ungainly\nthing. Yet there are about it touches, grand sweeps of outline, that\nshow a master's hand. Sometimes,--to-night, for instance,--the curtain is\naccidentally drawn back, and I see a bare arm stretched out imploringly\nin the darkness, and an eager, wolfish face watching mine: a wan, woful\nface, through which the spirit of the dead korl-cutter looks out, with\nits thwarted life, its mighty hunger, its unfinished work. Its pale,\nvague lips seem to tremble with a terrible question, \"Is this the End?\"\nthey say,--\"nothing beyond?--no more?\"\n\nWhy, you tell me you have seen that look in the eyes of dumb\nbrutes,--horses dying under the lash. I know.\n\nThe deep of the night is passing while I write. The gas-light wakens\nfrom the shadows here and there the objects which lie scattered through\nthe room: only faintly, though; for they belong to the open sunlight. As\nI glance at them, they each recall some task or pleasure of the coming\nday. A half-moulded child's head; Aphrodite; a bough of forest-leaves;\nmusic; work; homely fragments, in which lie the secrets of all eternal\ntruth and beauty. Prophetic all! Only this dumb, woful face seems to\nbelong to and end with the night. I turn to look at it Has the power of\nits desperate need commanded the darkness away? While the room is yet\nsteeped in heavy shadow, a cool, gray light suddenly touches its head\nlike a blessing hand, and its groping arm points through the broken\ncloud to the far East, where, in the nickering, nebulous crimson, God\nhas set the promise of the Dawn.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE REIGN OF KING COTTON.\n\n\nTo every age and to all nations belong their peculiar maxims and\npolitical or religious cries, which, if collected by some ingenious\nphilosopher, would make a striking compendium of universal history.\nSometimes a curious outward similarity exists between these condensed\nnational sentences of peoples dissimilar in every other respect. Thus,\nto-day is heard in the senescent East the oft-repeated formula of the\nMussulman's faith, \"There is no God but Allah, and Mahomet is his\nProphet,\" while in the youthful West a new cry, as fully believed, not\nless devout, and scarcely less often repeated, arises from one great\nand influential portion of the political and social thinkers of this\ncountry,--the cry that \"There is no King but Cotton, and the African is\nits High-Priest.\" According to the creed of philosophy, philanthropy,\nand economy in vogue among the sect whose views take utterance in this\nformula, King Cotton has now reigned supreme over the temporal affairs\nof the princes, potentates, and people of this earth for some thirty\nyears. Consequently, it is fair to presume that its reign has fully\ndeveloped its policy and tendencies and is producing its fruit for good\nor evil, especially in the land of its disciples. It is well, therefore,\nsometimes to withdraw a little from the dust and smoke of the battle,\nwhich, with us at least, announces the spread of this potentate's power,\nand to try to disentangle the real questions at issue in the struggle\nfrom the eternal complications produced by short-sighted politicians and\npopular issues. Looking at the policy and tendency of the reign of King\nCotton, as hitherto developed and indicated by its most confidential\nadvisers and apostles and by the lapse of time in the so-called Slave\nStates, to what end does it necessarily tend? to what results must it\nlogically lead?\n\nWhat is coarsely, but expressively, described in the political slang of\nthis country as \"_The Everlasting <DW65> Question_\" might perhaps fairly\nbe considered exhausted as a topic of discussion, if ever a topic was.\nIs it exhausted, however? Have not rather the smoke and sweat and dust\nof the political battle in which we have been so long and so fiercely\nengaged exercised a dimming influence on our eyes as to the true\ndifficulty and its remedy, as they have on the vision of other angry\ncombatants since the world began? It is easy to say, in days like these,\nthat men seem at once to lose their judgment and reason when they\napproach this question,--to look hardly an arm's length before\nthem,--to become mere tools of their own passions; and all this is true,\nand, in conceding it all, no more is conceded than that the men of the\npresent day are also mortal. How many voters in the last election,\nbefore they went to the polls, had seriously thought out for themselves\nthe real issue of the contest, apart from party names and platforms and\npopular cries and passionate appeals to the conscience and the purse?\nIn all parties, some doubtless were impelled by fanaticism,--many were\nguided by instinct,--more by the voice of their leaders,--most by party\ncatchwords and material interests,--but how many by real reflection and\nthe exercise of reason? Was it every fifth man, or every tenth? Was it\nevery fiftieth? Let every one judge for himself. The history of the\nreigning dynasty, its policy and tendency, are still open questions, the\ndiscussion of which, though perhaps become tedious, is not exhausted,\nand, if conducted in a fair spirit, will at least do no harm. What,\nthen, is all this thirty years' turmoil, of which the world is growing\nsick, about? Are we indeed only fighting, as the party-leaders at the\nNorth seem trying to persuade us, for the control, by the interests of\nfree labor or of slave-labor, of certain remaining national territories\ninto which probably slavery never could be made to enter?--or rather\nis there not some deep innate principle,--some strong motive of\naggrandizement or preservation,--some real Enceladus,--the cause of this\nfurious volcano of destructive agitation? If, indeed, the struggle\nbe for the possession of a sterile waste in the heart of the\ncontinent,--useless either as a slave-breeding or a slave-working\ncountry,--clearly, whatever the politician might say to the contrary,\nthe patriot and the merchant would soon apply to the struggle the\nprinciple, that sometimes the game is not worth the candle. If, however,\nthere be an underlying principle, the case is different, and the cost of\nthe struggle admits of no limit save the value of the motive principle.\nHe who now pretends to discuss this question should approach it neither\nas a Whig, a Democrat, nor a Republican, but should look at it by the\nlight of political philosophy and economy, forgetful of the shibboleth\nof party or appeals to passion. So far as may be, in this spirit it is\nproposed to discuss it here.\n\n\"By its fruits ye shall know it.\" Look, then, for a moment, at the\nfruits of the Cotton dynasty, as hitherto developed in the working of\nits policy and its natural tendency,--observe its vital essence and\nlogical necessities,--seek for the result of its workings, when brought\nin contact with the vital spirits and life-currents of our original\npolicy as a people,--and then decide whether this contest in which we\nare engaged is indeed an irrepressible and inextinguishable contest,\nor whether all this while we have not been fighting with shadows. King\nCotton has now reigned for thirty years, be the same less or more. To\nfeel sure that we know what its policy has wrought in that time, we must\nfirst seek for the conditions under which it originally began its work.\n\nEver since Adam and Eve were forced, on their expulsion from Paradise,\nto try the first experiment at self-government, their descendants have\nbeen pursuing a course of homoeopathic treatment. It was the eating of\nthe fruit of the tree of knowledge which caused all their woes; and\nin an increased consumption of the fruit of that tree they have\npersistently looked for alleviation of them. Experience seems to prove\nthe wisdom of the treatment. The greater the consumption of the fruit,\nthe greater the happiness of man. Knowledge has at last become the basis\nof all things,--of power, of social standing, of material prosperity,\nand, finally, in America, of government itself. Until within a century\npast, political philosophy in the creation of government began at the\nwrong end. It built from the pinnacle downward. The stability of the\ngovernment depended on the apex,--the one or the few,--and not on the\nbase,--the foundation of the many. At length, in this country, fresh\nfrom the hand of Nature, the astonished world saw a new experiment\ntried,--a government systematically built up from the foundation of\nthe many,--a government drawing its being from, and dependent for its\ncontinued existence on, the will and the intelligence of the governed.\nThe foundation had first been laid deep and strong, and on it a goodly\nsuperstructure of government was erected. Yet, even to this day, the\nvery subjects of that government itself do not realize that they, and\nnot the government, are the sources of national prosperity. In times of\nnational emergency like the present,--amid clamors of secession and\nof coercion,--angry threats and angrier replies,--wars and rumors of\nwars,--what is more common than to hear sensible men--men whom the\npeople look to as leaders--picturing forth a dire relapse into barbarism\nand anarchy as the necessary consequence of the threatened convulsions?\nThey forget, if they ever realized, that the people made this\ngovernment, and not the government the people. Destroy the intelligence\nof the people, and the government could not exist for a day;--destroy\nthis government, and the people would create another, and yet another,\nof no less perfect symmetry. While the foundations are firm, there need\nbe no fears of the superstructure, which may be renewed again and again;\nbut touch the foundations, and the superstructure must crumble at once.\nThose who still insist on believing that this government made the people\nare fond of triumphantly pointing to the condition of the States of\nMexico, as telling the history of our own future, let our present\ngovernment be once interrupted in its functions. Are Mexicans Yankees?\nAre Spaniards Anglo-Saxons? Are Catholicism and religious freedom, the\nInquisition and common schools, despotism and democracy, synonymous\nterms? Could a successful republic, on our model, be at once instituted\nin Africa on the assassination of the King of Timbuctoo? Have two\ncenturies of education nothing to do with our success, or an eternity of\nignorance with Mexican failure? Was our government a lucky guess, and\ntheirs an unfortunate speculation? The one lesson that America is\ndestined to teach the world, or to miss her destiny in failing to teach,\nhas with us passed into a truism, and is yet continually lost sight of;\nit is the magnificent result of three thousand years of experiment: the\nsimple truth, that no government is so firm, so truly conservative, and\nso wholly indestructible, as a government founded and dependent for\nsupport upon the affections and good-will of a moral, intelligent, and\neducated community. In our politics, we hear much of State-rights and\ncentralization,--of distribution of power,--of checks and balances,--of\nconstitutions and their construction,--of patronage and its\ndistribution,--of banks, of tariffs, and of trade,--all of them subjects\nof moment in their sphere; but their sphere is limited. Whether they be\ndecided one way or the other is of comparatively little consequence:\nfor, however they are decided, if the people are educated and informed,\nthe government will go on, and the community be prosperous, be they\ndecided never so badly,--and if decided badly, the decision will he\nreversed; but let the people become ignorant and debased, and all the\nchecks and balances and wise regulations which the ingenuity of man\ncould in centuries devise would, at best, but for a short space defer\nthe downfall of a republic. A well-founded republic can, then, be\ndestroyed only by destroying its people,--its decay need be looked for\nonly in the decay of their intelligence; and any form of thought or\nany institution tending to suppress education or destroy intelligence\nstrikes at the very essence of the government, and constitutes a treason\nwhich no law can meet, and for which no punishment is adequate.\n\nEducation, then, as universally diffused as the elements of God, is the\nlife-blood of our body politic. The intelligence of the people is the\none great fact of our civilization and our prosperity,--it is the\nbeating heart of our age and of our land. It is education alone which\nmakes equality possible without anarchy, and liberty without license. It\nis this--which makes the fundamental principles of our Declaration of\nIndependence living realities in New England, while in France they still\nremain the rhetorical statement of glittering generalities. From this\nsource flow all our possibilities. Without it, the equality of man is a\npretty figure of speech; with it, democracy is possible. This is a path\nbeaten by two hundred years of footprints, and while we walk it we are\nsafe and need fear no evil; but if we diverge from it, be it for never\nso little, we stumble, and, unless we quickly retrace our steps, we fall\nand are lost. The tutelary goddess of American liberty should be the\npure marble image of the Professor's Yankee school-mistress. Education\nis the fundamental support of our system. It was education which made us\nfree, progressive, and conservative; and it is education alone which can\nkeep us so.\n\nWith this fact clearly established, the next inquiry should be as to\nthe bearing and policy of the Cotton dynasty as touching this\nquestion of general intelligence. It is a mere truism to say that the\ncotton-culture is the cause of the present philosophical and economical\nphase of the African question. Throughout the South, whether justly or\nnot, it is considered as well settled that cotton can be profitably\nraised only by a forced system of labor. This theory has been denied by\nsome writers, and, in experience, is certainly subject to some marked\nexceptions; but undoubtedly it is the creed of the Cotton dynasty,\nand must here, therefore, be taken for true.[A] With this theory, the\nSouthern States are under a direct inducement, in the nature of a bribe,\nto the amount of the annual profit on their cotton-crop, to see as\nmany perfections and as few imperfections as possible in the system of\nAfrican slavery, and to follow it out unflinchingly into all its logical\nnecessities. Thus, under the direct influence of the Cotton dynasty, the\nwhole Southern tone on this subject has undergone a change. Slavery is\nno longer deplored as a necessary evil, but it is maintained as in\nall respects a substantial good. One of the logical necessities of a\nthorough slave-system is, in at least the slave-portion of the people,\nextreme ignorance. Whatever theoretically may be desirable in this\nrespect among the master-class, ignorance, in its worst form,--ignorance\nof everything except the use of the tools with which their work is to\nbe done,--is the necessary condition of the slaves. But it is said that\nslaves are property, without voice or influence in the government, and\nthat the ignorance of the black is no obstacle to the intelligence\nof the white. This possibly may be true; but a government founded on\nignorance, as the essential condition of one portion of its people, is\nnot likely long to regard education as its vital source and essence.\nStill the assertion that the rule of education does not apply to slaves\nmust be allowed; for we must deal with facts as we find them; and\nundoubtedly the slave has no rights which the master is bound to\nrespect; and in speaking of the policy of the Cotton dynasty, the\nservile population must be regarded as it is, ignoring the question of\nwhat it might be; it must be taken into consideration only as a terrible\ninert mass of domesticated barbarism, and there left. The question\nhere is solely with the policy and tendency of the Cotton dynasty\nas affecting the master-class, and the servile class is in that\nconsideration to be summarily disposed of as so much labor owned by so\nmuch capital.\n\n[Footnote A: \"In truth,\" the institution of slavery, as an agency for\ncotton-cultivation, \"is an expensive luxury, a dangerous and artificial\nstate, and, even in a-worldly point of view, an error. The cost of a\nfirst-class <DW64> in the United States is about L800, and the interest\non the capital invested in and the wear and tear of this human chattel\nare equal to 10 per cent., which, with the cost of maintaining,\nclothing, and doctoring him, or another 5 per cent, gives an annual cost\nof L45; and the pampered Coolies in the best paying of all the tropical\nsettlements, Trinidad, receive wages that do not exceed on an average\non the year round 6s. per week, or about two-fifths, while in the East\nIndies, with perquisites, they do not receive so much as two-thirds of\nthis. In Cuba, the Chinese emigrants do not receive so much even as\none-third of this.\"--_Cotton Trade of Great Britain_, by J.A. MANN.\n--In India, labor is 80 per cent cheaper than in the United States.]\n\nThe dynasty of Cotton is based on the monopoly of the cotton-culture in\nthe Cotton States of the Union; its whole policy is directed to the two\nends of making the most of and retaining that monopoly; and economically\nit reduces everything to subserviency to the question of cotton-supply;\n--thus Cotton is King. The result necessarily is, that the Cotton States\nhave turned all their energies to that one branch of industry. All other\nbranches they abandon or allow to languish. They have no commerce of\ntheir own, few manufactories, fewer arts; and in their abandonment of\nself in their devotion to their King, they do not even raise their\nown hay or corn, dig their own coal, or fell their own timber; and at\npresent, Louisiana is abandoning the sugar-culture, one of the few\nremaining exports of the South, to share more largely in the monopoly of\ncotton. Thus the community necessarily loses its fair proportions; it\nceases to be self-sustaining; it exercises one faculty alone, until all\nthe others wither and become impotent for very lack of use. This intense\nand all-pervading devotion to one pursuit, and that a pursuit to which\nthe existence of a servile class is declared essential, must, in a\nrepublic more than in any other government, produce certain marked\npolitico-philosophical and economical effects on the master-class as a\nwhole. In a country conducted on a system of servile labor, as in one\nconducted on free, the master-class must be divided into the two great\norders of the rich and poor,--those who have, and those who have not.\nThat the whole policy of the Cotton dynasty tends necessarily to making\nbroader the chasm between these orders is most apparent. It makes the\nrich richer, and the poor poorer; for, as, according to the creed of the\ndynasty, capital should own labor, and the labor thus owned can alone\nsuccessfully produce cotton, he who has must be continually increasing\nhis store, while he who has not can neither raise the one staple\nrecognized by the Cotton dynasty, nor turn his labor, his only property,\nto other branches of industry; for such have, in the universal\nabandonment of the community to cotton, been allowed to languish and\ndie. The economical tendency of the Cotton dynasty is therefore to\ndivide the master-class yet more distinctly into the two great opposing\norders of society. On the one hand we see the capitalist owning the\nlabor of a thousand slaves, and on the other the laboring white unable,\nunder the destructive influence of a profitable monopoly, to make any\nuse of that labor which is his only property.\n\nWhat influence, then, has the Cotton dynasty on that portion of the\nmaster-class who are without capital? Its tendency has certainly\nnecessarily been to make their labor of little value; but they are still\ncitizens of a republic, free to come and go, and, in the eye of the law,\nequal with the highest;--on them, in times of emergency, the government\nmust rest; their education and intelligence are its only sure\nfoundations. But, having made this class the vast majority of the\nmaster-caste, what are the policy and tendency of the Cotton dynasty\nas touching them? The story is almost too old to bear even the\nshortest repetition. Philosophically, it is a logical necessity\nof the Cotton dynasty that it should be opposed to universal\nintelligence;--economically, it renders universal intelligence an\nimpossibility. That slavery is in itself a positive good to society is\na fundamental doctrine of the Cotton dynasty, and a proposition\nnot necessary to be combated here; but, unfortunately, universal\nintelligence renders free discussion a necessity, and experience tells\nus that the suppression of free discussion is necessary to the existence\nof slavery. We are but living history over again. The same causes have\noften existed before, and they have drawn after them the necessary\neffects. Other peoples, at other times, as well as our Southern brethren\nat present, have felt, that the suppression of general discussion was\nnecessary to the preservation of a prized and peculiar institution.\nSpain, Italy, Germany, France, the Netherlands, England, and Scotland\nhave all, at different times, experienced the forced suppression of\nsome one branch of political or religious thought. Their histories have\nrecorded the effect of that suppression; and the rule to be deduced\ntherefrom is simply this: If the people among whom such suppression is\nattempted are ignorant, and are kept so as part of a system, the attempt\nmay be successful, though in its results working destruction to\nthe community;--if, however, they are intelligent, and the system\nincautiously admits into itself any plan of education, the attempt\nat suppression will be abandoned, as the result either of policy or\nviolence. In this respect, then, on philosophical grounds, the Cotton\ndynasty is not likely to favor the education of the masses. Again, it\nis undoubtedly the interest of the man who has not, that all possible\nbranches of industry should be open to his labor, as rendering that\nlabor of greater value; but the whole tendency of the Cotton monopoly is\nto blight all branches of industry in the Cotton States save only that\none. General intelligence might lead the poor white to suspect this fact\nof an interest of his own antagonistic to the policy of the Cotton King,\nand therefore general intelligence is not part of that monarch's policy.\nThis the philosophers of the Cotton dynasty fairly avow and class high\namong those dangers against which it behooves them to be on their guard.\nThey theorize thus:--\n\n\"The great mass of our poor white population begin to understand that\nthey have rights, and that they, too, are entitled to some of the\nsympathy which falls upon the suffering. They are fast learning that\nthere is an almost infinite world of industry opening before them, by\nwhich they can elevate themselves and their families from wretchedness\nand ignorance to competence and intelligence. It is this great upheaving\nof our masses which we have to fear, so far as our institutions are\nconcerned.\"[B]\n\n[Footnote B: _De Bow's Review_, January, 1850. Quoted in Olmsted's _Back\nCountry_, p. 451.]\n\nFurther, the policy of the Cotton King, however honestly in theory it\nmay wish to encourage it, renders general education and consequent\nintelligence an impossibility. A system of universal education is made\nfor a laboring population, and can be sustained only among a laboring\npopulation; but if that population consist of slaves, universal\neducation cannot exist. The reason is simple; for the children of all\nmust be educated, otherwise the scholars will not support the schools.\nIt is an absolute necessity of society that in agricultural districts\ncultivated by slave-labor the free population should be too sparsely\nscattered to support a system of schools, even on starvation wages for\nthe cheapest class of teachers.\n\nFinally, though it is a subject not necessary now to discuss, the effect\nof the Cotton monopoly and dynasty in depressing the majority of the\nwhites into a species of labor competition in the same branch of\nindustry as the blacks, because the only branch open to all, can\nhardly have a self-respect-inspiring influence on that portion of the\ncommunity, but should in its results rather illustrate old Falstaff's\nremark,--that \"there is a thing often heard of, and it is known to many\nin our land, by the name of pitch; this pitch, as ancient writers do\nreport, doth defile: so doth the company thou keepest.\"\n\nSuch, reason tells us, should be the effect on the intelligence and\neducation of the free masses of the South of the policy and dynasty of\nKing Cotton. That experience in this case verifies the conclusions\nof reason who can doubt who has ever set foot in a thorough Slave\nState,--or in Kansas, or in any Free State half-peopled by the poor\nwhites of the South?--or who can doubt it, that has ever even talked on\nthe subject with an intelligent and fair-minded Southern gentleman? Who\nthat knows them will deny that the poor whites of the South make the\nworst population in the country? Who ever heard a Southern gentleman\nspeak of them, save in Congress or on the hustings, otherwise than with\naversion and contempt?[C]\n\n[Footnote C: Except when used by the accomplished statistician, there is\nnothing more fallacious than the figures of the census. As the author of\nthis article is a disciple neither of Buckle nor De Bow, they have not\nbeen used at all; but a few of the census figures are nevertheless\ninstructive, as showing the difference between the Free and the Servile\nStates in respect to popular education. According to the census of 1850,\nthe white population of the Slave States amounted to 6,184,477 souls,\nand the <DW52> population, free and slave, brought the total population\nup to an aggregate of 9,612,979, of which the whole number of\nschool-pupils was 581,861. New York, with a population of 3,097,894\nsouls, numbered 675,221 pupils, or 98,830 more than all the Slave\nStates. The eight Cotton States, from South Carolina to Arkansas, with\na population of 2,137,264 whites and a grand total of 3,970,337 human\nbeings, contained 141,032 pupils; the State of Massachusetts, with a\ntotal population of 994,514, numbered 176,475, or 35,443 pupils more\nthan all the Cotton States. In popular governments the great sources\nof general intelligence are newspapers and periodicals; in estimating\nthese, metropolitan New York should not be considered; but of these\nthe whole number, in 1850, issued annually in all the Slave States was\n61,038,698, and the number in the not peculiarly enlightened State of\nPennsylvania was 84,898,672, or 3,859,974 more than in all the Slave\nStates. In the eight Cotton States, the whole number was 30,041,991; and\nin the single State of Massachusetts, 64,820,564, or 34,778,573 more,\nand in the single State of Ohio, 30,473,407, or 431,416 more, than in\nall the above eight States.]\n\nHere, then, we come at once to the foundation of a policy and the cause\nof this struggle. Whether it will or no, it is the inevitable tendency\nof the Cotton dynasty to be opposed to general intelligence. It is\nopposed to that, then, without which a republic cannot hope to exist;\nit is opposed to and denies the whole results of two thousand years of\nexperience. The social system of which the government of to-day is\nthe creature is founded on the principle of a generally diffused\nintelligence of the people; but if now Cotton be King, as is so boldly\nasserted, then an influence has obtained control of the government of\nwhich the whole policy is in direct antagonism with, the very elementary\nideas of that government. History tells us that eight bags of cotton\nimported into England in 1784 were seized by the custom-house officers\nat Liverpool, on the ground that so much cotton could not have been\nproduced in these States. In 1860, the cotton-crop was estimated at\n3,851,481 bales. Thus King Cotton was born with this government, and\nhas strengthened with its strength; and to-day, almost the creature of\ndestiny, sent to work the failure of our experiment as a people, it has\nled almost one-half of the Republic to completely ignore, if not to\nreject, the one principle absolutely essential to that Republic's\ncontinued existence. What two thousand years ago was said of Rome\napplies to us:--\"Those abuses and corruptions which in time destroy a\ngovernment are sown along with the very seeds of it and both grow up\ntogether; and as rust eats away iron, and worms devour wood, and both\nare a sort of plagues born and bred with the substance they destroy; so\nwith every form and scheme of government that man can invent, some vice\nor corruption creeps in with the very institution, which grows up along\nwith and at last destroys it.\" No wonder, then, that the conflict\nis irrepressible and hot; for two instinctive principles of\nself-preservation have met in deadly conflict: the South, with the eager\nloyalty of the Cavalier, rallies to the standard of King Cotton, while\nthe North, with the earnest devotion of the Puritan, struggles hard in\ndefence of the fundamental principles of its liberties and the ark of\nits salvation.\n\nThus over nearly half of the national domain and among a large minority\nof the citizens of the Republic, the dynasty of Cotton has worked a\ndivergence from original principle. Wherever the sway of King Cotton\nextends, the people have for the present lost sight of the most\nessential of our national attributes. They are seeking to found a great\nand prosperous republic on the cultivation of a single staple product,\nand not on intelligence universally diffused: consequently they\nhave founded their house upon the sand. Among them, cotton, and\nnot knowledge, is power. When thus reduced to its logical\nnecessities,--brought down, as it were, to the hard pan,--the experience\nof two thousand years convincingly proves that their experiment as a\ndemocracy must fail. It is, then, a question of vital importance to\nthe whole people,--How can this divergence be terminated? Is there any\nresult, any agency, which can destroy this dynasty, and restore us as a\npeople to the firm foundations upon which our experiment was begun? Can\nthe present agitation effect this result? If it could, the country might\njoyfully bid a long farewell to \"the canker of peace,\" and \"hail the\nblood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire\"; but the sad answer, that\nit cannot, whether resulting in the successor Democrat or Republican,\nseems almost too evident for discussion. The present conflict is good so\nfar as it goes, but it touches only the surface of things. It is well to\ndrive the Cotton dynasty from the control of the national government;\nbut the aims of the Republican party can reach no farther, even if it\nmeet with complete success in that. But even that much is doubtful. The\ndanger at this point is one ever recurring. Those Northern politicians,\nwho, in pursuit of their political objects and ambition, unreservedly\nbind up their destinies with those of the Cotton dynasty,--the Issachars\nof the North, whose strong backs are bowed to receive any burden,--the\nmen who in the present conflict will see nought but the result of the\nmaudlin sentimentality of fanatics and the empty cries of ambitious\ndemagogues,--are not mistaken in their calculations. While Cotton is\nKing, as it now is, nothing but time or its own insanity can permanently\nshake its hold on the national policy. In moments of fierce convulsion,\nas at present, the North, like a restive steed, may contest its\nsupremacy. Let the South, however, bend, not break, before the storm,\nand history is indeed \"a nurse's tale,\" if the final victory does not\nrest with the party of unity and discipline. While the monopoly of\ncotton exists with the South, and it is cultivated exclusively by native\nAfrican labor, the national government will as surely tend, in spite of\nall momentarily disturbing influences, towards a united South as the\nneedle to the pole. But even if the government were permanently wrested\nfrom its control, would the evil be remedied? Surely not. The disease\nwhich is sapping the foundations of our liberty is not eradicated\nbecause its workings are forced inward. What remedy is that which leaves\na false and pernicious policy--a policy in avowed war with the whole\nspirit of our civilization and in open hostility to our whole experiment\nas a government--in full working, almost a religious creed with near\none-half of our people? As a remedy, this would be but a quack medicine\nat the best. The cure must be a more thorough one. The remedy we must\nlook for--the only one which can meet the exigencies of the case--must\nbe one which will restore to the South the attributes of a democracy. It\nmust cause our Southern brethren of their own free will to reverse their\nsteps,--to return from their divergence. It must teach them a purer\nChristianity, a truer philosophy, a sounder economy. It must lead them\nto new paths of industry. It must gently persuade them that a true\nnational prosperity is not the result of a total abandonment of\nthe community to the culture of one staple. It must make them\nself-dependent, so that no longer they shall have to import their\ncorn from the Northwest, their lumber-men and hay from Maine, their\nmanufactures from Massachusetts, their minerals from Pennsylvania, and\nto employ the shipping of the world. Finally, it must make it impossible\nfor one overgrown interest to plunge the whole community unresistingly\ninto frantic rebellion or needless war. They must learn that a\nwell-conditioned state is, so far as may be, perfect in itself,--and,\nto be perfect in itself, must be intelligent and free. When these\nlessons are taught to the South, then will their divergence cease,\nand they will enter upon a new path of enjoyment, prosperity, and\npermanence. The world at present pays them an annual bribe of some\n$65,000,000 to learn none of these lessons. Their material interest\nteaches them to bow down to the shrine of King Cotton. Here, then, lies\nthe remedy with the disease. The prosperity of the country in general,\nand of the South in particular, demands that the reign of King Cotton\nshould cease,--that his dynasty should be destroyed. This result can\nbe obtained but in one way, and that seemingly ruinous. The present\nmonopoly in their great staple commodity enjoyed by the South must be\ndestroyed, and forever. This result every patriot and well-wisher of the\nSouth should ever long for; and yet, by every Southern statesman and\nphilosopher, it is regarded as the one irremediable evil possible to\ntheir country. What miserable economy! what feeble foresight! What\nprinciple of political economy is better established than that a\nmonopoly is a curse to both producer and consumer? To the first it pays\na premium on fraud, sloth, and negligence; and to the second it supplies\nthe worst possible article, in the worst possible way, at the highest\npossible price. In agriculture, in manufactures, in the professions, and\nin the arts, it is the greatest bar to improvement with which any branch\nof industry can be cursed. The South is now showing to the world an\nexample of a great people borne down, crushed to the ground, cursed, by\na monopoly. A fertile country of magnificent resources, inhabited by a\ngreat race, of inexhaustible energy, is abandoned to one pursuit;--the\nvery riches of their position are as a pestilence to their prosperity.\nIn the presence of their great monopoly, science, art, manufactures,\nmining, agriculture,--word, all the myriad branches of industry\nessential to the true prosperity of a state,--wither and die, that\nsanded cotton may be produced by the most costly of labor. For love of\ncotton, the very intelligence of the community, the life-blood of their\npolity, is disregarded and forgotten. Hence it is that the marble and\nfreestone quarries of New England alone are far more important sources\nof revenue than all the subterranean deposits of the Servile States.\nThus the monopoly which is the apparent source of their wealth is in\nreality their greatest curse; for it blinds them to the fact, that, with\nnations as with individuals, a healthy competition is the one essential\nto all true economy and real excellence. Monopolists are always blind,\nalways practise a false economy. Adam Smith tells us that \"it is not\nmore than fifty years ago that some of the counties in the neighborhood\nof London petitioned the Parliament against the extension of the\nturnpike roads into the remoter counties. Those remoter counties, they\npretended, from the cheapness of labor, would be able to sell their\ngrass and corn cheaper in the London market than themselves, and would\nthereby reduce their rents and ruin their cultivation.\" The great\neconomist significantly adds,--\"Their rents, however, have risen, and\ntheir cultivation has been improved, since that time.\" Finally, to-day,\nwould the cultivation of cereals in the Northwest be improved, if made\na monopoly? would its inhabitants be richer? would their economy be\nbetter? Certainly not. Yet to-day they undersell the world, and, in\nspite of competition, are far richer, far more contented and prosperous,\nthan their fellow-citizens in the South in the full enjoyment of their\nboasted dynasty of Cotton.\n\n\"Here,\" said Wellington, on the Eton football ground, \"we won the battle\nof Waterloo.\" Not in angry declamation and wordy debate, in threats of\nsecession and cries for coercion, amid the clash of party-politics, the\nwindy declamation of blatant politicians, or the dirty scramble for\noffice, is the destruction of the dynasty of King Cotton to be looked\nfor. The laws of trade must be the great teacher; and here, as\nelsewhere, England, the noble nation of shopkeepers, must be the agent\nfor the fulfilment of those laws. It is safe to-day to say, that,\nthrough the agency of England, and, in accordance with those laws, under\na continuance of the present profit on that staple, the dynasty of King\nCotton is doomed,--the monopoly which is now the basis of his power will\nbe a monopoly no more. If saved at all from the blight of this\nmonopoly, the South will be saved, not in New York or Boston, but in\nLiverpool,--not by the thinkers of America, but by the merchants of\nEngland. The real danger of the Cotton dynasty lies not in the hostility\nof the North, but in the exigencies of the market abroad; they struggle\nnot against the varying fortunes of political warfare, but against the\nirreversible decrees of Fate. It is the old story of the Rutulian hero;\nand now, in the very crisis and agony of the battle, while the Cotton\nKing is summoning all his resources and straining every nerve to cope\nsuccessfully with its more apparent, but less formidable adversary, in\nthe noisy struggle for temporary power, if it would listen for a moment\nto the voice of reason, and observe the still working of the laws of our\nbeing, it, too, might see cause to abandon the contest, with the\nangry lament, that, not by its opponent was it vanquished, but by the\nhostility of Jupiter and the gods. The operation of the laws of\ntrade, as touching this monopoly, is beautifully simple. Already the\nindications are sufficient to tell us, that, under the sure, but\nsilent working of those laws, the very profits of the Southern planter\nforeshadow the destruction of his monopoly. His dynasty rests upon the\ntheory, that his <DW64> is the only practical agency for the production\nof his staple. But the supply of African labor is limited, and the\nincreased profit on cotton renders the cost of that labor heavier in\nits turn,--the value of the <DW64> rising one hundred dollars for every\nadditional cent of profit on a pound of cotton. The increased cost of\nthe labor increases the cost of producing the cotton. The result is\nclear; and the history of the cotton-trade has twice verified it. The\nincreased profits on the staple tempt competition, and, in the increased\ncost of production, render it possible. Two courses only are open to the\nSouth: either to submit to the destruction of their monopoly, or to try\nto retain it by a cheaper supply of labor. They now feel the pressure of\nthe dilemma; and hence the cry to reopen the slave-trade. According to\nthe iron policy of their dynasty, they must inundate their country with\nfreshly imported barbarism, or compete with the world. They cry out for\nmore Africans; and to their cry the voice of the civilized world returns\nits veto. The policy of King Cotton forces them to turn from the\ndaylight of free labor now breaking in Texas. On the other hand, it is\nnot credible that all the land adapted to the growth of the cotton-plant\nis confined to America; and, at the present value of the commodity, the\nland adapted to its growth would be sought out and used, though buried\nnow in the jungles of India, the wellnigh impenetrable wildernesses of\nAfrica, the table-lands of South America, or the islands of the Pacific.\nAlready the organized energy of England has pushed its explorations,\nunder Livingstone, Barth, and Clegg, into regions hitherto unknown.\nAlready, under the increased consumption, one-third of the cotton\nconsumed at Liverpool is the product of climes other than our own.\nHundreds of miles of railroad in India are opening to the market vast\nregions to share in our profits and break down our monopoly. To-day,\nIndia, for home-consumption and exportation, produces twice the amount\nof cotton produced in America; and, under the increased profit of late\nyears, the importation into England from that country has risen from\n12,324,200 pounds in 1830, to 77,011,839 pounds in 1840, and, finally,\nto 250,338,144 pounds in 1857, or nearly twenty per cent of the whole\namount imported, and more than one-fourth of the whole amount imported\nfrom America. The staple there produced does not, indeed, compare in\nquality with our own; but this remark does not apply to the staple\nproduced in Africa,--the original home of the cotton-plant, as of the\n<DW64>,--or to that of the cotton-producing islands of the Pacific. The\ninexhaustible fertility of the valley of the Nile--producing, with a\nsingle exception, the finest cotton of the world,--lying on the same\nlatitude as the cotton-producing States of America, and overflowing\nwith unemployed labor--will find its profit, at present prices, in the\nabandonment of the cultivation of corn, its staple product since the\ndays of Joseph, to come in competition with the monopoly of the South.\nPeru, Australia, Cuba, Jamaica, and even the Feejee Islands, all are\npreparing to enter the lists. And, finally, the interior of Africa, the\ngreat unknown and unexplored land, which for centuries has baffled the\nenterprise of travellers, seems about to make known her secrets under\nthe persuasive arguments of trade, and to make her cotton, and not her\nchildren, her staple export in the future. In the last fact is to be\nseen a poetic justice. Africa, outraged, scorned, down-trodden, is,\nperhaps, to drag down forever the great enslaver of her offspring.\n\nThus the monopoly of King Cotton hangs upon a thread. Its profits must\nfall, or it must cease to exist. If subject to no disturbing influence,\nsuch as war, which would force the world to look elsewhere for its\nsupply, and thus unnaturally force production elsewhere, the growth of\nthis competition will probably be slow. Another War of 1812, or any\nlong-continued civil convulsions, would force England to look to other\nsources of supply, and, thus forcing production, would probably be the\ndeath-blow of the monopoly. Apart from all disturbing influences arising\nfrom the rashness of his own lieges, or other causes, the reign of King\nCotton at present prices may be expected to continue some ten years\nlonger. For so long, then, this disturbing influence may be looked for\nin American politics; and then we may hope that this tremendous material\ninfluence, become subject, like others, to the laws of trade and\ncompetition, will cease to threaten our liberties by silently sapping\ntheir very foundation. As in the course of years competition gradually\nincreases, the effect of this competition on the South will probably be\nmost beneficial. The change from monopoly to competition, distributed\nover many years, will come with no sudden and destructive shock, but\nwill take place imperceptibly. The fall of the dynasty will be gradual;\nand with the dynasty must fall its policy. Its fruits must be eradicated\nby time. Under the healing influence of time, the South, still young and\nenergetic, ceasing to think of one thing alone, will quickly turn its\nattention to many. Education will be more sought for, as the policy\nwhich resisted it, and made its diffusion impossible, ceases to exist.\nWith the growth of other branches of industry, labor will become\nrespectable and profitable, and laborers will flock to the country; and\na new, a purer, and more prosperous future will open upon the entire\nRepublic. Perhaps, also, it may in time be discovered that even\nslave-labor is most profitable when most intelligent and best\nrewarded,--that the present mode of growing cotton is the most wasteful\nand extravagant, and one not bearing competition. Thus even the African\nmay reap benefit from the result, and in his increased self-respect and\nintelligence may be found the real prosperity of the master. And thus\nthe peaceful laws of trade may do the work which agitation has attempted\nin vain. Sweet concord may come from this dark chaos, and the world\nreceive another proof, that material interest, well understood, is\nnot in conflict, but in beautiful unison with general morality,\nall-pervading intelligence, and the precepts of Christianity. Under\nthese influences, too, the very supply of cotton will probably be\nimmensely increased. Its cultivation, like the cultivation of their\nstaple products by the English counties mentioned by Smith, will\nnot languish, but flourish, under the influence of healthy\ncompetition.--These views, though simply the apparently legitimate\nresult of principle and experience, are by no means unsupported by\nauthority. They are the same results arrived at from the reflections of\nthe most unprejudiced of observers. A shrewd Northern gentleman, who has\nmore recently and thoroughly than any other writer travelled through the\nSouthern States, in the final summary of his observations thus covers\nall the positions here taken. \"My conclusion,\" says Mr. Olmsted, \"is\nthis,--that there is no physical obstacle in the way of our country's\nsupplying ten bales of cotton where it now does one. All that is\nnecessary for this purpose is to direct to the cotton-producing region\nan adequate number of laborers, either black or white, or both. No\namalgamation, no association on equality, no violent disruption of\npresent relations is necessary. It is necessary that there should\nbe more objects of industry, more varied enterprises, more general\nintelligence among the people,--and, especially, that they should\nbecome, or should desire to become, richer, more comfortable, than they\nare.\"\n\nIt is not pleasant to turn from this, and view the reverse of the\npicture. But, unless our Southern brethren, in obedience to some great\nlaw of trade or morals, return from their divergence,--if, still being\na republic in form, the South close her ears to the great truth, that\neducation is democracy's first law of self-preservation,--if the dynasty\nof King Cotton, unshaken by present indications, should continue\nindefinitely, and still the South should bow itself down as now before\nits throne,--it requires no gift of prophecy to read her future. As you\nsow, so shall you reap; and communities, like individuals, who sow the\nwind, must, in the fulness of time, look to reap the whirlwind. The\nConstitution of our Federal Union guaranties to each member composing it\na republican form of government; but no constitution can guaranty that\nuniversal intelligence of the people without which, soon or late, a\nrepublican government must become, not only a form, but a mockery. Under\nthe Cotton dynasty, the South has undoubtedly lost sight of this great\nprinciple; and unless she return and bind herself closely to it, her\nfate is fixed. Under the present monopolizing sway of King Cotton,--soon\nor late, in the Union, or out of the Union,--her government must\ncease to be republican, and relapse into anarchy, unless previously,\nabandoning the experiment of democracy in despair, she take refuge in a\ngovernment of force. The Northern States, the educational communities,\nhave apparently little to fear while they cling closely to the\nprinciples inherent in their nature. With the Servile States, or away\nfrom them, the experiment of a constitutional republic can apparently be\ncarried on with success through an indefinite lapse of time; but\nthough, with the assistance of an original impetus and custom, they\nmay temporarily drag along their stumbling brethren of the South, the\ncatastrophe is but deferred, not avoided. Out of the Union, the more\nextreme Southern States--those in which King Cotton has already firmly\nestablished his dynasty--are, if we may judge by passing events, ripe\nfor the result. The more Northern have yet a reprieve of fate, as having\nnot yet wholly forgotten the lessons of their origin. The result,\nhowever, be it delayed for one year or for one hundred years, can hardly\nadmit of doubt. The emergency which is to try their system may not arise\nfor many years; but passing events warn us that it maybe upon them now.\nThe most philosophical of modern French historians, in describing the\nlatter days of the Roman Empire, tells us that \"the higher classes of\na nation can communicate virtue and wisdom to the government, if they\nthemselves are virtuous and wise: but they can never give it strength;\nfor strength always comes from below; it always proceeds from the\nmasses.\" The Cotton dynasty pretends not only to maintain a government\nwhere the masses are slaves, but a republican government where the vast\nmajority of the higher classes are ignorant. On the intelligence of the\nmass of the whites the South must rely for its republican permanence, as\non their arms it must rely for its force; and here again, the words of\nSismondi, written of falling Rome, seem already applicable to the South:\n--\"Thus all that class of free cultivators, who more than any other\nclass feel the love of country, who could defend the soil, and who ought\nto furnish the best soldiers, disappeared almost entirely. The number\nof small farmers diminished to such a degree, that a rich man, a man of\nnoble family, had often to travel more than ten leagues before falling\nin with an equal or a neighbor.\" The destruction of the republican form\nof government is, then, almost the necessary catastrophe; but what will\nfollow that catastrophe it is not so easy to foretell. The Republic,\nthus undermined, will fall; but what shall supply its place? The\ntendency of decaying republics is to anarchy; and men take refuge from\nthe terrors of anarchy in despotism. The South least of all can indulge\nin anarchy, as it would at once tend to servile insurrection. They\ncannot long be torn by civil war, for the same reason. The ever-present,\nall-pervading fear of the African must force them into some government,\nand the stronger the better. The social divisions of the South, into the\nrich and educated whites, the poor and ignorant whites, and the\nservile class, would seem naturally to point to an aristocratic or\nconstitutional-monarchical form of government. But, in their transition\nstate, difficulties are to be met in all directions; and the\nwell-ordered social distinctions of a constitutional monarchy seem\nhardly consistent with the time-honored licentious independence and\nrude equality of Southern society. The reign of King Cotton, however,\nconducted under the present policy, must inevitably tend to increase and\naggravate all the present social tendencies of the Southern system,--\nall the anti-republican affinities already strongly developed. It makes\ndeeper the chasm dividing the rich and the poor; it increases vastly the\nranks of the uneducated; and, finally, while most unnaturally forcing\nthe increase of the already threatening African infusion, it also tends\nto make the servile condition more unendurable, and its burdens heavier.\n\nThe modern Southern politician is the least far-seeing of all our\nshort-sighted classes of American statesmen. In the existence of a\nnation, a generation should be considered but as a year in the life of\nman, and a century but as a generation of citizens. Soon or late, in the\nlives of this generation or of their descendants, in the Union or out\nof the Union, the servile members of this Confederacy must, under the\nresults of the prolonged dynasty of Cotton, make their election either\nto purchase their security, like Cuba, by dependence on the strong arm\nof external force, or they must meet national exigencies, pass through\nrevolutions, and destroy and reconstruct governments, making every\nmovement on the surface of a seething, heaving volcano. All movements of\nthe present, looking only to the forms of government of the master, must\nbe carried on before the face of the slave, and the question of class\nwill ever be complicated by that of caste. What the result of the\never-increasing tendencies of the Cotton dynasty will be it is therefore\nimpossible to more than dream. But is it fair to presume that the\nimmense servile population should thus see upturnings and revolutions,\ndynasties rising and falling before their eyes, and ever remain quiet\nand contented? \"Nothing,\" said Jefferson, \"is more surely written in the\nBook of Fate than that this people must be free.\" Fit for freedom at\npresent they are not, and, under the existing policy of the Cotton\ndynasty, never can be. \"Whether under any circumstances they could\nbecome so is not here a subject of discussion; but, surely, the day will\ncome when the white caste will wish the experiment had been tried. The\nargument of the Cotton King against the alleviation of the condition of\nthe African is, that his nature does not admit of his enjoyment of true\nfreedom consistently with the security of the community, and therefore\nhe must have none. But certainly his school has been of the worst. Would\nnot, perhaps, the reflections applied to the case of the French peasants\nof a century ago apply also to them?\" It is not under oppression that\nwe learn how to use freedom. The ordinary sophism by which misrule is\ndefended is, when truly stilted, this: The people must continue in\nslavery, because slavery has generated in them all the vices of slaves;\nbecause they are ignorant, they must remain under a power which has made\nand which keeps them ignorant; because they have been made ferocious by\nmisgovernment, they must be misgoverned forever. If the system under\nwhich they live were so mild and liberal that under its operation they\nhad become humane and enlightened, it would be safe to venture on a\nchange; but, as this system has destroyed morality, and prevented the\ndevelopment of the intellect,--as it has turned men, who might, under\ndifferent training, have formed a virtuous and happy community, into\nsavage and stupid wild beasts, therefore it ought to last forever.\nPerhaps the counsellors of King Cotton think that in this case it will;\nbut all history teaches us another lesson. If there be one spark of love\nfor freedom in the nature of the African,--whether it be a love common\nto him with the man or the beast, the Caucasian or the chimpanzee,--the\nlove of freedom as affording a means of improvement or an opportunity\nfor sloth,--the policy of King Cotton will cause it to work its way out.\nIt is impossible to say how long it will be in so doing, or what weight\nthe broad back of the African will first be made to bear; but, if the\nspirit exist, some day it must out. This lesson is taught us by the\nwhole recorded history of the world. Moses leading the Children of\nIsrael up out of Egypt,--Spartacus at the gates of Rome,--the Jacquerie\nin France,--Jack Cade and Wat Tyler in England,--Nana Sahib and the\nSepoys in India,--Toussaint l'Ouverture and the Haytiens,--and, finally,\nthe insurrection of Nat Turner in this country, with those in Guiana,\nJamaica, and St. Lucia: such examples, running through all history,\npoint the same moral. This last result of the Cotton dynasty may come at\nany moment after the time shall once have arrived when, throughout any\ngreat tract of country, the suppressing force shall temporarily, with\nall the advantages of mastership, including intelligence and weapons, be\nunequal to coping with the force suppressed. That time may still be far\noff. Whether it be or not depends upon questions of government and\nthe events of the chapter of accidents. If the Union should now be\ndissolved, and civil convulsions should follow, it may soon be upon us.\nBut the superimposed force is yet too great under any circumstances, and\nthe convulsion would probably be but temporary. At present, too, the\nvalue of the slave insures him tolerable treatment; but, as numbers\nincrease, this value must diminish. Southern statesmen now assert that\nin thirty years there will be twelve million slaves in the South; and\nthen, with increased numbers, why should not the philosophy of the\nsugar-plantation prevail, and it become part of the economy of the\nCotton creed, that it is cheaper to work slaves to death and purchase\nfresh ones than to preserve their usefulness by moderate employment?\nThen the value of the slave will no longer protect him, and then the\nend will be nigh. Is this thirty or fifty years off? Perhaps not for\na century hence will the policy of King Cotton work its legitimate\nresults, and the volcano at length come to its head and defy all\ncompression.\n\nIn one of the stories of the \"Arabian Nights\" we are told of an Afrite\nconfined by King Solomon in a brazen vessel; and the Sultana tells\nus, that, during the first century of his confinement, he said in his\nheart,--\"I will enrich whosoever will liberate me\"; but no one liberated\nhim. In the second century he said,--\"Whosoever will liberate me, I will\nopen to him the treasures of the earth\"; but no one liberated him. And\nfour centuries more passed, and he said,--\"Whosoever shall liberate me,\nI will fulfil for him three wishes\"; but still no one liberated him.\nThen despair at his long bondage took possession of his soul, and, in\nthe eighth century, he swore,--\"Whosoever shall liberate me, him will\nI surely slay!\" Let the Southern statesmen look to it well that the\nbreaking of the seal which confines our Afrite be not deferred till long\nbondage has turned his heart, like the heart of the Spirit in the fable,\ninto gall and wormwood; lest, if the breaking of that seal be deferred\nto the eighth or even the sixth century, it result to our descendants\nlike the breaking of the sixth seal of Revelation,--\"And, lo! there was\na great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and\nthe moon became as blood, and the heaven departed as a scroll, when it\nis rolled together; and the kings of the earth, and the great men, and\nthe rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every free\nman hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains, and\nsaid to the mountains and rocks, 'Fall on us and hide us, for the great\nday of wrath is come'\" On that day, at least, will end the reign of King\nCotton.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nGLIMPSES OF GARIBALDI.\n\n\nFIRST GLIMPSE.\n\n\nIt is a sultry morning in October, and we are steaming in a small\nSardinian boat from Leghorn towards Naples. This city has fallen into\nthe power of Garibaldi, who is concentrating his forces before Capua,\nwhile the King of Sardinia bears down with a goodly army from the North.\n\nThe first object of special interest which comes into view, after we\npass the island of Elba, is Gaeta. Though care is taken not to run near\nenough to invite a chase from the Neapolitan frigates, we are yet able\nto obtain a distinct view of the last stronghold--the jumping-off place,\nas we hope it will prove--of Francis II. The white walls of the fortress\nrise grimly out of the sea, touching the land only upon one side, and\nlooking as though they might task well the resources of modern warfare\nto reduce them. We soon make out the smoke of four or five steamers,\nwhich we suppose to be armed vessels, heading towards Gaeta.\n\nAbout two o'clock we glide into the far-famed Bay of Naples, in company\nwith the cool sea-breeze which there each afternoon sends to refresh\nthe heated shore. As we swing round to our moorings, we pass numerous\nline-of-battle-ships and frigates bearing the flags of England,\nFrance, and Sardinia, but look in vain and with disappointment for the\nstar-spangled banner. A single floating representative of American\nnationality is obliged to divide the favor of her presence between the\nports of both the Two Sicilies, and at this time she is at the island\nportion of the kingdom.\n\nOur craft is at once beset by boats, their owners pushing, vociferating,\nand chaffering for fares, as though Mammon, and not Moloch, were the\nruling spirit. Together with a chance companion of the voyage, Signor\nAlvigini, _Intendente_ of Genoa, and his party, we are soon in the hands\nof the _commissionnaire_ of the Hotel de Rome. As we land, our passports\nare received by the police of Victor Emmanuel, who have replaced those\nof the late _regime_.\n\nAs we enter our carriage, we expect to see streets filled with crowds of\nturbulent people, or dotted with knots of persons conversing ominously\nin suppressed tones; and streets deserted, with shops closed; and\nstreets barricaded. But in this matter we are agreeably disappointed.\nThe shops are all open, the street venders are quietly tending their\ntables, people go about their ordinary affairs, and wear their\ncommonplace, every-day look. The only difference apparent to the eye\nbetween the existing state of things and that which formerly obtained\nis, that there are few street brawls and robberies, though every one\ngoes armed,--that the uniform of the soldiers of Francis II. is replaced\nby the dark gray dress of the National Guard,--and that the Hag of\nthe Tyrant King no longer waves over the castle-prison of Sant' Elmo.\nGaribaldi, on leaving Naples, had formally confided the city to the\nNational Guard; and they had nobly sustained the trust reposed in them.\n\nA letter of introduction to General Orsini, brought safely with us,\nthough not without adventure, through the Austrian dominions, gains\na courteous reception from General Turr, chief aide-de-camp to the\n\"Dictator,\" and a pass to the camp. General Turr, an Hungarian refugee,\nis a person of distinguished appearance, not a little heightened by\nhis peculiar dress, which consists of the usual Garibaldian uniform\npartially covered with a white military cloak, which hangs gracefully\nover his elegant figure.\n\nAfter a brief, but pleasant, interview with this gentleman, we climb to\nthe Castle of Sant' Elmo, built on a high eminence commanding the town,\nand with its guns mounted, not so as to defend it against an invading\nenemy, but to hurl destruction on the devoted subjects of the Bourbon.\nWe are told that the people Lad set their hearts on seeing this\nfortress, which they look upon as a standing menace, razed to the\nground, and its site covered with peaceful dwellings. And it is not\nwithout regret that we have since learned that Victor Emmanuel has\nthought it inexpedient to comply with this wish. Nor, in our ignorance,\ncan we divest ourselves entirely of the belief that it would have been a\nwise as well as conciliatory policy to do so.\n\nWe are politely shown over the castle by one of the National Guard, who\nhold it in charge, and see lounging upon one of its terraces, carefully\nguarded, but kindly allowed all practicable liberty, several officers of\nthe late power, prisoners where they had formerly held despotic sway. We\ndescend into the now empty dungeons, dark and noisome as they have been\ndescribed, where victims of political accusation or suspicion have pined\nfor years in dreary solitude. It produces a marked sensation in the\nminds of our Italian companions in this sad tour of inspection, when\nwe tell them, through our guide Antonio, that these cells are the\ncounterpart of the dungeons of the condemned in the prison of the Doges\nof Venice, as we had seen them a few days before,--save that the latter\nwere better, in their day, in so far as in them the cold stone was\noriginally lined and concealed by wooden casings, while in those before\nus the helpless prisoner in his gropings could touch only the hard rock,\nsignificant of the relentless despotism which enchained him. The walls\nare covered with the inscriptions of former tenants. In One place we\ndiscover a long line of marks in groups of fives,--like the tallies of\nour boyish sports,--but here used for how different a purpose! Were\nthese the records of days, or weeks, or months? The only furniture of\nthe cells is a raised platform of wood, the sole bed of the miserable\ninmate. The Italian visitors, before leaving, childishly vent their\nuseless rage at the sight of these places of confinement, by breaking to\npieces the windows and shutters, and scattering their fragments on the\nfloor.\n\nWe have returned from Sant' Elmo, and, evening having arrived, are\nsitting in the smoking-room of the Hotel de Grande Bretagne, conversing\nwith one of the English Volunteers, when our friend General J--n of the\nBritish Army, one of the lookers-on in Naples, comes in, having just\nreturned from \"the front.\" He brings the news of a smart skirmish which\nhas taken place during the day; of the English \"Excursionists\" being\nordered out in advance; of their rushing with alacrity into the thickest\nof the fight, and bravely sustaining the conflict,--being, indeed,\nwith difficulty withheld by their officers from needlessly exposing\nthemselves. But this inspiring news is tinged with sadness. One of their\nnumber, well known and much beloved, had fallen, killed instantly by a\nbullet through the head. Military ardor, aroused by the report of\nbrave deeds, is for a few moments held in abeyance by grief, and\nthen rekindled by the desire of vengeance. Hot blood is up, and the\nprevailing feeling is a longing for a renewal of the fight. We are told,\nif we wish to see an action, to go to \"the front\" to-morrow. Accordingly\nwe decide to be there.\n\nThe following day, our faithful _commissionnaire_, Antonio, places us\nin a carriage drawn by a powerful pair of horses, and headed for the\nGaribaldian camp. A hamper of provisions is not forgotten, and before\nstarting we cause Antonio to double the supplies: we have a presentiment\nthat we may find with whom to share them.\n\nThere are twelve miles before us to the nearest point in the camp, which\nis Caserta. Our chief object being to see the hero of Italy, if we do\nnot find him at Caserta, we shall push on four miles farther, to Santa\nMaria; and, missing him there, ride still another four miles to Sant'\nAngelo, where rests the extreme right of the army over against Capua.\n\nAs we ride over the broad and level road from Naples to Caserta,\nbordered with lines of trees through its entire length, we are surprised\nto see not only husbandmen quietly tilling the fields, but laborers\nengaged in public works upon the highway, as if in the employ of a long\nestablished authority, and making it difficult to believe that we are\nin the midst of civil war, and under a provisional government of a few\nweeks' standing. But this and kindred wonders are fruits of the spell\nwrought by Garibaldi, who wove the most discordant elements into\nharmony, and made hostile factions work together for the common good,\nfor the sake of the love they bore to him.\n\nAbout mid-day we arrive at a redoubt which covers a part of the road,\nleaving barely enough space for one vehicle to pass. We are of course\nstopped, but are courteously received by the officer of the guard.\nWe show our pass from General Turr, giving us permission \"freely to\ntraverse all parts of the camp,\" and being told to drive on, find\nourselves within the lines. As we proceed, we see laborers busily\nengaged throwing up breastworks, soldiers reposing beneath the trees,\nand on every side the paraphernalia of war.\n\nGaribaldi is not here, nor do we find him at Santa Maria. So we prolong\nour ride to the twentieth mile by driving our reeking, but still\nvigorous horses to Sant' Angelo.\n\nWe are now in sight of Capua, where Francis II. is shut up with a strong\ngarrison. The place is a compact walled town, crowned by the dome of a\nlarge and handsome church, and situated in a plain by the side of the\nVolturno. Though, contrary to expectation, there is no firing to-day, we\nsee all about us the havoc of previous cannonadings. The houses we pass\nare riddled with round shot thrown by the besieged, and the ground is\nstrewn with the limbs of trees severed by iron missiles. But where is\nGaribaldi? No one knows. Yonder, however, is a lofty hill, and upon its\nsummit we descry three or four persons. It is there, we are told, that\nthe Commander-in-Chief goes to observe the enemy, and among the forms we\nsee is very probably the one we seek.\n\nWe have just got into our carriage again, and are debating as to whither\nwe shall go next, when we are addressed from the road-side in English.\nThere, dressed in the red shirt, are three young men, all not far from\ntwenty years of age, members of the British regiment of \"Excursionists.\"\nThey are out foraging for their mess, and ask a ride with us to Santa\nMaria. We are only too glad of their company; and off we start, a\ncarriage-full. Then commences a running fire of question and response.\nWe find the society of our companions a valuable acquisition. They are\nfrom London,--young men of education, and full of enthusiasm for\nthe cause of Italian liberty. One of them is a connection of our\ndistinguished countrywoman, Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Before going to\nSanta Maria, they insist on doing the honors, and showing the objects\nof interest the vicinity. So they take us to their barrack, a large\nfarm-house, and thence to \"the front.\" To the latter spot our coachman\ndeclines driving, as his horses are not bullet-proof, and the enemy is\nnot warranted to abstain from firing during our visit. So, proceeding on\nfoot, we reach a low breastwork of sand-bags, with an orchard in advance\nof it. Here, our companions tell us, was the scene of yesterday's\nskirmish, in which they took an active part. The enemy had thrown out a\ndetachment of sharp-shooters, who had entered the wood, and approached\nthe breastwork. A battalion of the English Volunteers was ordered up. As\nthey marched eagerly forwards, a body of Piedmontese, stationed a little\nfrom the road, shouted, \"_Vivano gl' Inglesi! Vivano gl' Inglesi!_\"\nAt the breastworks where we are standing, the word was given to break\nranks, and skirmish. Instantly they sprang over the wall, and took\nposition behind the trees, to shoot \"wherever they saw a head.\" Each\nsoldier had his \"covering man,\"--a comrade stationed about ten feet\nbehind him, whose duty it was to keep his own piece charged ready to\nkill any of the enemy who might attempt to pick off the leading man\nwhile the latter was loading. One of my young friends had the hammer of\nhis rifle shot off in his hand. He kept his position till another weapon\nwas passed out to him. The action lasted till evening, when the enemy\ndrew off, there being various and uncertain reports as to their loss.\nOur British cousins had some ten wounded, besides the one killed.\nFighting royalists, we will mention here, was no fancy-work about that\ntime, as the Neapolitans had an ugly trick of extinguishing the eyes of\ntheir prisoners, and then putting their victims to death.\n\nWe return to our carriage, drive into a sheltered spot, and give the\nword of command to Antonio to open the hamper and deploy his supplies,\nwhen hungry soldiers vie with the ravenous traveller in a knife-and-fork\nskirmish. No fault was found with the _cuisine_ of the Hotel de Grande\nBretagne.\n\nThe rations disposed of, we set off again for Santa Maria. Arrived at\nthe village, at the request of our companions, we visit with them a\nhospital, to see one of their comrades, wounded in the action of the\npreceding day, and, as we are known to profess the healing art, to give\nour opinion as to his condition. We enter a large court-yard surrounded\nwith farm-buildings, one wing of which is devoted to hospital purposes.\nWe find the wards clean and well ventilated, and wearing the look of\nbeing well attended. This favorable condition is owing in great measure\nto the interposition and supervision of several ladies, among whom are\nspecially mentioned the two daughters of an English clergyman, without\nomitting the name of the Countess della Torres. The wounded comrade of\nour friends had been struck by a ball, which had not been readied by the\nprobe, and was supposed to have entered the lung. The poor young fellow\ndraws his rapid breath with much pain, but is full of pluck, and meets\nthe encouraging assurances of his friends with a smile and words of\nfortitude. Some time afterwards we learn that he is convalescent, though\nin a disabled state.\n\nIt now becomes necessary to say our mutual farewells, which we do as\ncordially as though we had been old friends. We go our respective ways,\nto meet once more in Italy, and to renew our acquaintance again in\nLondon, where we subsequently spend a pleasant evening together by a\ncheerful English fireside.\n\nScarcely have we parted with these new-found friends of kindred blood\nand common language, when we are provided with another companion.\nAn Italian officer asks a seat with us to Caserta. Our letter of\nintroduction to General Orsini being shown to him, he volunteers to\nassist us in attaining our object, that of seeing the hero of Italy.\nAt five, we are before the palace of Caserta, now a barrack, and the\nhead-quarters of the Commander-in-Chief. The building is one of great\nsize and beauty of architecture. A lofty arch, sustained by elegant and\nmassive marble pillars, bisects the structure, and on either side one\nmay pass from the archway into open areas of spacious dimensions, from\nwhich lead passages to the various offices. We approach a very splendid\nmarble staircase leading to the state apartments. A sentinel forbids us\nto pass. This is, then, perhaps, the part of the building occupied by\nthe Commander-in-Chief. Not so. The state apartments are unoccupied, and\nare kept sacred from intrusion, as the property of the nation to which\nthey are to belong. Garibaldi's apartments are among the humblest in the\npalace. We go on to the end of the archway, and see, stretching as far\nas the eye can reach, the Royal Drive, leading through a fine avenue of\ntrees, and reminding us of the \"Long Walk\" at Windsor Castle. Retracing\nour steps, and crossing one of the court-yards, we ascend a modest\nstaircase, and are in the antechamber of the apartments of the\nCommander-in-Chief. There are sentinels at the outer door, others at\nthe first landing, and a guard of honor, armed with halberds, in the\nantechamber. Our courteous companion, by virtue of his official rank,\nhas passed us without difficulty by the sentries, and quits us to\ndischarge the duty which brought him to Caserta.\n\nWe are now eagerly expectant of the arrival of him whose face we have so\nlong sought The hour is at hand when he joins his military family at an\nunostentatious and very frugal dinner. In about half an hour there is\na sudden cessation in the hum of conversation, the guard is ordered to\nstand to arms, and in a moment more, amid profound silence, Garibaldi\nhas passed through the antechamber, leaving the place, as it were,\npervaded by his presence. We had beheld an erect form, of rather low\nstature, but broad and compact, a lofty brow, a composed and thoughtful\nface, with decision and reserved force depicted on every line of it.\nIn the mien and carriage we had seen realized all that we had read and\nheard of the air of one born to command.\n\nOur hero wore the characteristic red shirt and gray trousers, and,\nthrown over them, a short gray cloak faced with red. When without the\ncloak, there might be seen, hanging upon the back, and fastened around\nthe throat, the party- kerchief usually appertaining to priestly\nvestments.\n\nReturning to Naples, and sitting that night at our window, with the most\nbeautiful of bays before us, we treasure up for perpetual recollection\nthe picture of Garibaldi at head-quarters.\n\n\nGARIBALDI AT POMPEII.\n\n\nIt is Sunday, the 21st of October. We have to-day observed the people,\nin the worst quarters of the city as well as in the best, casting their\nballots in an orderly and quiet manner, under the supervision of the\nNational Guard, for Victor Emmanuel as their ruler. To-morrow we have\nset apart for exploring Pompeii, little dreaming what awaits us there.\nOur friend, General J--n, of the British Army, learning that there is no\nlikelihood of active operations at \"the front,\" proposes to join us in\nour excursion.\n\nWe are seated in the restaurant at the foot of the acclivity which\nleads to the exhumed city, when suddenly Antonio appears and exclaims,\n\"Garibaldi!\" We look in the direction he indicates, and, in an avenue\nleading from the railway, we behold the Patriot-Soldier of Italy\nadvancing toward us, accompanied by the Countess Pallavicini, the wife\nof the Prodictator of Naples, and attended by General Turr, with several\nothers of his staff. We go out to meet them. General J--n, a warm\nadmirer of Garibaldi, gives him a cordial greeting, and presents us as\nan American. We say a few words expressive of the sympathy entertained\nby the American people for the cause of Italy and its apostle. He whom\nwe thus address, in his reply, professes his happiness in enjoying the\ngood wishes of Americans, and, gracefully turning to our friend, adds,\n\"I am grateful also for the sympathy of the English.\" The party then\npass on, and we are left with the glowing thought that we have grasped\nthe hand of Garibaldi.\n\nHalf an hour later, we are absorbed in examining one of the structures\nof what was once Pompeii, when suddenly we hear martial music. We follow\nthe direction of the sound, and presently find ourselves in the ancient\nforum. In the centre of the inclosure is a military band playing the\n\"Hymn of Garibaldi\"; while at its northern extremity, standing, facing\nus, between the columns of the temple of Jupiter, with full effect given\nto the majesty of his bearing, is Garibaldi. Moved by the strikingly\ncontrasting associations of the time and the place, we turn to General\nJ--n, saying, \"Behold around us the symbols of the death of Italy, and\nthere the harbinger of its resurrection.\" Our companion, fired with a\nlike enthusiasm, immediately advances to the base of the temple, and,\nremoving his hat, repeats the words in the presence of those there\nassembled.\n\n\nGARIBALDI AT \"THE FRONT.\"\n\n\nOnce again we look in the eye of this wonderful man, and take him by the\nhand. This time it is at \"the front.\" On Saturday, the 27th of October,\nwe are preparing to leave Naples for Rome by the afternoon boat, when we\nreceive a message from General J--n that the bombardment of Capua is to\nbegin on the following day at ten o'clock, and inviting us to join his\nparty to the camp. Accordingly, postponing our departure for the North,\nwe get together a few surgical instruments, and take a military train\nupon the railway in the afternoon for the field of action.\n\nOur party consists of General J--n, General W., of Virginia, Captain\nG., a Scotch officer serving in Italy, and ourself. Arrived at Caserta,\nCaptain G., showing military despatches, is provided with a carriage, in\nwhich we all drive to the advanced post at Sant' Angelo. We reach this\nplace at about eight o'clock, when we ride and walk through the camp,\nwhich presents a most picturesque aspect, illuminated as it is by a\nbrilliant moon. We see clusters of white tents, with now and then the\ngeneral silence broken by the sound of singing wafted to us from among\nthem,--here and there tired soldiers lying asleep on the ground, covered\nwith their cloaks,--horses picketed in the fields,--camp-fires burning\nbrightly in various directions; while all seems to indicate the profound\nrepose of men preparing for serious work on the morrow. We pass and\nrepass a bridge, a short time before thrown across the Volturno. A\nportion of the structure has broken down; but our English friends\ncongratulate themselves that the part built by their compatriots has\nstood firm. We exchange greetings with Colonel Bourdonne, who is on duty\nhere for the night, superintending the repairs of the bridge, and who\nkindly consigns us to his quarters.\n\nArrived at the farm-house where Colonel Bourdonne has established\nhimself, and using his name, we are received with the utmost attention\nby the servants. The only room at their disposal, fortunately a large\none, they soon arrange for our accommodation. To General J---n, the\nsenior of the party, is assigned the only bed; an Italian officer\noccupies a sofa; while General W., Captain G., and ourself are ranged,\n\"all in a row,\" on bags of straw placed upon the floor. Of the\nmerriment, prolonged far into the night, and making the house resound\nwith peals of laughter,--not at all to the benefit, we fear, of several\nwounded officers in a neighboring room,--we may not write.\n\nSunday is a warm, clear, summer-like day, and our party climb the\nprincipal eminence of Sant' Angelo to witness the expected bombardment.\nWe reach the summit at ten minutes before ten, the hour announced for\nopening fire. We find several officers assembled there,--among them\nGeneral H., of Virginia. Low tone of conversation and a restrained\ndemeanor are impressed on all; for, a few paces off, conferring with\ntwo or three confidential aids, is the man whose very presence is\ndignity,--Garibaldi.\n\nCasting our eye over the field, we cannot realize that there are such\nhosts of men under arms about us, till a military guide by our side\npoints out their distribution to us.\n\n\"Look there!\" says General H., pointing to an orchard beneath. \"Under\nthose trees they are swarming thick as bees. There are ten thousand men,\nat least, in that spot alone.\"\n\nWith an opera-glass we can distinctly scan the walls of Capua, and\nobserve that they are not yet manned. But the besieged are throwing out\ntroops by thousands into the field before our lines. We remark one large\nbody drawn up in the shelter of the shadow cast by a large building.\nEvery now and then, from out this shadow, a piercing ray of light is\nshot, reflected from the helm or sword-case of the commanding officer,\nwho is gallantly riding up and down before his men, and probably\nharanguing them in preparation for the expected conflict. All these\nthings strike the attention with a force and meaning far different from\nthe impression produced by the holiday pageantry of mimic war.\n\nThe Commander-in-Chief is now disengaged, and our party approach him\nto pay their respects. By the advice of General J---n, we proffer our\nmedical services for the day; and we receive a pressure of the hand, a\ngenial look, and a bind acknowledgment of the offer. But we are told\nthere will be no general action to-day. Our report of these words, as\nwe rejoin our companions, is the first intimation given that the\nbombardment is deferred. But, though, there is some disappointment,\ntheir surprise is not extreme. For Garibaldi never informs even his\nnearest aide-de-camp what he is about to do. In fact, he quaintly says,\n\"If his shirt knew his plans, he would take it off and burn it.\" Some\nhalf-hour later, having descended from the eminence, we take our last\nlook of Garibaldi. He has retired with a single servant to a sequestered\nplace upon the mount, whither he daily resorts, and where his mid-day\nrepast is brought to him. Here he spends an hour or two secure from\ninterruption. What thoughts he ponders in his solitude the reader may\nperhaps conjecture as well as his most intimate friend. But for us, with\nthe holy associations of a very high mountain before our mind, we can\nbut trust that a prayer, \"uttered or unexpressed,\" invokes the divine\nblessing upon the work to which Garibaldi devotes himself,--the\npolitical salvation of his country.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTWO OR THREE TROUBLES.\n\n[Concluded.]\n\n\nEvery day, and twice a day, came Mr. Sampson,--though I have not said\nmuch about it; and now it was only a week before our marriage. This\nevening he came in very weary with his day's work,--getting a wretched\nman off from hanging, who probably deserved it richly. (It is said,\nwomen are always for hanging: and that is very likely. I remember, when\nthere had been a terrible murder in our parlors, as it were, and it was\ndoubtful for some time whether the murderer would be convicted, Mrs.\nHarris said, plaintively, \"Oh, do hang somebody!\") Mr. Sampson did\nnot think so, apparently, but sat on the sofa by the window, dull and\nabstracted.\n\nIf I had been his wife, I should have done as I always do now in such a\ncase: walked up to him, settled the sofa-cushion, and said,--\"Here, now!\nlie down, and don't speak a word for two hours. Meantime I will tell you\nwho has been here, and everything.\" Thus I should rest and divert him by\nidle chatter, bathing his tired brain with good Cologne; and if, in the\nmiddle of my best story and funniest joke, he fairly dropped off to\nsleep, I should just fan him softly, keep the flies away, say in my\nheart, \"Bless him! there he goes! hands couldn't mend him!\"--and then\nlook at him with as much more pride and satisfaction than, at any other\ncommon wide-awake face as it is possible to conceive.\n\nHowever, not being married, and having a whole week more to be silly\nin, I was both silly and suspicious. This was partly his fault. He was\nreserved, naturally and habitually; and as he didn't tell me he was\ntired and soul-weary, I never thought of that. Instead, as he sat on the\nsofa, I took a long string of knitting-work and seated myself across the\nroom,--partly so that he might come to me, where there was a good seat.\nThen, as he did not cross the room, but still sat quietly on the sofa,\nI began to wonder and suspect. Did he work too hard? Did he dread\nundertaking matrimony? Did he wish he could get off? Why did he not come\nand speak to me? What had I done? Nothing! Nothing!\n\nHere Laura came in to say she was going to Mrs. Harris's to get the\nnewest news about sleeves. Mrs. Harris for sleeves; Mrs. Gore for\nbonnets; and for housekeeping, recipes, and all that, who but Mrs.\nParker, who knew that, and a hundred other things? Many-sided are we\nall: talking sentiment with this one, housekeeping with that, and to a\nthird saying what wild horses would not tear from us to the two first!\n\nLaura went. And presently he said, wearily, but _I_ thought drearily,--\n\n\"Delphine, are you all ready to be married?\"\n\nThe blood flushed from my heart to my forehead and back again. So, then,\nhe thought I was ready and waiting to drop like a ripe plum into his\nmouth, without his asking me! Am I ready, indeed? And suppose I am\nnot? Perhaps I, too, may have my misgivings. A woman's place is not a\nsinecure. Troubles, annoyances, as the sparks fly upward! Buttons to\nbegin with, and everything to end with! What did Mrs. Hemans say, poor\nwoman?\n\n  \"Her lot is on you! silent tears to weep,\n  And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,\n  And sumless riches from affection's deep\n  To pour on\"--something--\"a wasted shower!\"\n\nYes, wasted, indeed! I hadn't answered a word to his question.\n\n\"It seems warm in this room,\" said he again, languidly; \"shall we walk\non the piazza?\"\n\n\"I think not,\" I answered, curtly; \"I am not warm.\"\n\nEven that, did not bring him to me. He still leaned his head on his hand\nfor a minute or two, and then rose from the sofa and sat by the window,\nlooking at the western sky, where the sun had long gone down. I could\nsee his profile against the outer light, however, and it did not look\nplacid. His brow was knit and mouth compressed. So, then, it was all\nvery likely!\n\nHaving set out on my race of suspecting, my steeds did not lag. They\nwere winged already, and I goaded them continually with memories. There\nwas nothing I did not think of or accuse him of,--especially, the last\nand worst sin of breaking off our engagement at the eleventh hour!--and\nI, who had suffered silently, secretly, untold torments about that name\nof his,--nobody, no man, could ever guess how keenly, because no man can\never feel as a woman does about such things! Men,--they would as soon\nmarry Tabitha as Juliana. They could call her \"Wife.\" It made no matter\nto them. What did any man care, provided she chronicled small beer,\nwhether she had taste, feeling, sentiment, anything? Here I was wrong,\nas most passionate people are at some time in their lives. Some men do\ncare.\n\nAt the moment I had reached the top-most pinnacle of my wrath, and was\ndarting lightnings on all mankind, Polly showed in Lieutenant Herbert,\nwith his book of promised engravings.\n\nWith a natural revulsion of temper, I descended rapidly from my\npinnacle, and, stepping half-way across the room, met the Lieutenant\nwith unusual cordiality. Mr. Sampson bowed slightly and sat still. I\ndrew two chairs towards the centre-table, lighted the argand, and seated\nmyself with the young officer to examine and admire the beautiful\nforms in which the gifted artist has clothed the words rather than the\nthoughts of the writer,--out of the coarse real, lifting the scenes into\nthe sweet ideal,--and out of the commonest, rudest New-England life,\nbringing the purest and most charming idyllic song. We did not say this.\n\nI looked across at the window, where still sat the figure, motionless.\nNot a word from him. I looked at Lieutenant Herbert. He was really very\nhandsome, with an imperial brow, and roseate lips like a girl's. Somehow\nhe made me think of Claverhouse,--so feminine in feature, so martial in\naction! Then he talked,--talked really quite well,--reflected my own\nideas in an animated and eloquent manner.\n\nWhy it was,--whether Herbert suspected we had had a lovers' quarrel,--or\nwhether his vanity was flattered at my attention to him, which was\nentirely unusual,--or whether my own excited, nervous condition led me\nto express the most joyous life and good-humor, and shut down all my\nangry sorrow and indignant suspicions, while I smiled and danced over\ntheir sepulchre,--however it was, I know not,--but a new sparkle\ncame into the blue eyes of the young militaire. He was positively\nentertaining. Conscious that he was talking well, he talked better. He\nrecited poetry; he was even witty, or seemed so. With the magnetism of\ncordial sympathy, I called out from his memory treasures new and old. He\nbecame not only animated, but devoted.\n\nAll this time the figure at the window sat calm and composed. It was\nintensely, madly provoking. He was so very sure of me, it appeared, he\nwould not take the trouble to enter the lists to shiver a lance with\nthis elegant young man with the beautiful name, the beautiful lips, and\nwith, for the last half-hour at least, the beautiful tongue. He would\nnot trouble himself to entertain his future wife. He would not trouble\nhimself even to speak. Very well! Very well indeed! Did the Lieutenant\nlike music? If \"he\" did not care a jot for me, perhaps others did. My\nheart beat very fast now; my cheeks burned, and my lips were parched. A\nglass of water restored me to calmness, and I sat at the piano. Herbert\nturned over the music, while I rattled off whatever came to my fingers'\nends,--I did not mind or know what. It was very fine, I dare say. He\nwhispered that it was \"so beautiful!\"--and I answered nothing, but kept\non playing, playing, playing, as the little girl in the Danish story\nkeeps on dancing, dancing, dancing, with the fairy red shoes on. Should\nI play on forever? In the church,--out of it,--up the street,--down the\nstreet,--out in the fields,--under the trees,--by the wood,--by the\nwater,--in cathedrals,--I heard something murmuring,--something softly,\nsoftly in my ear. Still I played on and on, and still something murmured\nsoftly, softly in my ear. I looked at the window. The head was leaned\ndown, and resting on both arms. Fast asleep, probably. Then I played\nlouder, and faster, and wilder.\n\nThen, for the first time, as deaf persons are said to hear well in\nthe noise of a crowded street, or in a rail-car, so did I hear in the\nmusical tumult, for the first time, the words of Herbert. They had been\nwhispered, and I had heard, but not perceived them, till this moment.\n\nI turned towards him, looked him full in the face, and dropped both\nhands into my lap. Well might I be astonished! He started and blushed\nviolently, but said nothing. As for me, I was never more calm in my\nlife. In the face of a real mistake, all imaginary ones fell to the\nground, motionless as so many men of straw. With an instinct that went\nbefore thought, and was born of my complete love and perfect reliance on\nmy future husband, I pushed back the music-stool, and walked straight\nacross the room to the window.\n\nHis head was indeed leaned on his arms; but he was white and insensible.\n\n\"Come here!\" I said, sternly and commandingly, to Herbert, who stood\nwhere I had left him. \"Now, if you can, hold him, while I wheel this\nsofa;--and now, ring the bell, if you please.\"\n\nWe placed him on the couch, and Polly came running in.\n\n\"Now, good-night, Sir; we can take care of him. With very many thanks\nfor your politeness,\" I added, coldly; \"and I will send home the book\nto-morrow.\"\n\nHe muttered something about keeping it as long as I wished, and I turned\nmy back on him.\n\n\"Oh! oh!--what had _he_ thought all this time?--what had he suffered?\nHow his heart must have been agonized!--how terribly he must have felt\nthe mortification,--the distress! Oh!\"\n\nWe recovered him at length from the dead faint into which he had fallen.\nPolly, who thought but of the body, insisted on bringing him \"a good\nheavy-glass of Port-wine sangaree, with toasted crackers in it\"; and\nwouldn't let him speak till he had drunken and eaten. Then she went out\nof the room, and left me alone with my justly incensed lover.\n\nI took a _brioche_, and sat down humbly at the head of the sofa. He held\nout his hand, which I took and pressed in mine,--silently, to be\nsure; but then no words could tell how I had felt, and now felt,--how\nhumiliated! how grieved! How wrongly I must have seemed to feel and to\nact! how wrongly I must have acted,--though my conscience excused me\nfrom feeling wrongly,--so to have deluded Herbert!\n\nAt last I murmured something regretful and tearful about Lieutenant\nHerbert--Herbert! how I had admired that name!--and now, this Ithuriel\ntouch, how it had changed it and him forever to me! What was in a\nname?--sure enough! As I gazed on the pale face on the couch, I should\nnot have cared, if it had been named Alligator,--so elevated was I\nbeyond all I had thought or called trouble of that sort! so real was the\ntrouble that could affect the feelings, the sensitiveness, of the noble\nbeing before me!\n\nAt length he spoke, very calmly and quietly, setting down the empty\ntumbler. I trembled, for I knew it must come.\n\n\"I was so glad that fool came in, Del! For, to tell the truth, I felt\nreally too weak to talk. I haven't slept for two nights, and have been\non my feet and talking for four hours,--then I have had no dinner\"--\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"And a damned intelligent jury, (I beg your pardon, but it's a great\ncomfort to swear, sometimes,) that I can't humbug. But I must! I must,\nto-morrow!\" he exclaimed, springing up from the sofa and walking\nhurriedly across the room.\n\n\"Oh, do sit down, if you are so tired!\"\n\n\"I cannot sit down, unless you will let me stop thinking. I have but one\nidea constantly.\"\n\n\"But if the man is guilty, why do you want to clear him?\" said I.\n\nNot a word had he been thinking of me or of Herbert all this time! But\nthen he had been thinking of a matter of life and death. How all, all my\nfoolish feelings took to flight! It was some comfort that my lover had\nnot either seen or suspected them. He thought he must have been nearly\nsenseless for some time. The last he remembered was, we were looking at\nsome pictures.\n\nLaura came in from Mrs. Harris's, and, hearing how the case was,\ninsisted on having a chicken broiled, and that he should eat some\ngreen-apple tarts, of her own cooking,--not sentimental, nor even\nwholesome, but they suited the occasion; and we sat, after that, all\nthree talking, till past twelve o'clock. No danger now, Laura said, of\nbad dreams, if he did go to bed.\n\n\"But why do you care so very much, if you don't get him off?--you\nsuppose him guilty, you say?\"\n\n\"Because, Delphine, his punishment is abominably disproportioned to his\noffence. This letter of the law killeth. And then I would get him off,\nif possible, for the sake of his son and the family. And besides all\nthat, Del, it is not for me to judge, you know, but to defend him.\"\n\n\"Yes,--but if you do your best?\" I inquired.\n\n\"A lawyer never does his best,\" he replied, hastily, \"unless he\nsucceeds. He must get his client's case, or get him off, I must get some\nsleep to-night,\" he added, \"and take another pull. There's a man on the\njury,--he is the only one who holds out. I know I don't get him. And I\nknow why. I see it in the cold steel of his eyes. His sister was left,\nwithin a week of their marriage-day, by a scoundrel,--left, too, to\ndisgrace, as well as desertion,--and his heart is bitter towards all\noffences of the sort. I must get that man somehow!\"\n\nHe was standing on the steps, as he spoke, and bidding me good-night;\nbut I saw his head and heart were both full of his case, _and nothing\nelse._\n\nThe words rang in my ear after he went away: \"Within a week of their\nmarriage-day!\" In a week we were to have been married. Thank Heaven, we\nwere still to be married in a week. And he had spoken of the man as \"a\nscoundrel,\" who left her. America, indeed! what matters it? Still, there\nwould be the same head, the same heart, the same manliness, strength,\nnobleness,--all that a woman can truly honor and love. Not military, and\nnot a scoundrel; but plain, massive, gentle, direct. He would do. And a\nsense of full happiness pressed up to my very lips, and bubbled over in\nlaughter.\n\n\"You are a happy girl, Del. Mrs. Harris says the court and everybody is\ntalking of Mr. Sampson's great plea in that Shore case. Whether he gets\nit or not, his fortune is made. They say there hasn't been such an\nargument since Webster's time,--so irresistible. It took every body off\ntheir feet.\"\n\nI did not answer a word,--only clothed my soul with sackcloth and ashes,\nand called it good enough for me.\n\nWe went to bed. But in the middle of the night I waked Laura.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said she, springing out of bed.\n\n\"Don't, Laura!--nothing,\" said I.\n\n\"Oh, I thought you were ill! I've been sleeping with one eye open, and\njust dropped away. What is it?\"\n\n\"Do lie down, then. I only wanted to ask you a question.\"\n\n\"Oh, _do_ go to sleep! It's after three o'clock now. We never shall get\nup. Haven't you been asleep yet?\"\n\n\"No,--I've been thinking all the time. But you are impatient. It's no\nmatter. Wait till to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"No. I am awake now. Tell me, and be done with it, Del.\"\n\n\"But I shall want your opinion, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, _will_ you tell me, Del?\"\n\n\"Well, it is this. How do you think a handsome, a _very_ handsome\nchess-table would do?\"\n\n\"Do!--for what?\"\n\n\"Why,--for my aunt's wedding-gift, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, that! And you have waked me up, at this time of night, from the\nnicest dream! You cruel thing!\"\n\n\"I am so sorry, Laura! But now that you are awake, just tell me how you\nlike the idea;--I won't ask you another word.\"\n\n\"Very well,--very good,--excellent,\" murmured Laura.\n\nIn the course of the next ten minutes, however, I remembered that Laura\nnever played chess, and that I had heard Mr. Sampson say once that he\nnever played now,--that it was too easy for work, and too hard for\namusement. So I put the chess-table entirely aside, and began again.\n\nA position for sleep is, unluckily, the one that is sure to keep one\nawake. Lying down, all the blood in my body kept rushing to my brain,\nkeeping up perpetual images of noun substantives. If I could have spent\nmy fifty dollars in verbs, in taking a journey, in giving a _fete\nchampetre_! (Garden lighted with Chinese lanterns, of course,--house\ncovered inside and out with roses.) Things enough, indeed, there were to\nbe bought. But the right thing!\n\nA house, a park, a pair of horses, a curricle, a pony-phaeton. But how\nmany feet of ground would fifty dollars buy?--and scarcely the hoof of\na horse.\n\nThere was a diamond ring. Not for me; because \"he\" had been too poor\nto offer me one. But I could give it to him. No,--that wouldn't do. He\nwouldn't wear it,--nor a pin of ditto. He had said, simplicity in dress\nwas good economy and always good taste. No. Then something else,--that\nwouldn't wear, wouldn't tear, wouldn't lose, rust, break.\n\nAs to clothes, to which I swung back in despair,--this very Aunt Allen\nhad always sent us all our clothes. So it would only be getting\nmore, and wouldn't seem to be anything. She was an odd kind of\nwoman,--generous in spots, as most people are, I believe. Laura and\nI both said, (to each other,) that, if she would allow us a hundred\ndollars a year each, we could dress well and suitably on it. But,\ninstead of that, she sent us every year, with her best love, a\ntrunk full of her own clothes, made for herself, and only a little\nworn,--always to be altered, and retrimmed, and refurbished: so that,\nalthough worth at first perhaps even more than two hundred dollars,\nthey came, by their unfitness and non-fitness, to be worth to us only\nthree-quarters of that sum; and Laura and I reckoned that we lost\nexactly fifty dollars a year by Aunt Allen's queerness. So much for our\ngratitude! Laura and I concluded it would be a good lesson to us about\ngiving; and she had whispered to me something of the same sort, when\nI insisted on dressing Betsy Ann Hemmenway, a little mulatto, in an\nOriental caftan and trousers, and had promised her a red sash for her\nwaist. To be sure, Mrs. Hemmenway despised the whole thing, and said she\n\"wouldn't let Betsy Ann be dressed up like a circus-rider, for nobody\";\nand that she should \"wear a bonnet and mantilly, like the rest of\nmankind.\" Which, indeed, she did,--and her bonnet rivalled the\n_coiffures_ of Paris in brilliancy and procrastination; for it never\ncame in sight till long after its little mistress. However, of that\nby-and-by. I was only too glad that Aunt Allen had not sent me another\nsilk gown \"with her best love, and, as she was only seventy, perhaps it\nmight be useful.\" No,--here was the fifty-dollar note, thank Plutus!\n\nBut then, what to do with it? Sleeping, that was the question. Waking,\nthat was the same.\n\nAt twelve o'clock Mr. Sampson came to dine with us, and to say he was\nthe happiest of men.\n\n\"That is, of course, I shall be, next week,\" said he, smiling and\ncorrecting himself. \"But I am rather happy now; for I've got my case,\nand Shore has sailed for Australia. Good riddance, and may he never\ntouch _these_ shores any more!\"\n\nHe had been shaking hands with everybody, he said,--and was so glad to\nbe out of it!\n\n\"Now that it is all over, I wish you would tell me why you are so glad,\nwhen you honestly believe the man guilty,\" said I.\n\n\"Oh, my child, you are supposing the law to be perfect. Suppose the old\nEnglish law to be in force now, making stealing a capital offence. You\nwouldn't hang a starving woman or child who stole the baker's loaf from\nyour window-sill this morning before Polly had time to take it in, would\nyou? Yet this was the law until quite lately.\"\n\n\"After all, I don't quite see either how you can bear to defend him, if\nyou think him guilty, or be glad to have him escape, if he is,--I mean,\nsupposing the punishment to be a fair one.\"\n\n\"Because I am a frail and erring man, Delphine, and like to get my case.\nIf my client is guilty,--as we will suppose, for the sake of argument,\nhe is,--he will not be likely to stop his evil career merely because he\nhas got off now, and will be caught and hanged next time, possibly.\nIf he does stop sinning, why, so much the better to have time for\nrepentance, you know.\"\n\n\"Don't laugh,--now be serious.\"\n\n\"I am. Once, I made up my mind as to my client's guilt from what he told\nand did not tell me, and went into court with a heavy heart. However, in\nthe course of the trial, evidence, totally unexpected to all of us, was\nbrought forward, and my client's innocence fully established. It was a\ngood lesson to me. I learned by experience that the business of counsel\nis to defend or to prosecute, and not to judge. The judge and jury are\nstereoscopic and see the whole figure.\"\n\nHow wise and nice it sounded! Any way, I wasn't a stereoscope, for I saw\nbut one side,--the one \"he\" was on.\n\nMonday morning. And we were to be married in the evening,--by ourselves,\n--nobody else. That was all the stipulation my lover made.\n\n\"I will be married morning, noon, or night, as you say, and dress and\nbehave as you say; but not in a crowd of even three persons.\"\n\n\"Not even Laura?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Laura.\"\n\n\"Not even Polly?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! the household.\"\n\nAnd then he said, softly, that, if I wanted to please him,--and he knew\nhis darling Del did,--I would dress in a white gown of some sort, and\nput a tea-rose in my beautiful dark hair, and have nobody by but just\nthe family and old Mr. Price, the Boynton minister.\n\n\"I know that isn't what you thought of, exactly. You thought of being\nmarried in church\"----\n\n\"Oh, dear, dear! old Mr. Price!\"--but I did not speak.\n\n\"But if you would be willing?\"----\n\n\"I supposed it would be more convenient,\" I muttered.\n\nVisions of myself walking up the aisle, with a white silk on, tulle\nveil, orange-flowers, of course, (so becoming!) house crowded with\nfriends, collation, walking under the trees,--all faded off with a\nmournful cry.\n\nIt was of no use talking. Whatever he thought best, I should do, if it\nwere to be married by the headsman, supposing there were such a person.\nThis was all settled, then, and had been for a week.\n\nNobody need say that lovers, or even married lovers, have but one mind.\nThey have two minds always. And that is sometimes the best of it; since\nthe perpetual sacrifices made to each other are made no sacrifices, but\nsweet triumphs, by their love. Still, just as much as green is composed\nof yellow and blue, and purple of red and blue, the rays can any time\nbe separated, and they always have a conscious life of their own. Of\ncourse, I had a sort of pleasure even in giving up my marriage in\nchurch; but I kept my blue rays, for all that,--and told Laura I dreaded\nthe long, long prayer in that evening's service, and that I hoped in\nmercy old Mr. Price would have his wits about him, and not preach a\nfuneral discourse.\n\n\"Old Mr. Price is eighty-nine years old, Laura says,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes. He was the minister who married my father and mother, and has\nalways been our minister,\" answered my lover.\n\nAnd so it was settled.\n\nLaura was rolling up tape, Monday morning, as quietly as if there were\nto be no wedding. For my part, I wandered up and down, and could not set\nmyself about anything.\n\n\"Old Mr. Price! and a great long prayer! And that is to be the end\nof it! My wedding-dress all made, and not to be worn! Flowers ditto!\nNowhere to go, and so I shall stay at home. He has no house; so Taffy is\nto come to mine!\"\n\nAnd here I burst out laughing; for it was as well to laugh as cry; and\nbesides, I said a great many things on purpose to have Laura say what\nshe always did,--and which, after all, it was sweet to me to hear. Those\nwere silly days!\n\n\"No, Del,--that is not the end of it,--only the beginning of it,--of a\nhappy, useful, good life,--your path growing brighter and broader every\nyear,--and--and--we won't talk of the garlands, dear; but your heart\nwill have bridal-blossoms, whether your head has or not.\"\n\nLaura kissed me, with tears in her sisterly eyes. She never talks fine,\nand went directly out of the room after this.\n\nI thought that women shouldn't swear at all, or, if they did, should\nbreak their oaths as gracefully as I did mine, when I whispered it was\n\"_so_ good of him, to be willing I should stay in the cottage where I\nhad always lived, and where every rose-tree and lilac knew me!\" And that\nwas true, too. But not all the truth. What need to be telling truths all\nthe time? And what had women tongues for, but to hold them sometimes?\nPerhaps \"he,\" too, would have preferred a journey to Europe, and a house\non the Mill-Dam.\n\nThings gradually settled themselves. My troubles seemed coming to a\nclose by mechanical pressure. As to the name, it was better than Fire,\nFamine, and Slaughter,--and I was to take it into consideration, any\nway, and get used to it, if I could. The other trouble I put aside\nfor the moment. After it was concluded on that the wedding should be\nstrictly private, it was not necessary to buy my aunt's present under\na few days, and I could have the decided advantage, in that way, of\navoiding a duplicate.\n\nThe Monday of my marriage sped away swiftly. Polly had come up early to\nsay to \"Laury\" (for Polly was a free and independent American girl of\nforty-five) that \"there'd be so much goin' to the door, and such, Betsy\nAnn had best be handy by, to answer the bell. Fin'ly, she's down there\nwith her bunnet off, and goin' to stay.\"\n\nAs usual, Polly's plans were excellent, and adopted. There would be all\nthe wedding-presents to arrive, congratulatory notes, etc. Everything to\narrange, and a thousand and one things that neither one nor three pairs\nof hands could do. How I wished Betsy Ann would consent to dress like an\nOriental child, and look pretty and picturesque,--like a Barbary slave\nbearing vessels of gold and silver chalices, instead of her silly\npointed waist and \"mantilly,\" which she persisted in wearing, and which,\nof course, gave the look only of a stranger and sojourner in the land!\n\nI hoped she was a careful child,--there were so many things which might\nbe spoiled, even if they came in boxes. Betsy Ann was instructed, on\npain of--almost death, to be very, very careful, and to put everything\non the table in the library. She was by no means to unpack an article,\nnot even a bouquet. Laura and myself preferred to arrange everything\nourselves. We proposed to place each of the presents, for that evening\nonly, in the library, and spread them out as usual; but the very next\nday, we determined, they should all be put away, wherever they were to\ngo,--of course, we could not tell where, till we saw them. That was\nLaura's taste, and had come, on reflection, to be mine.\n\nLaura said she should make me presents only of innumerable stitches:\nwhich she had done. Polly, whom it is both impossible and irrelevant to\ndescribe, took the opportunity to scrub the house from top to bottom.\nHer own wedding-present to me, homely though it was, I wrapped in silver\npaper, and showed it to her lying in state on the library-table, to her\ninfinite amusement.\n\nLike the North American Indian, the race of Pollies is fast going out\nof American life. You read an advertisement of \"an American servant who\nwants a place in a genteel family,\" and visions of something common in\nAmerican households, when you were children, come up to your mind's eye.\nWithout considering the absurdity of an American girl calling herself by\nsuch a name, your eyes fill with tears at the thought of the faithful\nand loving service of years ago, when neither sickness, nor sorrow, nor\ndeath itself separated the members of the household, but the nurse-maid\nwas the beloved friend, living and dying under the same roof that\nwitnessed her untiring and faithful devotion.\n\nSo, when you look after this \"American servant,\" you find alien blood,\nlip-service, a surface-warmth that flatters, but does not delude,--a\nfidelity that fails you in sickness, or increased toil, or the prospect\nof higher wages; and you say to the \"American servant,\"--\n\n\"How long have you been in Boston?\"\n\n\"Born in Boston, Ma'm,--in Eliot Street, Ma'm.\"\n\nSo was not Polly. Polly had lived with us always. She had a farm of her\nown, and needn't have \"lived out\" five minutes, unless she had chosen.\nBut she did choose it, and chose to keep her place. And that was a true\nfriend,--in a humble position, possibly, yet one of her own choosing.\nShe rejoiced and wept with us, knew all about us,--corresponded\nregularly with us when away, and wrote poetry. She had a fair\nmind, great shrewdness, and kept a journal of facts. We loved her\ndearly,--next to each other, and a hundred times better than we did Aunt\nAllen or any of them.\n\nOf course, as the day wore on, and afternoon came, and then almost night\ncame, and still the bell had not once rung,--not once!--Polly was\nnot the person to express or to permit the least surprise. Not Caleb\nBalderstone himself had a sharper eye to the \"honor of the family.\"\n_Why_ it was left to the doctrine of chances to decide. _That_ it was\ngrew clearer and clearer every hour, as every hour came slowly by,\nunladen with box or package, even a bouquet.\n\nBetsy Ann had grinned a great many times, and asked Polly over and over,\n\"Where the presents all was?\" and, \"When I was to Miss Russell's, and\nMiss Sally was merried, the things come in with a rush,--silver, and\ngold, and money, ever so much!\"\n\nHowever, here Polly snubbed her, and told her to \"shet up her head\nquick. Most of the presents was come long ago.\"\n\n\"Such a piece of work as I hed to ghet up that critter's mouth!\" said\nPolly, laughing, as she assisted Laura in putting the last graces to my\nsimple toilet before tea.\n\n\"There, now, Miss Sampson to be! I declare to man, you never looked\nbetter.\n\n  \"'Roses red, violets blue,\n  Pinks is pootty, and so be you.'\"\n\n\"How did you shut it, Polly?\" said Laura, who was very much surprised,\nlike myself, at the non-arrivals, and who constantly imagined she\nheard the bell. Ten arrivals we had both counted on,--ten,\ncertainly,--fifteen, probably.\n\n\"Well, I told her the presents was all locked up; and if she was a\nclever, good child, and went to school regular, and got her learnin'\ngood, I'd certain show 'em to her some time. I told her,\" added Polly,\nwhisperingly, and holding her hand over her mouth to keep from loud\nlaughter,--\"I told her I'd seen a couple on 'em done up in beautiful\nsilver paper!\"\n\nThe bell rang at last, and we all sprang as with an electric shock. It\nwas old Mr. Price, led in reverently by Mr. Sampson. Tea was ready; so\nwe all sat down to it.\n\nI don't know what other people think of, when they are going to be\nmarried,--I mean at the moment. Books are eloquent on the subject. For\nmy part. I must confess, I thought of nothing. And let that encourage\nthe next bride, who will imagine herself a dunce, because she isn't\nthinking of something fine and solemn. Perhaps I had so many ideas\npressing in, in all directions, that the mind itself couldn't act. Be\nit as it may, I stood as if stupefied,--while old Mr. Price talked and\nprayed, it seemed, an age. I was roused, however, and glad enough I\nwasn't in church, when he called out,--\n\n\"_Ameriky!_ do you take this woman for your wedded wife?\" and still more\nrejoiced when he added, sternly,--\n\n\"_Delphiny!_\" (using the long _i_,) \"do you take _Ameriky?_\"\n\nWe both said \"Yes.\" And then he commended us affectionately and\nreverently to the protection and love of Him who had himself come to a\nwedding. He then came to a close, to Polly's delight, who said she \"had\nexpected nothin' but what the old gentleman would hold on an hour,\n--missionaries to China, and all.\"\n\nOld Mr. Price took a piece of cake and a full glass of wine, and wished\nus joy. He was fast passing away, and with him the old-class ministers,\nnow only traditional, who drank their half-mug of flip at funerals, went\nto balls to look benignantly on the scene of pleasure, came home at ten\no'clock to write \"the improvement\" to their Sunday's sermon, took the\nother half-mug, and went to bed peaceably and in charity with the whole\nparish. They have gone, with the stagecoaches and country-newspapers;\nand the places that knew them will know them no more.\n\nBetsy Ann, who was mercifully admitted to the wedding, pronounced\nit without hesitation the \"flattest thing she ever see,\"--and was\nstraightway dismissed by Polly, with an extra frosted cake, and a charge\nto \"get along home with herself.\" Then Mr. Sampson walked slowly home\nwith Mr. Price, and Laura and myself were left looking at each other.\n\n\"Delphiny!\" said Laura.\n\n\"Ameriky!\" said I.\n\n\"Well,--it's over now. If you had happened to be Mrs. Conant's daughter,\nyou know, your name would have been Keren-happuch!\"\n\n\"On the whole, I am glad it wasn't in church,\" said I.\n\nMr. Sampson returned before we had finished talking of that. And then\nLaura, said, suddenly,--\n\n\"But you _must_ decide on Aunt Allen's gift, Del. What shall it be? What\nwill be pretty?\"\n\n\"You shall decide,\" said I, amiably, turning to my husband.\n\n\"Oh, I have no notion of what is pretty,--at least of but one\nthing,--and that is not in Aunt Allen's gift.\"\n\nHe laughed, and I blushed, of course, as he pointed the compliment\nstraight at me.\n\n\"But you _must_ think. I cannot decide, I have thought of five hundred\nthings already.\"\n\n\"Well, Laura,--what do you say?\" said he.\n\n\"I think a silver salver would be pretty, and useful, too.\"\n\n\"Pretty and useful. Then let it be a silver salver, and be done with\nit,\" said he.\n\nThis notion of being \"done with it\" is so mannish! Here was my Gordian\nknot cut at once! However, there was no help for it,--though now, more\nthan ever, since there was no danger of a duplicate, did I long for the\nfifty thousand different beautiful things the fifty dollars would buy.\n\nCircumstances aided us, too, in coming to a conclusion. I was rather\ntired of rocking on these billows of uncertainty, even with the chance\nof plucking gems from the depths. And Mrs. Harris was coming the next\nday to tea, and to go away early to see Piccolomini sing and sparkle.\n\nWhen we sat down that next day at the table, I poured the tea into a\ncup, and placed it on the prettiest little silver tray, and Polly handed\nit to Mrs. Harris as if she had done that particular thing all her life.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" said Mrs. Harris, as it sparkled along back; \"one of your\nwedding-gifts?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, carelessly,--\"Aunt Allen's.\"\n\nSo much was well got over. My hope was that Mrs. Harris, who talked\nwell, and was never weary of that sort of well-doing, would keep on her\nown subjects of interest, to the exclusion of mine. Therefore, when she\nsaid pleasantly, _en passant_,--\n\n\"By the way, Delphine, I see you have taken my advice about\nwedding-presents. You know I always abominated that parading of gifts.\"\n\nLaura hastened to the rescue, saying,--\n\n\"Yes, we quite agree with you, and remember your decided opinions on\nthat subject. Did you say you had been to the Aquarial Gardens?\"\n\nHow I wished I had been self-possessed enough to tell the whole story,\nwith its ridiculous side out, and make a good laugh over it, as it\ndeserved!--for Mrs. Harris wouldn't stay in the Aquarial Gardens, which\nshe pronounced a disgusting exhibition of \"Creep and Crawl,\" and that\nit was all a set of little horrors; but swung back to wedding-gifts and\nwedding-times.\n\n  \"'When I was young,--ah! woful _when!_--\n  That I should say _when_ I was young!'\n\n\"it wasn't fashionable, or, I should say, necessary, to buy something for\na bride,\" said Mrs. Harris, meditatively, and looking back--as we could\nsee by her eyes--a long way.\n\nFor my part, I thought she had much better choose some other subject,\nconsidering everything. Certainly she had been one of the ten I had\ncounted on. But she suddenly collected herself!\n\n\"I never look at a great needle-book, ('housewife,' we used to call\nit,) full of all possible and impossible contrivances and conveniences,\nwithout recalling my Aunt Hovey's patient smile when she gave it to me.\nShe was rheumatic, and confined for twenty years to her chair; and these\n'housewives' she made exquisitely, and each of her young friends on her\nwedding-day might count on one. Then Sebiah Collins,--she brought me a\nbag of holders,--poor old soul! And Aunt Patty Hobbs gave me a bundle of\nrags! She said, 'Young housekeepers was allers a-wantin' rags, and, in\ncourse, there wa'n't nothin' but what was bran'-new out of the store.'\nCan I ever forget the Hill children, with their mysterious movements,\ntheir hidings, and their unaccountable absences? and then the\nwork-basket on my toilet-table, on my wedding-morning! the little\npin-cushions and emery-sacks, the fantastic thimble-cases, and the\nfish-shaped needle-books! all as nice as their handy little fingers\ncould make, and every stitch telling of their earnest love and bright\nfaces!--Every one of those children is dead. But I keep the work-basket\nsacred. I don't know whether it is more pleasure or pain.\"\n\nShe looked up again, as if before her passed a long procession. I had\noften seen that expression in the eyes of old, and even of middle-aged\npersons, who had had much mental vicissitude, but I had not interpreted\nit till now. It was only for a moment; and she added, cheerfully,--\n\n\"The future is always pleasant; so we will look that way.\"\n\nJust then a gentleman wished to see Mr. Sampson on business, and they\ntwo went into the library.\n\nMrs. Harris talked on, and I led the way to the parlor. She said she\nshould be called for presently; and then Laura lighted the argand, and\ndropped the muslin curtains.\n\n\"Oh, isn't this sweet?\" exclaimed Mrs. Harris, rapturously, approaching\nthe table. \"How the best work of Art pales before Nature!\"\n\nIt was only a tall small vase of ground glass, holding a pond-lily,\nfully opened. But it was perfect in its way, and I knew by the smile on\nLaura's lips that it was her gift.\n\n\"Mine is in that corner, Delphine,\" said Mrs. Harris. \"I wouldn't have\nit brought here till to-night, when I could see Laura, for fear you\nshould have a duplicate. So here is my Mercury, that I have looked at\ntill I love it. I wouldn't give you one that had only the odor of the\nshop about it; but you will never look at this, Del, without thoughts of\nour little cozy room and your old friend.\"\n\n\"Beautiful! No, indeed! Always!\" murmured I.\n\nShe drew a little box from her pocket, and took out of it a taper-stand\nof chased silver.\n\n\"Mrs. Gore asked me to bring it to you, with her love. She wouldn't send\nit yesterday, she said, because it would look so like nothing by the\nside of costly gifts. Pretty, graceful little thing! isn't it? It is an\nevening-primrose, I think,--'love's own light,'--hey, Delphine?\"\n\nWe had scarcely half admired the taper-stand and the Mercury when the\ncarriage came for Mrs. Harris, who insisted on taking away Laura with\nher to the opera.\n\n\"No matter whether you thought of going or not; and, happily, there's\nno danger of Delphine being lonely. 'Two are company,' you know Emerson\nsays, 'but three are a congregation.' So they will be glad to spare you.\nThere, now! that is all you want,--and this shawl.\"\n\nAfter they went, I sat listening for nearly half an hour to the low\nmurmurs in the next room, and wishing the stranger would only go, so\nthat I might exhibit my new treasures. At last the strange gentleman\nopened the door softly, talking all the way, across the room, through\nthe entry, and finally whispering himself fairly out-of-doors. When my\nhusband came in, I was eager to show him the Mercury, and the lily, and\nthe taper-stand.\n\n\"And do you know, after all, I hadn't the real nobleness and\ntruthfulness and right-mindedness to tell Mrs. Harris that these and\nAunt Allen's gift were all I had received! I am ashamed of myself, to\nhave such a mean mortification about what is really of no importance.\nCertainly, if my friends don't care enough for me to send me something,\nI ought to be above caring for it.\"\n\n\"I don't know that, Del. Your mortification is very natural. How can we\nhelp caring? Do you like your Aunt Allen very much?\" added he, abruptly.\n\n\"Because she gave me fifty dollars? Yes, I begin to think I do,\" said I,\nlaughing.\n\nHe looked at me quickly.\n\n\"Your Aunt Allen is very rich, is she not?\"\n\n\"I believe so. Why? You look very serious. I neither respect nor love\nher for her riches; and I haven't seen her these ten years.\"\n\nHe looked sober and abstracted; but when I spoke, he smiled a little.\n\n\"Do you remember Ella's chapter on Old China?\" said he, sitting down on\nthe sofa, and--I don't mind saying--putting one arm round my waist.\n\n\"Yes,--why?\"\n\n\"Do you remember Bridget's plaintive regret that they had no longer\nthe good old times when they were poor? and about the delights of the\nshilling gallery?\"\n\n\"Yes,--what made you think of it?\"\n\n\"What a beautiful chapter that is!--their gentle sorrow that they could\nno longer make nice bargains for books! and his wearing new, neat, black\nclothes, alas! instead of the overworn suit that was made to hang on\na few weeks longer, that he might buy the old folio of Beaumont and\nFletcher! Do you remember it, Delphine?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do. And I think there is a deal of pleasure in considering and\ncontriving,--though it's prettier in a book\"--\n\n\"For my part,\" interrupted my husband, as though he had not heard me\nspeak,--\"for my part, I am sorry one cannot have such an exquisite\nappreciation of pleasure but through pain; for--I am tired of\nlabor--and privation--and, in short, poverty. To work so hard, and so\nconstantly!--with such a long, weary vista before one!--and these petty\ngains! Don't you think poverty is the one thing hateful, Delphine?\"\n\nHe sprang up suddenly, and began walking up and down the room,--up and\ndown,--up and down; and without speaking any more, or seeming to wish me\nto answer.\n\n\"Why, what is it? What do you mean?\" said I, faintly; for my heart felt\nlike lead in my bosom.\n\nHe did not answer at first, but walked towards me; then, turning\nsuddenly away, sprang out of the window at the side of the room, saying,\nwith a constrained laugh,--\n\n\"I shall be in again, presently. In the mean time I leave you to\nmeditations on the shilling gallery!\"\n\nWhat a strange taunting sound his voice had! There was no insane blood\namong the Sampsons, or I might have thought he had suddenly gone crazy.\nOr if I had believed in demoniacal presences, I might have thought the\nmurmuring, whispering old man was some tempter. Some evil influence\ncertainly had been exerted over him. Scarcely less than deranged could I\nconsider him now, to be willing thus to address me. It was true, he was\npoor,--that he had struggled with poverty. But had it not been my pride,\nas I thought it was his, that his battle was bravely borne, and would be\nbravely won? I could not, even to myself, express the cruel cowardice of\nsuch words as he had used to his helpless wife. That he felt deeply and\ngallingly his poverty was plain. Even in that there was a weakness which\ninduced more of contempt than pity for him; but was it not base to tell\nme of it now? Now, when his load was doubled, he complained of the\nburden! Why, I would have lain down and died far sooner than he should\nhave guessed it of me. And he had thought it--and--said it!\n\nThere are emotions that seem to crowd and supersede each other, so\nthat the order of time is inverted. I came to the point of disdainful\ncomposure, even before the struggle and distress began. I sat quietly\nwhere my husband left me,--such a long, long time! It seemed hours.\nI remembered how thoughtful I had determined to be of all our\nexpenses,--the little account-book in which I had already entered some\nitems; how I had thought of various ways in which I could assist him;\nyes, even little I was to be the most efficient and helpful of wives.\nHad I not taken writing-lessons secretly, and formed a thorough\nbusiness-hand, and would I not earn many half-eagles with my eagle's\nquill? I remembered how I had thought, though I had not said it, (and\nhow glad now I was I had not!) that we would help each other in sickness\nand health,--that we would toil up that weary hill where wealth stands\nso lusciously and goldenly shining. But then, hand in hand we were\nto have toiled,--hopefully, smilingly, lovingly,--not with this cold\nrecrimination, nor, hardest of all, with--reproach!\n\nSuddenly, a strange suspicion fell over me. It fell down on me like a\npall. I shuddered with the cold of it.\n\nI knew it wasn't so. I knew he loved me,--that Le meant nothing,--that\nit was a passing discontent, a hateful feeling engendered by the sight\nof the costly trifles before us. Yes,--I knew that. But, good heavens!\nto tell his wife of it!\n\nI sat, with my head throbbing, and holding my hands, utterly tearless;\nfor tears were no expression of the distressful pain, and blank\ndisappointment of a life, that I felt. I said I felt this damp, dark\nsuspicion. It was there like a presence, but it was as indefinite as\ndark; and I had a sort of control, in the midst of the tumult in my\nbrain and heart, as to what thoughts I would let come to me. Not that!\nFaults there might be,--great ones,--but not that, the greatest! At\nleast, if I could not respect, I could forgive,--for he loved me.\nSurely, surely, that must be true!\n\nIt would come, that flash, like lightning, or the unwilling memories of\nthe drowning. I remembered the rich Miss Kate Stuart, who, they said,\nliked him, and that her father would have been glad to have him for a\nson-in-law. And I had asked him once about it, in the careless\ngayety of happy love. He had said, he supposed it might have\nhappened--perhaps--who knows?--if he had not seen me. But he had seen\nme! Could it be that he was thinking of?\n\nMy calmness was giving way. As soon as I spoke, though it was only in a\nword of ejaculation, my pity for myself broke all the flood-gates down,\nand I fell on my face in a paroxysm of sobs.\n\nA very calm, loving voice, and a strong arm raising me, brought me back\nat once from the wild ocean of passion on which I was tossing. I had not\nheard him come in. I was too proud and grieved to speak or to weep. So I\ndried my tears and sat stiffly silent.\n\n\"You are tired, dear!\" said my husband, tenderly.\n\n\"No,--it's no matter.\"\n\n\"Everything is matter to me that concerns you. You know that,--you\nbelieve that, Delphine?\"\n\n\"Why, what a strange sound! just as it used to sound!\" I said to myself,\nwhisperingly.\n\nI know not what possessed me; but I was determined to have the truth,\nand the whole truth. I turned towards him and looked straight into his\neyes.\n\n\"Tell me, truly, as you hope God will save you at your utmost need, _do_\nyou love me? Did you marry me from any motive but that of pure, true\nlove?\"\n\n\"From no other,\" answered he, with a face of unutterable surprise; and\nthen added, solemnly, \"And may God take me, Delphine, when you cease to\nlove me!\"\n\nIt was enough. There was truth in every breath, in every glance of his\ndeep eyes. A delicious languor took the place of the horrible tension\nthat had been every faculty,--a repose so sweet and perfect, that, if\nreason had placed the clearest possible proofs of my husband's perfidy\nbefore me, I should simply have smiled and fallen asleep on his true\nheart, as I did.\n\nWhen I opened my eyes, I met his anxious look.\n\n\"Why, what has come over you, Del? I did not know you were nervous.\"\n\nAnd then remembering, that, although I might be weakest among the weak,\nyet that it was his wisdom that was to sustain and comfort me, I said,--\n\n\"By-and-by I will tell you all about it,--certainly I will. I must tell\nyou some time, but not to-night.\"\n\n\"And--I had thought to keep a secret from you, to-night, Del; but, on\nthe whole, I shall feel better to tell you.\"\n\n\"Yes,--perhaps,--perhaps.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Secrets are safest, told. First, then, Del, I will tell you\nthis secret. I am very foolish. Don't tell of it, will you? See here!\"\n\nHe held up his closed hand before my face, laughingly.\n\nThat man's name, Del, is Drake\"----\n\n\"And not the Devil!\" said I to myself.\n\n\"Solitude Drake.\"\n\n\"Really? Is that it, truly? What's in your hand?\"\n\n\"Truly,--really. He lives in Albany. He is the son of a queer man, and\nis something of a humorist himself. I have seen one of his sons. He has\ntwo. One's name is Paraclete, and the other Preserved. His daughter is\npretty, very, and her name is Deliverance. They call her Del, for short.\nThey do, on my word! Worse than Delphine, is it not?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you like my name?\" stammered I, with astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, very well. I don't care much about names. But I can tell you,\nUncle Zabdiel and Aunt Jerusha, 'from whom I have expectations,' Del,\nthink it is 'just about the poorest kind of a name that ever a girl\nhad.' And our Cousin Abijah thought you were named Delilah, and that\nit was a good match for Sampson! I rectified him there; but he still\ninsists on your being called 'Finy,' in the family, to distinguish you\nfrom the Midianitish woman.\"\n\n\"And so Uncle _Zabdiel_ thinks I have a poor name?\" said I, laughing\nheartily. \"The shield looks neither gold nor silver, from which side\nsoever we gaze. But I think _he_ might put up with _my_ name!\"\n\nMy husband never knew exactly what I was laughing at. And why should he?\nI was fast overcoming my weakness about names, and thinking they were\nnothing, compared to things, after all.\n\nWhen our laugh (for his was sympathetic) had subsided into a quiet\ncheerfulness, he said, again holding up his hand,--\n\n\"Not at all curious, Del? You don't ask what Mr. Solitude Drake wanted?\"\n\n\"I don't think I care what he wanted: company, I suppose.\"\n\nAnd I went on making bad puns about solitude sweetened, and ducks and\ndrakes, as happy people do, whose hearts are quite at ease.\n\n\"And you don't want to know at all, Del?\" said he, laughing a little\nnervously, and dropping from his hand an open paper into mine. \"It shall\nbe my wedding-present to you. It is Mr. Drake's retainer. Pretty stout\none, is it not? This is what made me jump out of the window,--this and\none other thing.\"\n\n\"Why, this is a draft for five hundred dollars!\" said I, reading and\nstaring stupidly at the paper.\n\n\"Yes, and I am retained in that great Albany land-case. It involves\nmillions of property. That is all, Del. But I was so glad, so happy,\nthat I was likely to do well at last, and that I could gratify all the\nwishes, reasonable and unreasonable, of my darling!\"\n\n\"Is it a good deal?\" said I, simply; for, after all, five hundred\ndollars did not seem such an Arabian fortune.\n\n\"Yes, Del, a good deal. Whichever way it is decided, it will make my\nfortune. And now--the other thing. You are sure you are very calm, and\nall this won't make you sleepless?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! I am calm as a clock.\"\n\n\"Well, then,--your Aunt Allen is dead.\"\n\n\"Dead! Is she? Did she leave us all her money?\"\n\n\"Why, no, you little cormorant. She has left it all about: Legacies, and\nAntioch College, and Destitute Societies. But I believe you have some\nclothes left to you and Laura. Any way, the will is in there, in the\nlibrary: Mr. Drake had a copy of it. And the best of all is, I am to be\nthe executor, which is enough better than residuary legatee.\"\n\n\"It is very strange!\" said I, thinking of the multitude of old gowns I\nshould have to alter over.\n\n\"Yes, it is, indeed, very strange. One of the strangest things about\nthe matter is, that my good friend Solitude was so taken with 'my queer\nname,' as he calls it, that he 'took a fancy to me out of hand.' To be\nsure, he listened through my argument in the Shore case, and that may\nhave helped his opinion of me as a lawyer.--Here comes Laura. Who would\nhave thought it was one o'clock?\"\n\nAnd who would have thought that my little ugly chrysalis of troubles\nwould have turned out such beautiful butterflies of blessings?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nMARION DALE.\n\n\n  Marion Dale, I remember you once,\n  In the days when you blushed like a rose half-blown,\n  Long ere that wealthy respectable dunce\n  Sponged up your beautiful name in his own.\n\n  I remember you, Marion Dale,\n  Artless and cordial and modest and sweet:\n  You never walked in that glittering mail\n  That covers you now from your head to your feet.\n\n  Well I remember your welcoming smile,\n  When Alice and Annie and Edward and I\n  Came over to see you;--you lived but a mile\n  From my uncle's old house, and the grove that stood nigh.\n\n  I was no lover of yours, (pray, excuse me!)--\n  Our minds were different in texture and hue:\n  I never gave you a chance to refuse me;\n  Already I loved one less changeful than you.\n\n  Still it was ever a pride and a pleasure\n  Just to be near you,--the Rose of our vale.\n  Often I thought, \"Who will own such a treasure?\n  Who win the rich love of our Marion Dale?\"\n\n  I wonder now if you ever remember,\n  Ever sigh over fifteen years ago,--\n  Whether your June is all turned to December,--\n  Whether your life now is happy or no.\n\n  Gone are those winters of chats and of dances!\n  Gone are those summers of picnics and rides!\n  Gone the aroma of life's young romances!\n  Gone the swift flow of our passionate tides!\n\n  Marion Dale,--no longer our Marion,--\n  You have gone your way, and I have gone mine:\n  Lowly I've labored, while fashion's gay clarion\n  Trumpets your name through the waltz and the wine.\n\n  And when I meet you, your smile it is colder;\n  Statelier, prouder your features have grown;\n  Rounder each white and magnificent shoulder;\n  (Rather too low-necked your waist, I must own.)\n\n  Jewelled and muslined, your rich hair gold-netted,\n  Queenly 'mid flattering voices you move,--\n  Half to your own native graces indebted,\n  Half to the station and fortune you love.\n\n  \"Marion\" we called you; my wife you called \"Alice\";\n  I was plain \"Phil\";--we were intimate all:\n  Strange, as we leave now our cards at your palace,\n  On Mrs. Prime Goldbanks of Bubblemere Hall!\n\n  Six golden lackeys illumine the doorway:\n  Sure, one would think, by the glances they throw,\n  That we were fresh from the mountains of Norway,\n  And had forgotten to shake off the snow!\n\n  They will permit us to enter, however;\n  Usher us into her splendid saloon:\n  There we sit waiting and waiting forever,\n  As one would watch for the rise of the moon.\n\n  Or it may be to-day's not her \"reception\":\n  Still she's at home, and a little unbends,--\n  Framing, while dressing, some harmless deception,\n  How she shall meet her \"American\" friends.\n\n  Smiling you meet us,--but not quite sincerely;\n  Low-voiced you greet us,--but this is the _ton_:\n  This, we must feel it, is courtesy merely,--\n  Not the glad welcome of days that are gone.\n\n  You are in England,--the land where they freeze one,\n  When they've a mind to, with fashion and form:\n  Yet, if you choose, you can thoroughly please one:\n  Currents run through you still youthful and warm.\n\n  So one would think, at least, seeing you moving,\n  Radiant and gay, at the Countess's _fete_.\n  Say, was that babble so sweeter than loving?\n  Where was the charm, that you lingered so late?\n\n  Ah, well enough, as you dance on in joyance!\n  Still well enough, at your dinners and calls!\n  Fashion and riches will mask much annoyance.\n  Float on, fair lady, whatever befalls!\n\n  Yet, Lady Marion, for hours and for hours\n  You are alone with your husband and lord.\n  There is a skeleton hid in yon flowers;\n  There is a spectre at bed and at board.\n\n  Needs no confession to tell there is acting\n  Somewhere about you a tragedy grim.\n  All your bright rays have a sullen refracting;\n  Everywhere looms up the image of _him_:\n\n  Him,--whom you love not, there is no concealing.\n  How _could_ you love him, apart from his gold?\n  Nothing now left but your fire-fly wheeling,--\n  Flashing one moment, then pallid and cold!\n\n  Yet you've accepted the life that he offers,--\n  Sunk to his level,--not raised him to yours.\n  All your fair flowers have their roots in his coffers:\n  Empty the gold-dust, and then what endures?\n\n  So, then, we leave you! Your world is not ours.\n  Alice and I will not trouble you more.\n  Almost too heavy the scent of these flowers\n  Down the broad stairway. Quick, open the door!\n\n  Here, in the free air, we'll pray for you, lady!\n  You who are changed to us,--gone from us,--lost!\n  Soon the Atlantic shall part us, already\n  Parted by gulfs that can never be crossed!\n\n\n\n\nCHARLESTON UNDER ARMS.\n\n\nOn Saturday morning, January 19, 1861, the steamer Columbia, from New\nYork, lay off the harbor of Charleston in full sight of Fort Sumter. It\nis a circumstance which perhaps would never have reached the knowledge\nof the magazine-reading world, nor have been of any importance to it,\nbut for the attendant fact that I, the writer of this article, was on\nboard the steamer. It takes two events to make a consequence, as well as\ntwo parties to make a bargain.\n\nThe sea was smooth; the air was warmish and slightly misty; the low\ncoast showed bare sand and forests of pines. The dangerous bar of the\nport, now partially deprived of its buoys, and with its main channel\nrendered perilous by the hulks of sunken schooners, revealed itself\nplainly, half a mile ahead of us, in a great crescent of yellow water,\nplainly distinguishable from the steel-gray of the outer ocean. Two\nor three square-rigged vessels were anchored to the southward of us,\nwaiting for the tide or the tugs, while four or five pilot-boats tacked\nup and down in the lazy breeze, watching for the cotton-freighters which\nought at this season to crowd the palmetto wharves.\n\n\"I wish we could get the duties on those ships to pay some of our\nmilitary bills,\" said a genteel, clean-spoken Charlestonian, to a long,\ngreen, kindly-faced youth, from I know not what Southern military\nacademy.\n\nWe had arrived off the harbor about midnight, but had not entered, for\nlack of a beacon whereby to shape our course. Now we must wait until\nnoon for the tide, standing off and on the while merely to keep up our\nfires. A pilot came under our quarter in his little schooner, and told\nus that the steamer Nashville had got out the day before with only a\nhard bumping. No other news had he: Fort Sumter had not been taken, nor\nassaulted; the independence of South Carolina had not been recognized;\nvarious desirable events had not happened. In short, the political world\nhad remained during our voyage in that chaotic _status quo_ so loved by\nPresident Buchanan. At twelve we stood for the bar, sounding our way\nwith extreme caution. Without accident we passed over the treacherous\nbottom, although in places it could not have been more than eighteen\ninches below our keel. The shores closed in on both sides as we passed\nonward. To the south was the long, low, gray Morris Island, with its\nextinguished lighthouse, its tuft or two of pines, its few dwellings,\nand its invisible batteries. To the north was the long, low, gray\nSullivan's Island, a repetition of the other, with the distinctions of\nhigher sand-rolls, a village, a regular fort, and palmettos. We passed\nthe huge brown Moultrie House, in summer a gay resort, at present a\nbarrack; passed the hundred scattered cottages of the island, mostly\nuntenanted now, and looking among the sand-drifts as if they had been\nwashed ashore at random; passed the low walls of Fort Moultrie,\nonce visibly yellow, but now almost hidden by the new _glacis_, and\nsurmounted by piles of barrels and bags of sand, with here and there\npalmetto stockades as a casing for the improvised embrasures; passed its\nblack guns, its solidly built, but rusty barracks, and its weather-worn\npalmetto flag waving from a temporary flag-staff. On the opposite side\nof the harbor was Fort Johnstone, a low point, exhibiting a barrack, a\nfew houses, and a sand redoubt, with three forty-two pounders. And\nhere, in the midst of all things, apparent master of all things, at the\nentrance of the harbor proper, and nearly equidistant from either shore,\nthough nearest the southern, frowned Fort Sumter, a huge and lofty\nand solid mass of brickwork with stone embrasures, all rising from\na foundation of ragged granite boulders washed by the tides. The\nport-holes were closed; a dozen or so of monstrous cannon peeped from\nthe summit; two or three sentinels paced slowly along the parapet; the\nstars and stripes blew out from the lofty flag-staff. The plan of Fort\nSumter may be briefly described as five-sided, with each angle just so\nmuch truncated as to give room for one embrasure in every story. Its\nwhole air is massive, commanding, and formidable.\n\nEighty or a hundred citizens, volunteers, cadets from the military\nacademy, policemen, and <DW64>s, greeted the arrival of the Columbia at\nher wharf. It was a larger crowd than usual, partly because a report had\ncirculated that we should be forced to bring to off Fort Sumter and give\nan account of ourselves, and partly because many persons in Charleston\nhave lately been perplexed with an abundant leisure. As I drove to my\nhotel, I noticed that the streets showed less movement of business\nand population than when I knew them four years ago. The place seemed\ndirtier, too,--worse paved, shabbier as to its brick-work and stucco,\nand worse painted,--but whether through real deterioration, or by\ncomparison with the neatly finished city which I had lately left, I\ncannot decide. There was surely not a third of the usual shipping, nor a\nquarter of the accustomed cotton. Here and there were wharves perfectly\nbare, not only of masting and of freight, but even of dust, as if they\nhad not been used for days, or possibly for weeks.\n\nMy old hotel was as well kept, and its table as plentiful and excellent\nas ever. I believe we are all aware by this time that Charleston has\nnot suffered from hunger; that beef has not sold at thirty-five cents a\npound, but rather at ten or fifteen; that its Minute Men have not\nbeen accustomed to come down upon its citizens for forced dinners and\ndollars; that the State loan was taken willingly by the banks, instead\nof unwillingly by private persons; that the rich, so far from being\nobliged to give a great deal for the cause of Secession, have generally\ngiven very little; that the streets are well-policed, untrodden by mobs,\nand as orderly as those of most cities; that, in short, the revolution\nso far has been political, and not social. At the same time exports\nand imports have nearly ceased; business, even in the retail form, is\nstagnant; the banks have suspended; debts are not paid.\n\nAfter dinner I walked up to the Citadel square and saw a drill of the\nHome Guard. About thirty troopers, all elderly men, and several with\nwhite hair and whiskers, uniformed in long overcoats of homespun gray,\nwent through some of the simpler cavalry evolutions in spite of their\nhorses' teeth. The Home Guard is a volunteer police force, raised\nbecause of the absence of so many of the young men of the city at the\nislands, and because of the supposed necessity of keeping a strong hand\nover the <DW64>s. A malicious citizen assured me that it was in training\nto take Fort Sumter by charging upon it at low water. On the opposite\nside of the square from where I stood rose the Citadel, or military\nacademy, a long and lofty reddish-yellow building, stuccoed and\ncastellated, which, by the way, I have seen represented in one of our\nillustrated papers as the United States Arsenal. Under its walls\nwere half a dozen iron cannon which I judged at that distance to be\ntwenty-four pounders. A few <DW64>s, certainly the most leisurely part\nof the population at this period, and still fewer white people, leaned\nover the shabby fence and stared listlessly at the horsemen, with the\nair of people whom habit had made indifferent to such spectacles. Near\nme three men of the middle class of Charleston talked of those two\neternal subjects, Secession and Fort Sumter. One of them, a rosy-faced,\nkindly-eyed, sincere, seedy, pursy gentleman of fifty, congratulated the\nothers and thanked God because of the present high moral stand of South\nCarolina, so much loftier than if she had seized the key to her main\nharbor, when she had the opportunity. Her honor was now unspotted; her\ngood faith and her love of the right were visible to the whole world;\nwhile the position of the Federal Government was disgraced and sapped by\nfalsity. Better Sumter treacherously in the hands of the United States\nthan in the hands of South Carolina; better suffer for a time under\nphysical difficulties than forever under moral dishonor.\n\nSimple-hearted man, a fair type of his fellow-citizens, he saw but his\nown side of the question, and might fairly claim in this matter to\nbe justified by his faith. His bald crown, sandy side-locks, reddish\nwhiskers, sanguineous cheeks, and blue eyes were all luminous with\nconfidence in the integrity of his State, and with scorn for the\nmeanness and wickedness of her enemies. No doubt had he that the fort\nought to be surrendered to South Carolina; no suspicion that the\nGovernment could show a reason for holding it, aside from low\nself-interest and malice. He was the honest mouthpiece of a most\npeculiar people, local in its opinions and sentiments beyond anything\nknown at the North, even in self-poised Boston. Changing his subject, he\nspoke with hostile, yet chivalrous, respect of the pluck of the Black\nRepublicans in Congress. They had never faltered; they had vouchsafed no\nhint of concession; while, on the other hand, Southerners had shamed him\nby their craven spirit. It grieved, it mortified him, to see such a man\nas Crittenden on his knees to the North, begging, actually with tears,\nfor what he ought to demand as a right, with head erect and hands\nclenched. He departed with a mysterious allusion to some secret of his\nfor taking Fort Sumter,--some disagreeably odorous chemical\npreparation, I guessed, by the scientific terms in which he beclouded\nhimself,--something which he expected would soon be called for by the\nGovernor. May he never smell anything worse, even in the other world,\nthan his own compounds! Unionist, and perhaps Consolidationist, as I\nam, I could not look upon his honest, persuaded face, and judge him a\ntraitor, at least not to any sentiment of right that was in his own\nsoul.\n\nOur hotel was full of legislators and volunteer officers, mostly\nplanters or sons of planters, and almost without exception men of\nstanding and property. South Carolina is an oligarchy in spirit, and\nallows no plebeians in high places. Two centuries of plenteous feeding\nand favorable climate showed their natural results in the _physique_ of\nthese people. I do not think that I exaggerate, when I say that they\naveraged six feet or nearly in height, and one hundred and seventy\npounds or thereabouts in weight. One or two would have brought in money,\nif enterprisingly heralded as Swiss or Belgian giants. The general\nphysiognomy was good, mostly high-featured, often commanding, sometimes\nremarkable for massive beauty of the Jovian type, and almost invariably\ndistinguished by a fearless, open-eyed frankness, in some instances\nrunning into arrogance and pugnacity. I remember one or two elderly\nmen, in particular, whose faces would help an artist to idealize a\nLacedaemonian general, or a baron of the Middle Ages. In dress somewhat\ncareless, and wearing usually the last fashion but one, they struck me\nas less tidy than the same class when I saw it four years ago; and I\nmade a similar remark concerning the citizens of Charleston,--not only\nmen, but women,--from whom dandified suits and superb silks seem to have\ndeparted during the present martial time. Indeed, I heard that economy\nwas the order of the day; that the fashionables of Charleston bought\nnothing new, partly because of the money pressure, and partly because\nthe guns of Major Anderson might any day send the whole city into\nmourning; that patrician families had discharged their foreign cooks and\nput their daughters into the kitchen; that there were no concerts, no\nballs, and no marriages. Even the volunteers exhibited little of the\npomp and vanity of war. The small French military cap was often the only\nsign of their present profession. The uniform, when it appeared, was\nfrequently a coarse homespun gray, charily trimmed with red worsted, and\nstained with the rains and earth of the islands. One young dragoon in\nthis sober dress walked into our hotel, trailing the clinking steel\nscabbard of his sabre across the marble floor of the vestibule with a\nwarlike rattle which reminded me of the Austrian officers whom I used\nto see, yes, and hear, stalking about the _cafe's_ of Florence. Half a\ndozen surrounded him to look at and talk about the weapon. A portly,\nmiddle-aged legislator must draw it and cut and thrust, with a smile of\nboyish satisfaction between his grizzled whiskers, bringing the point so\nnear my nose, in his careless eagerness, that I had to fall back upon\na stronger, that is, a more distant position. Then half a dozen others\nmust do likewise, their eyes sparkling like those of children examining\na new toy.\n\n\"It's not very sharp,\" said one, running his thumb carefully along the\nedge of the narrow and rather light blade.\n\n\"Sharp enough to cut a man's head open,\" averred the dragoon.\n\n\"Well, it's a dam' shame that sixty-five men tharr in Sumter should make\nsuch an expense to the State,\" declared a stout, blonde young rifleman,\nspeaking with a burr which proclaimed him from the up-country. \"We\nhaven't even troyed to get 'em out. We ought at least to make a troyal.\"\n\nAll strangers at Charleston walk to the Battery. It is the extreme point\nof the city peninsula, its right facing on the Ashley, its left on the\nCooper, and its outlook commanding the entire harbor, with Fort Sumter,\nPort Pinckney, Fort Moultrie, and Fort Johnstone in the distance. Plots\nof thin clover, a perfect wonder in this grassless land; promenades,\nneatly fenced, and covered with broken shells instead of gravel; a\nhandsome bronze lantern-stand, twenty-five feet high, meant for a\nbeacon; a long and solid stone quay, the finest sea-walk in the United\nStates; a background of the best houses in Charleston, three-storied and\nfaced with verandas: such are the features of the Battery. Lately\nfour large iron guns, mounted like field-pieces, form an additional\nattraction to boys and soldierly-minded men. Nobody knew their calibre;\nthe policemen who watched them could not say; the idlers who gathered\nabout them disputed upon it: they were eighteen pounders; they were\ntwenty-fours; they were thirty-sixes. Nobody could tell what they were\nthere for. They were aimed at Fort Sumter, but would not carry half way\nto it. They could hit Fort Pinckney, but that was not desirable. The\npoliceman could not explain; neither could the idlers; neither can I.\nAt last it got reported about the city that they were to sink any boats\nwhich might come down the river to reinforce Anderson; though how the\nboats were to get into the river, whether by railroad from Washington,\nor by balloon from the Free States, nobody even pretended to guess.\nStanding on this side of the Ashley, and looking across it, you\nnaturally see the other side. The long line of nearly dead level, with\nits stretches of thin pine-forest and its occasional glares of open\nsand, gives you an idea of nearly the whole country about Charleston,\nexcept that in general you ought to add to the picture a number of noble\nevergreen oaks bearded with pendent, weird Spanish moss, and occasional\ngreen spikes of the tropical-looking Spanish bayonet. Of palmettos there\nare none that I know of in this immediate region, save the hundred or\nmore on Sullivan's Island and the one or two exotics in the streets\nof Charleston. In the middle of the Ashley, which is here more than a\nquarter of a mile wide, lies anchored a topsail schooner, the nursery\nof the South Carolina navy. I never saw it sail anywhere; but then my\nopportunities of observation were limited. Quite a number of boys are on\nboard of it, studying maritime matters; and I can bear witness that they\nare sufficiently advanced to row themselves ashore. Possibly they are\nmoored thus far up the stream to guard them from sea-sickness, which\nmight be discouraging to young sailors. However, I ought not to talk on\nthis subject, for I am the merest civilian and land-lubber.\n\nMy first conversation in Charleston on Secession was with an estimable\nfriend, Northern-born, but drawing breath of Southern air ever since he\nattained the age of manhood. After the first salutation, he sat down,\nhis hands on his knees, gazing on the floor, and shaking his head\nsoberly, if not sadly.\n\n\"You have found us in a pretty fix,--in a pretty fix!\"\n\n\"But what are you going to do? Are you really going out? You are not a\npolitician, and will tell me the honest facts.\"\n\n\"Yes, we are going out,'--there is no doubt of it, I have not been a\nseceder,--I have even been called one of the disaffected; but I am\nobliged to admit that secession is the will of the community. Perhaps\nyou at the North don't believe that we are honest in our professions and\nactions. We are so. The Carolinians really mean to go out of the Union,\nand don't mean to come back. They say that they _are_ out, and they\nbelieve it. And now, what are you going to do with us? What is the\nfeeling at the North?\"\n\n\"The Union must and shall be preserved, at all hazards. That famous\ndeclaration expresses the present Northern popular sentiment. When I\nleft, people were growing martial; they were joining military companies;\nthey wanted to fight; they were angry.\"\n\n\"So I supposed. That agrees with what I hear by letter. Well, I am very\nsorry for it. Our people here will not retreat; they will accept a war,\nfirst. If you preserve the Union, it must be by conquest. I suppose you\ncan do it, if you try hard enough. The North is a great deal stronger\nthan the South; it can desolate it,--crush it. But I hope it won't be\ndone. I wish you would speak a good word for us, when you go back. You\ncan destroy us, I suppose. But don't you think it would be inhuman?\nDon't you think it would be impolitic? Do you think it would result in\nsufficient good to counterbalance the evident and certain evil?\"\n\n\"Why, people reason in this way. They say, that, even if we allow the\nfinal independence of the seceding States, we must make it clear that\nthere is no such thing as the right of secession, but only that of\nrevolution or rebellion. We must fix a price for going out of the Union,\nwhich shall be so high that henceforward no State will ever be willing\nto pay it. We must kill, once for all, the doctrine of peaceable\nsecession, which is nothing else than national disintegration and ruin.\nLieutenant-Governor Morton of Indiana declares in substance that England\nnever spent blood and money to wiser purpose than when she laid down\nfifty thousand lives and one hundred millions of pounds to prevent her\nthirteen disaffected colonies from having their own way. No English\ncolony since has been willing to face the tremendous issue thus offered\nit. Just so it is the interest, it is the sole safety of the Federal\nGovernment, to try to hold in the Cotton States by force, and, if they\ngo out, to oblige them to pay an enormous price for the privilege.\nRevolution is a troublesome luxury, and ought to be made expensive. That\nis the way people talk at the North and at Washington. They reason thus,\nyou see, because they believe that this is not a league, but a nation.\"\n\n\"And our people believe that the States are independent and have a right\nto recede from the Confederation without asking its leave. With few\nexceptions, all agree on that; it is honest, common public opinion. The\nSouth Carolinians sincerely think that they are exercising a right, and\nyou may depend that they will not be reasoned nor frightened out of it;\nand if the North tries coercion, there will be war. I don't say this\ndefiantly, but sadly, and merely because I want you to know the truth.\nWar is abhorrent to my feelings,--especially a war with our own\nbrethren: and then _we_ are so poorly prepared for it!\"\n\nSuch was the substance of several conversations. The reader may rely, I\nthink, on the justness of my friend's opinions, founded as they are on\nhis honesty of intellect, his moderation, and his opportunities for\nstudying his fellow-citizens. All told me the same story, but generally\nwith more passion, sometimes with defiance; defiance toward the\nGovernment, I mean, and not toward me personally; for the better classes\nof Charleston are eminently courteous. South Carolina had seceded\nforever, defying all the hazards; she would accept nothing but\nindependence or destruction; she did not desire any supposable\ncompromise; she had altogether done with the Union. Yet her desire was\nnot for war; it was simply and solely for escape. She would forget all\nher wrongs and insults, she would seek no revenge for the injurious\npast, provided she were allowed to depart without a conflict. Nearly\nevery man with whom I talked began the conversation by asking if the\nNorth meant coercion, and closed it by deprecating hostilities and\naffirming the universal wish for _peaceable_ secession. In case of\ncompulsion, however, the State would accept the gage of battle; her\nsister communities of the South would side with her, the moment they saw\nher blood flow; Northern commerce would be devoured by privateers of all\nnations under the Southern flag; Northern manufactures would perish for\nlack of Southern raw material and Southern consumers; Northern banks\nwould suspend, and Northern finances go into universal insolvency; the\nSouthern ports would be opened forcibly by England and France, who must\nhave cotton; the South would flourish in the struggle, and the North\ndecay.\n\n\"But why do you venture on this doubtful future?\" I asked of one\ngentleman. \"What is South Carolina's grievance? The Personal-Liberty\nBills?\"\n\n\"Yes,--they constitute a grievance. And yet not much of one. Some of us\neven--the men of the 'Mercury' school, I mean--do not complain of the\nUnion because of those bills. They say that it is the Fugitive-Slave Law\nitself which is unconstitutional; that the rendition of runaways is\na State affair, in which the Federal Government has no concern; that\nMassachusetts, and other States, were quite right in nullifying an\nillegal and aggressive statute. Besides, South Carolina has lost very\nfew slaves.\"\n\n\"Is it the Territorial Question which forces you to quit us?\"\n\n\"Not in its practical issues. The South needs no more territory; has not\n<DW64>s to colonize it. The doctrine of 'No more Slave States' is an\ninsult to us, but hardly an injury. The flow of population has settled\nthat matter. You have won all the Territories, not even excepting New\nMexico, where slavery exists nominally, but is sure to die out under the\nhostile influences of unpropitious soil and climate. The Territorial\nQuestion has become a mere abstraction. We no longer talk of it.\"\n\n\"Then your great grievance is the election of Lincoln?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the grievance is all the greater because he was elected according\nto all the forms of law?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"If he had been got into the Presidency by trickery, by manifest\ncheating, your grievance would have been less complete?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is Lincoln considered here to be a bad or dangerous man?\"\n\n\"Not personally. I understand that he is a man of excellent private\ncharacter, and I have nothing to say against him as a ruler, inasmuch as\nhe has never been tried. Mr. Lincoln is simply a sign to us that we are\nin danger, and must provide for our own safety.\"\n\n\"You secede, then, solely because you think his election proves that the\nmass of the Northern people is adverse to you and your interests?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"So Mr. Wigfall of Texas hit the nail on the head, when he said\nsubstantially that the South cannot be at peace with the North until the\nlatter concedes that slavery is right?\"\n\n\"Well,--I admit it; that is precisely it.\"\n\nI desire the reader to note the loyal frankness, the unshrinking honesty\nof these avowals, so characteristic of the South Carolina _morale_.\nWhenever the native of that State does an act or holds an opinion, it is\nhis nature to confess it and avow the motives thereof, without quibbling\nor hesitation. It is a persuaded, self-poised community, strikingly like\nits negative pole on the Slavery Question, Massachusetts. All those\nCharlestonians whom I talked with I found open-hearted in their\nsecession, and patient of my open-heartedness as an advocate of the\nUnion, although often astonished, I suspect, that any creature capable\nof drawing a conclusion from two premises should think so differently\nfrom themselves.\n\n\"But have you looked at the platform of the Republicans?\" I proceeded.\n\"It is not adverse to slavery in the States; it only objects to its\nentrance into the Territories; it is not an Abolition platform.\"\n\n\"We don't trust in the platform; we believe that it is an incomplete\nexpression of the party creed,--that it suppresses more than it utters.\nThe spirit which keeps the Republicans together is enmity to slavery,\nand that spirit will never be satisfied until the system is extinct.\"\n\n\"Finally,--yes; gradually and quietly and safely,--that is possible. I\nsuppose that the secret and generally unconscious _animus_ of the party\nis one which will abolitionize it after a long while.\"\n\n\"When will it begin to act in an abolition sense, do you think?\"\n\n\"I can't say: perhaps a hundred years from now; perhaps two hundred.\"\n\nThere was a general laugh from the half-dozen persons who formed the\ngroup.\n\n\"What time do _you_ fix?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Two years. But for this secession of ours, there would have been bills\nbefore Congress within two years, looking to the abolition of slavery in\nthe navy-yards, the District of Columbia, etc. That would be only the\npoint of the wedge, which would soon assume the dimensions of an attack\non slavery in the States. Look how aggressive the party has been in the\nquestion of the Territories.\"\n\n\"The questions are different. When Congress makes local laws for Utah,\nit does not follow that it will do likewise for South Carolina. You\nmight as well infer, that, because a vessel sails from Liverpool to New\nYork in ten days, therefore it will sail overland to St. Louis in five\nmore.\"\n\nIncredulous laughter answered me again. The South has labored under two\ndelusions: first, that the Republicans are Abolitionists; second, that\nthe North can be frightened. Back of these, rendering them fatally\neffective, lies that other delusion, the imagined right of peaceable\nsecession, founded on a belief in the full and unresigned sovereignty of\nthe States. Let me tell a story illustrative of the depth to which\nthis belief has penetrated. Years ago, a friend of mine, talking to a\nCharleston boy about patriotism, asked him, \"What is the name of your\ncountry?\" \"South Carolina!\" responded the eight-year-old, promptly and\nproudly. What Northern boy, what Massachusetts boy even, would not have\nreplied, \"The United States of America\"?\n\nSouth Carolina, I am inclined to think, has long been a disunionist\ncommunity, or nearly so, deceived by the idea that the Confederation is\na bar rather than a help to her prosperity, and waiting only for a good\nchance to quit it. Up to the election of Lincoln all timid souls were\nagainst secession; now they are for it, because they think it less\ndangerous than submission. For instance, when I asked one gentleman what\nthe South expected to gain by going out, he replied, \"First, safety.\nOur slaves have heard of Lincoln,--that he is a black man, or black\nRepublican, or black something,--that he is to become ruler of this\ncountry on the fourth of March,--that he is a friend of theirs, and will\nfree them. We must establish our independence in order to make them\nbelieve that they are beyond his help. We have had to hang some of them\nin Alabama,--and we expect to be obliged to hang others, perhaps many.\"\n\nThis was not the only statement of the sort which I heard in Charleston.\nOther persons assured me of the perfect fidelity of the <DW64>s, and\ndeclared that they would even fight against Northern invaders, if\nneedful. Skepticism in regard to this last comfortable belief is,\nhowever, not wanting.\n\n\"If it comes to a war, you have one great advantage over us,\" said to me\na military gentleman, lately in the service of the United States. \"Your\nworking-class is a fighting-class, and will constitute the rank and file\nof your armies. Our working-class is not a fighting-class. Indeed, there\nis some reason to fear, that, if it take up arms at all, it will be on\nthe wrong side.\"\n\nMy impression is, that a prevalent, though not a universal fear, existed\nlest the <DW64>s should rise in partial insurrections on or about the\nfourth of March. A Northern man, who had lived for several years in\nthe back-country of South Carolina, had married there, and had lately\ntravelled through a considerable portion of the South, informed me that\nmany of the villages were lately forming Home Guards, as a measure of\ndefence against the slave population. The Home Guard is frequently a\ncavalry corps, and is always composed of men who have passed the usual\nterm of military service; for it is deemed necessary to reserve the\nyouth of the country to meet the \"Northern masses,\" the \"Federal\nmercenaries,\" on the field of possible battle. By letters from\nMontgomery, Alabama, I learn that unusual precautions have been common\nduring the last winter, many persons locking up their <DW64>s over\nnight in the quarters, and most sleeping with arms at hand, ready for\nnocturnal conflict. Whoever considers the necessarily horrible nature\nof a servile insurrection will find in it some palliation for Southern\nviolence toward suspected incendiaries and Southern precipitation in\nmatters of secession, however strongly he may still maintain that\nlynch-law should not usurp the place of justice, nor revolution the\nplace of regular government If you live in a powder-magazine, you\npositively must feel inhospitably inclined towards a man who presents\nhimself with a cigar in his mouth. Even if he shows you that it is but a\ntireless stump, it still makes you uneasy. And if you catch sight of\na multitude of smokers, distant as yet, but apparently intent on\napproaching, you will be very apt to rush toward them, deprecate their\nadvance, forbid it, or possibly threaten armed resistance, even at the\nrisk of being considered aggressive.\n\nAre all the South Carolinians disunionists? It seemed so when I was\nthere in January, 1861, and yet it did not seem so when I was there in\n1855 and '56. At that time you could find men in Charleston who held\nthat the right of secession was but the right of revolution, of\nrebellion,--well enough, if successful, but inductive to hanging, if\nunfortunate. Now those same men nearly all argue for the right of\npeaceable secession, declaring that the State has a right to go out at\nwill, and that the Federal Government has no right to coerce or punish\nit. These turncoats are the sympathetic, who are carried away by a\nrush of popular enthusiasm, and the fearful or peaceable, who dread or\ndislike violence. Let us see how a timid Unionist can be converted into\nan advocate of the right of secession. Let us suppose a boat with three\nmen on board, which is hailed by a revenue-cutter, with a threat of\nfiring, if she does not come to. Two of these men believe that the\nrevenue-officer is performing a legal duty, and desire to obey him; but\nthe third, a reckless, domineering fellow, seizes the helm, lets the\nsail fill, and attempts to run by, meantime declaring at the top of his\nvoice that the cutter has no business to stop his progress. The others\ndare not resist him and cannot persuade him. Now, then, what position\nwill they take as to the right of the revenue-officer to fire? Ten to\none they will join their comrade whom they lately opposed; they will cry\nout, that the pursuer was wrong in ordering them to stop, and ought not\nto punish them for disobedience; in short, they will be converted by the\ninstinct of self-preservation into advocates of the right of peaceable\nsecession. I understand, indeed I know, that there are a few opponents\nof disunion remaining In South Carolina; but, although they are wealthy\npeople and of good position, it is pretty certain that they have not an\natom of political influence.\n\nSecession peaceable! It is what is most particularly desired at\nCharleston, and, I believe, throughout the Cotton States. Certainly,\nwhen I was there, the war-party, the party of the \"Mercury,\" was not in\nthe ascendant, unless in the sense of having been \"hoist with its own\npetard\" when it cried out for immediate hostilities. Not only Governor\nPickens and his Council, but nearly all the influential citizens, were\nopposed to bloodshed. They demanded independence and Fort Sumter, but\ndesired and hoped to get both by argument. They believed, or tried to\nbelieve, that at last the Administration would hearken to reason and\ngrant to South Carolina what it seemed to them could not be denied her\nwith justice. The battle-cry of the \"Mercury,\" urging precipitation\neven at the expense of defeat, for the sake of uniting the South, was\nlistened to without enthusiasm, except by the young and thoughtless.\n\n\"We shall never attack Fort Sumter,\" said one gentleman. \"Don't you see\nwhy? I have a son in the trenches, my next neighbor has one, everybody\nin the city has one. Well, we shan't let our boys fight; we can't bear\nto lose them. We don't want to risk our handsome, genteel, educated\nyoung fellows against a gang of Irishmen, Germans, British deserters,\nand New York roughs, not worth killing, and yet instructed to kill to\nthe best advantage. We can't endure it, and we shan't do it.\"\n\nThis repugnance to stake the lives of South Carolina patricians against\nthe lives of low-born, mercenaries was a feeling that I frequently heard\nexpressed. It was betting guineas against pennies, and on a limited\nstock of guineas.\n\nOther men, anti-secessionists even, assured me that war was inevitable,\nthat Fort Sumter would be attacked, that the volunteers were panting for\nthe strife, that Governor Pickens was excessively unpopular because of\nhis peaceful inclinations, and that he would soon be forced to give the\nsignal for battle. Once or twice I was seriously invited to stay a few\ndays longer, in order to witness the struggle and victory of South\nCarolina. However, it was clear that the enthusiasm and confidence of\nthe people were no longer what they had been. Several dull and costly\nweeks had passed since the passage of the secession ordinance.\nStump-speeches, torchlight-processions, fireworks, and other\njubilations, were among bygone things. The flags were falling to pieces,\nand the palmettos withering, unnoticed except by strangers. Men had\nbegun to realize that a hurrah is not sufficient to carry out a great\nrevolution successfully; that the work which they had undertaken was\nweightier, and the reward of it more distant, if not more doubtful, than\nthey had supposed. The political prophets had been forced, like the\nMillerites, to ask an extension for their predictions. The anticipated\nfleet of cotton-freighters had not arrived from Europe, and the expected\ntwelve millions of foreign gold had not refilled the collapsed banks.\nThe daily expenses were estimated at twenty thousand dollars; the\ntreasury was in rapid progress of depletion; and as yet no results. It\nis not wonderful, that, under these circumstances, the most enthusiastic\nsecessionists were not gay, and that the general physiognomy of the city\nwas sober, not to say troubled. It must not be understood, however,\nthat there was any visible discontent or even discouragement. \"We are\nsuffering in our affairs,\" said a business-man to me; \"but you will\nhear no grumbling.\" \"We expect to be poor, very poor, for two or three\nyears,\" observed a lady; \"but we are willing to bear it, for the sake of\nthe noble and prosperous end.\" \"Our people do not want concessions,\nand will never be tempted back into the Union,\" was the voice of every\nprivate person, as well as of the Legislature. \"I hope the Republicans\nwill offer no compromise,\" remarked one excellent person who has not\nfavored the revolution. \"They would be sure to see it rejected: that\nwould humiliate them and anger them; then there would be more danger of\nwar.\"\n\nHatred of Buchanan, mingled with contempt for him, I found almost\nuniversal. If any Northerner should ever get into trouble in South\nCarolina because of his supposed abolition tendencies, I advise him to\nbestow a liberal cursing on our Old Public Functionary, assuring him\nthat he will thereby not only escape tar and feathers, but acquire\npopularity. The Carolinians called the then President double-faced\nand treacherous, hardly allowing him the poor credit of being a\nwell-intentioned imbecile. Why should they not consider him false? Up to\nthe garrisoning of Fort Sumter he favored the project of secession full\nas decidedly as he afterwards crossed it. Did he think that he was\nlaying a train to blow the Republicans off their platform, and leave off\nhis labor in a fright, when he found that the powder-bags to be exploded\nhad been placed under the foundations of the Union? The man who could\nexplain Mr. Buchanan would have a better title than Daniel Webster to be\ncalled The Great Expounder.\n\nDuring the ten days of my sojourn, Charleston was full of surprising\nreports and painful expectations. If a door slammed, we stopped talking,\nand looked at each other; and if the sound was repeated, we went to\nthe window and listened for Fort Sumter. Every strange noise was\nmetamorphosed by the watchful ear into the roar of cannon or the rush of\nsoldiery. Women trembled at the salutes which were fired in honor of the\nsecession of other States, fearing lest the struggle had commenced and\nthe dearly-loved son or brother in volunteer uniform was already under\nthe storm of the columbiads. One day, a reinforcement was coming to\nAnderson, and the troops must attack him before it arrived; the next\nday, Florida had assaulted Fort Pickens, and South Carolina was bound\nto dash her bare bosom against Fort Sumter. The batteries were strong\nenough to make a breach; and then again, the best authorities had\ndeclared them not strong enough. A columbiad throwing a ball of one\nhundred and twenty pounds, sufficient to crack the strongest embrasures,\nwas on its way from some unknown region. An Armstrong gun capable of\ncarrying ten miles had arrived or was about to arrive. No one inquired\nwhether Governor Pickens had suspended the law of gravitation in South\nCarolina, in view of the fact that ordinarily an Armstrong gun will not\ncarry five miles,--nor whether, in such case, the guns of Fort Sumter\nmight not also be expected to double their range. Major Anderson was\na Southerner, who would surrender rather than shed the blood of\nfellow-Southerners. Major Anderson was an army-officer, incapable by his\nprofessional education of comprehending State rights, angry because he\nhad been charged with cowardice in withdrawing from Fort Moultrie, and\nresolved to defend himself to the death.\n\nIn the mean time, the city papers were strangely deficient in local news\nconcerning the revolution,--possibly from a fear of giving valuable\nmilitary information to the enemy at Washington. Uselessly did I study\nthem for particulars concerning the condition of the batteries, and\nthe number of guns and troops,--finding little in them but mention\nof parades, soldierly festivities, offers of service by enthusiastic\ncitizens, and other like small business. I thought of visiting the\nislands, but heard that strangers were closely watched there, and that\na permit from authority to enter the forts was difficult to obtain.\nFortune, or rather, misfortune, favored me in this matter.\n\nAfter passing six days in Charleston, hearing much that was\nextraordinary, but seeing little, I left in the steamer Columbia for New\nYork. The main opening to the harbor, or Ship Channel, as it is called,\nbeing choked with sunken vessels, and the Middle Channel little known,\nour only resource for exit was Maffitt's Channel, a narrow strip of deep\nwater closely skirting Sullivan's Island. It was half-past six in the\nmorning, slightly misty and very quiet Passing Fort Sumter, then Fort\nMoultrie, we rounded a low break-water, and attempted to take the\nchannel. I have heard a half-dozen reasons why we struck; but all I\nventure to affirm is that we did strike. There was a bump; we hoped it\nwas the last:--there was another; we hoped again:--there was a third; we\nstopped. The wheels rolled and surged, bringing the fine sand from\nthe bottom and changing the green waters to yellow; but the Columbia\nremained inert under the gray morning sky, close alongside of the brown,\ndamp beach of Sullivan's Island. There was only a faint breeze, and a\nmere ripple of a sea; but even those slight forces swung our stern far\nenough toward the land to complete our helplessness. We lay broadside to\nthe shore, in the centre of a small crescent or cove, and, consequently,\nunable to use our engines without forcing either bow or stern higher\nup on the sloping bottom. The Columbia tried to advance, tried to back\nwater, and then gave up the contest, standing upright on her flat\nflooring with no motion beyond an occasional faint bumping. The tugboat\nAid, half a mile ahead of us, cast off from the vessel which it was\ntaking out, and came to our assistance. Apparently it had been engaged\nduring the night in watching the harbor; for on deck stood a score of\nvolunteers in gray overcoats, while the naval-looking personage with\ngrizzled whiskers who seemed to command was the same Lieutenant Coste\nwho transferred the revenue-cutter Aiken from the service of the United\nStates to that of South Carolina. The Aid took hold of us, broke a large\nnew hawser after a brief struggle, and then went up to the city to\nreport our condition.\n\nThe morning was lowery, with driving showers running through it from\ntime to time, and an atmosphere penetratingly damp and cheerless. On the\nbeach two companies of volunteers were drilling in the rain, no doubt\ngetting an appetite for breakfast. Without uniforms, their trousers\ntucked into their boots, and here and there a white blanket fastened\nshawl-like over the shoulders, they looked, as one of our passengers\nobserved, like a party of returned Californians. Their line was uneven,\ntheir wheeling excessively loose, their evolutions of the simplest and\nyet awkwardly executed. Evidently they were newly embodied, and from the\ncountry; for the Charleston companies are spruce in appearance and well\ndrilled. Half a dozen of them, who had been on sentinel duty during the\nnight, discharged their guns in the air,--a daily process, rendered\nnecessary by the moist atmosphere of the harbor at this season; and\nthen, the exercise being over, there was a general scamper for the\nshelter of a neighboring cottage, low-roofed and surrounded by a veranda\nafter the fashion of Sullivan's Island. Within half an hour they\nreappeared in idle squads, and proceeded to kill the heavy time\nby staring at us as we stared at them. One individual, learned in\nsea-phrase, insulted our misfortune by bawling, \"Ship ahoy!\" A fellow\nin a red shirt, who looked more like a Bowery _bhoy_ than like a\nCarolinian, hailed the captain to know if he might come aboard;\nwhereupon he was surrounded by twenty others, who appeared to\nquestion him and confound him until he thought it best to disappear\nunostentatiously. I conjectured that he was a hero of Northern birth,\nwho had concluded to run away, if he could do it safely.\n\nWhen we tired of the volunteers, we looked at the harbor and its\ninanimate surroundings. A ship from Liverpool, a small steamer from\nSavannah, and a schooner or two of the coasting class passed by us\ntoward the city during the day, showing to what small proportions the\ncommerce of Charleston had suddenly shrunk. On shore there seemed to be\nno population aside from the volunteers, Sullivan's Island is a summer\nresort, much favored by Charlestonians in the hot season, because of its\ncoolness and healthfulness, but apparently almost uninhabited in winter,\nnotwithstanding that it boasts a village called Moultrieville. Its\nhundred cottages are mostly of one model, square, low-roofed, a single\nstory in height, and surrounded by a veranda, a portion of which is in\nsome instances inclosed by blinds so as to add to the amount of shelter.\nPaint has been sparingly used, when applied at all, and is seldom\nrenewed, when weather-stained. The favorite colors, at least those which\nmost strike the eye at a distance, are green and yellow. The yards are\napt to be full of sand-drifts, which are much prized by the possessors,\nwith whom it is an object to be secured from high tides and other\nmore permanent aggressions of the ocean. The whole island is but a\nverdureless sand-drift, of which the outlines are constantly changing\nunder the influence of winds and waters. Fort Moultrie, once close to\nthe shore, as I am told, is now a hundred yards from it; while, half\na mile off, the sea flows over the site of a row of cottages not long\nsince washed away. Behind Fort Moultrie, where the land rises to its\nhighest, appears a continuous foliage of the famous palmettos, a low\npalm, strange to the Northern eye, but not beautiful, unless to those\nwho love it for its associations. Compared with its brothers of the\nEast, it is short, contracted in outline, and deficient in waving grace.\n\nThe chill mist and drizzling rain frequently drove us under\ncover. \"While enjoying my cigar in the little smoking-room on the\npromenade-deck, I listened to the talk of four players of euchre, two of\nthem Georgians, one a Carolinian, and one a pro-slavery New-Yorker.\n\n\"I wish the Cap'n would invite old Greeley on board his boat in New\nYork,\" said the Gothamite, \"and then run him off to Charleston. I'd give\nten thousand dollars towards paying expenses; that is, if they could do\nwhat they was a mind to with him.\"\n\n\"I reckon a little more'n ten thousand dollars'd do it,\" grinned\nGeorgian First.\n\n\"They'd cut him up into little bits,\" pursued the New-Yorker.\n\n\"They'd worry him first like a cat does a mouse,\" added the Carolinian.\n\n\"I'd rather serve Beecher or--what's his name?--Cheever, that trick,\"\nobserved Georgian Second. \"It's the cussed parsons that's done all the\nmischief. Who played that bower? Yours, eh? My deal.\"\n\n\"I want to smash up some of these dam' Black Republicans,\" resumed the\nNew-Yorker. \"I want to see the North suffer some. I don't care, if New\nYork catches it. I own about forty thousand dollars' worth of property\nin ---- Street, and I want to see the grass growing all round it.\nBlasted, if I can get a hand any way!\"\n\n\"I say, we should be in a tight place, if the forts went to firing now,\"\nsuggested the Carolinian. \"Major Anderson would have a fair chance at\nus, if he wanted to do us any harm.\"\n\n\"Damn Major Anderson!\" answered the New-Yorker. \"I'd shoot him myself,\nif I had a chance. I've heard about Bob Anderson till I'm sick of it.\"\n\nOf this fashion of conversation you may hear any desired amount at the\nSouth, by going among the right sort of people. Let us take it for\ngranted, without making impertinent inquiry, that nothing of the kind\nis ever uttered in any other country, whether in pot-house or parlor.\nI suppose that such remarks seem very horrid to ladies and other\ngentle-minded folk, who perhaps never heard the like in their lives,\nand imagine, when they see the stuff on paper, that it is spoken with\nscowling brows, through set teeth, and out of a heart of red-hot\npassion. The truth is, that these ferocious phrases are generally\ndrawled forth in an _ex-officio_ tone, as if the speaker were rather\ntired of that sort of thing, meant nothing very particular by it, and\ntalked thus only as a matter of fashion. It will be observed that the\nmost violent of these politicians was a New-Yorker. I am inclined to\npronounce, also, that the two Georgians were by birth New-Englanders.\nThe Carolinian was the most moderate of the company, giving his\nattention chiefly to the game, and throwing out his one remark\nconcerning the worrying of Greeley with an air of simply civil assent\nto the general meaning of the conversation, as an exchange of\nanti-abolition sentiments. \"If you will play that card,\" he seemed to\nsay, \"I follow suit as a mere matter of course.\"\n\nThere was a second attempt to haul us off at sunset, and a third in the\nmorning, both unsuccessful. Each tide, though stormless, carried the\nColumbia a little higher up the beach; and the tugs, trying singly\nto move her, only broke their hawsers and wasted precious time.\nFortunately, the sea continued smooth, so that the ship escaped a\npounding. On Saturday, at eleven, twenty-eight hours after we struck,\nall hope of getting off without discharging cargo having been abandoned,\nwe passengers were landed on Sullivan's Island, to make our way back\nto Charleston. Our baggage was forwarded to the ferry in carts, and\nwe followed at leisure on foot. In company with Georgian First and a\ngentleman from Brooklyn, I strolled over the sand-rolls, damp and\nhard now with a week's rain, passed one or two of the tenantless\nsummer-houses, and halted beside the _glacis_ of Fort Moultrie. I do not\nwonder that Major Anderson did not consider his small force safe within\nthis fortification. It is overlooked by neighboring sand-hills and by\nthe houses of Moultrieville, which closely surround it on the land side,\nwhile its ditch is so narrow and its rampart so low that a ladder of\ntwenty-five feet in length would reach from the outside of the former to\nthe summit of the latter. A fire of sharp-shooters from the commanding\npoints, and two columns of attack, would have crushed the feeble\ngarrison. No military movement could be more natural than the retreat to\nFort Sumter. What puzzles one, especially on the spot, and what nobody\nin Charleston could explain to me, is the fact that this manoeuvre could\nbe executed unobserved by the people of Moultrieville, few as they are,\nand by the guard-boats which patrolled the harbor.\n\nOn the eastern side of the fort two or three dozen <DW64>s were engaged\nin filling canvas bags with sand, to be used in forming temporary\nembrasures. One lad of eighteen, a dark mulatto, presented the very\nremarkable peculiarity of chest-nut hair, only slightly curling. The\nothers were nearly all of the true field-hand type, aboriginal black,\nwith dull faces, short and thick forms, and an air of animal contentment\nor at least indifference. They talked little, but giggled a great deal,\nsnatching the canvas bags from each other, and otherwise showing their\ndisbelief in the doctrine of all work and no play. When the barrows were\nsufficiently filled to suit their weak ideal of a load, a procession of\nthem set off along a plank causeway leading into the fort, observing a\ndroll semblance of military precision and pomp, and forcing a passage\nthrough lounging unmilitary buckras with an air of, \"Out of de way, Ole\nDan Tucker!\" We glanced at the yet unfinished ditch, half full of water,\nand walked on to the gateway. A grinning, skipping <DW64> drummer was\nshowing a new pair of shoes to the tobacco-chewing, jovial youth who\nstood, or rather sat, sentinel.\n\n\"How'd you get hold of _them?_\" asked the latter, surveying the articles\nadmiringly.\n\n\"Got a special order frum the Cap'm fur 'um. That ee way to do it. Won't\nwet through, no matter how it rain. He, he! I'm all right now.\"\n\nHere he showed ivory to his ears, cut a caper, and danced into the fort.\n\n\"D-a-m' nig-ger!\" grinned the sentinel, approvingly, looking at us to\nsee if we also enjoyed the incident. Thus introduced to the temporary\nguardian of the fort, we told him that we were from the Columbia, which\nhe was glad to bear of, wanting to know if she was damaged, how she went\nashore, whether she could get off, etc., etc. He was a fair specimen of\nthe average country Southerner, lounging, open to address, and fond of\ntalk.\n\n\"I've no authority to let you in,\" he said, when we asked that favor;\n\"but I'll call the corporal of the guard.\"\n\n\"If you please.\"\n\n\"Corporal of the guard!\"\n\nAppeared the corporal, who civilly heard us, and went for the lieutenant\nof the guard. Presently a blonde young officer, with a pleasant face,\nsomewhat Irish in character, came out to us, raising his forefinger in\nmilitary salute.\n\n\"We should like to go into the fort, if it is proper,\" I said. \"We ask\nhospitality the more boldly, because we are shipwrecked people.\"\n\n\"It is against the regulations. However, I venture to take the\nresponsibility,\" was the obliging answer.\n\nWe passed in, and wandered unwatched for half an hour about the\nirregular, many-angled fortress. One-third of the interior is occupied\nby two brick barracks, covered with rusty stucco, and by other brick\nbuildings, as yet incomplete, which I took to be of the nature of\nmagazines. On the walls, gaping landward as well as seaward, are thirty\nor thirty-five iron cannon, all _en barbette_, but protected toward the\nharbor by heavy piles of sand-bags, fenced up either with barrels of\nsand or palmetto-logs driven firmly into the rampart. Four eight-inch\ncolumbiads, carrying sixty-four pound balls, pointed at Fort Sumter. Six\nother heavy pieces, Paixhans, I believe, faced the neck of the harbor.\nThe remaining armament of lighter calibre, running, I should judge, from\nforty-twos down to eighteens. Only one gun lay on the ground destitute\nof a carriage. The place will stand a great deal of battering; for the\nwalls are nearly bidden by the sand-covered _glacis_, which would catch\nand smother four point-blank shots out of five, if discharged from a\ndistance. Against shells, however, it has no resource; and one mortar\nwould make it a most unwholesome residence.\n\n\"What's this?\" asked a volunteer, in homespun gray uniform, who, like\nourselves, had come in by courtesy.\n\n\"That's the butt of the old flag-staff,\" answered a comrade. \"Cap'n\nFoster cut it down before he left the fort, damn him I It was a dam'\nsneaking trick. I've a great mind to shave off a sliver and send it to\nLincoln.\"\n\nThe idea of getting a bit of the famous staff as a memento struck\nme, and I attempted to put it in practice; but the exceedingly tough\npitch-pine defied my slender pocket-knife.\n\n\"Jim, cut the gentleman a piece,\" said one of the volunteers, Jim drew a\ntoothpick a foot long and did me the favor, for which I here repeat my\nthanks to him.\n\nThey were good-looking, healthy fellows, these two, like most of their\ncomrades, with a certain air of frank gentility and self-respect about\nthem, being probably the sons of well-to-do planters. It would be a\ngreat mistake to suppose that the volunteers are drawn, to any extent\nwhatever, from the \"poor white trash.\" The secession movement, like all\nthe political action of the State at all times, is independent of the\ncrackers, asks no aid nor advice of them, and, in short, ignores them\nutterly.\n\n\"I was here when the Star of the West was fired on,\" the Lieutenant told\nus. \"We only had powder for two hours. Anderson could have put us out in\na short time, if he had chosen.\"\n\n\"How rapidly can these heavy guns be fired?\"\n\n\"About ten times an hour.\"\n\n\"Do you think the defences will protect the garrison against a\nbombardment?\"\n\n\"I think the palmetto stockades will answer. I don't know about that\nenormous pile of barrels, however. If a shot hits the mass on the top, I\nam afraid it will come down, bags and barrels together, bury the gun and\nperhaps the gunners.\"\n\n\"What if Sumter should open now?\" I suggested.\n\n\"We should be here to help,\" answered the Georgian.\n\n\"We should be here to run away,\" amended my comrade from Brooklyn.\n\n\"Well, I suppose we should be of mighty little use, and might as well\nclear out,\" was the sober second-thought of the Georgian.\n\nHaving satisfied our curiosity, we thanked the Lieutenant and left Fort\nMoultrie. The story of our visit to it excited much surprise, when we\nrecounted it in the city. Members of the Legislature and other men high\nin influence had desired the privilege, but had not applied for it,\nexpecting a repulse.\n\nA walk down a winding street, bordered by scattered cottages, inclosed\nby brown board-fences or railings, and tracked by a horse-railroad built\nfor the Moultrie House, led us to the ferry-wharf, where we found our\nbaggage piled together, and our fellow-passengers wandering about in a\nstate of bored expectation. Sullivan's Island in winter is a good spot\nfor an economical man, inasmuch as it presents no visible opportunities\nof spending money. There were houses of refreshment, as we could see\nby their signs; but if they did business, it was with closed doors\nand barred shutters. After we had paid a newsboy five cents for the\n\"Mercury,\" and five more for the \"Courier,\" we were at the end of our\npossibilities in the way of extravagance. At half-past one arrived the\nferry-boat with a few passengers, mostly volunteers, and a deck-load of\nmilitary stores, among which I noticed Boston biscuit and several dozen\nnew knapsacks. Then, from the other side, came the \"dam' <DW65>,\" that\nis to say, the drummer of the new shoes, beating his sheepskin at the\nhead of about fifty men of the Washington Artillery, who were on their\nway back to town from Fort Moultrie. They were fine-looking young\nfellows, mostly above the middle size of Northerners, with spirited and\noften aristocratic faces, but somewhat more devil-may-care in expression\nthan we are accustomed to see in New England. They poured down the\ngangway, trailed arms, ascended the promenade-deck, ordered arms,\ngrounded arms, and broke line. The drill struck me as middling, which\nmay be owing to the fact that the company has lately increased to about\ntwo hundred members, thus diluting the old organization with a large\nnumber of new recruits. Military service at the South is a patrician\nexercise, much favored by men of \"good family,\" more especially at this\ntime, when it signifies real danger and glory.\n\nOur rajpoots having entered the boat, we of lower caste were permitted\nto follow. At two o'clock we were steaming over the yellow waters of the\nharbor. The volunteers, like everybody else in Charleston, discussed\nSecession and Fort Sumter, considering the former as an accomplished\nfact, and the latter as a fact of the kind called stubborn. They talked\nuniform, too, and equipments, and marksmanship, and drinks, and cigars,\nand other military matters. Now and then an awkwardly folded blanket was\ntaken from the shoulders which it disgraced, refolded, packed carefully\nin its covering of India-rubber, and strapped once more in its place,\ntwo or three generally assisting in the operation. Presently a firing at\nmarks from the upper deck commenced. The favorite target was a conical\nfloating buoy, showing red on the sunlit surface of the harbor, some\nfour hundred yards away. With a crack and a hoarse whiz the minie-balls\nflew towards it, splashing up the water where they first struck and then\ntaking two or three tremendous skips before they sank. A militiaman from\nNew York city, who was one of my fellow-passengers, told me that he\n\"never saw such good shooting.\" It seemed to me that every sixth ball\neither hit the buoy full, or touched water but a few yards this side of\nit, while not more than one in a dozen went wild.\n\n\"It is good for a thousand yards,\" said a volunteer, slapping his\nbright, new piece, proudly.\n\nA favorite subject of argument appeared to be whether Fort Sumter ought\nto be attacked immediately or not. A lieutenant standing near me talked\nlong and earnestly regarding this matter with a civilian friend,\nbreaking out at last in a loud tone,--\n\n\"Why, good Heaven, Jim! do you want that place to go peaceably into the\nhands of Lincoln?\"\n\n\"No, Fred, I do not. But I tell you, Fred, when that fort is attacked,\nit will be the bloodiest day,--the bloodiest day!--the bloodiest----!!\"\n\nAnd here, unable to express himself in words, Jim flung his arms wildly\nabout, ground his tobacco with excitement, spit on all sides, and walked\naway, shaking his head, I thought, in real grief of spirit.\n\nWe passed close to Fort Pinckney, our volunteers exchanging hurrahs with\nthe garrison. It is a round, two-storied, yellow little fortification,\nstanding at one end of a green marsh known as Shute's Folly Island.\nWhat it was put there for no one knows: it is too close to the city to\nprotect it; too much out of the harbor to command that. Perhaps it might\nkeep reinforcements for Anderson from coming down the Ashley, just as\nthe guns on the Battery were supposed to be intended to deter them from\ndescending the Cooper.\n\nOn the wharf of the ferry three drunken volunteers, the first that I had\nseen in that condition, brushed against me. The nearest one, a handsome\nyoung fellow of six feet two, half turned to stare back at me with a--\n\n\"How are ye, Cap'm? Gaw damn ye! Haw, haw, aw!\"--and reeled onward,\nbrimful of spirituous good-nature.\n\nFour days more had I in Charleston, waiting from tide to tide for a\nchance to sail to New York, and listening from hour to hour for the guns\nof Fort Sumter. Sunday was a day of excitement, a report spreading that\nthe Floridians had attacked Fort Pickens, and the Charlestonians feeling\nconsequently bound in honor to fight their own dragon. Groups of earnest\nmen talked all day and late into the evening under the portico and in\nthe basement-rooms of the hotel, besides gathering at the corners and\nstrolling about the Battery. \"We must act.\" \"We cannot delay.\" \"We ought\nnot to submit.\" Such were the phrases that fell upon the ear oftenest\nand loudest.\n\nAs I lounged, after tea, in the vestibule of the reading-room, an\neccentric citizen of Arkansas varied the entertainment. A short, thin\nman, of the cracker type, swarthy, long-bearded, and untidy, he was\ndressed in well-worn civilian costume, with the exception of an old\nblue coat showing dim remnants of military garniture. Heeling up to a\ngentleman who sat near me, he glared stupidly at him from beneath a\nbroad-brimmed hat, demanding a seat mutely, but with such eloquence of\noscillation that no words were necessary. The respectable person thus\naddressed, not anxious to receive the stranger into his lap, rose and\nwalked away, with that air of not, having seen anything so common to\ndisconcerted people who wish to conceal their disturbance. Into the\nvacant place dropped the stranger, stretching out his feet, throwing\nhis head back against the wall, and half closing his eyes with the\ndrunkard's own leer of self-sufficiency. During a few moments of\nagonizing suspense the world waited. Then from those whiskey-scorched\nand tobacco-stained lips came a long, shrill \"Yee-p!\"\n\nIt was his exordium; it demanded the attention of the company; and\nthough he had it not, he continued:--\n\n\"I'm an Arkansas man, _I_ am. I'm a big su-gar planter, _I_ am. All\nright! Go a'ead! I own fifty <DW65>s, _I_ do. Yee-p!\"\n\nHe lifted both feet and slammed them on the floor energetically, pausing\nfor a reply. He had addressed all men; no one responded, and he went\non:--\n\n\"I'm for straightout, immedit shession, _I_ am. I go for 'staining\ncoursh of Sou' Car'lina, _I_ do. I'm ready to fight for Sou' Car'lina.\nI'm a Na-po-le-on Bonaparte. All right! Go a'ead! Yee-p! Fellahs don't\nknow me here. I'm an Arkansas man, I am. Sou' Car'lina won't kill an\nArkansas man. I'm an immedit shessionist. Hurrah for Sou' Car'lina! All\nright! Yee-p!\"\n\nThere was a lingering, caressing accent on his \"_I_ am,\" which told how\ndear to him was his individuality, drunk or sober. He looked at no one;\nhis hat was drawn over his eyes; his hands were deep in his pockets;\nhis feet did all needful gesturing. I stepped in front of him to get\na fuller view of his face, and the action aroused his attention. He\nsurveyed my gray Inverness wrapper and gave me a chuckling nod of\napprobation.\n\n\"How are ye, Bub? I like that blanket, _I_ do.\"\n\nIn spite of this noble stranger's goodwill and prowess, we still found\nFort Sumter a knotty question. In a country which for eighty years has\nnot seen a shot fired in earnest, it is not wonderful that a good\ndeal of ignorance should exist concerning military matters, and\nthat second-class plans should be hatched for taking a first-class\nfortification. While I was in Charleston, the most popular proposition\nwas to bombard continuously for two whole days and nights, thereby\ndemoralizing the garrison by depriving it of sleep and causing it to\nsurrender at the first attempt to escalade. Another plan, not in general\nfavor, was to smoke Anderson out by means of a raft covered with burning\nmixtures of a chemical and bad-smelling nature. Still another, with\nperhaps yet fewer adherents, was to advance on all sides in such a vast\nnumber of row-boats that the fort could not sink them all, whereupon\nthe survivors should land on the wharf and proceed to take such further\nmeasures as might be deemed expedient. The volunteers from the country\nalways arrived full of faith and defiance. \"We want to get a squint at\nthat Fort Sumter,\" they would say to their city friends. \"We are going\nto take it. If we don't plant the palmetto on it, it's because there's\nno such tree as the palmetto.\" Down the harbor they would go in the\nferry-boats to Morris or Sullivan's Island. The spy-glass would be\nbrought out, and one after another would peer through it at the object\nof their enmity. Some could not sight it at all, confounded the\ninstrument, and fell back on their natural vision. Others, more lucky,\nor better versed in telescopic observations, got a view of the fortress,\nand perhaps burst out swearing at the evident massiveness of the walls\nand the size of the columbiads.\n\n\"Good Lord, what a gun!\" exclaimed one man. \"D'ye see that gun? What an\nalmighty thing! I'll be ----, if I ever put my head in front of it!\"\n\nThe difficulties of assault were admitted to be very great, considering\nthe bad footing, the height of the ramparts, and the abundant store of\nmuskets and grenades in the garrison. As to breaches, nobody seemed to\nknow whether they could be made or not. The besieging batteries were\nneither heavy nor near, nor could they be advanced as is usual in\nregular sieges, nor had they any advantage over the defence except in\nthe number of gunners, while in regard to position and calibre they were\ninferior. To knock down a wall nearly forty feet high and fourteen feet\nthick at a distance of more than half a mile seemed a tough undertaking,\neven when unresisted. It was discovered also that the side of the\nfortification towards Fort Johnstone, its only weak point, had been\nstrengthened so as to make it bomb-proof by means of interior masonry\nconstructed from the stones of the landing-place. Then nobody wanted to\nknock Fort Sumter down, inasmuch as that involved either the labor\nof building it up again, or the necessity of going without it as a\nharbor-defence. Finally, suppose it should be attacked and not taken?\nReally, we unlearned people in the art of war were vastly puzzled as we\nthought tins whole matter over, and we sometimes doubted whether our\nsuperiors were not almost equally bothered with ourselves.\n\nThis fighting was a sober, sad subject; and yet at times it took a turn\ntoward the ludicrous. A gentleman told me that he was present when the\nsteamer Marion was seized with the intention of using her in pursuing\nthe Star of the West. A vehement dispute arose as to the fitness of the\nvessel for military service.\n\n\"Fill her with men, and put two or three eighteen-pounders in her,\" said\nthe advocates of the measure.\n\n\"Where will you put your eighteen-pounders?\" demanded the opposition.\n\n\"On the promenade-deck, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Yes, and the moment you fire one, you'll see it go through the bottom\nof the ship, and then you'll have to go after it.\"\n\nDuring the two days previous to my second and successful attempt to quit\nCharleston, the city was in full expectation that the fort would shortly\nbe attacked. News had arrived that Federal troops were on their way with\nreinforcements. An armed steamer had been seen off the harbor, both by\nnight and day, making signals to Anderson. The Governor went down\nto Sullivan's Island to inspect the troops and Fort Moultrie. The\nvolunteers, aided by <DW64>s and even <DW64> women, worked all night on\nthe batteries. Notwithstanding we were close upon race-week, when the\ncity is usually crowded, the streets had a deserted air, and nearly\nevery acquaintance I met told me he had been down to the islands to\nsee the preparations. Yet the whole excitement, like others which had\npreceded, ended even short of smoke. News came that reinforcements had\nnot been sent to Anderson; and the destruction of that most inconvenient\nperson was once more postponed. People fell back on the old hope that\nthe Government would be brought to listen to reason,--that it would\ngive up to South Carolina what it could not keep from her with justice,\n--that it would grant, in short, the incontrovertible right of peaceable\nsecession. For, in the midst of all these labors and terrors, this\nexpense and annoyance, no one talked of returning into the Union, and\nall agreed in deprecating compromise.\n\nOnce more, this time in the James Adger, I set sail from Charleston. The\nboat lost one tide, and consequently one day, because at the last\nmoment the captain found himself obliged to take out a South Carolina\nclearance. As I passed down the harbor, I counted fourteen square-rigged\nvessels at the wharves, and one lying at anchor, while three others had\njust passed the bar, outward-bound, and two were approaching from the\nopen sea. Deterred from the Ship Channel by the sunken schooners, and\nfrom Maffitt's Channel by the fate of the Columbia, we tried the Middle\nChannel, and glided over the bar without accident.\n\n\"Sailing to Charleston is very much like going foreign,\" I said to a\nmiddle-aged sea-captain whom we numbered among our passengers. \"What\nwith heaving the lead, and doing without beacons, and lying off the\ncoast o' nights, it makes one think of trading to new countries.\"\n\nI had, it seems, unintentionally pulled the string which jerked him.\nSpringing up, he paced about excitedly for a few moments, and then broke\nout with his story.\n\n\"Yes,--I know it,--I know as much about it as anybody, I reckon. I lay\noff there nine days in a nor'easter and lost my anchors; and here I am\ngoing on to New York to buy some more; and all for those cursed Black\nRepublicans!\"\n\nIn South Carolina they see but one side of the shield,--which is quite\ndifferent, as we know, from the custom of the rest of mankind.\n\n\n\n\nREVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.\n\n\n1. _Descriptive Ethnology._ By R.G. LATHAM. 2 vols. London. 1859.\n\n2. _Anthropologie der Naturvoelker._ Von Dr. T. WAIZ. 2 Baender. Leipzig.\n1860.\n\nSome writers have the remarkable faculty of making the subject which\nthey may happen to treat forever more distasteful and wearisome to their\nreaders. Whether the cause be in the style, or the point of view, or\nthe method of treatment, or in all together, they seem able to force the\nstudent away in disgust from the whole field on which they labor, with\nvows never again to cross it.\n\nSuch an author, it seems to us, is pre-eminently R.G. Latham, in his\ntreatment of Ethnology. Happy the man who has any such philosophic\ninterest in Human Races, that he can ever care to hear again of the\nsubject, after perusing Mr. Latham's various volumes on \"Descriptive\nEthnology.\" We wonder that the whole English reading public; has not\nconsigned the science to the shelf of Encyclopedias of Useful Knowledge,\nor of Year-Books of Fact, or any other equally philosophic and connected\nworks, after the treatment which this modern master of Ethnology has\ngiven to the subject.\n\nSuch disconnected masses of facts are heaped together in these works,\nsuch incredible dulness is shown in presenting them, such careful\navoidance of any generalization or of any interesting particular, such\na bald and conceited style, and such a cockneyish and self-opinionated\nview of human history, as our soul wearies even to think of. Mr. Latham\ndisdains any link of philosophy, or any classification, among his \"ten\nthousand facts,\" as being a fault of the \"German School\" (whatever that\nmay be) of Ethnology. It seems to him soundly \"British\" to disbelieve\nall the best conclusions of modern scholarship, and to urge his own\nfanciful or shallow theories. He treats all human superstitions and\nmythologies as if he were standing in the Strand and judging them by the\nideas of modern London. His is a Cockney's view of antiquity. He cannot\nimagine that a barbarous and infant people, groping in the mysteries of\nthe moral universe, might entertain some earnest and poetic views which\nwere not precisely in the line of thought of the Londoners of the\nnineteenth century, and yet which might be worth investigating. To his\nmind, there is no grand march of humanity, slow, but certain, towards\nhigher ideals, through the various lines of race,--but rather\ninnumerable ripples on the surface of history, which come and pass away\nwithout connection and without purpose.\n\nThe reader wades slowly through his books, and leaves them with a\nfeeling of intense disgust. Such a vast gathering of facts merely to\nproduce this melancholy confusion of details! You feel that his eminence\nin the science must be from the circumstance that no one else is dull\nenough and patient enough to gather such a museum of facts in regard\nto human beings. The mind is utterly confused as to divisions of human\nraces, and is ready to conclude that there must be almost as many\nvarieties of man as there are tribes or dialects, and that Ethnology has\nnot yet reached the position of a science.\n\nThe reader must pardon the bitterness of our feelings; but we are just\nsmarting from a prolonged perusal of all Mr. Latham's works, especially\nthe two volumes whose title is given above; and that we may have\nsympathy, if only in a faint degree, from our friends, we quote a few\npassages, taken at random, though we cannot possibly thus convey an\nadequate conception of the infinite dulness of the work.\n\nThe following is his elegant introduction:--\n\n  \"I follow the Horatian rule, and plunge, at\n  once, _in medias res_. I am on the Indus, but\n  not on the Indian portion of it. I am on the\n  Himalayas, but not on their southern side. I\n  am on the northwestern ranges, with Tartary\n  on the north, Bokhara on the west, and Hindostan\n  on the south. I am in a neighborhood\n  where three great religions meet: Mahometanism,\n  Buddhism. Brahminism. I _must_ begin\n  somewhere; and here is my beginning.\"--\n  Vol. i. p. 1.\n\nThe following is his analysis of the beautiful Finnish Kalevala:--\n\n\"Wainamoinen is much of a smith, and more of a harper. Illmarinen is\nmost of a smith. Lemminkainen is much of a harper, and little of a\nsmith. The hand of the daughter of the mistress of Pohjola is what, each\nand all, the three sons of Kalevala strive to win,--a hand which the\nmother of the owner will give to any one who can make for her and\nfor Pohjola _Sampo_, Wainamoinen will not; but he knows of one who\nwill,--Illmarinen. Illmarinen makes it, and gains the mother's consent\nthereby. But the daughter requires another service. He must hunt down\nthe elk of Tunela. We now see the way in which the actions of the heroes\nare, at one and the same time, separate and connected. Wainamoinen\ntries; Illmarinen tries (and eventually wins); Lemminkainen tries. There\nare alternations of friendship and enmity. Sampo is made and presented.\nIt is then wanted back again.\n\n\"'Give us,' says Wainamoinen, 'if not the whole, half.'\n\n\"'Sampo,' says Louki, the mistress of Pohjola,' cannot be divided.'\n\n\"'Then let us steal it,' says one of the three.\n\n\"'Agreed,' say the other two.\n\n\"So the rape of Sampo takes place. It is taken from Pohjola, whilst the\nowners are sung to sleep by the harp of Lemminkainen; sung to sleep,\nbut not for so long a time as to allow the robbers to escape. They are\nsailing Kalevalaward, when Louki comes after them on the wings of the\nwind, and raises a storm. Sampo is broken, and thrown into the sea. Bad\ndays now come. There is no sun, no moon. Illmarinen makes them of silver\nand gold. He had previously made his second wife (for he lost his first)\nout of the same metals. However, Sampo is washed up, and made whole.\nGood days come. The sun and moon shine as before, and the sons of\nKalevala possess Sampo.\"--Vol. i., pp. 433, 434.\n\nThis, again, is Mr. Latham's profound and interesting view of\n_Buddhism:--_\n\n\"Buddhism is one thing. Practices out of which Buddhism may be developed\nare another. It has been already suggested that the ideas conveyed by\nthe terms _Sramanoe_ and _Gymnosophistoe_ are just as Brahminic as\nBuddhist, and, _vice versa_, just as Buddhist as Brahminic.\n\n\"The earliest dates of specific Buddhism are of the same age as the\nearliest dates of specific Brahminism.\n\n\"Clemens of Alexandria mentions Buddhist pyramids, the Buddhist habit of\ndepositing certain bones in them, the Buddhist practice of foretelling\nevents, the Buddhist practice of continence, the Buddhist Semnai or holy\nvirgins. This, however, may he but so much asceticism. He mentions this\nand more. He supplies the name Bouta; Bouta being honored as a god.\n\n\"From Cyril of Jerusalem we learn that Samnaism was, more or less,\nManichaean,--Manichaeanism being, more or less, Samanist. Terebinthus,\nthe preceptor of Manes, took the name Baudas. In Epiphanius, Terebinthus\nis the pupil of Scythianus.\n\n\"Suidas makes Terebinthus a pupil of Baudda, who pretended to be the\nson of a virgin. And here we may stop to remark, that the Mongol\nTshingiz-Khan is said to be virgin-born; that, word for word, Scythianus\nis Sak; that Sakya Muni (compare it with Manes) is a name of Buddha.\n\n\"Be this as it may, there was, before A.D. 300,--\n\n  \"1. Action and reaction between Buddhism\n  and Christianity.\n\n  \"2. Buddhist buildings.\n\n  \"3. The same cultus in both Bactria and\n  India.\n\n  \"Whether this constitute Buddhism is another\n  question.\"--Vol. ii. p. 317.\n\nAnd more of an equally attractive and comprehensible character.\n\nWe assure the reader that these extracts are but feeble exponents of the\npeculiar power of Mr. Latham's works,--a power of unmitigated dulness.\nWhat his views are on the great questions of the science--the origin\nof races, the migrations, the crossings of varieties, and the like--no\nmortal can remember, who has penetrated the labyrinth of his researches.\n\nAn author of a very different kind is Professor Waiz, whose work on\nAnthropology has just reached this country: a writer as philosophic as\nMr. Latham is disconnected; as pleasing and natural in style as the\nother is affected; as simply open to the true and good in all customs or\nsuperstitions of barbarous peoples as the Englishman is contemptuous of\neverything not modern and European. Waiz seems to us the most careful\nand truly scientific author in the field of Ethnology whom we have\nhad since Prichard, and with the wider scope which belongs to the\nintellectual German.\n\nThe bane of this science, as every one knows, has been its theorizing,\nand its want of careful inductive reasoning from facts. The\nclassifications in it have been endless, varying almost with the fancies\nof each new student; while every prominent follower of it has had some\npet hypothesis, to which he desired to suit his facts. Whether the\n_a priori_ theory were of modern miraculous origin or of gradual\ndevelopment, of unity or of diversity of parentage, of permanent and\nabsolute divisions of races or of a community of blood, it has equally\nforced the author to twist his facts.\n\nPerhaps the basest of all uses to which theory has been put in this\nscience was in a well-known American work, where facts and fancies in\nEthnology were industriously woven together to form another withe about\nthe limbs of the wretched African slave.\n\nWaiz has reasoned slowly and carefully from facts, considering in\nhis view all possible hypotheses,--even, for instance, the\ndevelopment-theory of Darwin,--and has formed his own conclusion on\nscientific data, or has wisely avowed that no conclusion is possible.\n\nThe classification to which he is forced is that which all profound\ninvestigators are approaching,--that of language interpreted by history.\nHe is compelled to believe that no physiological evidences of race can\nbe considered as at all equal to the evidences from language. At the\nsame time, he is ready to admit that even this classification is\nimperfect, as from the nature of the case it must be; for the source of\nthe confusion lies in the very unity of mankind. He rejects _in toto_\nProfessor Agassiz's \"realm-theory,\" as inconsistent with facts. The\nhybrid-question, as put by Messrs. Gliddon and Nott, meets with a\nsearching and careful investigation, with the conclusion that nothing\nin facts yet ascertained proves any want of vitality or power of\npropagation in mulattoes or in crosses of any human races.\n\nThe unity of origin and the vast antiquity of mankind are the two\nimportant conclusions drawn.\n\nHis second volume is entirely devoted to the <DW64> races, and is the\nmost valuable treatise yet written on that topic.\n\nThe whole work is mainly directed towards _Naturvoelker_, or \"Peoples in\na State of Nature,\" and therefore cannot be recommended for translation,\nas a general text-book on the science of Ethnology,--a book which is\nnow exceedingly needed in all our higher schools and colleges; but as\na general treatise, with many new and important facts, scientifically\ntreated, it can be most highly commended to the general scholar.\n\n\n_Il Politecnico. Repertorio Mensile di Studi applicati alia Prosperita e\nColtura Sociale._ Milano, 1860. New York: Charles B. Norton, Agent for\nLibraries, 596, Broadway.\n\nAmong the best first-fruits of Italian liberty are the free publication\nand circulation of books; and it is a striking indication of the new\norder of things in Lombardy, that the publishers at Milan of the monthly\njournal, \"Il Politecnico,\" should at once have established an American\nagency in New York, and that in successive numbers of their periodical\nduring the present year they should have furnished lists of some of the\nprincipal American publications which they are prepared to obtain for\nItalian readers. It will be a fortunate circumstance for the people of\nboth countries, should a ready means be established for the interchange\nof their contemporaneous works in literature and science.\n\nThe \"Politecnico\" is not altogether a new journal. Seven volumes of it\nbad been published, and had acquired for it a high reputation and a\nconsiderable circulation, when political events put a stop to its\nissue. The Austrian system of government after 1849 repressed alt free\nexpression of thought in Lombardy; and no encouragement was afforded for\nthe publication of any work not under the control of the administration.\nWith the beginning of the present year the \"Politecnico\" was\nreestablished, mainly through the influence and under the direction of\nDr. Carlo Cattaneo, who had been the chief promoter of the preceding\noriginal series. The numbers of the new series give evidence of talent\nand independence in its conductors and contributors, and contain\narticles of intrinsic value, beside that which they possess as\nindications of the present intellectual condition and tendencies of\nItaly. The journal is wholly devoted to serious studies, its object\nbeing the cultivation of the moral and physical sciences with the arts\ndepending on them, and their practical application to promote the\nnational prosperity. That it will carry out its design with ability is\nguarantied by the character of Cattaneo.\n\nCarlo Cattaneo is a man of unquestioned power of intellect, of strong\ncharacter, and resolute energy. Already distinguished, not only as a\npolitical economist, but as a forcible reasoner in applied politics, he\ntook a leading part in the struggle of 1848 in Milan, and, inspired by\nill-will towards Charles Albert and the Piedmontese, was one of the\npromoters of the disastrous Lombard policy which defeated the hopes of\nthe opponents of Austria at that day. Though an Italian liberal, and\nunquestionably honest in his patriotic intentions, he was virtually an\nally of Radetzky. When the Austrians retook Milan, he was compelled to\nfly, and took refuge in Lugano, where he compiled three large volumes\non the affairs of Italy, from the accession of Pius IX. to the fall of\nVenice, in which he exhibited his political views, endeavoring to show\nthat the misfortunes of Lombardy were due to the ambitious and false\npolicy of the unhappy Charles Albert. His distrust of the Piedmontese\nhas not diminished with the recent changes in the affairs of Italy; and\nalthough Lombardy is now united to Piedmont, and the hope of freedom\nseems to lie in a hearty and generous union of men of all parties in\nsupport of the new government, Cattaneo, when in March last he was\nelected a member of the National Parliament, refused to take his seat,\nthat he might not be obliged to swear allegiance to the King and the\nConstitution. His political desire seems to be to see Italy not brought\nunder one rule, but composed of a union of states, each preserving\nits special autonomy. He is a federalist, and does not share in the\nunitarian view which prevails with almost all the other prominent\nItalian statesmen, and which at this moment appears to be the only\nsystem that can create a strong, united, independent Italy. It was to\nhim, perhaps, more than to any other single man, that the difficulties\nwhich lately arose in the settling of the mode of annexation of Sicily\nand Naples to the Sardinian kingdom were due; and the small party in\nParliament which recently refused to join in the vote of confidence in\nthe ministry of Cavour was led by Ferrari, the disciple of the Milanese\nDoctor.\n\nBut however impracticable Cattaneo may be, and however mistaken and\nextravagant his political views, he is a man of such vigor of mind, that\na journal conducted by him becomes, from the fact of his connection with\nit, one of the important organs of Italian thought. We trust that the\n\"Politecnico\" will find subscribers among those in our country who\ndesire to keep up their knowledge of Italian affairs at a time of such\nextraordinary interest as the present.\n\n\n_Elsie Venner_. A Romance of Destiny. By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 2 vols.\nBoston: Ticknor & Fields. 1861.\n\nEnglish literature numbers among its more or less distinguished authors\na goodly number of physicians. Sir Thomas Browne was, perhaps, the\nlast of the great writers of English prose whose mind and style were\nimpregnated with imagination. He wrote poetry without meaning it, as\nmany of his brother doctors have meant to write poetry without doing it,\nin the classic style of\n\n  \"Inoculation, heavenly maid, descend!\"\n\nGarth's \"Dispensary\" was long ago as fairly buried as any of his\npatients; and Armstrong's \"Health\" enjoys the dreary immortality of\nbeing preserved in the collections, like one of those queer things they\nshow you in a glass jar at the anatomical museums. Arbuthnot, a truly\ngenial humorist, has hardly had justice done him. People laugh over his\nfun in the \"Memoirs of Scriblerus,\" and are commonly satisfied to think\nit Pope's. Smollett insured his literary life in \"Humphrey Clinker\";\nand we suppose his Continuation of Hume is still one of the pills which\ningenuous youth is expected to gulp before it is strong enough to\nresist. Goldsmith's fame has steadily gained; and so has that of Keats,\nwhom we may also fairly reckon in our list, though he remained harmless,\nhaving never taken a degree. On the whole, the proportion of doctors who\nhave positively succeeded in our literature is a large one, and we\nhave now another very marked and beautiful case in Dr. Holmes. Since\nArbuthnot, the profession has produced no such wit; since Goldsmith, no\nauthor so successful.\n\nFive years ago it would have been only Dr. Holmes's intimate friends\nthat would have considered the remarkable success he has achieved not\nonly possible, but probable. They knew, that, if the fitting opportunity\nshould only come, he would soon show how much stuff he had in\nhim,--sterner stuff, too, than the world had supposed,--stuff not\nmerely to show off the iris of a brilliant reputation, but to block out\ninto the foundations of an enduring fame. It seems an odd thing to say\nthat Dr. Holmes had suffered by having given proof of too much wit; but\nit is undoubtedly true. People in general have a great respect for those\nwho scare them or make them cry, but are apt to weigh lightly one who\namuses them. They like to be tickled, but they would hardly take the\nadvice of their tickler on any question they thought serious. We have\nour doubts whether the majority of those who make up what is called \"the\nworld\" are fond of wit. It rather puts them out, as Nature did Fuseli:\nThey look on its crinkling play as men do at lightning; and while they\ngrant it is very fine, are teased with an uncomfortable wonder as to\nwhere it is going to strike next. They would rather, on the whole,\nit were farther off. They like well-established jokes, the fine old\nsmoked-herring sort, such as the clown offers them in the circus,\nwarranted never to spoil, if only kept dry enough. Your fresh wit\ndemands a little thought, perhaps, or at least a kind of negative wit,\nin the recipient. It is an active, meddlesome--quality, forever putting\nthings in unexpected and somewhat startling relations to each other;\nand such new relations are as unwelcome to the ordinary mind as poor\nrelations to a _nouveau riche_. Who wants to be all the time painfully\nconceiving of the antipodes walking like flies on the ceiling? Yet wit\nis related to some of the profoundest qualities of the intellect. It is\nthe reasoning faculty acting _per saltum_, the sense of analogy brought\nto a focus; it is generalization in a flash, logic by the electric\ntelegraph, the sense of likeness in unlikeness, that lies at the root\nof all discoveries; it is the prose imagination, common-sense at fourth\nproof. All this is no reason why the world should like it, however; and\nwe fancy that the Question, _Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?_ was\nplaintively put in the primitive tongue by one of the world's gray\nfathers to another without producing the slightest conviction. Of\ncourse, there must be some reason for this suspicion of wit, as there\nis for most of the world's deep-rooted prejudices. There is a kind of\nsurface-wit that is commonly the sign of a light and shallow nature.\nIt becomes habitual _persiflage_, incapable of taking a deliberate and\nserious view of anything, or of conceiving the solemnities that environ\nlife. This has made men distrustful of all laughers; and they are apt to\nconfound in one sweeping condemnation with this that humor whose base\nis seriousness, and which is generally the rebound of the mind from\nover-sad contemplation. They do not see that the same qualities that\nmake Shakspeare the greatest of tragic poets make him also the deepest\nof humorists.\n\nDr. Holmes was already an author of more than a quarter of a century's\nstanding, and was looked on by most people as an _amusing_ writer\nmerely. He protested playfully and pointedly against this, once or\ntwice; but, as he could not help being witty, whether he would or no,\nhis audience laughed and took the protest as part of the joke. He felt\nthat he was worth a great deal more than he was vulgarly rated at, and\nperhaps chafed a little; but his opportunity had not come. With the\nfirst number of the \"Atlantic\" it came at last, and wonderfully he\nprofited by it. The public were first delighted, and then astonished. So\nmuch wit, wisdom, pathos, and universal Catharine-wheeling of fun and\nfancy was unexampled. \"Why, good gracious,\" cried Madam Grundy, \"we've\ngot a _genius_ among us fit last! I always knew what it would come to!\"\n\"Got a fiddlestick!\" says Mr. G.; \"it's only rockets.\" And there was no\nlittle watching and waiting for the sticks to come down. We are afraid\nthat many a respectable skeptic has a crick in his neck by this time;\nfor we are of opinion that these are a new kind of rocket, that go\nwithout sticks, and _stay up_ against all laws of gravity.\n\nWe expected a great deal from Dr. Holmes; we thought he had in him the\nmakings of the best magazinist in the country; but we honestly confess\nwe were astonished. We remembered the proverb, \"'Tis the pace that\nkills,\" and could scarce believe that such a two-forty gait could be\nkept up through a twelvemonth. Such wind and bottom were unprecedented.\nBut this was Eclipse himself; and he came in as fresh as a May morning,\nready at a month's end for another year's run. And it was not merely\nthe perennial vivacity, the fun shading down to seriousness, and the\nseriousness up to fun, in perpetual and charming vicissitude;--here was\nthe man of culture, of scientific training, the man who had thought as\nwell as felt, and who had fixed purposes and sacred convictions. No, the\nEclipse-comparison is too trifling. This was a stout ship under press\nof canvas; and however the phosphorescent star-foam of wit and fancy,\ncrowding up under her bows or gliding away in subdued flashes of\nsentiment in her wake, may draw the eye, yet she has an errand of duty;\nshe carries a precious freight, she steers by the stars, and all her\nseemingly wanton zigzags bring her nearer to port.\n\nWhen children have made up their minds to like some friend of the\nfamily, they commonly besiege him for a story. The same demand is made\nby the public of authors, and accordingly it was made of Dr. Holmes. The\nodds were heavy against him; but here again he triumphed. Like a good\nBostonian, he took for his heroine a _schoolma'am_, the Puritan Pallas\nAthene of the American Athens, and made her so lovely that everybody was\nlooking about for a schoolmistress to despair after. Generally, the best\nwork in imaginative literature is done before forty; but Dr. Holmes\nshould seem not to have found out what a Mariposa grant Nature had made\nhim till after fifty.\n\nThere is no need of our analyzing \"Elsie Venner,\" for all our readers\nknow it as well as we do. But we cannot help saying that Dr. Holmes has\nstruck a new vein of New-England romance. The story is really a romance,\nand the character of the heroine has in it an element of mystery; yet\nthe materials are gathered from every-day New-England life, and that\nweird borderland between science and speculation where psychology and\nphysiology exercise mixed jurisdiction, and which rims New England as\nit does all other lands. The character of Elsie is exceptional, but not\npurely ideal, like Cristabel and Lamia. In Doctor Kittredge and his\n\"hired man,\" and in the Principal of the \"Apollinean Institoot,\" Dr.\nHolmes has shown his ability to draw those typical characters that\nrepresent the higher and lower grades of average human nature; and in\ncalling his work a Romance he quietly justifies himself for mingling\nother elements in the composition of Elsie and her cousin. Apart from\nthe merit of the book as a story, it is full of wit, and of sound\nthought sometimes hiding behind a mask of humor. Admirably conceived are\nthe two clergymen, gradually changing sides almost without knowing it,\nand having that persuasion of consistency which men always feel, because\nthey must always bring their creed into some sort of agreement with\ntheir dispositions.\n\nThere is something melancholy in the fact, that, the moment Dr. Holmes\nshowed that he felt a deep interest in the great questions which concern\nthis world and the next, and proved not only that he believed in\nsomething, but thought his belief worth standing up for, the cry of\n_Infidel_ should have been raised against him by people who believe in\nnothing but an authorized version of Truth, they themselves being the\ncensors. For our own part, we do not like the smell of Smithfield,\nwhether it be Catholic or Protestant that is burning there; though,\nfortunately, one can afford to smile at the Inquisition, so long as its\nActs of Faith are confined to the corners of sectarian newspapers.\nBut Dr. Holmes can well afford to possess his soul in patience. The\nUnitarian John Milton has won and kept quite a respectable place in\nliterature, though he was once forced to say, bitterly, that \"new\nPresbyter was only old Priest writ large.\" One can say nowadays, _E pur\nsi muove_, with more comfort than Galileo could; the world does move\nforward, and we see no great chance for any ingenious fellow-citizen to\nmake his fortune by a \"Yankee Heretic-Baker,\" as there might have been\ntwo centuries ago.\n\nDr. Holmes has proved his title to be a wit in the earlier and higher\nsense of the word, when it meant a man of genius, a player upon thoughts\nrather than words. The variety, freshness, and strength which he has\nlent to our pages during the last three years seem to demand of us that\nwe should add our expression of admiration to that which his countrymen\nhave been so eager and unanimous in rendering.\n\n\n\n\nRECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS\n\nRECEIVED BY THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.\n\n\nHistory of the United Netherlands: from the Death of William the Silent\nto the Synod of Dort. With a Full View of the English-Dutch Struggle\nagainst Spain, and of the Origin and Destruction of the Spanish Armada.\nBy John Lothrop Motley, LL.D. New York. Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 8vo.\npp. 532, 563. $4.00.\n\nHistory of Latin Christianity, including that of the Popes to the\nPontificate of Nicolas V. By Henry Hart Milman. Vol. V. New York.\nSheldon & Co. 16mo. pp. 530. $1.50.\n\nChambers's Encyclopaedia: A Dictionary of Universal Knowledge for the\nPeople. Parts XXIII. and XXIV. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 8vo. paper,\npp. 63. 15 cts.\n\nThe Historical Magazine, and Notes and Queries concerning the\nAntiquities, History, and Biography of America. For February, 1860. New\nYork. Charles B. Richardson & Co. 4to. paper, pp. 31. 17 cts.\n\nNotes on Screw-Propulsion; Its Rise and Progress. By W.M. Walker. New\nYork. D. Van Nostrand. 8vo. pp. 51. 75 cts.\n\nThe Great Preparation; or Redemption Draweth Nigh. By Rev. John Cumming,\nD.D. Second Series. New York. Rudd & Carleton. 12mo. pp. 323. $1.00.\n\nA Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language, for the Use of Schools.\nBy Simon Keil, A.M. Now York. Phinney, Blakeman, & Mason. 12mo. pp. 354.\n75 cts.\n\nFast-Day Sermons; or the Pulpit on the State of the Country. New York.\nRudd & Carleton. 12mo. pp. 336. $I 00.\n\nBible View of Slavery. A Discourse by the Rev. M.J. Raphael, Rabbi\nPreacher. New York. Rudd & Carleton. 16mo. paper, pp. 41. 15 cts.\n\nPrayer for Rulers; or Duty of Christian Patriots. A Discourse by Rev.\nWilliam Adams, D.D. New York. Rudd & Carleton. 18mo. paper, pp. 41. 15\ncts.\n\nA Popular Treatise on Steam, and its Application to the Useful Arts,\nespecially to Navigation; intended as an Instructor for Young Seamen,\nMechanics' Apprentices, etc. By J.H. Ward. New York. D. Van Nostrand.\n8vo. pp. 120. $1.00.\n\nThe Children's Bible Picture-Book. Illustrated. New York. Harper &\nBrothers. 16mo. pp. 320. 75 cts.\n\nMercedes of Castile; or, The Voyage to Cathay, by J. Fenimore Cooper.\nIllustrated by Drawings by F.O.C. Darley. New York. W.A. Townsend & Co.\n12mo. pp. 530. $1.50.\n\nAbridgment of the Debates of Congress, from 1789 to 1856. By the Author\nof the \"Thirty Years' View.\" Vol. XV. New York. D. Appleton & Co. 8vo.\npp. 676. $2.50.\n\nFlirtation, and What Comes of It. A Comedy, in Five Acts. By Frank B.\nGoodrich. New York. Rudd & Carleton. 18mo. paper, pp. 92. 25 cts.\n\nPampinea, and other Poems. By Thomas Bailey Aldrich. New York. Rudd &\nCarleton. 12mo. pp. 73. 75 cts.\n\nThe Wits and Beaux of Society. By Grace and Philip Wharton. Illustrated.\nNew York. Harper & Brothers. 12mo. pp. 480. $1.50.\n\nOliver Goldsmith: A Biography. By Washington Irving. Illustrated. New\nYork. George P. Putnam. 12mo. pp. 382. $1.50.\n\nA Text-Book of the History of Doctrines. By Dr. K.R. Hagenbach. Vol. I.\nNew York. Sheldon & Co. 12mo. pp. 478. $2.50.\n\nOn the Fluctuations of Level in the North American Lakes. By Charles\nWhittlesey. Washington. Published by the Smithsonian Institution. New\nYork. D. Appleton & Co. 4to. pp. 26. 25 Cts.\n\nEuripides ex Recensione Frederici A. Paley. Accessit Verborum et Nominum\nIndex. Vols. II. and III. New York. Harper & Brothers. 24mo. pp. 290,\n295. 40 cts.\n\n\n\n***"
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "The Making of Arguments by J. H. Gardiner",
        "publication_date": 1912,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/13089",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Afra Ullah and PG Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF ARGUMENTS\n\n\n\n\nJ.H. GARDINER\n\nFORMERLY ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY\n\n\n\n1912\n\n\n\nTO MY FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES ON THE STAFF OF ENGLISH A\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe object of this book is to lay out a course in the writing of\narguments which shall be simple enough for classes which give only a\npart of the year to the work, and yet comprehensive enough for special\nclasses in the subject. It is especially aimed at the interests and\nneeds of the student body as a whole, however, rather than at those of\nstudents who are doing advanced work in argumentation. Though few men\nhave either the capacity or the need to become highly trained\nspecialists in the making of arguments, all men need some knowledge of\nthe art. Experience at Harvard has shown that pretty much the entire\nfreshman class will work with enthusiasm on a single argument; and they\nget from this work a training in exact thought and a discipline that\nthey get from no other kind of writing.\n\nAccordingly I have laid out this book in order to start students as soon\nas possible on the same kind of arguments that they are likely to make\nin practical life. I have striven throughout to keep in mind the\ninterests and needs of these average individuals, who in the aggregate\nwill tread such a variety of paths in their passage through the world.\nNot many of them will get to Congress, there to make great orations on\nthe settlement of the tariff, and the large majority of them will not go\ninto the law; and even of the lawyers many will have little concern with\nthe elaborate piecing together of circumstantial evidence into the basis\nfor a verdict. But all of them will sooner or later need the power of\ncoming to close quarters with more or less complicated questions, in\nwhich they must bring over to their views men of varying prepossessions\nand practical interests; and all of them all their lives will need the\npower of seeing through to the heart of such questions, and of grasping\nwhat is essential, though it be separated by a hair's breadth from the\ninessential that must be cast to one side. It is for this training of\nthe powers of thought that a course in the making of arguments is\nprofitable, even when pursued for so short a time as can be given to it\nin most schools and colleges.\n\nIn laying out the book I have had these three purposes in mind: first,\nthat the student shall without waste of time be set to exploring his\nsubject and running down the exact issues on which his question will\ntarn; second, that as he collects his material he shall be led on to\nconsider what part of it is good evidence for his purpose, and how to\ntest his reasoning from the facts; third, that with his material\ngathered and culled and his plan settled he shall turn his attention to\npresenting it in the most effective way possible for the particular\noccasion.\n\nThroughout I have tried to lay stress on the making of arguments, not as\nan end in themselves, and to fit certain more or loss arbitrary\nformulas, but as the practical kind of appeal that every young man is\nalready making to his fellows on matters that interest him, and that he\nwill make more and more in earnest as he gets out into the world. The\ntendency of some of the books to treat argumentation, especially in the\nform of debating, as a new variety of sport, with rules as elaborate and\ntechnical as those of football, turns away from the subject a good many\nyoung men to whom the training in itself would be highly valuable. The\nfuture of the subject will be closely dependent on the success of\nteachers in keeping it flexible and in intimate touch with real affairs.\nI have made some suggestions looking towards this end in Appendix II.\n\nMy obligations to earlier workers in the field will be obvious to all\nwho know the subject. In especial, I, like all other writers on the\nsubject, have built on foundations laid by Professor George Pierce\nBaker, of Harvard University.\n\nFor permission to use the articles from _The Outlook_ I am indebted to\nthe courtesy of the editors of that journal; for the article on \"The\nTransmission of Yellow Fever by Mosquitoes,\" to the kindness of General\nSternberg, and of the editor of _The Popular Science Monthly_.\n\nJ.H. GARDINER\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF ARGUMENTS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nWHAT WE ARGUE ABOUT, AND WHY\n\n1. What Argument is. When we argue we write or speak with an active\npurpose of making other people take our view of a case; that is the only\nessential difference between argument and other modes of writing.\nBetween exposition and argument there is no certain line. In Professor\nLamont's excellent little book, \"Specimens of Exposition,\" there are two\nexamples which might be used in this book as examples of argument; in\none of them, Huxley's essay on \"The Physical Basis of Life,\" Huxley\nhimself toward the end uses the words, \"as I have endeavored to prove to\nyou\"; and Matthew Arnold's essay on \"Wordsworth\" is an elaborate effort\nto prove that Wordsworth is the greatest English poet after Shakespeare\nand Milton. Or, to take quite different examples, in any question of law\nwhere judges of the court disagree, as in the Income Tax Case, or in the\nInsular cases which decided the status of Porto Rico and the\nPhilippines, both the majority opinion and the dissenting opinions of\nthe judges are argumentative in form; though the majority opinion, at\nany rate, is in theory an exposition of the law. The real difference\nbetween argument and exposition lies in the difference of attitude\ntoward the subject in hand: when we are explaining we tacitly assume\nthat there is only one view to be taken of the subject; when we argue we\nrecognize that other people look on it differently. And the differences\nin form are only those which are necessary to throw the critical points\nof an argument into high relief and to warm the feelings of the readers.\n\n2. Conviction and Persuasion. This active purpose of making other\npeople take your view of the case in hand, then, is the distinguishing\nessence of argument. To accomplish this purpose you have two tools or\nweapons, or perhaps one should say two sides to the same weapon,\n_conviction_ and _persuasion_. In an argument you aim in the first place\nto make clear to your audience that your view of the case is the truer\nor sounder, or your proposal the more expedient; and in most arguments\nyou aim also so to touch the practical or moral feelings of your readers\nas to make them more or less warm partisans of your view. If you are\ntrying to make some one see that the shape of the hills in New England\nis due to glacial action, you never think of his feelings; here any\nattempt at persuading him, as distinguished from convincing him, would\nbe an impertinence. On the other hand, it would be a waste of breath to\nconvince a man that the rascals ought to be turned out, if he will not\non election day take the trouble to go out and vote; unless you have\neffectively stirred his feelings as well as convinced his reason you\nhave gained nothing. In the latter case your argument would be almost\nwholly persuasive, in the former almost wholly a matter of convincing.\n\nThese two sides of argument correspond to two great faculties of the\nhuman mind, thought and feeling, and to the two ways in which, under\nthe guidance of thought and feeling, mankind reacts to experience. As we\npass through life our actions and our interest in the people and things\nwe meet are fixed in the first place by the spontaneous movements of\nfeeling, and in the second place, and constantly more so as we grow\nolder, by our reasoning powers. Even the most intentionally dry of\nphilosophers has his prejudices, perhaps against competitive sports or\nagainst efficiency as a chief test of good citizenship; and after\nchildhood the most wayward of artists has some general principles to\nguide him along his primrose path. The actions of all men are the\nresultant of these two forces of feeling and reason. Since in most cases\nwhere we are arguing we have an eye to influencing action, we must keep\nboth the forces in mind as possible means to our end.\n\n3. Argument neither Contentiousness nor Dispute. Argument is not\ncontentiousness, nor is it the good-natured and sociable disputation in\nwhich we occupy a good deal of time with our friends. The difference is\nthat in neither contentiousness nor in kindly dispute do we expect, or\nintend, to get anywhere. There are many political speeches whose only\nobject is to make things uncomfortable for the other side, and some\nspeeches in college or school debates intended merely to trip up the\nother side; and neither type helps to clear up the subjects it deals\nwith. On the other hand, we spend many a pleasant evening arguing\nwhether science is more important in education than literature, or\nwhether it is better to spend the summer at the seashore or in the\nmountains, or similar subjects, where we know that everybody will stand\nat the end just where he stood at the beginning. Here our real purpose\nis not to change any one's views so much as it is to exchange thoughts\nand likings with some one we know and care for. The purpose of\nargument, as we shall understand the word here, is to convince or\npersuade some one.\n\n4. Arguments and the Audience. In argument, therefore, far more than in\nother kinds of writing, one must keep the audience definitely in mind.\n\"Persuade\" and \"convince\" for our purposes are active verbs, and in most\ncases their objects have an important effect on their significance. An\nargument on a given subject that will have a cogent force with one set\nof people, will not touch, and may even repel, another. To take a simple\nexample: an argument in defense of the present game of football would\nchange considerably in proportions and in tone according as it was\naddressed to undergraduates, to a faculty, or to a ministers'\nconference. Huxley's argument on evolution (p. 233), which was delivered\nto a popular audience, has more illustrations and is less compressed in\nreasoning than if it had been delivered to the American Academy of Arts\nand Sciences. Not only theoretically, but in practice, arguments must\nvary in both form and substance with the audiences to which they are\naddressed. An argument shot into the void is not likely to bring down\nmuch game.\n\n5. Profitable Subjects for Arguments. To get the best results from\npractice in writing arguments, you must choose your subjects with care\nand sagacity. Some classes of subjects are of small value. Questions\nwhich rest on differences of taste or temperament from their very nature\ncan never be brought to a decision. The question whether one game is\nbetter than another--football better than baseball, for example--is not\narguable, for in the end one side settles down to saying, \"But I like\nbaseball best,\" and you stick there. Closely akin is such a question as,\nWas Alexander Pope a poet; for in the word \"poet\" one includes many\npurely emotional factors which touch one person and not another. Matthew\nArnold made a brave attempt to prove that Wordsworth stood third in\nexcellence in the long line of English poets, and his essay is a notable\npiece of argument; but the very statement of his thesis, that Wordsworth\n\"left a body of poetical work superior in power, in interest, in the\nqualities which give enduring freshness, to that which any of the others\nhas left,\" shows the vanity of the attempt. To take a single\nword--\"interest\"--from his proposition: what is the use of arguing with\nme, if Wordsworth happened to bore me, as he does not, that I ought to\nfind him interesting. All I could do would be humbly to admit my\ndeficiency, and go as cheerfully as might be to Burns or Coleridge or\nByron. Almost all questions of criticism labor under this difficulty,\nthat in the end they are questions of taste. You or I were so made in\nthe beginning that the so-called romantic school or the so-called\nclassical school seems to us to have reached the pinnacle of art; and\nall the argument in the world cannot make us over again in this respect.\nEvery question which in the end involves questions of aesthetic taste is\nas futile to argue as questions of the palate.\n\nOther questions are impracticable because of vagueness. Such questions\nas, Should a practical man read poetry, Are lawyers a useful class in\nthe community, Are the American people deteriorating, furnish excellent\nmaterial for lively and witty talk, but no one expects them to lead to\nany conclusion, and they are therefore valueless as a basis for the\nrigorous and muscular training which an argument ought to give. There\nare many questions of this sort which serve admirably for the friendly\ndispute which makes up so much of our daily life with our friends, but\nwhich dissolve when we try to pin them down.\n\nSome questions which cannot be profitably argued when phrased in general\nterms become more practicable when they are applied to a definite class\nor to a single person. Such questions as, Is it better to go to a small\ncollege or a large one, Is it better to live in the country or in the\ncity, Is it wise to go into farming, all lead nowhere if they are argued\nin this general form. But if they are applied to a single person, they\nchange character: in this specific form they not only are arguable, but\nthey constantly are argued out with direct and practical results, and\neven for a small and strictly defined class of persons they may provide\ngood material for a formal argument. For example, the question, \"Is it\nbetter for a boy of good intellectual ability and capacity for making\nfriends, who lives in a small country town, to go to a small college or\na large,\" provides moderately good material for an argument on either\nside; though even here the limiting phrases are none too definite. In a\ndebate on such a subject it would be easy for the two sides to pass each\nother by without ever coming to a direct issue, because of differing\nunderstanding of the terms. On the whole it seems wiser not to take\nrisks with such questions, but to choose from those which will\nunquestionably give you the training for which you are seeking.\n\nRoughly speaking, subjects for an argument which are sure to be\nprofitable may be divided into three classes: (1) those for which the\nmaterial is drawn from personal experience; (2) those for which the\nmaterial is provided by reading; and (3) those which combine the first\ntwo. Of these there can be no question that the last are the most\nprofitable. Of the first class we may take for an example such a\nquestion as, Should interscholastic athletics be maintained in----\nschool? Here is a question on which some parents and teachers at any\nrate will disagree with most boys, and a question which must be settled\none way or the other. The material for the discussion must come from the\npersonal knowledge of those who make the arguments, reenforced by what\ninformation and opinion they can collect from teachers and townspeople.\nIn Chapter II we shall come to a consideration of possible sources for\nmaterial for these and other arguments. There is much to be said for the\npractice gained by hunting up pertinent material for arguments of this\nsort; but they tend to run over into irreconcilable differences of\nopinion, in which an argument is of no practical value.\n\nThe second class of subjects, those for which the material is drawn\nwholly from reading, is the most common in intercollegiate and\ninterscholastic debates. Should the United States army canteen be\nrestored, Should the Chinese be excluded from the Philippines, Should\nthe United States establish a parcels post, are all subjects with which\nthe ordinary student in high school or college can have little personal\nacquaintance. The sources for arguments on such subjects are to be found\nin books, magazines, and official reports. The good you will get from\narguments on such subjects lies largely in finding out how to look up\nmaterial. The difficulty with them lies in their size and their\ncomplexity. When it is remembered that a column of an ordinary newspaper\nhas somewhere about fifteen hundred words, and that an editorial article\nsuch as on page 268, which is thirty-eight hundred words long, is in\nthese days of hurry apt to be repellent, because of its length, and on\nthe other hand that a theme of fifteen hundred words seems to the\nordinary undergraduate a weighty undertaking, the nature of this\ndifficulty becomes clear. To put it another way, speeches on public\nsubjects of great importance are apt to be at least an hour long, and\nnot infrequently more, and in an hour one easily speaks six or seven\nthousand words, so that fifteen hundred words would not fill a\nfifteen-minute speech. This difficulty is met in debates by the longer\ntime allowed, for each side ordinarily has an hour; but even then there\ncan be no pretense of a thorough treatment. The ordinary written\nargument of a student in school or college can therefore do very little\nwith large public questions. The danger is that a short argument on a\nlarge question may breed in one an easy content with a superficial and\nparrotlike discussion of the subject. Discussions of large and abstract\nprinciples are necessary, but they are best left to the time of life\nwhen one has a comprehensive and intimate knowledge of the whole mass of\nfacts concerned.\n\nBy far the best kind of subject, as has been said, is that which will\ncombine some personal acquaintance with the facts and the possibility of\nsome research for material. Many such subjects may be found in the\nlarger educational questions when applied to your own school or college.\nShould the elective system be maintained at Harvard College, Should the\nUniversity of Illinois require Latin for the A.B. degree, Should\nfraternities be abolished in----High School, Should manual training be\nintroduced in----High School, are all questions of this sort. A short\nlist of similar questions is printed at the end of this section, which\nit is hoped will prove suggestive. For discussing these questions you\nwill find considerable printed material in educational and other\nmagazines, in reports of presidents of colleges and school committees,\nand other such places, which will give you practice in hunting up facts\nand opinions and in weighing their value. At the same time training of\nyour judgment will follow when you apply the theories and opinions you\nfind in these sources to local conditions. Moreover, such questions will\ngive you practice in getting material in the raw, as it were, by making\nup tables of statistics from catalogues, by getting facts by personal\ninterview, and in other ways, which will be considered in Chapter II.\nFinally, such subjects are much more likely to be of a size that you can\nbring to a head in the space and the time allowed to the average\nstudent, and they may have some immediate and practical effect in\ndetermining a question in which your own school or college has an\ninterest. Arguments on such subjects are therefore less likely to be\n\"academic\" discussions, in the sense of having no bearing on any real\nconditions. When every college and school has plenty of such subjects\ncontinually under debate, there seems to be no reason for going farther\nand faring worse.\n\nThe main thing is to get a subject which will carry you back to facts,\nand one in which you will be able to test your own reasoning.\n\n6. Suggestions of Subjects for Practice. Many of the subjects in\nthe list below will need some adaptation to fit them to local\nconditions; and these will undoubtedly suggest many others of a similar\nnature. Other subjects of immediate and local interest may be drawn from\nthe current newspapers; and the larger, perennial ones like prohibition,\nwoman suffrage, immigration laws, are always at the disposal of those\nwho have the time and the courage for the amount of reading they\ninvolve. The distinction between a subject and the proposition to be\nargued will be made in Chapter II.\n\n\nSUGGESTIONS FOR SUBJECTS OF ARGUMENTS\n\nTO BE ADAPTED TO LOCAL AND PRESENT CONDITIONS\n\n1. Admission to this college should be by examination only.\n\n2. The entrance requirements of this college set a good standard for a\npublic high-school course.\n\n3. Admission to this college should be by certificate from the\ncandidate's school, such as is now accepted at----College.\n\n4. The standards for admission to this college or to the State\nUniversity should be raised.\n\n5. The standard for graduating from this college should be raised.\n\n6. Attendance at chapel exercises should be made voluntary.\n\n7. The numbers of students in this college should be limited by raising\nthe standard for admission.\n\n8. A reading knowledge of French or of German, to be tested by an oral\nexamination, should be substituted for the present requirements for\nentrance in those languages.\n\n9. No list of books should be prescribed for the entrance examination in\nEnglish.\n\n10. Freshmen should be required to be within bounds by eleven o'clock at\nnight.\n\n11. Freshmen should not be elected to college societies.\n\n12. Students who have attained distinction in their studies should be\ntreated as graduate students are, in respect to attendance and leave of\nabsence.\n\n13. Arrangements should be made by which the work done on college papers\nshould count toward the degree.\n\n14. The honor system in examinations should be introduced into this\ncollege.\n\n15. The course of study in this college should be made wholly elective.\n\n16. Coeducation should be maintained in this college.\n\n17. Secret societies should be prohibited in----High School.\n\n18. The business course in----High School should be given up.\n\n19. Compulsory military drill should be introduced into----School (or,\ninto this college).\n\n20. Greek should be given up in----School.\n\n21. All students in----School, whether in the business course or not,\nshould be required to study Latin.\n\n22. Athletics have had a detrimental effect on the studies of those who\nhave taken part in them.\n\n23.----School should engage in athletic contests with two other schools\nonly.\n\n24. The school committee in----should be reduced to five members.\n\n25. The school committee in----is at present too large for efficient\ndirection of the schools.\n\n26. The principal of the high school in----should report directly to\nthe school committee and not to the superintendent of schools.\n\n27. This city should assign a sum equal to----mills of the whole tax\nrate to the support of the public schools.\n\n28. The high school of this city should have a single session each day,\ninstead of two.\n\n29. This city should substitute a commission government on the general\nmodel of that in Des Moines, Iowa, for the present system.\n\n30. The commission form of government has proved its superiority to\ngovernment by a mayor and two legislative boards.\n\n31. This city should elect its municipal officers by preferential\nvoting.\n\n32. This city should establish playgrounds in the crowded parts of the\ncity, notably in Wards----and----.\n\n33. Boys should be allowed to play ball in unfrequented streets.\n\n34. This city should set apart----mills on the tax rate each year for\nbuilding permanent roads.\n\n35. The laws and regulations governing the inspection and the sale of\nmilk should be made more stringent.\n\n36. This city should buy and run the waterworks.\n\n37. This city should build future extensions of the street railway\nsystem and lease them to the highest bidder.\n\n38. This city should buy and operate the street railway system.\n\n38. The street railway company in this city should be required to pave\nand care for all the streets through which it runs.\n\n40. A committee of business men should be appointed by the mayor to\nconduct negotiations for bringing new industries to the city.\n\n41. This city should establish municipal gymnasiums.\n\n42. This city would be benefited by the consolidation of the two street\nrailway systems.\n\n43. This state should adopt a ballot law similar to that of\nMassachusetts.\n\n44. This state should adopt the \"short ballot.\"\n\n45. This state should tax forest lands according to the product rather\nthan the assessed value of the land.\n\n46. The present rules of football are satisfactory.\n\n47. This college should make \"soccer\" football one of its major\nsports.\n\n48. Unnecessary talking by the players should be forbidden in games of\nbaseball.\n\n49. Coaching from the side lines should be forbidden in baseball.\n\n50. \"Summer baseball\" should be regarded as a breach of amateur\nstanding.\n\n51. An intercollegiate committee of graduates should be formed with\npower to absolve college athletes from technical and minor breaches of\nthe amateur rules.\n\n52. This college should make an effort to return to amateur coaching by\nproposing agreements to that effect with its principal rivals.\n\n53. This university should not allow students with degrees from other\ninstitutions to play on its athletic teams.\n\n54. The managers of the principal athletic teams in this college should\nbe elected by the students at large.\n\n55. The expenses of athletic teams at this college should be\nconsiderably reduced.\n\n\n7. The Two Kinds of Arguments. With the subject you are going to\nargue on chosen, it will be wise to come to closer quarters with the\nprocess of arguing. A large part of the good results you will get from\npractice in writing arguments will be the strengthening of your powers\nof exact and keen thought; I shall therefore in the following sections\ntry to go somewhat below the surface of the process, and see just what\nany given kind of argument aims to do, and how it accomplishes its aim\nby its appeal to special faculties and interests of the mind. I shall\nalso consider briefly the larger bearings of a few of the commoner and\nmore important types of argument, as the ordinary citizen meets them in\ndaily life.\n\nWe may divide arguments roughly into two classes, according as the\nproposition they maintain takes the form, \"This is true,\" or the form,\n\"This ought to be done.\" The former we will call, for the sake of\nbrevity, arguments of fact, the latter arguments of policy. Of the two\nclasses the former is addressed principally to the reason, the faculty\nby which we arrange the facts of the universe (whether small or great)\nas they come to us, and so make them intelligible. You believe that the\nman who brought back your dog for a reward stole the dog, because that\nview fits best with the facts you know about him and the disappearance\nof the dog; we accept the theory of evolution because, as Huxley points\nout at the beginning of his essay (see pp. 233, 235), it provides a\nplace for all the facts that have been collected about the world of\nplants and animals and makes of them all a consistent and harmonious\nsystem. In Chapter III we shall come to a further consideration of the\nworkings of this faculty so far as it affects the making of arguments.\n\nArguments of policy, on the other hand, which argue what ought to be\ndone, make their appeal in the main to the moral, practical, Or\naesthetic interests of the audience. These interests have their ultimate\nroots in the deep-seated mass of inherited temperamental motives and\nforces which may be summed up here in the conveniently vague term\n\"feeling.\" These motives and forces, it will be noticed, lie outside the\nfield of reason, and are in the main recalcitrant to it. When you argue\nthat it is \"right\" that rich men should endow the schools and colleges\nof this country, you would find it impossible to explain in detail just\nwhat you mean by \"right\"; your belief rises from feelings, partly\ninherited, partly drawn in with the air of the country, which make you\npositive of your assertion even when you can least give reasons for it.\nSo our practical interests turn in the end on what we want and do not\nwant, and are therefore molded by our temperament and tastes, which are\nobviously matters of feeling. Our aesthetic interests, which include our\npreferences in all the fields of art and literature and things beautiful\nor ugly in daily life, even more obviously go back to feeling. Now in\npractical life our will to do anything is latent until some part of this\ngreat body of feeling is stirred; therefore arguments of policy, which\naim to show that something ought to be done, cannot neglect feeling. You\nmay convince me never so thoroughly that I ought to vote the Republican\nor the Democratic ticket, yet I shall sit still on election day if you\ndo not touch my feelings of moral right or practical expediency. The\nmoving cause of action is feeling, though the feeling is often modified,\nor even transformed, by reasoning. We shall come back to the nature of\nfeeling in Chapter V, when we get to the subject of persuasion.\n\nAn important practical difference between arguments of fact and\narguments of policy lies in the different form and degree of certitude\nto which they lead. At the end of arguments of fact it is possible to\nsay, if enough evidence can be had, \"This is undeniably true.\" In these\narguments we can use the word \"proof\" in its strict sense. In arguments\nof policy on the other hand, where the question is worth arguing, we\nknow in many cases that in the end there will be men who are as wise and\nas upright as ourselves who will continue to disagree. In such cases it\nis obvious that we can use the word \"proof\" only loosely; and we speak\nof right or of expediency rather than of truth. This distinction is\nworth bearing in mind, for it leads to soberness and a seemly modesty in\ncontroversy. It is only in barber-shop politics and sophomore debating\nclubs that a decision of a question of policy takes its place among the\neternal verities.\n\nWith these distinctions made, let us now consider a few of the chief\nvarieties of these two classes of arguments, dealing only with those\nwhich every one of us comes to know in the practical affairs of life. It\nwill be obvious that the divisions between these are not fixed, and that\nthey are far from exhausting the full number of varieties.\n\n8. Arguments of Fact. Among the commonest and most important varieties\nof arguments of fact are those made before juries in courts of law. It\nis a fundamental principle of the common law under which we live that\nquestions of fact shall be decided by twelve men chosen by lot from the\ncommunity, and that questions of the law that shall be applied to these\nfacts shall be decided by the judges. Accordingly in criminal trials the\nfacts concerning the crime and the actions and whereabouts of the\naccused are subjects of argument by the counsel. If the prisoner is\nattempting to establish an alibi, and the evidence is meager or\nconflicting, his counsel and the prosecuting officer must each make\narguments before the jury on the real meaning of the evidence. In civil\ncases likewise, all disputed questions of fact go ordinarily to a jury,\nand are the subject of arguments by the opposing lawyers. Did the\ndefendant guarantee the goods he sold the plaintiff? Was undue influence\nexerted on the testator? Did the accident happen through the negligence\nof the railroad officials? In such cases and the countless others that\ncongest the lists of the lower courts arguments of fact must be made.\n\nOther common arguments of fact are those in historical questions,\nwhether in recent or in ancient history. Macaulay's admirable skeleton\nargument (p. 155) that Philip Francis wrote the _Junius Letters_, which\nso grievously incensed the English government about the time of the\nAmerican Revolution, is an example of an argument of this sort; the part\nof Lincoln's Cooper Institute Address which deals with the views of the\nfounders of the nation on the subject of the control of slavery in the\nterritories is another. Another question concerning facts is that which\na few years ago stirred classical archaeologists, whether the Greek\ntheater had a raised stage or not. In all such cases the question is as\nto facts which at one time, at any rate, could have been settled\nabsolutely. The reason why an argument about them becomes necessary is\nthat the evidence which could finally settle the questions has\ndisappeared with the persons who possessed it, or has been dissipated by\ntime. Students of history and literature have to deal with many such\nquestions of fact.\n\nA somewhat different kind of question of fact, and one often extremely\ndifficult to settle, is that which concerns not a single, uncomplicated\nfact, but a broad condition of affairs. Examples of such questions are\nwhether woman suffrage has improved political conditions in Colorado and\nother states, whether the introduction of manual training in a certain\nhigh school has improved the intelligence and serviceableness of its\ngraduates, whether political corruption is decreasing in American\ncities. The difficulty that faces an argument in such cases as these is\nnot the loss of the evidence, but rather that it consists of a multitude\nof little facts, and that the selection of these details is singularly\nsubject to bias and partisan feeling. These questions of a broad state\nof affairs are like questions of policy in that in the end their\nsettlement depends thus largely on temperamental and practical\nprepossessions.\n\nStill another and very important variety of arguments of fact, which are\noften conveniently described as arguments of theory, includes large\nscientific questions, such, for example, as the origin of our present\nspecies of plants and animals, or the ultimate constitution of matter,\nor the cause of yellow fever. In such arguments we start out with many\nfacts, already gained through observation and experiment, which need the\nassumption of some other fact or facts attained through reasoning from\nthe others, to make them fit together into a coherent and intelligible\nsystem. Every important new discovery in science makes necessary\narguments of this sort. When the minute forms of life that the layman\nlumps together under the name \"germs\" were discovered there was a host\nof arguments to explain their manner of life and the way some of them\ncause disease and others carry on functions beneficent to mankind. A\nnotable example of the arguments concerning this kind of fact is that at\npage 251 concerning the cause of yellow fever; and another is Huxley's\nargument on evolution (p. 233), where he points out that \"the question\nis a question of historical fact.\" The element of uncertainty in the\nsettlement of such questions is due to the facts being too large or too\nminute for human observation, or to their ranging through great ages of\ntime so that we must be contented with overwhelming probability rather\nthan with absolute proof. Furthermore the facts that are established in\narguments of this sort may have to be modified by new discoveries: for\nmany generations it was held to be a fact that malaria was caused by a\nmiasma; now we know that it is caused by a germ, which is carried by\nmosquitoes. Arguments of this type tend to go through a curious cycle:\nthey begin their life as arguments, recognized as such; then becoming\nthe accepted explanation of the facts which are known, for a longer or\nshorter time they flourish as statements of the truth; and then with the\nuncovering of new facts they crumble away or are transformed into new\nand larger theories. Darwin's great theory of the origin of species has\npassed through two of these stages. He spoke of it as an argument, and\nfor a few years it was assailed with fierce counterarguments; we now\nhold it to be a masterful explanation of an enormous body of facts. When\nit will pass on to the next stage we cannot foresee; but chemists and\nphysicists darkly hint at the possibility of the evolution of inorganic\nas well as organic substances.\n\nIn arguments of fact, it will be noticed, there is little or no element\nof persuasion, for we deal with such matters almost wholly through our\nunderstanding and reason. Huxley, in his argument on evolution, which\nwas addressed to a popular audience, was careful to choose examples that\nwould be familiar; but his treatment of the subject was strictly\nexpository in tone. In some arguments of this sort, which touch on the\ngreat forces of the universe and on the nature of the world of life of\nwhich we are an infinitesimal part, the tone of the discourse will take\non warmth and eloquence; just as Webster in the White Murder Case,\ndealing with an issue of life and death, let the natural eloquence which\nalways smoldered in his speech, burn up into a clear glow. But both\nHuxley and Webster would have held any studied appeal to emotion to be\nan impertinence.\n\nIn ordinary life most of us make fewer arguments of fact than of policy.\nIt is only a small minority of our young men who become lawyers, and of\nthem many do not practice before juries. Nor do any large number of men\nbecome scholars or men of science or public men, who have to deal with\nquestions of historical fact or to make arguments of fact on large\nstates of affairs. On the other hand, all of us have to weigh and\nestimate arguments of fact pretty constantly. Sooner or later most men\nserve on juries; and all students have to read historical and economical\narguments. We shall therefore give some space in Chapter III to\nconsidering the principles of reasoning by which we arrive at and test\nconclusions as to the existence of facts, and the truth of assertions\nabout them.\n\n9. Arguments of Policy. When we turn from arguments of fact to\narguments of policy it will be noticed that there is a change in the\nphraseology that we use: we no longer say that the assertions we\nmaintain or meet are true or not true, but that the proposals are right\nor expedient or wrong or inexpedient; for now we are talking about what\nshould or should not be done. We say, naturally and correctly, that it\nis or is not true that woman suffrage has improved political conditions\nin Colorado but it would be a misuse of words to say that it is true or\nnot true that woman suffrage should be adopted in Ohio; and still more\nso to use the word \"false,\" which has an inseparable tinge of moral\nobliquity. In questions of policy that turn on expediency, and in some,\nas we shall see directly, that turn on moral issues, we know beforehand\nthat in the end some men who know the subject as well as we do and whose\njudgment is as good and whose standards are as high, will still\ndisagree. There are certain large temperamental lines which have always\ndivided mankind: some men are born conservative minded, some radical\nminded: the former must needs find things as they are on the whole good,\nthe latter must needs see vividly how they can be improved. To the\nscientific temperament the artistic temperament is unstable and\nirrational, as the former is dry and ungenerous to the latter. Such\nbroad and recognized types, with a few others like them, ramify into a\nmultitude of ephemeral parties and classes,--racial, political, social,\nliterary, scholarly,--and most of the arguments in the world can be\nfollowed back to these essential and irremovable differences of\ncharacter. Individual practical questions, however, cross and recross\nthese lines, and in such cases arguments have much practical effect in\ncrystallizing opinion and judgment; for in a complicated case it is\noften extremely hard to see the real bearing of a proposed policy, and a\ngood argument comes as a guide from the gods to the puzzled and\nwavering. But though to be effective in practical affairs one has to be\npositive, yet that is not saying that one must believe that the other\nside are fools or knaves. Some such confusion of thought in the minds of\nsome reformers, both eminent and obscure, accounts for the wake of\nbitterness which often follows the progress of reform. Modesty and\ntoleration are as important as positiveness to the man who is to make a\nmark in the world.\n\nArguments of policy are of endless variety, for we are all of us making\nthem all the time, from the morning hour in which we argue with\nourselves, so often ineffectually, that we really ought to get up when\nthe clock strikes, to the arguments about choosing a profession or\nhelping to start a movement for universal peace. It would be a weariness\nto the flesh to attempt a classification of them that should pretend to\nbe exhaustive; but there are certain major groups of human motive which\nwill be a good basis for a rough, but convenient, sorting out of the\ncommoner kinds of arguments of policy. In practical affairs we ask first\nif there is any principle of right or wrong involved, then what is best\nfor the practical interests of ourselves and other people, and in a few\ncases, when these other considerations are irrelevant, what course is\ndictated by our ideas of fitness and beauty. I will briefly discuss a\nfew of the main types of the argument of policy, grouping them according\nas they appeal chiefly to the sense of right and wrong, to practical\ninterests, or to aesthetic interests.\n\nThere are many arguments outside of sermons which turn on questions of\nright and wrong. Questions of individual personal conduct we had better\nnot get into; but every community, whether large or small, has often to\nface questions in which moral right and wrong are essentially involved.\nIn this country the whole question of dealing with the sale of alcoholic\ndrinks is recognized as such. The supporters of state prohibition\ndeclare that it is morally wrong to sanction a trade out of which\nsprings so much misery; the supporters of local option and high license,\nadmitting and fighting against all this misery and crime, declare that\nit is morally wrong to shut one's eyes to the uncontrolled sales and the\npolitical corruption under state-wide prohibition. The strongest\narguments for limiting by law the hours of labor for women and children\nhave always been based on moral principles; and all arguments for\npolitical reform hark back to the Ten Commandments. One has the\nstrongest of all arguments if he can establish a moral right and wrong\nin the question.\n\nThe difficulty comes in establishing the right and wrong, for there are\nmany cases where equally good people are fighting dead against each\nother. The question of prohibition, as we have just seen, is one of\nthose cases; the slavery question was a still more striking one. From\nbefore the Revolution the feeling that slavery was morally wrong slowly\nbut steadily gained ground in the North, until from 1850 it became more\nand more a dominant and passionate conviction.[1] Yet in the South,\nwhich, as we must now admit, bred as many men and women of high devotion\nto the right, this view had only scattered followers. On both sides\ntradition and environment molded the moral principle. In arguing,\ntherefore, one must not be too swift in calling on heaven to witness to\nthe right; we must recognize that mortal vision is weak, and that some\nof the people whom we are fighting are borne on by principles as\nsincerely held to be righteous as our own.\n\nNevertheless, a man must always hold to that which to him seems right,\nand fight hard against the wrong, tolerantly and with charity, but with\nunclouded purpose. In politics there are still in this country many\noccasions when the only argument possible is based on moral right. The\ndebauching of public servants by favors or bribes, whether open or\nindirect, injustice of all sorts, putting men who are mentally or\nmorally unfit into public office, oppression of the poor or unjust\nbleeding of the rich, stirring up class or race hatred, are all evils\nfrom which good citizens must help to save the republic; and wherever\nsuch evils are found the moral argument is the only argument worthy of a\ndecent citizen.\n\nBy far the most numerous of arguments of policy, however, are those\nwhich do not rise above the level of practical interests. The line\nbetween these and arguments of moral right is not always easy to draw,\nfor in the tangle of life and character right and advantage often run\ntogether. The tariff question is a case in point. Primarily it turns on\nthe practical material advantage of a nation; but inevitably in the\nsettling of individual schedules the way opens for one industry or\nbranch of business to fatten at the expense of another, and so we run\ninto the question of the square deal and the golden rule.\n\nIn general, however, the great questions on which political parties\ndivide are questions of practical expediency. Shall we, as a nation, be\nmore comfortable and more prosperous if the powers of the federal\ngovernment are strengthened and extended? Shall we have better local\ngovernment under the old-fashioned form of city government, or under\nsome form of commission government? Should we have more business and\nmore profitable business if we had free trade with the Dominion of\nCanada? Shall we be better off under the Republican or the Democratic\nparty? All these are questions in which there is little concern with\nright and wrong: they turn on the very practical matter of direct\nmaterial advantage. In some of these cases most men vote on one side or\nthe other largely through long habit; but there constantly arise,\nespecially in local matters, questions which cross the usual lines of\npolitical division, so that one, willingly or unwillingly, must take the\ntrouble of thinking out a decision for himself. Not infrequently one is\na good deal puzzled to decide on which side to range himself, for the\nissues may be complex; then one reads the arguments or goes to meetings\nuntil one side or the other seems to present the most and the most\nimportant advantages. When one is thus puzzled, an argument which is\nclear and easy to understand, and which makes its points in such a way\nthat they can be readily carried in mind and passed on to the next\nperson one meets, has a wonderful power of winning one to its side.\n\nThe arguments of policy which, after political arguments, are the most\ncommon, are those on questions of law. As we have seen a few pages\nback, such arguments are settled by the judges, while questions of fact\nare left to the jury. In the White Murder Case, in which Daniel Webster\nmade a famous argument, it was a question of fact for the jury whether\nthe defendant Knapp was in Brown Street at the time of the murder, and\nwhether he was there for the purpose of aiding and abetting\nCrowninshield, the actual murderer; the question whether his presence\noutside the house would make him liable as a principal in the crime was\na question of law. This distinction between questions of fact and\nquestions of law is one of the foundation principles of the common law.\nFrom the very beginning of the jury system, when the jury consisted of\nneighbors who found their verdict from their own knowledge of the case,\nto the present day when they are required carefully to purge their minds\nof any personal knowledge of the case, the common law has always held\nthat in the long run questions of fact can best be settled by average\nmen, drawn by lot from the community. Questions of law, on the other\nhand, need learning and special training in legal reasoning, for the\ncommon law depends on continuity and consistency of decision; and a new\ncase must be decided by the principles which have governed like cases in\nthe past.\n\nNevertheless, these principles, which are now embodied in an enormous\nmass of decisions by courts all over the English-speaking world, are in\nessence a working out into minute discriminations of certain large\nprinciples, which in turn are merely the embodiment of the practical\nrules under which the Anglo-Saxon race has found it safest and most\nconvenient to live together. They settle in each case what, in view of\nthe interests of the community as a whole and in the long run, and not\nmerely for the parties now at issue, is the most convenient and the\njustest thing to do. Mr. Justice Holmes, of the Supreme Court of the\nUnited States, wrote before his appointment to that bench:\n\n\"In substance the growth of the law is legislative. And this in a deeper\nsense than that what the courts declare to have always been the law is\nin fact new. It is legislative in its grounds. The very considerations\nwhich judges most rarely mention, and always with an apology, are the\nsecret roots from which tine law draws all the juices of life. I mean of\ncourse considerations of what is expedient for the community concerned.\nEvery important principle which is developed by litigation is in fact\nand at bottom the result of move or less definitely understood views of\npublic policy; most generally, to be sure, under our practices and\ntraditions, the unconscious result of instinctive preferences and\ninarticulate convictions, but none the less traceable to views of public\npolicy in the last analysis.\"[2]\n\nIn some cases it is obvious that the question of law is a question of\npolicy, as in the so-called \"political decisions\" of the United States\nSupreme Court. Such were the decisions formulated by Chief Justice\nMarshall on constitutional questions, which made our government what it\nis. The difference between \"the strict construction\" of the Constitution\nand the \"free construction\" was due to a difference of temperament which\nhas always tended to mark the two great political parties of the\ncountry. So with the Insular cases, which determined the status of the\ndistant possessions of the United Stales, and which split the Supreme\nCourt into so many pieces: the question whether the Constitution applied\nin all its fullness to Porto Rico and the Philippines was essentially a\npolitical question, though of the largest sort, and therefore a question\nof policy.\n\nFinally, there are the arguments of policy which deal with matters of\ntaste and aesthetic preference. The difficulty with these arguments is\nthat they do deal with questions of taste, and so fall under the ancient\nand incontrovertible maxim, _de gustibus non est disputandum_. Artists\nof all varieties and some critics are given to talking as if preferences\nin color, in shape, in styles of music, were absolutely right and wrong,\nand as if they partook in some way of the nature of moral questions; but\nany one who has observed for even twenty years knows that what the\narchitects of twenty years ago declared the only true style of art is\nnow scoffed at by them and their successors as hopelessly false. The\ncavelike forms of the Byzantine or Romanesque which superseded the\nwooden Gothic have in turn given way to Renaissance classic in its\nvarious forms, which now in turn seem on the point of slipping into the\nrococo classical of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. In painting, the violent\nand spotty impressionism of twenty years ago is paling into the study of\nthe cool and quiet lights of the Dutchmen of the great period.[3] And at\neach stage there are strenuous arguments that the ideas of that\nparticular live years are the only hope for the preservation of the art\nconcerned.\n\nThe essential difficulty with all such arguments is that the aesthetic\ninterests to which they appeal are personal, and depend on personal\npreferences. Most of us in such matters, having no special knowledge,\nand liking some variety of differing styles, modestly give way to the\nauthority of any one who makes a profession of the art. In the laying\nout of a park a landscape architect may prefer single trees and open\nspaces, where the neighbors and abutters prefer a grove. In the long run\nhis taste is no better than theirs, though he may argue as if they were\nignorant and uncultivated because they disagree with him. In all such\ncases, unless there is some consideration of practical expediency, such\nas letting the southwest wind blow through in summer, arguments can do\nlittle except to make and keep everybody angry. Their chief value is to\nmake us see things which perhaps we had not thought of.\n\nIn practice these three kinds of arguments, which turn on moral,\npractical, and aesthetic considerations, tend to be much mingled. The\nhuman mind is very complex, and our various interests and preferences\nare inseparably tangled. The treacheries of self-analysis are\nproverbial, and are only less dangerous than trying to make out the\nmotives of other people. Accordingly we must expect to find that it is\nsometimes hard to distinguish between moral and aesthetic motives and\npractical, for the morality and the taste of a given people always in\npart grow out of the slow crystallizing of practical expediencies, and\nnotions of morality change with the advance of civilization.\n\nFurthermore, one must never forget that an argument of policy which\ndoes not involve and rest on subsidiary questions of fact is rare; and\nthe questions of fact must be settled before we can go on with the\nargument of policy. Before this country can intelligently make up its\nmind about the protective tariff, and whether a certain rate of duty\nshould be imposed on a given article, a very complex body of facts\ndealing with the cost of production both here and abroad must be\nsettled, and this can be done only by men highly trained in the\nprinciples of business and political economy. Before one could vote\nintelligently on the introduction of a commission form of government\ninto the town he lives in he must know the facts about the places in\nwhich it has already been tried. It is not too much to say that there is\nno disputed question of policy into which there does not enter the\nnecessity of looking up and settling pertinent facts.\n\nOn the other hand, there are some cases of questions of fact in which\nour practical interests deeply affect the view which we take of the\nfacts. In all the discussions of the last few years about federal\nsupervision and control of the railroads it has been hard to get at the\nfacts because of the conflicting statements about them by equally honest\nand well-informed men. Where there is an honest difference of interest,\nas in every case of a bargain, the opposite sides cannot see the facts\nin the same way: what is critically significant to the railroad manager\nseems of no great consequence to the shipper; and the railroad manager\ndoes not see the fixed laws of trade which make it impossible for the\nshipper to pay higher freight rates and add them to the price of his\ngoods. It is not in human nature to see the whole cogency of facts that\nmake for the other side. In all arguments, therefore, it must be\nremembered that we are; constantly swinging backward and forward from\nmatters of fact to matters of policy. In practice no hard-and-fast line\nseparates the various classes and types; in the arguments of real life\nwe mingle them naturally and unconsciously.\n\nYet the distinction between the two main classes is a real one, and if\none has never thought it out, one may go at an argument with a blurred\nnotion of what he is attempting to do. Since argument after school and\ncollege is an eminently practical matter, vagueness of aim is risky. It\nis the man who sees exactly what he is trying to do, and knows exactly\nwhat he can accomplish, who is likely to make his point. The chief value\nof writing arguments for practice is in cultivating a keen eye for the\nessential. To write a good argument means, as we shall see, that the\nstudent shall first conscientiously take the question, apart so as to\nknow exactly the issues involved and the unavoidable points of\ndifference, and then after searching the sources for information, he\nshall scrutinize the facts and the reasoning both on his own side and on\nthe other. If he does this work without shirking the hard thinking he\nwill get an illuminating perception of the obscurities and ambiguities\nwhich lurk in words, and will come to see that clear reasoning is almost\nwholly a matter of sharper discrimination for unobserved distinctions.\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Find an example which might be thought of either as an argument or an\nexposition, and explain why you think it one or the other.\n\n2. Find examples in current magazines or newspapers of an argument in\nwhich conviction is the chief element, and one in which persuasion\ncounts most.\n\n3. Give three examples from your talk within the last week of a\ndiscussion which was not argument as we use the term here.\n\n4. Show how, in the case of some current subject of discussion, the\narguments would differ in substance and tone for three possible\naudiences.\n\n5. Find three examples each of questions of fact and questions of policy\nfrom current newspapers or magazines.\n\n6. Find three examples of questions of fact in law cases, not more than\none of them from a criminal case.\n\n7. Find three examples of questions of fact in history or literature.\n\n8. Find three questions of a large state of affairs from current\npolitical discussions. 9. Find three examples of questions of fact in\nscience.\n\n10. Find from the history of the last fifty years three examples of\nquestions which turned on moral right.\n\n11. Give three examples of questions of expediency which you have heard\nargued within the last week.\n\n12. Give an example from recent decisions of the courts which seems to\nyou to have turned on a question of policy.\n\n13. Give two examples of questions of aesthetic taste which you have\nrecently heard argued.\n\n14. In an actual case which has been or which might be argued, show how\nboth classes of argument and more than one of the types within them\nenter naturally into the discussion.\n\n15. Name three subjects which you have lately discussed which would not\nbe profitable subjects for a formal argument.\n\n16. Name five good subjects for an argument in which you would draw\nchiefly from your personal experience.\n\n17. Name five subjects in which you would get the material from reading.\n\n18. Name five subjects which would combine your own experience with\nreading.\n\n19. Find how many words to the page you write on the paper you would use\nfor a written argument. Count the number of words in a page of this\nbook; in the column of the editorial page of a newspaper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nPLANNING THE ARGUMENT\n\n10. Preparations for the Argument. When you have chosen the subject\nfor your argument there is still much to do before you are ready to\nwrite it out. In the first place, you must find out by search and\nreading what is to be said both for and against the view you are\nsupporting; in the second place, with the facts in mind you must analyze\nboth them and the question to see just what is the point that you are\narguing; then, in the third place, you must arrange the material you are\ngoing to use so that it will be most effective for your purpose. Each of\nthese steps I shall consider in turn in this chapter.\n\nAs a practical convenience, each student should start a notebook, in\nwhich he can keep together all the notes he makes in the course of his\npreparations for writing the argument. Number the pages of the notebook,\nand leave the first two pages blank for a table of contents. A box of\ncards, such as will be described on page 31, will serve as well as a\nnotebook, and in some ways is more convenient. From time to time, in the\ncourse of the chapter I shall mention points that should be entered.\n\nFor the sake of convenience in exposition I shall use as an example the\npreparations for an argument in favor of introducing the commission form\nof government into an imaginary city, Wytown; and each of the directions\nfor the use of the notebook I shall illustrate by entries appropriate\nto this argument. The argument, let us suppose, is addressed to the\ncitizens of the place, who know the general facts relating to the city\nand its government. In creating this imaginary city, let us give it\nabout eight thousand inhabitants, and suppose that it is of small area,\nand that the inhabitants are chiefly operatives in a number of large\nshoe factories, of American descent, though foreign-born citizens and\ntheir offspring are beginning to gain on the others. And further, let us\nsuppose that this imaginary city of Wytown now has a city government\nwith a mayor of limited powers, a small board of aldermen, and a larger\ncity council. The other necessary facts will appear in the introduction\nto the brief.\n\n11. Reading for the Argument. The first step in preparing for an\nargument is to find out what has been already written on the general\nsubject, and what facts are available for your purpose. For this purpose\nyou must go to the best library that is within convenient reach. Just\nhow to look for material there I shall discuss a few pages further on;\nhere I shall make some more general suggestions about reading and taking\nnotes.\n\nAlmost always it pays to give two or three hours to some preliminary\nreading that will make you see the general scope of the subject, and the\npoints on which there is disagreement. An article in a good encyclopedia\nor one in a magazine may serve the purpose; or in some cases you can go\nto the opening chapter or two of a book. If you have already discussed\nthe subject with other people this preliminary reading may not be\nnecessary; but if you start in to read on a new subject without some\ngeneral idea of its scope you may waste time through not knowing your\nway and so following false leads.\n\nIn your reading do not rest satisfied with consulting authorities on\nyour own side only. We shall presently see how important it is to be\nprepared to meet arguments on the other side; and unless you have read\nsomething on that side, you will not know what points you ought to deal\nwith in your refutation. In that event you may leave undisturbed in the\nminds of your readers points which have all the more significance from\nyour having ignored them. One of the first reasons for wide reading in\npreparation for an argument is to assure yourself that you have a\ncompetent knowledge of the other side as well as of your own.\n\nIn using your sources keep clearly and constantly in mind the difference\nbetween fact and opinion. The opinions of a great scholar and of a\nfarseeing statesman may be based on fact; but not being fact they\ncontain some element of inference, which is never as certain. When we\ncome to the next chapter we shall consider this difference more closely.\nIn the meantime it is worth while to urge the importance of cultivating\nscruples on the subject and a keen eye for the intrusion of human, and\ntherefore fallible, opinion into statements of fact. A trustworthy\nauthor states the facts as facts, with the authorities for them\nspecifically cited; and where he builds his own opinions on the facts he\nleaves no doubt as to where fact ends and opinion begins.\n\nThe power to estimate a book or an article on a cursory inspection is of\ngreat practical value. The table of contents in a book, and sometimes\nthe index, will give a good idea of its scope; and samples of a few\npages at a time, especially on critical points, which can be chosen by\nmeans of the index, will show its general attitude and tone. The index,\nif properly made, will furnish a sure guide to its relevance for the\npurpose in hand. Half an hour spent in this way, with attention\nconcentrated, will in most cases settle whether the book is worth\nreading through. An article can be \"sized up\" in much the same way:\nif it is at all well written the first paragraphs will give a pretty\ndefinite idea of the subject and the scope of the article; and the\nbeginnings, and often the ends, of the paragraphs will show the course\nwhich the thought follows. Though such skimming cannot be relied on for\na real knowledge of the subject, it is invaluable as a guide for this\npreliminary reading.\n\n12. Taking Notes. In reading for your argument, as for all\nscholarly reading, form early your habits of taking thorough and\nserviceable notes. Nothing is more tantalizing than to remember that you\nonce ran across a highly important fact and then not be able to recall\nthe place in which it is to be found.\n\nOne of the most convenient ways to take notes for an argument is to\nwrite each fact or quotation on a separate card. Cards convenient for\nthe purpose can be had at any college stationer or library-supply\nbureau. If you use them, have an ample supply of them, so that you will\nnot have to put more than one fact on each. Leave space for a heading at\nthe top which will refer to a specific subheading of your brief, when\nthat is ready. Always add an exact reference to the source--title, name\nof author, and, in case of a book, place and date of publication, so\nthat if you want more material you can find it without loss of time,\nand, what is more important, so that you can fortify your use of it by a\nreference in a footnote. When you find a passage that you think will be\nworth quoting in the original words, quote with scrupulous and literal\naccuracy: apart from the authority you gain by so doing, you have no\nright to make any one else say words he did not say. If you leave out\npart of the passage, show the omission by dots; and in such a case, if\nyou have to supply words of your own, as for example a noun in place of\na pronoun, use square brackets, thus []. On the following page are\nexamples of a convenient form of such notes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nRESULTS IN DES MOINES\n\nThe streets have been kept cleaner than ever before for $35,000.\nThe rates for electric lights have been reduced from $90 to $65.\nGas rates have dropped again from $22 to $17.\nWater rates have dropped from 30c to 20c per 1000 gal.\nThe disreputable district has been cleaned up and bond sharks\ndriven out of business.\n\nThe Des Moines Plan of City Government, _World's Work_, Vol. XVIII,\nP. 11533.\n\n\nPRESIDENT ELIOT'S VIEWS\n\n\"Now city business is almost wholly administrative and executive\nand very little concerned with large plans and far-reaching legislation.\nThere is no occasion for two legislative bodies, or even one, in the\ngovernment of a city.... Now and then a question arises which the\nwill of the whole people properly expressed may best settle; but\nfor the prompt and conclusive expression of that will the initiative\nand referendum are now well-recognized means.\"\n\nC. W. Eliot, City Government by Fewer Men, _World's Work_, Vol. XIV\np. 9419.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn making notes, whether for an argument or for general college work, it\nis convenient, unless you know shorthand, to have a system of signs and\nabbreviations and of contractions for common words. The simpler\nshorthand symbols can be pressed into service; and one can follow the\npractice of stenography, which was also that of the ancient Hebrew\nwriting, of leaving out vowels, for there are few words that cannot be\nrecognized at a glance from their consonants. If you use this system at\nlectures you can soon come surprisingly near to a verbatim report which\nwill preserve something more than bare facts.\n\nIn your reading for material do not cultivate habits of economy or\nparsimony. You should always have a considerable amount of good fact\nleft over, for unless you know a good deal of the region on the\noutskirts of your argument you will feel cramped and uncertain within\nit. The effect of having something in reserve is a powerful, though an\nintangible, asset in an argument; and, on the other hand, the man who\nhas emptied his magazine is in a risky situation.\n\n13. Sources for Facts. In the main, there are two kinds of sources\nfor facts, sources in which the facts have already been collected and\ndigested, and sources where they are still scattered and must be brought\ntogether and grouped by the investigator. Obviously there is no sharp or\npermanent distinction between these two classes. Let us first run\nthrough some of the books which are commonly available as sources of\neither kind, and then come back to the use of them.\n\nTo find material in books and magazines there are certain well-known\nguides. To look up books go first to the catalogue of the nearest\nlibrary. Here in most cases you will find some sort of subject\ncatalogue, in which the subjects are arranged alphabetically; and if you\ncan use the alphabet readily, as by no means all college students can,\nyou can soon get a list of the books that are there available on the\nsubject. On many subjects there are bibliographies, or lists of books,\nsuch as those published by the Library of Congress; these will be found\nin every large library. For articles in magazines and weekly journals,\nwhich on most current questions have fresh information, besides a great\ndeal of valuable material on older questions, go to Poole's \"Index to\nPeriodical Literature,\" which is an index both by title and subject to\nthe articles in important English and American magazines from 1802 to\n1906, and to \"The Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature,\" which began\nin 1901 and includes more magazines, and which is brought up to date\nevery month.\n\nFor other material the works listed below will be serviceable; they are\nthe best known of the reference books, and some of them will be found in\nall libraries and all of them in large libraries. The books on this list\nby no means exhaust the number of good books of their own kind; they are\ngood examples, and others will ordinarily be found on the same shelves\nwith them.\n\n                         DICTIONARIES\n\nTHE NEW ENGLISH DICTIONARY (MURRAY'S) Unfinished: to have ten volumes,\nof which nine have now been published. This gives the history of each\nword for the last seven hundred years, with copious quotations, dated,\nto show the changes in its use.\n\nTHE CENTURY DICTIONARY, CYCLOPEDIA OF NAMES, AND ATLAS New edition,\n1911, in twelve volumes. This has fuller information about the meanings\nof the words than is usually found in a dictionary.\n\nTHE NEW INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY (WEBSTER'S) New edition, 1910,\nenlarged, with copious and exact etymologies.\n\nROGET'S THESAURUS OF ENGLISH WORDS AND PHRASES A standard book of\nsynonyms.\n\nFERNALD, ENGLISH SYNONYMS, ANTONYMS, AND PREPOSITIONS With illustrations\nand expositions of the differences in meaning.\n\n                         ENCYCLOPEDIAS\n\nENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA Very full; highly authoritative; 11th edition,\n1910.\n\nNEW INTERNATIONAL ENCYCLOPEDIA Briefer; reedited in 1904.\n\nLA GRANDE ENCYCLOPIDIE; BROCKHAUS, KONVERSATIONS-LEXIKON Both copious\nand authoritative.\n\nALLUSIONS AND QUOTATIONS\n\nCRUDEN'S CONCORDANCE An index to every word in the Bible.\n\nBARTLETT'S CONCORDANCE TO SHAKESPEARE An index to every word in\nShakespeare.\n\nBARTLETT'S FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS An index to a very large number of the\nquotations most frequently met with.\n\nBREWER'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASE AND FABLE This explains a great quantity\nof common allusions in words and phrases.\n\n                         DICTIONARIES OF PROPER NAMES\n\nCENTURY CYCLOPEDIA OF NAMES This includes not only names of real\npersons, but also those of many famous characters in fiction.\n\nLIPPINCOTT'S UNIVERSAL PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY OF BIOGRAPHY AND MYTHOLOGY\n\nDICTIONARY OF NATIONAL BIOGRAPHY Revised edition. Confined to English\nbiography, and to persons dead at the dale of publication of Supplement\n(1909). The articles are full, and of the highest authority. In the\nindex and epitome is a convenient summary of dates and facts.\n\nAPPLETON'S CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY Six volumes, 1887-1901; with\nsupplement (unfinished), bringing it down to date.\n\nWHO'S WHO An annual publication; English, but with some American names;\nliving persons only.\n\nWHO'S WHO IN AMERICA; WER IST'S; QUI ETES-VOUS Corresponding works for\nAmerica, Germany, and France.\n\nDEBRETT'S PEERAGE A repository of a great mass of facts concerning\nEnglish families of historical distinction.\n\n                         FOR CURRENT OR HISTORICAL FACTS\n\nTHE STATESMAN'S YEAR BOOK Arranged by countries; contains a great mass\nof facts; has a bibliography at the end of each country or state.\n\nTHE WORLD ALMANAC; THE TRIBUNE ALMANAC Examples of annuals issued by\nlarge newspapers, which contain an enormous mass of facts, chiefly\nAmerican.\n\nWHITAKER'S ALMANAC Much miscellaneous information about the British\nempire and other countries.\n\nTHE ANNUAL REGISTER; THE NEW INTERNATIONAL YEARBOOK; THE AMERICAN\nYEARBOOK These three give information about the events of the preceding\nyear.\n\nINDEX TO THE LONDON _Times_\n\nMISCELLANEOUS WORKS\n\nLIPPINCOTT'S NEW GAZETTEER A geographical dictionary of the world.\n\nTHE CENTURY ATLAS With classified references to places.\n\nTHE HANDY REFERENCE ATLAS Small size (octavo); a most useful book for\nthe desk or library table.\n\nPLOETZ'S EPITOME OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY A very compact epitome of history,\nwith all the important dates.\n\nNOTES AND QUERIES A periodical devoted to notes and queries on a\nmultitude of curious and out-of-the-way facts; yearly index volumes are\nissued.\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHIES ISSUED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS\n\nSONNENSCHEIN'S THE BEST BOOKS A guide to about fifty thousand of the\nbest available books in a great variety of fields, classified by\nsubject.\n\nMake yourself familiar with all of these books which are within your\nreach. Get into the habit, when you have a few minutes to spare, of\ntaking them down from the shelves and turning over the pages to see what\nthey contain. And whenever a question of fact comes up in general talk,\nmake a mental note of it, or better, one in writing, and the next time\nyou go to the library hunt it up in one of these reference books. You\nwill be surprised to see, when once you have made the habit, how short a\ntime it takes to settle disputes about most facts; and at the same time\nyou will be extending your general knowledge.\n\nIn learning the use of these and other books, do not forget the most\nimportant source of all, the librarian. The one guiding principle of\nmodern librarianship is to make the books useful; and it gives every\nproper librarian active pleasure to show you how to use the books in his\ncharge.\n\nIn using books and magazines scrutinize the character of the source. Is\nit impartial or partisan? Is its treatment of the subject exhaustive and\ndefinite, or cursory and superficial? Does the author know the subject\nat first hand, or does he rely on other men? On such points the second\nbook or article will be easier to estimate than the first, and the third\nthan the second; for with each new source you have the earlier ones as a\nbasis for comparison. In any case do not trust to a single authority: no\nmatter how authoritative it is, sooner or later the narrow basis of your\nviews will betray itself, for an argument which is merely a revamping of\nsome one else's views is not likely to have much spontaneity.\n\nIn many subjects, and especially those of new or local interest, you\nwill not find the facts gathered and assimilated for you; you must go\nout and gather your own straw for the making of your bricks. Such are\nmost questions of reform or change in school or college systems, in\nathletics, in municipal affairs, in short, most of the questions on\nwhich the average man after he leaves college is likely to be making\narguments.\n\nTo get decisive facts on such questions as these you must go, in the\ncase of local subjects, to the newspapers, to city and town reports, or\nto documents issued by interested committees; for college questions you\ngo to the presidents' reports and to annual catalogues or catalogues of\ngraduates, or perhaps to _Graduates' Bulletins_ or _Weeklies_; for\nathletic questions you go to the files of the daily newspapers, or for\nrecords to such works as the _World_ or _Tribune Almanacs_; for school\nquestions you go to school catalogues, or to school-committee reports.\nYou will be surprised to find how little time you use to get together\nbodies of facts and figures that may make you, in a small way, an\noriginal authority on the subject you are discussing. It does not take\nlong to count a few hundred names, or to run through the files of a\nnewspaper for a week or a month; and when you have done such\ninvestigation you get a sense of surety in dealing with your subject\nthat will strengthen your argument. Here, as in the larger discussions\nof later life, the readiness to take the initiative and the ingenuity in\nthinking of possible sources are what make you count.\n\nSuch sources you can often piece out by personal inquiry from men who\nare conversant with the subject--town or city officers, members of\nfaculties, principals of schools. If you go to such people hoping that\nthey will do your work for you, you will not be likely to get much\ncomfort; but if you are keen about your subject yourself, and ready to\nwork, you will often get not only valuable information and advice, but\nsometimes also a chance to go through unpublished records. A young man\nwho is working hard and intelligently is apt to be an object of interest\nto older men who have been doing the same all their lives.\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Name those of the sources on pages 34-36, which are available to you.\nReport to the class on the scope and character of each of them. (The\nreport on different sources can be divided among the class.)\n\n2. Name some sources for facts relating to your own school or college;\nto your own town or city; to your own state.\n\n3. Report on the following, in not more than one hundred words, naming\nthe source from which you got your information: the situation and\ngovernment of the Fiji Islands; Circe; the author of \"A man's a man for\na' that\"; Becky Sharp; the age of President Taft and the offices he has\nheld; the early career of James Madison; the American amateur record in\nthe half-mile run; the family name of Lord Salisbury, and a brief\naccount of his career; the salary of the mayor of New York; the island\nof Guam: some of the important measures passed by Congress in the\nsession of 1910-1911. (This exercise a teacher can vary indefinitely by\nturning over the pages of reference books which his class can reach; or\nthe students can be set to making exercises for each other.)\n\n14. Bibliography. Before starting in earnest on the reading for your\nargument, begin a bibliography, that is, a list of the books and\narticles and speeches which will help you. This bibliography should be\nentered in your notebook, and it is convenient to allow space enough\nthere to keep the different kinds of sources separate. In making your\nbibliography you will use some of the sources which have just been\ndescribed, especially \"Poole's Index,\" and \"The Reader's Guide,\" and the\nsubject catalogue of the library. Make your entries so full that you can\ngo at once to the source; it is poor economy to save a minute on copying\ndown a title, and then waste ten or fifteen in going back to the source\nfrom which you got it. On large subjects the number of books and\narticles is far beyond the possibilities of most courses in\nargumentation, and here you must exercise your judgment in choosing the\nmost important. The name of the author is on the whole a safe guide: if\nyou find an article or a book by President Eliot on an educational\nsubject, or one by President Hadley on economics, or one by President\nJordan on zoology, or one by any of them on university policy, you will\nknow at once that you cannot afford to neglect it. As you go on with\nyour reading you will soon find who are authorities on special subjects\nby noting who are quoted in text and footnotes. If the subject happens\nto be one of those on which a bibliography has been issued either by the\nLibrary of Congress or from some other source, the making of your own\nbibliography will reduce itself to a selection from this list.\n\nKeep your bibliography as a practical aid to you in a very practical\ntask. Do not swell it from mere love of accumulation, as you might\ncollect stamps. The making of exhaustive bibliographies is work for\nadvanced scholarship or for assistant librarians. For the practical\npurposes of making an argument a very moderate number of titles beyond\nthose you can actually use will give you sufficient background.\n\nNotebook. Enter in your notebook the titles of books, articles, or\nspeeches which bear on your subject, and which you are likely to be able\nto read.\n\nIllustration. Bibliography for an argument on introducing\ncommission government of the Des Moines type into Wytown.\n\n                         BOOKS\n\nWOODRUFF, C. R. City Government by Commission. New York, 1911.\nBibliography in appendix.\n\nHAMILTON, J. J. The Dethronement of the City Boss. New York, 1910.\n\n                         ARTICLES\n\nFrom Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature, Vol. II (1905-1909).\n(There are thirty entries here under the heading, Municipal Government,\nand the subheading, Government by Commission. Of these I omit those\ndealing with cities in Texas, as not bearing directly on the Des Moines\nplan, and select seven of the most recent.)\n\n\"Another City for Commission Government,\" _World's Work_, Vol. XVIII\n(June, 1909), p. 11,639.\n\n\"City Government.\" _Outlook_. Vol. XCII (August 14, 1909), pp.\n865-866.\n\nBRADFORD, E. S. \"Commission Government in American Cities,\" National\nConference on City Government (1909), pp. 217-228.\n\nPEARSON, P. M. \"Commission System of Municipal Government\"\n(bibliography), Intercollegiate Debates, pp. 461-477.\n\nALLEN, S. B. \"Des Moines Plan,\" National Conference on City\nGovernment (1907), pp. 156-165.\n\n\"Des Moines Plan of City Government,\" _World's Work_, Vol. XVIII\n(May, 1909), p. 11,533.\n\nGOODYEAR, D. \"The Example of Haverhill,\" _Independent_, Vol. LXVI\n(January, 1909), p. 194.\n\nFrom Reader's Guide (1910). (Seven entries, of which I select the\nfollowing.)\n\nGOODYEAR, D. \"The Experience of Haverhill,\" _Independent_, Vol.\nLXVIII (February, 1910), p. 415.\n\n\"Rapid Growth of Commission Government,\" _Outlook_, Vol. XCIV (April,\n1910), p. 822.\n\nTURNER, G. K. \"New American City Government,\" _McClure's_, Vol. XXXV\n(May, 1910), pp. 97-108.\n\n\"Organization of Municipal Government,\" American Government and\nPolitics; pp. 598-602.\n\n15. Planning for a Definite Audience. Before setting to work on the\nactual planning of your argument there are still two preliminary\nquestions you have to consider--the prepossessions of your audience, and\nthe burden of proof; of these the latter is dependent on the former.\n\nWhen you get out into active life and have an argument to make, this\nquestion of the audience will force itself on your attention, for you\nwill not make the argument unless you want to influence views which are\nactually held. In a school or college argument you have the difficulty\nthat your argument will in most cases have no such practical effect.\nNevertheless, even here you can get better practice by fixing on some\nbody of readers who might be influenced by an argument on your subject,\nand addressing yourself specifically to them. You can hardly consider\nthe burden of proof or lay out the space which you will give to\ndifferent points in your argument unless you take into account the\npresent knowledge and the prepossessions of your audience on the\nsubject.\n\nWhere the question is large and abstract the audience may be so general\nas to seem to have no special characteristics; but if you will think of\nthe differences of tone and attitude of two different newspapers in\ntreating some local subject you will see that readers always segregate\nthemselves into types. Even on a larger scale, one can say that the\npeople of the United States as a whole are optimistic and self-confident\nin temper, and in consequence careless as to many minor deficiencies and\nblemishes in our national polity. On a good many questions the South,\nwhich is still chiefly agricultural, has different interests and\nprepossessions from the North; and the West, being a new country, is\ninclined to have less reverence for the vested rights of property as\nagainst the rights of men, than the Eastern states, where wealth has\nlong been concentrated and inherited.\n\nAs one narrows down to the immediate or local questions which make the\nbest subjects for practice the part played by the audience becomes more\napparent. The reform of the rules of football is a good example: a few\nyears ago an audience of elderly people would have taken for granted the\nbrutality of the game, and its tendency to put a premium on unfair play;\nthe rules committee, made up of believers in the game, had to be\nhammered at for several years before they made the changes which have so\ngreatly improved it. So in matters of local or municipal interest, such\nas the location of a new street car line, or the laying out of a park,\nit will make a vast difference to you whether you are writing for people\nwho have land on the proposed line or park, or for the general body of\ncitizens.\n\nDifferences in thy prepossessions of your audience and in their\nknowledge of the subject have, therefore, a direct and practical effect\non the planning of your argument. Suppose you are arguing in favor of\nraising the standard of admission to your college; if your argument is\naddressed to the faculty you will give little space to explaining what\nthose requirements now are; but if you are sending out an address to the\nalumni you must give some space to telling them clearly and without\ntechnicalities what present conditions are and explaining the changes\nthat you propose. Theoretically an argument should change in form and\nproportions for every audience which you address. The theory may be\npushed too far; but in the practice of real life it will be found nearly\ntrue. With different audiences you will unconsciously make different\nselection of material, and you will vary your emphasis, the place of\nyour refutation, and the distribution of your space.\n\nNotebook. Enter the audience for whom your argument might be\nwritten, and note what you think would be their knowledge of the\nsubject, and their prepossessions toward it.\n\nIllustration. The citizens of Wytown. They are convinced that\nthere should be a change in the city government; but they are not yet\nfamiliar with the Des Moines plan.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Bring to class editorials from different newspapers on the same local\nsubject, and point out differences of attitude which they assume in the\naudiences they address.\n\n2. Suggest three different possible audiences for your argument, and\nshow what differences you would make in your argument in addressing each\nof them.\n\n\n16. The Burden of Proof. The principle which underlies the\nresponsibility for the burden of proof may be summed up in the adage of\nthe common law, _He who asserts must prove_.\n\nAt the law this principle has been elaborated into a large and abstruse\nsubject; in ordinary arguments where there is no judge to make subtle\ndiscriminations, you must interpret it in the broadest way. The average\nman lacks both the interest and the capacity for making keen\ndistinctions; and when you are writing for him you would make a mistake\nif you were to stickle for fine points concerning the burden of proof.\n\nIn general, the principle as it bears on the arguments of everyday life\nimplies that any argument in favor of a change shall accept the burden\nof proof. This application of the principle is illustrated in the\nfollowing extract from an editorial article in _The Outlook_ some years\nago, on a proposed change in the law of New York concerning the\nsafeguards of vivisection.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe real question is not as to the merits of vivisection, but as to the\nproper safeguards with which the law should surround it.\n\nAt present the law of New York state applies to experiments upon animals\nthe same principle that it applies to surgical operations upon men,\nwomen, and children. It does not attempt to prescribe the conditions\nunder which either experiments or operations should be conducted; but it\ndoes prescribe the standards of fitness which every person who may\nlawfully engage in surgery and which every person who may lawfully\nengage in animal experimentation must meet. It penalizes with fine or\nimprisonment or both the unjustifiable injuring, mutilating, or killing\nof animals; and it confines to regularly incorporated medical colleges\nand universities of the state the authority under which animal\nexperimentation may be conducted.\n\nThe burden of proof rests upon those who would have the state abandon\nthis principle and substitute for it the principle of prescribing the\nconditions of scientific investigation. It rests upon them to prove, in\nthe first place, that the present law is inadequate. It is not\nsufficient for them to produce lawyers who give opinions that the law\nis not efficient. There are lawyers of the highest standing in the state\nwho declare that it is efficient. The only adequate mode of proof would\nbe by the prosecution of an actual abuse. So far as we have been able to\nlearn, only one authentic case of alleged unjustifiable experimentation\nhas been brought forward by the supporters of the bills. This is\ncertainly not proof that the present law is inadequate.\n\nIn the second place, the burden of proof rests upon them to show that\nlegal restrictions on the methods of science would not vitiate\ninvestigations, and would not, therefore, entail upon human beings\ngreater suffering than would otherwise be inflicted upon animals ...\n\nIt is because _The Outlook_ is convinced by overwhelming evidence that\nthe practice of vivisection has not increased suffering but has rather\nwidened immeasurably the merciful ministrations of medicine and surgery\nthat it regards as dangerous unintelligent interference with\nvivisection, and urges the maintenance of the principle underlying the\npresent New York law.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo with other questions of policy, the burden of proof would be on any\none who proposed a change from a policy long established, such as free\ntrade in England, and to a less extent protection in this country, the\nelective system in many American colleges, the amateur rule in school\nand college athletics.\n\nAlways, one must remember that the burden of proof depends on the\nprepossessions of the audience, and that on the same question it may\nchange within a moderately small number of years. Ten years ago, on the\nquestion of the popular election of senators the burden was clearly on\nthe side of those who advocated a change in the Constitution. By this\ntime (1912) the burden of proof has for a majority of the people of the\nUnited States probably swung to the other side. In the state of Maine,\nwhere prohibition had been embodied in the state constitution for a\ngeneration, the burden of proof was on those who in 1911 argued for its\nrepeal; whereas in Massachusetts, which has done well for many years\nwith local option and high license, the burden would still be on those\nwho should argue for state prohibition. In the discussions of the game\nof football a few years ago the burden of proof before an audience of\nathletes would have been on those who declared that the game must be\nchanged; with college faculties and men of like mind the burden of proof\nwould have been on those who defended the old game. In each case that\ncomes up, you cannot place the burden of proof until you know whether\nthe people you are trying to convince have any prepossessions in the\nmatter: if they have, the burden of proof is on him who attempts to\nchange those prepossessions; if they have not, the burden is on him who\nis proposing to change existing views or existing policies.\n\nIn no case, however, with a popular audience is it very safe to depend\nmuch on the burden of proof; almost always it is better to jump in and\nactively build up the argument on your own side. In argument, as in\nstrategy, take the offensive whenever you can.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNotebook. Note whether the burden of proof is with you or against\nyou, taking into account the probable prepossessions of the audience you\nhave selected.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIllustration. In the argument for the introduction of the\ncommission form of government into Wytown the burden of proof is on the\naffirmative to show that the Des Moines plan of city government will\ncure the evils of the present government of Wytown. With the audience\nassumed (see p. 43), there is no burden of proof on the affirmative to\nestablish the need of a change.\n\nEXERCISES\n\n\n1. In three subjects which you might choose for an argument show where\nthe burden of proof would lie.\n\n2. In the case of one of these arguments show how the burden of proof\nmight change with the argument.\n\n17. The Brief. When you have settled these preliminary questions of\nthe audience you wish to win over to your view, and of the way their\nprepossessions and knowledge of the subject will affect your\nresponsibilities for the burden of proof, you are ready to begin work on\nthe brief, as the plan for an argument is called. This brief it is\nbetter to think of as a statement of the logical framework of the\nargument, which you are constructing for the purpose of clearing up your\nown mind on the subject, and especially to help you to see how you can\nmost effectively arrange your material. It differs from the usual brief\nin a case at law in that the latter is ordinarily a series of compact\nstatements of legal principles, each supported by a list of cases\nalready decided which bear on that principle. The brief you will be\nmaking now will consist of an _introduction_, which states whatever\nfacts and principles are necessary to an understanding of the brief, and\nthe _brief_ itself, which consists of a series of propositions, each\nsupporting your main contention, and each in turn supported by others,\nwhich again may each be supported by another series. Such an analysis\nwill thoroughly display the processes of your reasoning, and enable you\nto criticize them step by step for soundness and coerciveness.\n\nI shall first explain the several steps which go to the making of the\nintroduction to the brief; and then come to the making of the brief\nitself.\n\n18. The Proposition. The first step in making the introduction to your\nbrief is to formulate the question or proposition (the two terms are\ninterchangeable in practice). Until you have crystallized your view of\nthe subject into a proposition you have nothing to argue about.\n\"Commission form of government\" is a subject, but it is not arguable,\nfor it gives you no hold either for affirming or denying. \"Commission\ngovernment should be adopted in Wytown,\" or \"Commission government has\nimproved political conditions in Des Moines,\" are both propositions\nwhich are arguable (though not yet specific enough), for it is possible\nto maintain either the affirmative or the negative of either of them.\n\nThe proposition must be single. If it be double, you have what the\nlawyers call \"a squinting argument,\" that is, an argument which looks in\ntwo directions at the same time. For example, the proposition,\n\"Commission government would be a good thing for Wytown, but the\ninitiative and referendum are wrong in principle,\" involves two separate\nand unconnected principles, since commission government as first\nembodied at Galveston does not include the initiative and referendum.\nMany people, including those of Galveston and other places in Texas,\nwould accept the first half of the proposition, and disagree with the\nsecond half. On the other hand, \"Wytown should adopt a commission\ngovernment on the Des Moines plan,\" would not be a double proposition,\nthough this plan includes the initiative and referendum; for the\nproposition makes the issue that the plan should be adopted or rejected\nas a whole.\n\nIn some cases a proposition may be grammatically compound, and yet carry\na single assertion. \"Municipal government by commission is more\neconomical and efficient than municipal government with a mayor and two\nchambers,\" is really a single assertion of the superiority of the\ncommission plan of government. In this case there is no danger of\ngetting into a split argument; but even here it is safer to reduce the\nproposition to one which is grammatically single, \"Municipal government\nby commission has proved itself superior to municipal government with a\nmayor and two chambers.\" A predicate wholly single is a safeguard\nagainst meaning two assertions.\n\nThe proposition must not be so abstract or vague in terms that you do\nnot know whether you agree or disagree with it. Macaulay summed up this\ndifficulty in one of his speeches in Parliament:\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSurely my honorable friend cannot but know that nothing is easier than\nto write a theme for severity, for clemency, for order, for liberty, for\na contemplative life, for an active life, and so on. It was a common\nexercise in the ancient schools of rhetoric to make an abstract\nquestion, and to harangue first on one side and then on the other. The\nquestion, Ought popular discontents to be quieted by concession or\ncoercion, would have been a very good subject for oratory of this kind.\nThere is no lack of commonplaces on either side. But when we come to the\nreal business of life, the value of these commonplaces depends entirely\non the particular circumstances of the case which we are discussing.\nNothing is easier than to write a treatise proving that it is lawful to\nresist extreme tyranny. Nothing is easier than to write a treatise\nsetting forth the wickedness of wantonly bringing on a great society the\nmiseries inseparable from revolution, the bloodshed, the spoliation, the\nanarchy. Both treatises may contain much that is true; but neither will\nenable us to decide whether a particular insurrection is or is not\njustifiable without a close examination of the facts.[4]\n\nIn other words, though the word \"insurrection\" seems to be plain in\nmeaning, yet when we make it one term of a judgment of which the other\nterm is \"justifiable,\" we find that we do not know whether we agree or\nnot. The terms of the proposition are so vague that there can be no\nmeeting of minds. If we limit the subject to a specific case,\ninsurrection in Venezuela, or insurrection in Cuba, then we have made a\nbeginning toward making the proposition arguable. In these particular\ncases, however, it would probably be necessary to go further, and\nspecify which insurrection in Venezuela or in Cuba was intended, before\nthe average American would be prepared either to affirm or to deny.\nWherever the terms of a proposition are too vague to provoke profitable\ndiscussion they must be narrowed down to a specific case which will draw\nforth affirmation and denial.\n\nA common case where the vagueness of the proposition leads to\ndifficulties in the argument is described in the following passage:\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAn equally common form of argument, closely allied to the argument by\nanalogy, and equally vague, is that which is popularly known as the\nobjection to a thin end of a wedge. We must not do this or that, it is\noften said, because if we did we should be logically bound to do\nsomething else which is plainly absurd or wrong. If we once begin to\ntake a certain course there is no knowing where we shall be able to stop\nwith any show of consistency; there would be no reason for stopping\nanywhere in particular, and we should be led on, step by step, into\naction or opinions that we all agree to call undesirable or untrue....\n\nFor it must not be forgotten that in all disputes of this kind there are\ntwo parties opposed to each other, and that what divides them is\nprecisely their lack of agreement on the question what principle is\nreally involved. Those who see a proposal as a thin end of a wedge\nalways see the principle as a wider, more inclusive one, than those who\nmake the proposal; and what gives them freedom so to see it is merely\nthe fact that it remains indefinite.[5]\n\nAs a practical example of this confusion, consider the following extract\nfrom a speech in the United States Senate opposing the popular election\nof senators:\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEvery intelligent student of the present rapid trend toward popular\ngovernment must see what would happen when this sentimental bar of the\nStates being represented by two Senators instead of by the people in the\nUnited States Senate is thrown down. The initiative, the referendum, and\nthe recall are but symptoms of the times. That the people will have\ntheir way, because they, and they alone, are the government, is the\nunderlying spirit of our institutions, of our newest State\nConstitutions, and of our progressive laws. Skillful agitation seizes\nupon every pretext and eagerly grasps and enlarges every opportunity for\nappeal to the passions in an advancement of its purposes. The next cry\nwill necessarily be, \"Why not elect the Supreme Court of the United\nStates by popular vote? Why not elect the Federal Judiciary everywhere\nby popular vote?\"[6]\n\n       *       *    *       *       *\n\nHere the proposition, \"That the people will have their way, because\nthey, and they alone, are the government, is the underlying spirit of\nour institutions, of our newest state constitutions, and of our\nprogressive laws,\" is not only obscure in terms, but it is wholly vague,\nfor it does not define how far the progressive party propose to carry\npopular direct government. Until the two sides agree on that point they\nhave nothing definite enough for profitable argument.\n\nIt is surprising to notice how often in political debates this fallacy\nis committed. It is human nature to believe for the time being that the\nother side will do the worst thing that the circumstances make possible.\nFortunately, human nature just as constantly refutes the error.\n\nTo make clearer this necessity of having a definite proposition to\nargue, let us take one of the subjects suggested on page 10 which is not\nyet in a form for profitable argument, and amend it. \"The standard for\ngraduation from this college should be raised,\" is a subject that can be\ndiscussed, but as it stands it would not be a good proposition for an\nargument, because it is vague. How much should the standard be raised?\nBy what method should it be raised? These and other questions you would\nhave to answer before you would have a proposition definite enough to be\nargued with profit. The proposition could be made definite enough by\nsuch amendments as the following: \"The standard for graduation from this\ncollege should be raised by requiring one eighth more hours of lecture\nor recitation in each of the four years\"; or, \"The standard for\ngraduation from this college should be raised by increasing the pass\nmark in all courses from fifty per cent to sixty per cent\"; or, \"The\nstandard for graduation from this college should be raised by allowing\nno student to have his degree who has fallen below sixty per cent in one\nfourth of his work, and has not attained eighty per cent in at least one\neighth of his college work.\" In each of these cases the proposition is\nso definite that you could find exactly how many students would be\naffected. A proposition which involves a definite body of facts is\narguable; one which involves an indefinite and incalculable body of\nfacts is not.\n\nTo take another example from the brief we shall be working out in this\nchapter, the proposition, \"Wytown should adopt the commission form of\ngovernment,\" is not definite enough, for there are various forms of\ncommission government, such as the Galveston plan, the Des Moines plan,\nand by this time a considerable variety of others; and citizens who are\nat all particular in their voting would want to know just which of these\nwas proposed for their approval. The proposition, therefore, would have\nto be limited to, \"Wytown should adopt a commission government after the\nDes Moines plan.\"\n\nThe exact form of your proposition will not always come to you at the\nfirst try. It may easily happen that you will not see the exact issue\ninvolved in the argument until you have gone some way with the processes\nof analysis which we shall be considering in the rest of this chapter.\nAlways hold yourself ready to amend your proposition, if you can thereby\ncome closer to the question.\n\nNotebook. Enter the exact proposition which you are to argue.\n\nIllustration. Wytown should adopt the commission form of\ngovernment, in the form now in practice at Des Moines, Iowa.\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Make three arguable propositions on the subject, \"Entrance\nexaminations for college.\"\n\n2. Criticize the following propositions and amend them, if necessary, so\nthat they might be argued with profit:\n\n    a. Freshmen should be required to keep reasonable hours.\n\n    b. The honor system should be introduced everywhere.\n\n    c. This city should do more for its boys.\n\n    d. The street railway companies in this city should be better\n    regulated.\n\n    e. The amateur rules for college athletes are too stringent.\n\n    f. Intercollegiate football is beneficial.\n\n\n19. Definition of Terms. Making a proposition definite is chiefly\na process of defining terms which are found in it; but when these are\ndefined you may still in your argument use others which also need\ndefinition. In general the definition of terms, whether in the\nproposition or not, implies finding out just what a term means for the\npresent purpose. Almost every common word is used for some variety of\npurposes. \"Commission,\" for example, even within the field of\ngovernment, has two very different meanings:\n\nAs applied to state and national administration, the term \"commission\ngovernment\" is used in connection with the growing practice of\ndelegating to appointed administrative boards or commissions--the\nInterstate Commerce Commission, state railroad commissions, tax\ncommissions, boards of control, etc.--the administration of certain\nspecial or specified executive functions ...From the standpoint of\norganization, then, \"commission government,\" as applied to the state,\nconnotes decentralization, the delegation and division of authority and\nresponsibility, and the disintegration of popular control ...As applied\nto city administration, however, commission government has a very\ndifferent meaning. In striking contrast to its use in connection with\nthe state, it is used to designate the most concentrated and centralized\ntype of organization which has yet appeared in the annals of\nrepresentative municipal history. Under so-called commission government\nfor cities, the entire administration of the city's affairs is placed in\nthe hands of a small board or council--\"commission\"--elected at large\nand responsible directly to the electorate for the government of the\ncity.[7]\n\nFurthermore, even the term \"commission government for cities\" is not\nwholly definite, for there are already several recognized types of such\ngovernment, such as the Galveston type, the Des Moines type, and recent\nmodifications of these. If you are making an argument for introducing a\ncommission government, therefore, you must go still further with your\ndefinitions, and specify the distinguishing features of the particular\nplan which you are urging on the voters, as is done in the definition on\npage 59. In other words, you must make exactly clear the meaning of the\nterm for the present case.\n\nYour first impulse when you find a term that needs defining may be to go\nto a dictionary. A little thought will show you that in most cases you\nwill get little comfort if you do. The aim of a dictionary is to give\nall the meanings which a word has had in reasonable use; what you need\nin an argument is to know which one of these meanings it has in the\npresent case. If you were writing an argument on the effects or the\nrighteousness of the change wrought in the English constitution by the\nrecent curtailment of the veto power of the House of Lords, and wished\nto use the word \"revolution,\" and to use it where it was important that\nyour readers should understand precisely what you intended it to convey,\nyou would not burden them with such a definition as the following, from\nan unabridged dictionary: \"Revolution: a fundamental change in political\norganization, or in a government or constitution; the overthrow or\nrenunciation of one government and the substitution of another, by the\ngoverned.\" Such a definition would merely fill up your space, and leave\nyou no further ahead. A dictionary is studiously general, for it must\ncover all possible legitimate meanings of the word; in an argument you\nmust be studiously specific, to carry your readers with you in the case\nunder discussion.\n\nMoreover, words are constantly being pressed into new uses, as in the\ncase of \"commission\" (see p. 54); and others have entirely legitimate\nlocal meanings. Only a dictionary which was on the scale of the New\nEnglish Dictionary and which was reedited every five years could pretend\nto keep up with these new uses. In an unabridged dictionary dated 1907,\nfor example, the full definition of \"amateur\" is as follows: \"A person\nattached to a particular pursuit, study or science, as to music or\npainting; especially one who cultivates any study or art, from taste or\nattachment, without pursuing it professionally.\" Of what use would such\na definition be to you if you were arguing in favor of strengthening or\nrelaxing the amateur rules in college athletics, in which you had to\nfollow through the intricacies of summer baseball and of reimbursements\nfor training table and traveling expenses? Such a definition hardly\ncomes in sight of the use of the word which is most in the mouths of\ncollege students in America. Words mean whatever careful and accepted\nwriters have used them to mean; and the business of a dictionary is so\nfar as possible to record these meanings. But language, being a living\nand constantly developing growth, is constantly altering them and adding\nto them.\n\nWhat a dictionary can do for you, therefore, is merely to tell you\nwhether in the past the word has been used with the signification which\nyou wish to give to it; but there are very few cases in which this will\nbe much help to you, for in an argument your only interest in the\nmeaning of a term is in the meaning of that term for the case under\ndiscussion.\n\nThere are two quite different kinds of difficulty in putting the right\ninterpretation on a statement, and a dictionary can only remove one of\nthese, and by far the less important one. When you meet with a statement\ncontaining an unfamiliar word--say, the word \"parallax,\" or\n\"phanerogamous,\" or \"brigantine\"--and when you understand all the rest\nof the statement except that word, then as a general rule the dictionary\nwill help to make the meaning clear. But when the difficulty is caused,\nnot by a word being unfamiliar, but by its being used in a certain\ncontext, then the best dictionary in the world is, for your purpose, of\nno use at all. The nature of every dictionary is necessarily such that\nit entirely leaves out of account all doubts about meaning which are of\nthis second kind. The most that a dictionary can do is to tell us the\nmeaning of a word in those cases where the context in which it is used\nis _not_ such as to make the meaning doubtful.[8]\n\nIn practice the words which most often need definition are those which\nare, as it were, shorthand symbols for perhaps a very extensive meaning.\nUnless the limits of this extended meaning are clearly marked out you\ncannot tell whether the minds of your readers are, as the lawyers say,\nrunning on all fours with your own or not. This extended meaning may be\nof various sorts: for example, it may be a large general principle, as\nin the case of \"evolution\" or \"culture\"; or it may be a general system\nor practice, as in the case of \"commission government,\" \"honor system,\"\nor \"high standards for graduation\"; or it may be a general class of\nthings, persons, or events, as in the case of \"secondary school,\"\n\"professional coach,\" or \"murder.\" When you use any such term in an\nargument, it is essential that your readers shall have the same set of\ndetails, ramifications, or instances in mind as you have yourself. For\nthis purpose you must define the term; or, in other words, you must lay\nout or display the ramifications and limitations of the principle, the\ndetails of the system or practice, or the exact kinds of things,\npersons, or events, which you have in mind when you use the term. A few\nexamples will make this practical meaning of defining clear.\n\nSometimes the definition proceeds by careful and specific limitation of\nthe general signification of a word, as in the following example from\nBagchot:\n\n    I should say that except where it is explained to the contrary, I\n    use the word \"toleration\" to mean toleration by law. Toleration by\n    society of matters not subject to legal penalty is a kindred\n    subject, on which if I have room I will add a few words; but in the\n    main I propose to deal with the simpler subject, toleration by law.\n    And by toleration, too, I mean, when it is not otherwise said,\n    toleration in the public expression of opinions; toleration of acts\n    and practices is another allied subject, on which I can, in a paper\n    like this, but barely hope to indicate what seems to me to be the\n    truth, and I should add that I deal only with the discussion of\n    impersonal doctrines: the law of libel, which deals with accusations\n    of living persons, is a topic requiring consideration by itself.[9]\n\nSometimes the definition is rather an unfolding and displaying of the\nimplications (from the Latin, _implicare_, to fold in) of the term.\nHuxley, near the beginning of his three \"Lectures on Evolution,\" made\nsure by the following definition that his hearers should have a precise\nidea of what he meant by the term \"evolution\":\n\nThe third hypothesis, or the hypothesis of evolution, supposes\nthat, at any comparatively late period of past time, our imaginary\nspectator would meet with a state of things very similar to that\nwhich now obtains; but that the likeness of the past to the present\nwould gradually become less and less, in proportion to the remoteness\nof his period of observation from the present day; that\nthe existing distribution of mountains and plains, of rivers and\nseas, would show itself to be the product of a slow process of\nnatural change operating upon more and more widely different\nantecedent conditions of the mineral framework of the earth;\nuntil, at length, in place of that framework, he would behold only\na vast nebulous mass, representing the constituents of the sun and\nof the planetary bodies. Preceding the forms of life which now\nexist our observer would see animals and plants not identical with\nthem, but like them; increasing their differences with their antiquity\nand, at the same time, becoming simpler and simpler; until,\nfinally, the world of life would present nothing but that undifferentiated\nprotoplasmic matter, which, so far as our present knowledge\ngoes, is the common foundation of all vital activity.\n\nThe hypothesis of evolution supposes that in all this vast progression\nthere would be no breach of continuity, no point at which\nwe could say, \"This is a natural process,\" and \"This is not a\nnatural process,\" but that the whole might be compared to that\nwonderful process of development which may be seen going on\nevery day under our eyes, in virtue of which there arises, out of\nthe semifluid, comparatively homogeneous substance which we\ncall an egg, the complicated organization of one of the higher\nanimals. That, in a few words, is what is meant by the hypothesis\nof evolution.[10]\n\nHere Huxley has laid out, in compact form the principal ramifications of\nthe great principle of evolution, giving his hearers something like an\noutline map of it with its limits and principal divisions.\n\nWhere you have a practice or system to define, you will be more likely\nto do it by specifying the chief and essential details of the system, as\nin the following definition of commission government for cities. It will\nbe noticed that this narrows down the meaning of the term to something\nlike the Des Moines system, as distinguished from the Galveston plan.\n\nA straight commission form of municipal government, in the judgment of\nDr. Charles W. Eliot, one of its most active advocates, requires a\ncommission composed of five members elected at large, one of whom is\ncalled the mayor, acting as chairman of the commission, but with no\nveto power, or any other special power not shared by the other members\nof the commission.\n\nThe commission so elected is the source of all authority in the city,\nmakes all ordinances, appoints all officials, collects taxes, and makes\nall appropriations. As set forth by its advocates, the significant\nfeatures of the plan, in addition to those already mentioned, are:\n\nAssignment of the important divisions of the city government to\nindividual members of the commission, or their election thereto by the\nvoters, each being directly responsible for the conduct of his\nparticular department; adequate compensation to the commissioners for\ntheir time and labor, the city employing all the commissioners at living\nsalaries, thus elevating the dignity of municipal service and making it\na public career, and not a mere avocation; regularity, frequency, and\npublicity of the meetings of the commissioners; all employees above the\nclass of day laborers selected from eligible lists based on\nexaminations, oral and written, carefully devised to develop merit and\nfitness; recommendations after examination by an independent civil\nservice commission; provision for the retention in office of all\nemployees so appointed during good behavior; the power to initiate\nlegislation reserved to the people, this right being known as the\ninitiative; the power to call for a public vote on any measure adopted\nby the commission before being given effect as law reserved to the\npeople, this being known as the referendum; the power at any time to\nmake any member of the commission stand for reelection reserved to the\npeople, this being known as the recall; the granting of public franchise\nalways to be submitted to the approval of the electors.\n\nThere are two other important features: the introduction of the\nprinciple of the short ballot and the elimination of ward lines. In the\nmatured judgment of municipal students these are considered, together\nwith the concentration of authority, as the most effective features of\nthe system.[11]\n\nHere is a pretty complete display of all the essential details of the\nsystem which the author of this definition intended to mean by the term\n\"commission government for cities.\"\n\nWhere the term which is to be defined is the name of a general class,\nwhether of persons, things, or events, the definition must show just\nwhat persons, things, or events are to be included under the term for\nthe present purpose. Lincoln gave a famous example of this sort of\ndefinition in the opening of his address at Cooper Institute, February\n27, 1860. He took for the text of the first part of his speech a\nstatement of Senator Douglas.\n\nIn his speech last autumn at Columbus, Ohio, as reported in the New York\n_Times_, Senator Douglas said, \"Our fathers, when they framed the\ngovernment under which we live, understood this question just as well,\nand even better, than we do now.\"\n\nI fully indorse this, and I adopt it as a text for this discourse. I so\nadopt it because it furnishes a precise and an agreed starting point for\na discussion between Republicans and that wing of the Democracy headed\nby Senator Douglas. It simply leaves the inquiry: What was the\nunderstanding those fathers had of the question mentioned?\n\nWhat is the frame of government under which we live? The answer must be,\n\"The Constitution of the United States.\" That Constitution consists of\nthe original, framed in 1787, and under which the present government\nfirst went into operation, and twelve subsequently framed amendments,\nthe first ten of which were framed in 1789.\n\nWho were our fathers that framed the Constitution? I suppose the\n\"thirty-nine\" who signed the original instrument may be fairly called\nour fathers who framed that part of the present government. It is almost\nexactly true to say they framed it, and it is altogether true to say\nthey fairly represented the opinion and sentiment of the whole nation at\nthat time. Their names being familiar to nearly all, and accessible to\nquite all, need not now be repeated. I take these \"thirty-nine,\" for\nthe present, as being \"our fathers who framed the government under which\nwe live.\" What is the question which, according to the text, those\nfathers understood \"just as well, and even better, than we do now\"?\nIt is this: Does the proper division of local from Federal authority, or\nanything in the Constitution, forbid our Federal Government to control\nas to slavery in our Federal Territories?\n\nUpon this, Senator Douglas holds the affirmative, and Republicans the\nnegative. This affirmation and denial form an issue; and this\nissue--this question--is precisely what the text declares our fathers\nunderstood \"better than we.\"\n\nLet us now inquire whether the \"thirty-nine,\" or any of them, ever acted\nupon this question; and if they did, how they acted upon it--how they\nexpressed that better understanding.\n\nHere as will be seen, Lincoln took every important word and phrase, and\nshowed exactly what persons and things were included under them. Then he\nwent ahead with his argument with the assurance that his audience and he\nwere treading the same path.\n\nSomewhat similar are the definitions in many cases at law, where the\nissue is whether the agreed facts in a case come under a certain term or\nnot. The Constitution of the United States provides that \"direct taxes\"\nshall be apportioned among the states in proportion to their population,\nbut makes no such restriction on the levying of \"duties,\" \"imposts,\" and\n\"taxes.\" When Congress establishes a new form of tax, therefore, such as\nthe income tax or the corporation tax, the Supreme Court is pretty sure\nto be called on to decide under which of these large constitutional\nclasses it falls. In such cases as the Income Tax cases, which decided\nthat the income tax laid in the Act of 1904 was unconstitutional, and in\nthe Corporation Tax cases, which upheld the Act of 1909, both the\narguments of counsel and the decision of the court deal wholly with the\ndefinition of the term \"direct tax.\" Here the definition takes the form\nof an examination of previous cases which involved the term, to see\nwhether the present case is like those that have been held to be within\nit, or like those which have been held to fall outside it. From this\ncomparison of the two sets of cases the essential characteristics of the\ndirect tax are brought to the surface.\n\nA good example of the careful distinctions which must be made in\ndefining a legal term is found in Daniel Webster's famous argument in\nthe White Murder Case, of which an extract will be found below. The\nquestion here is just how far the term \"murder\" shall be extended.\n\nThere are two sorts of murder; the distinction between them it is of\nessential importance to bear in mind: (1) murder in an affray, or upon\nsudden and unexpected provocation; (2) murder secretly, with a\ndeliberate, predetermined intention to commit the crime. Under the first\nclass, the question usually is, whether the offense he murder or\nmanslaughter, in the person who commits the deed. Under the second\nclass, it is often a question whether others than he who actually did\nthe deed were present, aiding and assisting therein. Offenses of this\nkind ordinarily happen when there is nobody present except those who go\non the same design. If a riot should happen in the court-house, and one\nshould kill another, this may be murder, or it may not, according to the\nintention with which it was done; which is always matter of fact, to be\ncollected from the circumstances at the time. But in secret murders,\npremeditated and determined on, there can be no doubt of the murderous\nintention; there can be no doubt if a person be present, knowing a\nmurder is to be done, of his concurring in the act. His being there is a\nproof of his intent to aid and abet; else, why is he there?\n\nIt has been contended, that proof must be given that the person accused\ndid actually afford aid, did lend a hand in the murder itself; and\nwithout this proof, although he may be near by, he may be presumed to be\nthere for an innocent purpose; he may have crept silently there to hear\nthe news, or from mere curiosity to see what was going on. Preposterous,\nabsurd! Such an idea shocks all common sense. A man is found to be a\nconspirator to commit a murder; he has planned it; he has assisted in\narranging the time, the place, and the means; and he is found in the\nplace, and at the time, and yet it is suggested that he might have been\nthere, not for cooperation and concurrence, but from curiosity! Such an\nargument deserves no answer. It would be difficult to give it one, in\ndecorous terms. Is it not to be taken for granted, that a man seeks to\naccomplish his own purposes? When he has planned a murder, and is\npresent at its execution, is he there to forward or to thwart his own\ndesign? Is he there to assist, or there to prevent? But \"curiosity\"! He\nmay be there from mere \"curiosity\"! Curiosity to witness the success of\nthe execution of his own plan of murder! The very walls of a court-house\nought not to stand, the plowshare should run through the ground it\nstands on, where such an argument could find toleration.\n\nIt is not necessary that the abettor should actually lend a hand, that\nhe should take a part in the act itself; if he be present ready to\nassist, that is assisting.... The law is, that being ready to assist is\nassisting, if the party has the power to assist, in case of need. It is\nso stated by Foster, who is a high authority. \"If A happeneth to be\npresent at a murder, for instance, and taketh no part in it, nor\nendeavoreth to prevent it, nor apprehendeth the murderer, nor levyeth\nhue and cry after him, this strange behavior of his, though highly\ncriminal, will not of itself render him either principal or accessory.\"\n\"But if a fact amounting to murder should be committed in prosecution of\nsome unlawful purpose, though it were but a bare trespass, to which A in\nthe case last stated had consented, and he had gone in order to give\nassistance, if need were, for carrying it into execution, this would\nhave amounted to murder in him, and in every person present and joining\nwith him.\" \"If the fact was committed in prosecution of the original\npurpose which was unlawful, the whole party will be involved in the\nguilt of him who gave the blow. For in combinations of this kind, the\nmortal stroke, though given by one of the party, is considered in the\neye of the law, and of sound reason too, as given by every individual\npresent and abetting. The person actually giving the stroke is no more\nthan the hand or instrument by which the others strike.\" The author, in\nspeaking of being present, means actual presence; not actual in\nopposition to constructive, for the law knows no such distinction. There\nis but one presence, and this is the situation from which aid, or\nsupposed aid, may be rendered. The law does not say where the person is\nto go, or how near he is to go, but that he must be where he may give\nassistance, or where the perpetrator may believe that he may be assisted\nby him. Suppose that he is acquainted with the design of the murderer,\nand has a knowledge of the time when it is to be carried into effect,\nand goes out with a view to render assistance, if need be; why, then,\neven though the murderer does not know of this, the person so going out\nwill be an abettor in the murder.\n\n20. Definition through the History of the Case. In some cases the\neasiest way to put before your readers the precise details or\nlimitations implied in a term is through a brief review of the history\nof the question. In the Lincoln-Douglas debates Lincoln was constantly\nshowing that Douglas's use of the term \"popular sovereignty\" must be\nunderstood in the light of the whole history of the slavery question;\nthat it meant one thing--what Douglas intended it to mean--if the\nhistory of the question before 1850 were left out of sight; but that it\nmeant a wholly different thing if the steady encroachment of the slave\npower from the Missouri Compromise of 1820 on were taken into account.\nAnd Lincoln showed that in reality \"popular sovereignty\" had come to\nmean a power oh the part of the people of a territory to introduce\nslavery, but not to exclude it.[12] In our own day \"progressive\" has a\ndifferent meaning when applied to a Republican from Kansas and to one\nfrom Massachusetts or New York.\n\nTo know just what is involved by applying the term to any given public\nman, one must go back to the recent history of his party in his own\nstate, and to the speeches he has made. In political discussions popular\nphrases are constantly thus blurred in meaning through being used as\nparty catchwords; and to use them with any certainty in an argument one\nmust thus go back to their origin, and then dissect out, as it were, the\nambiguous implications which have grown into them.\n\nIf you were arguing any question concerning the elective system or the\nentrance requirements for your own college, you would often do well to\nsketch the history of the present system as a means of defining it,\nbefore you go on to urge that it be changed or kept as it is. So if you\nwere arguing for a further change in the football rules, your best\ndefinition of the present game for your purpose would be a sketch of the\nway in which the game has been changed in the past few years, at the\nurgent demand of public opinion. Such a sketch you could easily get by\nrunning through the back numbers of such a magazine as _Outing_, or the\nsporting columns of some of the larger weeklies. Or again, if you were\narguing that the street railway systems of your city should be allowed\nto combine, your best description or definition of the present situation\nmight well be a sketch of the successive steps by which it came to be\nwhat it is. Here you would go for your material to the files of local\nnewspapers, or, if you could get at them, to sets of the reports of the\nrailway companies.\n\nThe definition of terms through the history of the question has the\nadvantage that, besides helping your readers to see why the terms you\nuse have the meaning you give them for the present case, it also makes\nthem better judges of the question by giving them a full background.\n\nAmbiguous definitions, which do not distinguish between two or more\nmeanings of a term for the case under discussion, are usually avoided by\ngoing back to the history of the case. In Chapter III we shall consider\nmore fully the fallacies which spring from ambiguous use of words. Here\nI shall insist briefly on the necessity of searching into the way terms\nhave come to be used in specific discussions.\n\nThe first of these is the danger which arises when a word in general use\ntakes on a special, almost technical meaning in connection with a\nparticular subject. Here you must take some pains to see that your\nreaders understand it in the special sense, and not in the popular one.\nA crass instance, in which there is little real possibility of\nconfusion, is the use of words like \"democratic\" or \"republican\" as the\nnames of political parties; even with these words stump speakers\nsometimes try to play on the feelings of an uneducated audience by\nimporting the association of the original use of the word into its later\nuse. There are a good many words used in the scientific study of\ngovernment which are also used loosely in general talk. \"Federal\" has a\nprecise meaning when used to distinguish the form of government of the\nUnited States from that which usually binds together the counties in a\nstate; but we constantly use it in a sense hardly distinguishable from\nthat of \"National.\" The following extract from an editorial on the\nPhilippine question is a good illustration of this precise and\nsemitechnical use of words, and the loose, not very accurate use of\neveryday speech:\n\nOn the other hand, it is said that this policy of the United States\ntoward its dependencies is insincere; that it is a covert plan of\nexploitation; that, as it is practiced, it is a denial in act of a mere\npromise to the ear; and that if it were genuine the United States would\nbestow self-government upon its dependencies by granting independence.\n\nThis criticism is obviously based on a confusion of independence with\nself-government. Russia, is independent, but in only a very slight\ndegree are its people self-governing. Turkey has long been independent,\nbut until the recent revolution the people of Turkey were self-governing\nin no sense at all. On the other hand, Canada, though not independent,\nis self-governing.[13]\n\nMany an argument goes to wreck through carelessness in the use of words\nof this sort. Wherever the subject under discussion has grown into the\npartial possession of a special field, but still uses words drawn from\neveryday life, you must be careful that not only you, but your audience\nalso, understand your terms in the more precise way.\n\nClosely related to this kind of ambiguity, and in practice still more\ninsidious, is the ambiguity which arises from the connotation or\nemotional implications of words. The use of \"republican\" and \"democrat\"\ncited above runs over into this kind of confusion. In collegiate\nathletics \"professional\" has come to have almost an implication of\nmoral inferiority, when it is often dependent on pretty technical\nconsiderations of expediency. In politics, to one class of temperaments\n\"conservative,\" to another \"radical,\" or at any rate \"liberal\" or\n\"progressive,\" carries the implication of the salvation or the ruin of\nthe country. All such words introduce a sure element of obscurity and\nconfusion into an argument. If a word stirs your feelings in one way and\nthose of some of your readers in another, you cannot use that word\nsafely; in spite of the most careful definitions and disclaimers the\nemotional bias will creep in and twist the effect of your words in the\nminds of some of your audience. This emotional ambiguity is the most\ninsidious of all ambiguities in the use of words. The danger from it is\nso real that I shall return to it at greater length (see p. 158).\n\nIn a good many cases the necessity of defining the terms to be used,\nwhether in the proposition itself, or in the argument, changes with the\naudience. If you begin a movement to introduce a commission form of\ngovernment into the town or the city in which you live, at first you\nwill have to repeat the definition of commission government a good many\ntimes, in order that most of the voters may know exactly what you want\nthem to do. If the town once wakes up, however, and gets interested, you\nand every one else will be using such technicalities as \"Galveston\nplan,\" \"Des Moines plan,\" \"recall,\" \"initiative,\" and the like with no\ndanger of leaving darkness where there should be light.\n\nSo even more obviously with school and college questions: if you are\nsending memorials urging the introduction of the honor system or of\nstudent self-government, one to the trustees of your college, and\nanother to the faculty, and at the same time addressing an appeal to\nyour fellow students through a college paper, in each of the three cases\nyour definitions might differ. You could probably assume that both\nstudents and faculty would be more or less familiar with the question,\nso that your definitions would be of the nature of precise\nspecifications of the plan you were urging. With the trustees your\ndefinitions would probably have to be longer and your explanations more\ndetailed, for such a body would start with only a vague knowledge of the\nsituation.\n\nAs in all other steps in making an argument, so in defining, there is\nno formula for all cases. In each case your knowledge of your audience\nmust guide you, and your own sagacity. Unnecessary definitions will make\nthem think you a prig; insufficient definition will let them stray away\nfrom your meaning.\n\nNotebook. Enter any terms which need definition for the\naudience you are addressing.\n\nIllustration. Commission form of government after the Des Mouses\nplan. The essential features of this plan are as follows: The entire\naffairs of the city are conducted by a mayor and four councilors,\nelected at large for two years; they are nominated at a primary\nelection; at neither primary nor final election are party designations\nallowed on the ballot; these officers are subject to the recall; the\nmayor is chairman of the council, but has no power of veto; the\nexecutive and administrative powers are divided into five departments,\neach under the charge of a member of the council--(1) public affairs\n(under the charge of the mayor), (2) accounts and finances, (3)public\nsafety,(4) streets and public improvements, (5) parks and public\nproperty; all other offices are filled and their duties prescribed by\nmajority vote of the council; recall; grants of franchises must be\napproved by popular vote; initiative and referendum; a summary of city\naffairs must be published and distributed once a month.\n\nRecall, On petition of twenty-five per cent of the voters at the last\nelection the mayor or any of the councilmen must stand for reelection at\na special election.\n\nReferendum. On petition of twenty-five per cent of the voters any\nordinance must be submitted to popular vote at a special election; no\nordinance goes into effect until ten days after being passed by the\ncouncil.\n\nInitiative. On petition of twenty-five per cent of the voters a\nproposed measure must either be passed by the council or else submitted\nto popular vote.\n\n\nFINDING THE ISSUES\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Write definitions of the system for choice of studies by\nundergraduates which is in force at your college; of the terms for\nadmission to college; of the requirements for the degree.\n\n2. Write a compact description or definition of the form of city\ngovernment in your own city or town, like that of the Des Moines plan of\ncommission government on page 70.\n\n3. Write a definition of the requirements for entrance in English,\naccording to those set forth by the Conference on Uniform Entrance\nRequirements in English.\n\n4. Write a definition of the present system of college societies in your\nown college, using the history of their development, for your fellow\nstudents; for an article in a popular magazine.\n\n5. Write a definition of \"summer baseball\" for an audience of\nundergraduates; for the trustees of your college.\n\n6. Write a definition of \"professional coach.\"\n\n7. Write a definition of \"squatter sovereignty,\" as used by Lincoln.\n\n8. Write a definition of \"the mutation theory.\"\n\n9. Write a definition of \"the English system of government.\"\n\n10. Write a definition of \"the romantic spirit in literature.\"\n\n\n21. Finding the Issues. Your preparation for your argument should now\nhave given you a clear idea of the interests and prepossessions of your\nreaders, it should have left you with a definite proposition to support\nor oppose, and it should have made you sure of the meaning of all the\nterms you are to use, whether in the proposition or in your argument.\nThe next step in working out the introduction to your brief is to note\ndown the chief points that can be urged on the two sides of the\nquestion, as direct preparation for the final step, which will be to\nfind the main issues. These main issues are the points on which the\ndecision of the whole question will turn. They will vary in number with\nthe case, and to some extent with the space which you have for your\nargument. In a question of fact, which turns on circumstantial evidence,\nthere may be a number of them. In the White Murder Case, in which as we\nhave already seen, Webster was the chief counsel for the prosecution, he\nsummed up the main issues in the following passage. The essential facts\nneeded to understand the case are that the defendant was Franklin Knapp,\nthat his sister-in-law, Mrs. Joseph Knapp, was the niece of Captain\nWhite, that by removing and destroying the will of Captain White the\ndefendant and his brother Joseph supposed that they had made sure that\nshe would inherit from him a large sum of money, that Richard\nCrowninshield, the actual perpetrator of the murder, had killed himself\nin prison. To convince the jury of the guilt of the prisoner, Webster\nhad to carry them with him on the following seven main issues:\n\n    Gentlemen, I have gone through with the evidence in this case, and\n    have endeavored to state it plainly and fairly before you. I think\n    there are conclusions to be drawn from it, the accuracy of which you\n    cannot doubt.\n\n    I think you cannot doubt that there was a conspiracy formed fur the\n    purpose of committing this murder, and who the conspirators were:\n\n    That you cannot doubt that the Crowninshields and the Knapps were\n    the parties in this conspiracy:\n\n    That you cannot doubt that the prisoner at the bar knew that the\n    murder was to be done on the night of the 6th of April:\n\n    That you cannot doubt that the murderers of Captain White were the\n    suspicious persons seen in and about Brown Street on that night:\n\n    That you cannot doubt that Richard Crowninshield was the perpetrator\n    of that crime:\n\n    That you cannot doubt that the prisoner at the bar was in Brown\n    Street on that night.\n\n    If there, then it must be by agreement, to countenance, to aid the\n    perpetrator. And if so, then he is guilty as \"Principal.\"\n\nSimilarly, in most arguments of policy there are a number of\nconsiderations that converge in favor of or against the proposed policy.\nIf you were writing an argument in favor of keeping the study of Latin\nin the commercial course of a high school, you would probably urge that\nLatin is essential for an effective knowledge of English, that it is the\nfoundation of Spanish and French, languages which will be of constantly\nincreasing importance to American business men in the future, and that\nyoung men and women who go into business have an even stronger right to\nstudies which will enlarge their horizons and open their minds to purely\ncultivating influences than those who go on to college. Indeed, in very\nfew questions of policy which are doubtful enough to need argument is\nthere any single consideration on which the whole case will turn. Human\naffairs are much complicated by cross interests, and many influences\nmodify even one's everyday decisions.\n\nTo find the main issues--which are really the critical ones on which\nyour audience will make up their minds--is a matter largely of native\nsagacity and penetration; but thorough knowledge of your whole subject\nis essential if you are to strike unerringly to the heart of the subject\nand pick out these pivotal points.\n\nA simple and very practical device for getting at the main issues is to\nput down on paper the chief points which might be made on the two sides.\nThen with these before you, you can soon, by stating them and\nrearranging them, simmer down your case into arguable form.\n\nIn the argument on introducing a commission form of government into\nWytown this noting down of the chief points which might be urged on the\ntwo sides would be about as follows:\n\nContentions on the Two Sides. On the affirmative the following points\nmight be urged:\n\n    1. The plan would make the individuals who hold the power directly\n    responsible at all times to the citizens.\n\n    2. It would make the responsibility for all municipal action easy to\n    trace.\n\n    3. It would get abler men to serve the city.\n\n    4. It would take municipal government out of politics.\n\n    5. It would hold municipal administration up to the same standards\n    of honesty and efficiency as private business.\n\n    6. It would make it difficult to elect representatives of corrupt\n    interests.\n\n    7. It would make possible advantageous dealings with public-service\n    corporations.\n\n    8. It would make possible the immediate removal of an unfaithful\n    official.\n\n    9. It would tend to interest the citizens intelligently in municipal\n    affairs.\n\n    10. It has worked well wherever it has been tried.\n\nOn the negative side the following points might be urged:\n\n    1. The plan is a complete departure from the traditional American\n    theory of government.\n\n    2. It throws away a chance for training in public affairs for a\n    considerable body of young men.\n\n    3. It might put very great power in the hands of unworthy men.\n\n    4. Corrupt interests, having a larger stake, would work harder to\n    control the city.\n\n    5. Past experience gives no reason to expect the constant interest\n    on the part of citizens which is necessary to make so great\n    concentration of power safe.\n\n    6. With further increase in the foreign population of the city there\n    will be danger from race and religious clannishness.\n\n    7. A return to the old-fashioned town government, or some such\n    modification of it as has been tried at Newport, would enlist the\n    active interest of more citizens.\n\n    8. The system is still an experiment.\n\n    9. The present success of the plan in various places is largely to\n    be ascribed to its novelty.\n\n    10. The present system has in the past given good government.\n\n    11. The liability to recall will keep public officials from\n    initiating advantageous policies if they would be detrimental to\n    part of the city, or if they were unpopular because of novelty.\n\nIn most cases, as here, you will get too many points to argue out in the\nspace which is at your disposal. Fifteen hundred or two thousand words\nare very soon eaten up when you begin to state evidence in any detail,\nand arguments written in school or college can rarely be longer. You\nmust look forward, therefore, to not more than four or five main issues.\nIn going over and comparing the points which you have jotted down in\nthis preliminary statement you must consequently be prepared to throw\nout all that are not obviously important. Even when you have done this\nyou will usually have more than enough points left to fill your space,\nand must make some close decisions before you get at those which you\nfinally decide to argue out.\n\nYou must also be prepared to rephrase and remold some of the points in\norder to get at the most important aspects of the case. This noting down\nof the points which might be urged you should therefore regard entirely\nas a preliminary step, and not as fixing the points in the form in which\nyou will argue them out.\n\nIn the main issues for the argument on introducing commission government\ninto Wytown, as they are worked out below, it will be seen that main\nissue 4 for the affirmative is derived in part from the points marked\n1, 2, 6, and 8 of those for the affirmative, and those marked 3, 4, and\n5 for the negative.\n\nFurthermore, it is obvious that the main issues you choose will vary\nsomewhat with the side of the question which you are arguing. You will\nalmost surely have to leave out some of the points which might be urged,\nand there is no sense in letting the other side choose your ground for\nyou. Points which from one side may be of no great consequence, or not\nvery practicable to argue, may on the other be highly effective; and in\narguing you should always take what advantage can fairly be gained from\nposition.\n\nThe phrasing of the main issues, too, will vary with the side on which\nyou are arguing them. Here, again, you must take every fair advantage\nthat is to be gained from position. In the main issues of the question I\nhave been using for an example, as they are stated below, it will be\nseen that main issue 1 on the affirmative and main issue 3 on the\nnegative cover very nearly the same ground; but if you were arguing on\nthe affirmative you would direct attention to the shortcomings inherent\nin the system of government, if on the negative, to the temporary and\nremovable causes of them. Whichever side you were arguing on there is no\nreason that you should lose the advantage of so phrasing the issue that\nyou can go directly to your work of establishing your contention.\n\nIn the argument on introducing commission government into Wytown the\nmain issues might be as follows:\n\nThe main issues as chosen by the affirmative:\n\n    1. Is the admitted inefficiency of the city government at present\n    due to the system of government?\n\n    2. Will the adoption of the plan result in more economical\n    administration?\n\n    3. Will the adoption of the plan result in more efficient service\n    to the city?\n\n    4. Will the direct responsibility of the mayor and councilors to the\n    citizens be a sufficient safeguard for the increased power given to\n    them?\n\nThe main issues as chosen by the negative:\n\n    1. Is there danger in putting such large powers into the hands of so\n    few men?\n\n    2. Will the new plan, if adopted, permanently raise the standard of\n    public servants?\n\n    3. Is the inefficiency of the city government at present due to\n    temporary and removable causes?\n\n    4. Has the plan succeeded in other places largely because of its\n    novelty?\n\n    5. Will the liability to recall keep officials from initiating new\n    policies for fear of unpopularity?\n\nIn some cases it will be hard to reduce the number of issues to a\nmanageable number; in others, for special reasons, it may be possible to\ntreat a part of them only at length. In such cases one can always adopt\nthe device of an imaginary \"next chapter\" or \"to be continued in our\nnext.\" In considering how many issues you can deal with satisfactorily,\nhowever, you must not leave out of account contentions on the other side\nthat must be refuted; and in choosing among the possible main issues you\nmust always exercise judgment. Many points which might be argued are not\nworth the space it would take to deal with them; but not infrequently\nyou will have to let points that have some weight give place to others\nthat have more.\n\nIt is not to be expected that the points made by the two sides will\nalways exactly pair off, for the considerations which make for a course\nof action may be different in kind from those which make against it.\nSometimes one side will contribute more to the final number of main\nissues, sometimes the other. Ordinarily your own side will give you the\nlarger number of points that you think worth arguing out, for an\naffirmative and constructive argument usually makes more impression than\na negative one.\n\nNotebook. Enter the chief points which might be made on the two sides\nof your question. Then, after studying them and comparing them, enter\nthe main issues which you decide to argue out.\n\n(The contentions on the two sides and the main issues for the model\nargument will be found on pages 74-77.)\n\n\nEXERCISE\n\n\nTake one of the questions on pages 10-12, with which you have some\nacquaintance, and obtain the main issues by noting down first the points\nwhich might be urged on the two sides.\n\nNOTE. This exercise is a good one for class work. Let the class suggest\nthe points, and write them, as they come, on the blackboard. Then call\nfor criticism and discussion of them, in order to come to the main\nissues.\n\n\n22. The Agreed Statement of Facts. Now that you have compared the points\non which the two sides disagree, you can pick out the points on which\nthey agree, and decide which of the latter will enter into the\ndiscussion. You are therefore in a position to draw up the agreed\nstatement of facts, in which you will sum up compactly so much of the\nhistory of the case, of the origin of the present question, and other\nrelevant facts and necessary definitions, as will be needed to\nunderstand the brief. The style of this statement should be strictly\nexpository, and there should be nothing in it to which both sides could\nnot agree. It should be similar to the statements of facts in courts of\nlaw, which are sent up with the briefs when a case is appealed on a\npoint of legal principle.\n\nSince this agreed statement of facts is not argument, it will make small\nuse of such conjunctions as \"because,\" \"for,\" \"hence,\" and \"therefore.\"\nIf you find any of them in your agreed statement, it is better to\nrearrange it, so that you will not seem to be giving reasons before you\nhave begun your argument.\n\nIn the making of this preliminary statement and to a certain extent in\nthe framing of the main issues, it is convenient and advisable,\nwherever both sides of the question are to be presented in arguments,\nwhether in writing or in debate, for the two parties to work together.\nIn this working together they should aim to agree on as many points as\npossible. If they meet in a carping and unyielding temper, the result\nwill be in the end that the patience of the audience will be tried and\nits attention dispersed by lengthy arguments on preliminary details. In\nmaking an argument one should never forget, even in school and college\nwork, that the aim of all argument is to produce agreement. Few people\nhave much interest in a contest in smartness; and it is a bad habit to\ncare too much about the mere beating of an opponent on a question where\nthere are real and serious issues. Any question which is worth arguing\nat all will have far more ground to cover, even when everything possible\nhas been granted by both sides, than the average student can cover with\nany thoroughness.\n\nNotebook. Enter those of the essential facts and definitions in\nthe case which would be agreed to by both sides, and which are needed\nfor an understanding of the brief.\n\nIllustration. Agreed Statement of Facts. For many years the tax\nrate in Wytown has been high, and in the last ten years has not fallen\nbelow twenty-four dollars on one thousand dollars. The city water supply\nis of doubtful purity, and nothing has been done to improve it, chiefly\nbecause the city debt is now close to the limit allowed by law. The\npolice service has been inadequate, especially in the region known as\nSouth Corner. Though two hundred thousand dollars have been spent on the\nstreets in the last five years, the main street of the city is still\nunpaved, and none of the other streets are macadamized. Though under the\nlocal option law the city has uniformly voted for no license, yet there\nis much liquor selling. The city officials have regularly been nominated\nat Democratic and republican conventions.\n\nThe question has arisen at the present time because of quarrels between\nthe mayor and aldermen, because of the petition of the city government\nto the legislature to issue bonds for new waterworks above the\nauthorized debt limit, because the tax rate last year was higher than\never before in the history of the city, and because of the formation of\na citizens' association which has been instrumental in securing from the\nlegislature a bill authorizing the citizens to vote on the adoption of\nthe proposed plan.\n\nPoints which are not discussed here will be taken up in succeeding\npapers.\n\nThe definitions on page 70 are to be taken as part of this agreed\nstatement.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Criticize the following sentences for their fitness as parts of\nintroductions to briefs:\n\n    a. It is agreed that the commission form of government has succeeded\n    in Des Moines because it is simple and easily controlled by the\n    people.\n\n    b. Summer baseball is to be understood as playing baseball for\n    money, for a man who is given his board and lodging by a hotel for\n    playing is taking the equivalent of money.\n\n    c. (As one of the contentions for the affirmative on the question\n    whether a street railroad should be compelled to build a certain new\n    line, which would not be immediately profitable.) The convenience of\n    the public should be considered before large dividends, since the\n    public grants the franchise.\n\n2. Make an agreed statement of facts for an argument on one of the\nsubjects in the list on pages 10-12.\n\nNOTE. This is a good exercise for class use: let the different members\nof the class propose facts to be agreed on, and then put them before the\nrest of the class for criticism.\n\n\n23. Arrangement of Material. For the arrangement of the material in\na brief, it is not possible to give much general advice, since this\narrangement would change with the space allotted to the argument, and\nespecially with the audience. On this point knowledge of your readers,\nof their acquaintance with the subject, and of their prepossessions will\ncount as much as knowledge of the subject when you come to the arguments\nof practical life.\n\nIn general, if your audience is likely to be lukewarm or indifferent,\nbegin with a point which will stir them up. In the argument on the\nintroduction of commission government into Wytown, for which I have\nconstructed a brief, I assumed that the citizens were already aroused to\nthe need of some change, and therefore began by showing that the evils\nof the present administration can be traced chiefly to the present\nsystem of government. If I had assumed that the people needed first to\nbe aroused to believing a change to be necessary, I should have put at\nthe beginning an exposure of the corruption and inefficiency of the\npresent city government, with specific cases to establish the point.\n\nLikewise for the close of your argument be sure that you have a strong\nand effective point. In the case of commission government for Wytown, by\nrefuting the objection that too much power is given to the councilmen I\nprovide a chance to show at the same time how completely the commission\ngovernment keeps the control in the hands of the people; and the latter\npoint is the strongest that can be made for the commission form of\ngovernment.\n\n24. The Place of the Refutation. The place of the refutation and\nits extent also differ greatly with the audience. Sometimes it may\noccupy practically the whole space. A few years ago _The Outlook_\npublished an editorial opposing a change in the laws of New York\nrelating to vivisection (for a part of it, see p. 44), in which it\nrefuted the two arguments urged for the change, and then pointed out\nthat the burden of proof still rested on the other side. Here the\nrefutation occupied almost the whole of the argument. Huxley, in his\nthree \"Lectures on Evolution,\" of which the first is printed on page\n233, gave the whole of this first lecture to a refutation of the\nalternative theories of the origin of plants and animals; since it was\nnecessary to dispose of accepted theories before the new theory could\nget a hearing, he put his refutation first.\n\nWhere there are no such special reasons, it is safe to follow the\nprinciple that you should not draw more attention than necessary to the\narguments on the other side. Refutation of less important statements and\ncontentions will naturally come at the point of the argument which deals\nwith that part of the subject. State them fairly always, but do not\nmagnify their importance by dealing with them at too great length.\n\nIt is not often wise to lump the refutation at the end of your argument.\nThe last impression on your audience is the strongest: it is good\nstrategy to keep it for your own best points. Sometimes, as in the brief\nworked out on page 90, it is possible to combine the refutation with\npositive argument which will be effective; but do not forget that\nnegative argument makes much less impression than that which is positive\nand constructive.\n\n25. The Brief Proper. We have seen on page 47 that the brief is in\nessence a statement of the logical framework of your argument. Its\npurpose is to lay out your reasoning in such a way that you can\nscrutinize each link and make sure that each assertion and each group of\nassertions is attached to a firm support. For this reason the brief for\na written or spoken argument is best thrown into the form of tabulated\nstatements marked with a series of numbers and letters which will show\nat a glance the exact place of each statement or assertion in the whole\nsystem of reasoning. When you can thus, as it were, strip your argument\nto its bones and tendons, you can go ahead with the confidence that your\nreasoning is logically coherent.\n\nWhen you get out into the world you will work out your own way of making\nbriefs for any arguments that fate imposes on you. The value of practice\nnow is in being able to get at the work then without wasting time. The\nrules below are offered to you as the result of long experiment and\nstudy lay the best authorities. Moreover, if you are working in a class\nyou should remember that you will get a great deal more out of your\nteacher if you save his time by sticking closely to uniformity in\noutward form.\n\nI shall first show how a brief is constructed, by following through part\nof the process for the argument on the introduction of commission into\nWytown; then I shall give the rules, with some explanation of their\nworking and of their practical expediency.\n\nWe have just seen that the brief is essentially a display of the logical\nframework of the argument: it should consist, therefore, of the main\ncontentions in support of the proposition, with the reasons urged in\nsupport of these contentions, and of the facts and reasons brought\nforward in support of these reasons, this successive support of reasons\nbeing carried down to ultimate facts, wherever possible.\n\nWhen you come to the working out of your brief you start with your main\nissues, stated now as assertions. Then for each of them you give one or\nmore reasons.\n\nIn the brief for introducing commission government into Wytown, let us\nstart with the main issues for the affirmative, transforming them from\nquestions into assertions. The first main issue would then read:\n\nThe admitted inefficiency of the city government at present is\ndue to the system of government.\n\nThe next step is to assign reasons for making this assertion.\nAccordingly we should add a \"since\" or a \"for\" to the assertion, and\nthen underneath arrange these reasons in order. Let us suppose that we\nput down three reasons:\n\nI. The admitted inefficiency of the city government at present\nis due to the system of government; for\n\n    A. Partisan politics determine nominations to office;\n\n    B. Advantageous contracts cannot be made;\n\n    C. The responsibility for expenditures is scattered.\n\nEach of these assertions clearly needs to be supported before it will be\naccepted. Let us follow out the support of the first one, and set down\nhere the reasons and facts which will make it incontestable.\n\n    A. Partisan politics determine nominations to office; for\n\n         1. The organization of the national parties is permanent.\n\n         2. There has been bargaining between parties to reward\n         political services with city offices.\n\nOf these points the first is an obvious fact; in the argument it will\nneed only slight development and specification to make its bearing on\nthe case effective. The second, on the other hand, must be supported by\nevidence; and in the brief, accordingly, we should refer to the facts\nas stated in newspapers of specified dates from which full quotation\nwould be made in the argument. Here then, in both cases, though in\ndifferent ways, we get down to the bed rock of fact on which the\nreasoning is built up. At the same time, each joint in the framework of\nthe reasoning has been laid bare, so that no weak place can escape\ndetection. These are always the two main objects of making a brief--to\nget down to the facts on which the reasoning is built up, and to display\nevery essential step in the reasoning.\n\n26. Rules for Briefing. The rules given below are divided into two\ngroups: those in the first group deal chiefly with the form of the\nbrief; those in the second go more to the substance; but the distinction\nbetween the two groups is far from being absolute.\n\n\n\n                         I\n\n1. A brief may be divided into three parts: the Introduction, the\nProof, the Conclusion. Of these the Introduction should contain\nnoncontentious matter, and the Conclusion should be a restatement of the\nproposition, with a bare summary of the main issues in affirmative (or\nnegative) form.\n\nThe introduction has already been dealt with at length (see pp. 48-81).\nThe conclusion brings the main points of the argument together, and\ngives an effect of workmanlike completeness to the brief. It should\nnever introduce new points.\n\n2. In the Introduction keep each step of the analysis by itself, and\nindicate the several parts by such headings as \"The following terms need\ndefinition,\" \"The following facts are agreed on,\" \"The following points\nwill be left out of consideration in this argument\" \"The chief\ncontentions on the two sides are as follows,\" \"The main issues on which\nthe argument will be made are as follows.\"\n\nIt is not to be expected that all these steps, with the appropriate\nheadings, will be necessary in every brief. The only use of a brief is\nto aid you to construct a specific argument, and you must consider each\ncase by itself.\n\n3. Follow a uniform system of numbering throughout, so that each number\nor letter used will show whether the statement is one of the main\nsupports of your case, or in what degree it is subordinated.\n\nIn other words, the numbering should show at a glance whether a given\nassertion is a main reason, a reason for a reason, or in still more\nsubordinate degree of support. The system of numbering in the brief on\npage 90 is convenient. Whatever system is adopted, it should be followed\nby the whole class.\n\n4. The refutation should have a distinct set of symbols.\n\nThese symbols may well be uniform with the others, but with the prime\nmark to distinguish them (see p. 93).\n\n5. In briefing the refutation always state first the assertion that is\nto be refuted, with such connectives as, \"Although it is urged ..., yet\nthe contention is unsound, for ...,\" \"Although the case is cited, ...\nyet the case is irrelevant, for ...\"\n\nThese connectives will vary with the nature of the assertion to be\nrefuted; the important thing is to state the assertion so clearly that\nyour critic can judge the relevancy and force of your refutation. (For\nexamples, see pp. 91-93.)\n\n                         II\n\n6. A brief in all its parts should be phrased in complete sentences;\nmere topics are of no value.\n\nIn the brief on page 90, if the headings under I were \"A. Party\npolitics, B. Waste in contracts, C. No responsibility for\nexpenditures,\" neither the maker of the brief nor the critic of it could\nknow with any certainty the course of the reasoning. It is undoubtedly\ntrue that many lawyers and other men of affairs use only topic heads\nwhen they are planning an argument; but it is to be remembered that they\nare men who have been training their powers of thought in hard earnest,\nand their ability to work out and stick to a train of reasoning with so\nlittle written aid has not much bearing on what is the best practice for\nyoung men who are in the process of gaining this ability. To make a full\noutline of the reasoning in a few arguments is the best way to get the\nsense for logical and coherent structure.\n\n7. Each heading should contain a single assertion only.\n\nThe reason for this rule is obvious: if under each assertion you are\ngoing to set the reasons for that assertion, you will get into trouble\nif your assertion is double-headed, since what is a reason for one part\nof it may not be a reason for another. If in the brief on page 90\nheading I B should read, \"Advantageous contracts cannot be made, and\nthe responsibility for expenditures is scattered,\" subheading I C 2,\n\"Accounts are submitted to separate committees of the two boards in\nwhich no members have special responsibility,\" would have nothing to do\nwith the making of contracts, and subheading I B 1, \"Contracts must be\npassed on by both aldermen and common councilmen and the mayor,\" would\nhave nothing to do with expenditures.\n\n8. In the body of the brief the assertions should be arranged as\nfollows: Each main heading should embody one of the main issues as\nstated in the Introduction; and each of the subordinate assertions\nshould stand as a reason for the assertion to which it is subordinate.\nThe connective between an assertion and one subordinate to it will\ntherefore be for, since, or because, or the like, not hence or\ntherefore, or the like.\n\nA brief thus arranged lays out the reasoning in a complete and easily\nscrutinized form. Thus in the brief on page 90 for the assertion in the\nfirst main issue, \"The admitted inefficiency, of the city government at\npresent is due to the system of government,\" three chief reasons are\ngiven: A. \"Partisan politics determine nominations to office,\" B.\n\"Advantageous contracts cannot be made,\" and C. \"The responsibility for\nexpenditures is scattered.\" Then for each of these secondary assertions\nreasons in support are adduced; thus for B. \"Advantageous contracts\ncannot be made,\" the reasons are I. \"Contracts must be passed on\nseparately by aldermen, common councilmen, and the mayor,\" and 2.\n\"Bargains are made between the aldermen representing different wards.\"\nIn this case final references are given for each of these subordinate\nassertions, so that we get down to the ultimate foundation of verifiable\nfact on which the argument is to be built up.\n\nThe advantage of this form is that if you have set down several\nassertions as reasons for another, and you are doubtful whether they all\nbelong there, you can test them separately by putting them one by one\nafter the main assertion they are intended to support with a \"for\" or a\n\"since\" between.\n\nYou put the assertion first and the reason for it afterwards, because\nwhen there is more than one reason in support, if you have the reason\nfirst you must then repeat the assertion with each reason, or run the\nrisk of confusion. If under I in the brief on page go, for example, you\nbegan with the reason, \"In the present system partisan politics\ndetermine nominations to office,\" and then added the result, \"Therefore\nthe city government is inefficient,\" you would have to repeat the result\nwith B and C; and when you came to the third degree of support, the\nrepetition would be intolerably clumsy and confusing.\n\n9. Headings and subheadings should not have more than one numbering.\n\nThe reason for this rule is also obvious: each heading or subheading\nmarks a step in the argument, and what belongs on one step cannot be on\nanother at the same time. In the brief on page 90 the assertion that\n\"Partisan politics determine nominations to office\" is stated as a chief\nreason for the assertion in the first main issue, that \"The admitted\ninefficiency of the city government at present is due to the system of\ngovernment.\" It would confuse a reader to mark it A I, as if it wore a\nsupport also in the second degree.\n\n10. The brief should give references to the evidence or authorities\nrelied on to support assertions.\n\nGeneral references to articles and books which will be constantly\nreferred to should be put at the beginning of the brief. References to\nspecific statements of fact or quotations of opinion should be added as\nthey occur in the brief (see the brief on p. 90).\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Criticize the following portion of a brief:\n\nThis college should have a longer Christmas vacation, for\n\nI. College life tends to break up family life;\n\n    A. Father and son;\n\n    B. Younger brothers and sisters;\n\n    C. Intimate friends.\n\n2. Criticize the following detached portions of a brief on the\nproposition, This city should double its appropriation for the public\nlibrary, and amend them if necessary:\n\n    a. II. The funds for the purchase of books are insufficient and the\n    staff is inadequate.\n\n    b.   B. The reading room is crowded to suffocation, therefore\n              1. Many people avoid the library.\n\n    c. III. Those who oppose the increased appropriation declare that\n         A. The library is a luxury for the rich; hence\n              1. The rich should support it; but\n              2. This is not true, for\n                 a. Most of the borrowers of books are people\n                    of moderate means; therefore\n                 b. The city should support the library.\n\n    d. IV. A. The city is able to double the appropriation; for\n               1. It has spent largely for parks,\n                 a. Which are also for the pleasure and improvement\n                    of the citizens;\n                 b. Hence it can pay for additions to the library.\n    e. VI. It is not true\n           A. That the readers want only recent fiction and that they\n              should buy these books for themselves; for\n                1. They mostly are not able to buy books; hence\n                2. They should be encouraged to read other books.\n                3. Give an example of an argument and an audience where it\n                   would be necessary to put the refutation first; of one\n                   in which it would be necessary to stir up the interest\n                   of readers at the start.\n                4. Suggest methods for gaining the interest of the readers\n                   in the last case.\n\n\n\n                         SPECIMEN BRIEF\n\nWytown should adopt a commission government like that of Des Moines,\nIowa.\n\nGeneral references: C.R. Woodruff, City Government by Commission. New\nYork, 1911; J.J. Hamilton, The Dethronement of the City Boss, New York,\n1910; City newspapers of various dates; draft of proposed charter,\npublished by the Citizens' Association.\n\n(The successive steps of the introduction will be found on pp. 43, 53,\n70, 74-75, 76-77, 79-80.)\n\nI. The admitted inefficiency of the city government at present is due to\nthe system of government; for\n     A. Partisan politics determine nominations to office; since\n        1. The organization of the national parties is permanent, and\n           that of any citizens' movement temporary.\n        2. There has been bargaining between the parties to reward\n           political services by city offices. Daily papers, March 12-20,\n           1909; March 3-15, 1910.\n     B. Advantageous contracts cannot be made; for\n        1. Contracts must be passed on separately by aldermen, common\n           councilmen, and the mayor. Present city charter, sections 19-21.\n        2. Bargains are made between the aldermen representing different\n           wards. Daily papers, October 3, 1908; January 25, 1910.\n     C. The responsibility for expenditures is scattered; for\n        1. Heads of departments are responsible to the two boards and\n           not to the mayor. Present city charter, section 15.\n        2. Accounts are submitted to separate committees of the two\n           boards in which no members have special responsibility. Present\n           city charter, sections 22-23.\n\nII. The adoption of the plan will result in important economies; for\n    A. The administration of city affairs will be made simpler; since\n       1. The councilmen will both lay out the work and be responsible\n          for the execution of it. Draft or charter, sections 5 and 13.\n       2. Plans for work in all departments will be considered together.\n       3. A small body with full powers can make better bargains than\n          two larger ones acting independently.\n    B. The plan has resulted in economies where it has been tried; for\n       1. In Des Moines, Iowa, the first year under the new charter showed\n          a relative saving of $182,949.65 as compared with the year\n          before. C. R. Woodruff, as cited, p. 250.\n       2. In Haverhill, Massachusetts, in the first year of commission\n          government a deficit of $79,452 was turned into a surplus of\n          $36,511, after paying off indebtedness to the extent of\n          $133,000. C. R. Woodruff, as cited, p. 278.\n       1'.Though a despatch in a daily paper (April 3, 1911) declares\n          that the city of Haverhill has been forced to borrow, yet the\n          report is untrustworthy without further evidence; for\n          a'. In itself it is contradictory and confused; and b'. It is\n              known that professional politicians and other enemies\n              of the plan have often spread false reports about it.\n              McClure's Magazine, Vol. XXXV, p. 107.\n\nIII. The adoption of the plan will result in more efficient service to\nthe city; for\n     A. A better class of citizens will be drawn into office;\n        for\n        1. City officials can plan and carry out their policies\n           without petty interference;\n        2. In Cedar Rapids, Iowa, the commission, employed a civic-service\n           expert, and carried out his recommendations. J. J. Hamilton,\n           as cited, p. 180.\n        3. In Galveston, Texas, citizens of a better grade have taken\n           office, and the tone of the city administration has been\n           raised. W. B. Munro, in The Chautauquan, Vol. LI, p. 110.\n     B. Commission government has resulted in better administration where\n        it has been tried; for\n        1. Galveston and Houston, Texas, Des Moines and Cedar Rapids, Iowa,\n           have all reported better police administration, improvements in\n           streets and parks, more advantageous dealings with\n           public-service corporations. C. J. Woodruff, as cited,\n           pp. 242-287.\n        2. No city which has tried the plan has yet given it up. C. J.\n           Woodruff, as cited, p. 310.\n        1'.Although Chelsea, Massachusetts, is cited as having given up a\n           commission government, yet the case is not parallel, since\n           a'. The commission under which the city had lived was appointed\n               by the governor after a disastrous conflagration; and\n           b'. The form of government substituted has most of the essential\n               features of the: commission government except the size of\n               the council, which has four members elected at large, and\n               five by district.\n\nIV'. Although it is urged that the corrupt element in politics would\nhave unlimited power if they should capture the commission, yet the\ndirect responsibility to the citizens will be a safeguard for the\nenlarged power, for\n     A'. Every act of the city government will be known; since under the\n         charter--sections 24, 25, 29, 33--\n         1'. The meetings of the council will be public.\n         2'. All resolutions are to be in writing and recorded.\n         3'. All votes are to be recorded.\n         4'. An itemized statement of receipts and expenditures must\n             be printed and distributed every month.\n         5'. Ordinances making contracts or granting franchises must be\n             published one week before final passage, and on petition may\n             be referred to the people.\n         6'. In Des Moines under the new charter the newspapers give much\n             space to the doings of the city government. _McClure's\n             Magazine_, Vol. XXXV, p. 101.\n     B'. The provisions for a recall will be a check on corrupt officials;\n         for\n         1'. In Des Moines a chief of police was retired on the suggestion\n             of a recall for the commissioner who was responsible for his\n             appointment. _McClure's Magazine_, Vol. XXXV, p. 101.\n         2'. In Seattle a mayor who made terms with the vicious element,\n             and was in league with public service corporations, was\n             recalled. Daily papers, March, 1911.\n\n\n                         CONCLUSION.\n\nWytown should adopt a commission government like that of Des\nMoines; since\n\n    A. The admitted inefficiency of the city government at present is\n    due to the system of government;\n\n    B. The adoption of the plan will result in important economies;\n\n    C. The adoption of the plan will result in more efficient service to\n    the city; and\n\n    D. The direct responsibility of the mayor and councilmen to the\n    citizens will be a safeguard for the increased power given to them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nEVIDENCE AND REASONING\n\n\n27. Evidence and Reasoning. We have seen in the last chapter that\nthe chief value of making a brief is that in the first place it lays out\nyour reasoning so that you can scrutinize it in detail; and that in the\nsecond place it displays the foundations of your reasoning on facts\nwhich cannot be contested. In this chapter we shall consider what\ngrounds give validity to evidence and to reasoning.\n\nWhere the facts which you bring forward come from persons with\nfirst-hand knowledge of them, they are direct evidence; where you must\nestablish them by reasoning from other facts they are indirect evidence,\nand in the latter case reasoning is an essential part of establishing\nthe facts. In this chapter, therefore, I shall speak first of direct\nevidence, then of indirect, and then pass on to consider a few of the\nsimpler principles which govern reasoning.\n\nIn ordinary usage the word \"evidence\" is pretty vague, and means\nanything that will help to establish one side or another of any\nquestion, whether of fact or of policy. The word, however, comes\nultimately from the law, where it is used for the testimony, either oral\nor written or material, which is brought in to establish the truth of\nassertions about fact: evidence is set before the jury, which under the\ncommon law decides questions of fact. In almost any argument of policy,\nhowever, we use facts as reasons for or against the policy which is in\nquestion, and therefore inmost cases we must use evidence to establish\nthese facts; in many cases, when the facts are established there is no\nfurther disagreement about the policy. For example, in arguments for and\nagainst state prohibition of the liquor trade, it is an essential fact\nto determine whether in status where prohibition has been tried it has\nfailed or succeeded, and another essential fact whether under similar\nconditions a combination of high license and local option has or has not\nproduced less drunkenness. Both are extremely complicated and difficult\nfacts to decide; but if clear evidence can be brought forward to\nestablish them, reasonable-minded people would generally hold as settled\nthe question of the policy which should be adopted. Similarly, an\nargument for the popular election of senators would undoubtedly make\nlarge use of the alleged fact that, in elections by the legislatures,\nthere has been much undue interference by special interests and rich\ncorporations; and the assertion of this fact would have to be supported\nby evidence. If this fact were thus clearly established, it would be\nrecognized as a strong reason for a change in our present policy. In the\ninterest of clearness of thought it is worth while to remember this\ndistinction; for, as we shall see, it is only by so doing that we can\ndetermine when the ordinary rules of logic do and when they do not apply\nto the processes of reasoning on which argument is based. I shall speak\nhere, therefore, of the evidence for facts, and of the reasons for or\nagainst a policy.\n\nIt may be said in passing that the highly complicated rules of evidence\nat the common law have practically nothing to do with our present\nsubject, for they spring from very special conditions, and have been\nmolded by very special purposes. Their object is to establish, so far as\nis possible, principles which will apply to all cases of a like nature;\nand they therefore rule out many facts and much evidence which outside\nthe court we all use without hesitation in making up our minds. The jury\nsystem has had a curious and interesting history: and judges have built\nup hedges around juries which seem to the layman merely technical, and\nunnecessary for the ends of justice.[14] Yet though the sweeping away of\nmany of these rules from time to time shows that there has been and\nperhaps still is justice in this view, one must remember that the whole\ncommon law is based on the application of principles already established\nby earlier cases to new cases of like character; and that great care\nmust therefore be used not to establish principles which may interfere\nwith the even distribution of justice in the long run (see on this point\nS.R. Gardiner, p. 103). Even if in single cases the rule of evidence\nthat forbids hearsay evidence works an injustice, yet in the long run it\nis obvious both that, if hearsay were allowed, litigants would take less\ntrouble to get original evidence, and that much hearsay is thoroughly\nuntrustworthy.\n\nAnother reason why the rules of evidence at the common law have little\nbearing on the arguments of everyday life is like that which makes it\nunwise to dwell much on the burden of proof: there is no one either\ncompetent or interested to enforce the exclusion. Assertion and rumor\nmust be more than palpably vague before the ordinary man will of his own\ninitiative take the trouble to scrutinize it; and even in refuting such\nmaterial you must make its untrustworthiness very patent if you expect\nto make ordinary readers distrust it seriously.\n\n28. Direct and Indirect Evidence. When we come now to consider how we\nestablish facts, whether single or complex, we find that, both to aid\nour own judgment and to convince other people, we rely on evidence. We\nhave seen that evidence falls roughly into two classes: either it comes\nfrom persons who testify out of their own observation and experience, or\nit comes indirectly through reasoning from facts and principles already\nestablished or granted. The two kinds of evidence run into each other,\nand the terms commonly used to describe them vary: \"direct evidence\" is\nnot infrequently, as in Huxley's argument (see p. 240), called\n\"testimonial,\" and \"indirect evidence,\" as in the same argument and in\nthe opinion of Chief Justice Shaw, quoted below, is called\n\"circumstantial.\" On the whole, however, the opposition between the two\nclasses, so far as it is of practical importance, may best be indicated\nby the terms \"direct evidence\" and \"indirect evidence.\" The distinction\nbetween the two classes is made clear in the following extract from the\nopinion of Chief Justice Shaw of the Massachusetts Supreme Court. It\nwill be noticed that it is the same doctrine as that laid down by Huxley\n(see p. 240).\n\nThe distinction, then, between direct and circumstantial evidence is\nthis. Direct or positive evidence is when a witness can be called to\ntestify to the precise; fact which is the subject of the issue in trial;\nthat is, in a case of homicide, that the party accused did cause the\ndeath of the deceased. Whatever may be the kind or force of the\nevidence, this is the fact to be proved. But suppose no person was\npresent on the occasion of the death,--and of course no one can be\ncalled to testify to it,--is it wholly unsusceptible of legal proof?\nExperience has shown that circumstantial evidence may be offered in such\na case; that is, that a body of facts may be proved of so conclusive a\ncharacter, as to warrant a firm belief of the fact, quite as strong and\ncertain as that on which discreet men are accustomed to act in relation\nto their most important concerns....\n\nEach of these modes of proof has its advantages and disadvantages; it is\nnot easy to compare their relative value. The advantage of positive\nevidence is, that you have the direct testimony of a witness to the fact\nto be proved, who, if he speaks the truth, saw it done; and the only\nquestion is, whether he is entitled to belief. The disadvantage is, that\nthe witness may be false and corrupt, and the case may not afford the\nmeans of detecting his falsehood.\n\nBut in a case of circumstantial evidence where no witness can testify\ndirectly to the fact to be proved, you arrive at it by a series of other\nfacts, which by experience we have found so associated with the fact in\nquestion, as in the relation of cause and effect, that they lead to a\nsatisfactory and certain conclusion; as when footprints are discovered\nafter a recent snow, it is certain that some animated being has passed\nover the snow since it fell; and, from the form and number of the\nfootprints, it can be determined with equal certainty, whether it was a\nman, a bird, or a quadruped. Circumstantial evidence, therefore, is\nfounded on experience and observed facts and coincidences, establishing\na connection between the known and proved facts and the fact sought to\nbe proved.[15]\n\nUnder the head of direct evidence, as I shall use the term, would fall\nthe evidence of material objects: in an accident case, for example, the\nscar of a wound may be shown to the jury; or where the making of a park\nis urged on a city government, the city council may be taken out to see\nthe land which it is proposed to take. Though such evidence is not\ntestimony, it is direct evidence, for it is not based on reasoning and\ninference.\n\n29. Direct Evidence. Direct evidence is the testimony of persons\nwho know about the fact from their own observation: such is the\ntestimony of the witnesses to a will that they saw the testator sign it,\nthe testimony of an explorer that there are tribes of pygmies in Africa,\nthe testimony of a chemist to the constituents of a given alloy, or of a\ndoctor to the success of a new treatment. Every day of our lives we are\ngiving and receiving direct evidence; and of this evidence there is\ngreat variety in value.\n\nIn the first place, no one should place too much reliance on his own\ncasual observations. It is notorious that we see what we expect to see;\nand no one who has not deliberately set himself to observe the fact can\nrealize how much of what he thinks is observation is really inference\nfrom a small part of the facts before him. I feel a slight tremor run\nthrough the house with a little rattling of the windows, and assume that\na train has gone by on the railroad below the hill a hundred yards away:\nas a matter of fact it may have been one of the slight earthquake shocks\nwhich come every few years in most parts of the world. The mistakes that\nmost of its make in recognizing people are of the same sort: from some\nsingle feature we reason to an identity that does not exist.\n\nOf recent years psychologists have set themselves to getting some\naccurate facts as to this inaccuracy of human observation, and various\nexperiments have been tried. Here is an account of one:\n\nThere was, for instance, two years ago in Goettingen a meeting of a\nscientific association, made up of jurists, psychologists, and\nphysicians, all, therefore, men trained in careful observation.\nSomewhere in the same street there was that evening a public festivity\nof the carnival. Suddenly, in the midst of the scholarly meeting, the\ndoors open, a clown in highly  costume rushes in in mad\nexcitement, and a <DW64> with a revolver in hand follows him. In the\nmiddle of the hall first the one, then the other, shouts wild phrases;\nthen the one falls to the ground, the other jumps on him; then a shot,\nand suddenly both are out of the room. The whole affair took less than\ntwenty seconds. All were completely taken by surprise, and no one, with\nthe exception of the president, had the slightest idea that every word\nand action had been rehearsed beforehand, or that, photographs had been\ntaken of the scene. It seemed most natural that the president should beg\nthe members to write down individually an exact report, inasmuch as he\nfelt sure that the matter would come before the courts. Of the forty\nreports handed in, there was only one whose omissions were calculated as\namounting to less than twenty per cent of the characteristic acts;\nfourteen had twenty to forty per cent of the facts omitted; twelve\nomitted forty to fifty per cent, and thirteen still more than fifty per\ncent. But besides the omissions there were only six among the forty\nwhich did not contain positively wrong statements; in twenty-four\npapers up to ten per cent of the statements were free inventions, and in\nten answers--that is, in one fourth of the papers--more than ten per\ncent of the statements were absolutely false, in spite of the fact that\nthey all came from scientifically trained observers. Only four persons,\nfor instance, among forty noticed that the <DW64> had nothing on his\nhead; the others gave him a derby, or a high hat, and so on. In addition\nto this, a red suit, a brown one, a striped one, a coffee-\njacket, shirt sleeves, and similar costume were invented for him. He\nwore in reality white trousers and a black jacket with a large red\nneck-tie. The scientific commission which reported the details of the\ninquiry came to the general statement that the majority of the observers\nomitted or falsified about half of the processes which occurred\ncompletely in their field of vision. As was to be expected, the judgment\nas to the time duration of the act varied between a few seconds and\nseveral minutes.[16]\n\nAnother type of cases in which our direct testimony would be valueless\nis legerdemain: we think that we actually see rabbits taken out of our\nneighbor's hat, or his watch pounded in a mortar and presently shaken\nwhole and sound out of an empty silk handkerchief; and it is only by\nreasoning that we know our eyes have been deceived.\n\nIt is obvious, therefore, that to question a man's evidence is not\nalways to call him a liar; in most cases it is rather to question the\naccuracy of his inferences from such part of the facts as he actually\ngrasped. In science no important observation is accepted until the\nexperiments have been repeated and checked by other observers. Indeed,\nmost of the progress of science is due to the repetition of experiments\nby observers who notice some critical phenomena which their predecessors\nhave missed.\n\nWith this qualification, that human observation is always fallible,\ngood direct evidence is on the whole the most convincing evidence that\nyou can use. If you can establish a fact by the mouths of trustworthy\nwitnesses, making your readers recognize that these witnesses had good\nopportunities of observation and a competent knowledge of the subject,\nyou will generally establish your point. In case of an accident in a\nstreet car it is the custom of many companies to require their\nconductors to take down immediately the names of a few of the most\nrespectable-looking of the passengers, who may be called as witnesses in\ncase of a lawsuit. All the observations of science, and most of the\nfacts brought before juries in courts of law, as well as the multitude\nof lesser and greater facts which we accept in everyday life, get their\nauthority from this principle.\n\nIn the arguments of school and college you may not make much use of\ndirect evidence, for they do not often turn on single, simple facts.\nEven here, however, cases arise where you must call in the direct\ntestimony of witnesses. If you were arguing that secret societies should\nbe abolished in a certain school, and wished to show that such societies\nhad led to late hours, playing cards for money, and drinking, you would\nneed direct evidence. If you were arguing that the street railroad\ncompany of your city should be obliged to double track a certain part of\nits line, you would need direct evidence of the delays and crowding of\ncars with a single track.\n\nWhen you are using direct evidence you should make it clear that the\nperson from whom it comes is a competent witness, that he has been in a\nposition to know the facts at first hand, and that, if necessary, he has\nhad the proper training to understand their meaning. In the case of an\nautomobile accident a man who had never run a car would not be the best\nsort of witness as to the actions of the chauffeur, nor a man who had\nnever sailed a boat as to what happened in a collision between two\nsailboats. In a scientific matter the observations of a beginner would\nnot carry weight as against those of a man who had used a microscope for\nmany years.\n\nThe witness, too, must be shown to be free from bias, whether practical\nor theoretical. It is a well-known fact that men differ greatly in the\nclearness of their eyesight in observing the stars, and that men who are\ngifted with exceptional eyesight may make valuable discoveries with\ninferior instruments; but if such a man has espoused a theory, say, as\nto the nature of the rings of Saturn, and is known to defend it\npassionately, his evidence concerning what he had seen is bound to be\nsomewhat discounted.\n\nEven official reports cannot be trusted without scrutiny.\n\nThe fact is that many things conspire to make an official report\nconstrained and formal. There is the natural desire of every man to put\nthe best face on things for himself as he sets his case before the\ngovernment and the world; subordinates must be let off leniently; you\nmust live with them, and it impairs comfort to have them sullen. To make\na statement unpleasant to a superior might be construed as\ninsubordination. The public welfare makes it imperative to tell a\nflattering tale. The temptation is constant to tell not quite the whole\ntruth, and nothing but the truth. There are important suppressions of\nfact in the official records, none more so, perhaps, than as regards\nChancellorsville.[17]\n\nIf you happen to be dealing with a historical matter, where the\ntestimony comes from a more or less remote past, and the evidence is\nscrappy and defective, you must be still more careful.\n\nThe great English historian, the late S.R. Gardiner, in his\nexamination of the evidence on the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, wrote as\nfollows about the difficulties of dealing with historical evidence:\n\nIt seems strange to find a writer so regardless of what is, in these\ndays, considered the first canon of historical inquiry, that evidence\nworth having must be almost entirely the evidence of contemporaries who\nare in a position to know something about that which they assert. It is\ntrue that this canon must not be received pedantically. Tradition is\nworth something, at all events when it is not too far removed from its\nsource. If a man whose character for truthfulness stands high, tells me\nthat his father, also believed to be truthful, seriously informed him\nthat he had seen a certain thing happen, I should be much more likely to\nbelieve that it was so than if a person, whom I knew to be untruthful,\ninformed me that he had himself witnessed something at the present day.\nThe historian is not bound, as the lawyer is, to reject hearsay\nevidence, because it is his business to ascertain the truth of\nindividual assertions, whilst the lawyer has to think of the bearing of\nthe evidence not merely on the case of the prisoner in the dock, but on\nan unrestricted number of possible prisoners, many of whom would be\nunjustly condemned if hearsay evidence were admitted. The historian is,\nhowever, bound to remember that evidence grows weaker with each link of\nthe chain. The injunction, \"Always leave a story better than you found\nit,\" is in accordance with the facts of human nature. Each reporter\ninevitably accentuates the side of the narrative which strikes his\nfancy, and drops some other part which interests him less. The rule laid\ndown by the late Mr. Spedding, \"When a thing is asserted as a fact,\nalways ask who first reported it, and what means he had of knowing the\ntruth,\" is an admirable corrective of loose traditional stories.\n\nA further test has to be applied by each investigator for himself. When\nwe have ascertained, as far as possible, on what evidence our knowledge\nof an alleged fact rests, we have to consider the inherent probability\nof the allegation. Is the statement about it in accordance with the\ngeneral workings of human nature, or with the particular working of the\nnature of the persons to whom the action in question is ascribed? Father\nGerard,[18] for instance, lavishly employs this test. Again and again he\ntells us that such and such a statement is incredible, because, amongst\nother reasons, the people about whom it was made could not possibly have\nacted in the way ascribed to them. If I say in any of these cases that\nit appears to me probable that they did so act, it is merely one\nindividual opinion against another. There is no mathematical certainty\non either side. All we can respectively do is to set forth the reasons\nwhich incline us to one opinion or another, and leave the matter to\nothers to judge as they see fit.\n\nIt will be necessary hereafter to deal at length with father Gerard's\nattack upon the evidence, hitherto accepted as conclusive, of the facts\nof the plot. A short space may be allotted to the reasons for rejecting\nhis preliminary argument, that it was the opinion of some\ncontemporaries, and of some who lived in a later generation, that\nSalisbury contrived the plot in part, if not altogether. Does he realize\nhow difficult it is to prove such a thing by any external evidence\nwhatever? If hearsay evidence can be taken as an argument of\nprobability, and in some cases of strong probability, it is where some\none material fact is concerned. For instance, I am of opinion that it is\nvery likely that the story of Cromwell's visit to the body of Charles I\non the night after the king's execution is true, though the evidence is\nonly that Spence heard it from Pope, and Pope heard it, mediately or\nimmediately, from Southampton, who, it is alleged, saw the scene with\nhis own eyes. It is very different when we are concerned with evidence\nas to an intention necessarily kept secret, and only exhibited by overt\nacts in such form as tampering with documents, suggesting false\nexplanation of evidence, and so forth. A rumor that Salisbury got up the\nplot is absolutely worthless; a rumor that he forged a particular\ninstrument would be worth examining, because it might have proceeded\nfrom some one who had seen him do it.[19]\n\nWhile it is rare to find a man of whom it may justly be said that there\nis no partition between his memory and his imagination, yet there are\nfew of us who can be sure of facts in past matters which touch our\nfeelings. We cannot help to some degree reconstructing events as they\nfade away into the past: we forget those parts of an event which did not\nat the time sharply touch our imagination, and those which did move us\ntake on an overshadowing importance. Therefore the further away the\nevents which the evidence is to reconstruct, the more care we must take\nto scrutinize it to see if there are signs of bias.\n\nTo test the value of direct evidence, therefore, as to single and simple\nfacts, consider whether the evidence comes from a specifically named\nsource, whether there is any likelihood that the witness may have been\nhonestly deceived in his observation, whether he had a good opportunity\nto know the facts and a sufficient knowledge of the subject about which\nhe is giving evidence, and, finally, whether he was reasonably free from\nbias in the matter.\n\nWhenever you use direct evidence, however, it must be direct. To assert\nthat \"every one knows that secret societies in a certain school have led\nto immoral practices,\" is not direct evidence, nor to declare that \"the\nbest authorities in the city are agreed that the company should lay\ndouble tracks on a certain street.\" Such assertions are apt to be the\nmost roundabout sort of hearsay. Try cross-examining the next man you\nhear make this kind of sweeping assertion, in order to see what he\nreally knows of the facts, and you will soon find how recklessly such\nassertions are made. You constantly hear grave statements of facts whose\nultimate basis is the imagination of some enterprising newspaper\nreporter; yet careful and truthful people pass them on as if they were\nindubitable.\n\nThe news columns of the papers are largely written by young fellows just\nout of high school, who will declare the whole gospel on subjects with\nwhich they have a half hour's acquaintance, yet most people never\nquestion their statements. The printed page, whether of a hook, a\nmagazine, or a newspaper, casts a spell on our judgment. Such floating\nassertions, with no one to father them, are of no value whatever. If you\nhave to use statements in a newspaper as direct evidence, either take\nthem from a newspaper which is recognized as careful about facts, or\nelse look up the matter in two or three papers, and show that their\ntestimony agrees.\n\nOn the other hand, a specific name, with a specific reference to volume\nand page, will go a long way to give your readers confidence in the\nevidence you adduce. And rightly so, for one man with a name and address\nis worth hundreds of unnamed \"highest authorities\"; and the more\nspecifically you refer to him and to his evidence, the more likely you\nwill be to win over your audience to your view.\n\nA famous and effective example of the use of specific names to give\nauthority to an argument, and the incidental refutation of a vague and\nloose assertion, is found in Lincoln's address at Cooper Institute, in\nthe first part of which he took up Senator Douglas's statement that \"our\nfathers, when they framed the government under which we live, understood\nthis question just as well as, and even better than, we do now,\" with\nthe implication that they intended to forbid the federal government to\ncontrol slavery in the federal territories. Lincoln showed that \"our\nfathers who framed the government under which we live\" must be the\nmakers of the Constitution: and then he proceeded to show just what\naction each one of them, so far as record had been preserved, had taken\non the question. Here is a passage from his argument:\n\nThe question of Federal control in the Territories seems not to have\nbeen directly before the convention which framed the original\nConstitution; and hence it is not recorded that the \"thirty-nine,\" or\nany of them, while engaged on that instrument, expressed any opinion on\nthat precise question.\n\nIn 1789, by the first Congress which sat under the Constitution, an act\nwas passed to enforce the ordinance of 1787, including the prohibition\nof slavery in the Northwestern Territory. The bill for this act was\nreported by one of the \"thirty-nine\"--Thomas Fitzsimmons, then a member\nof the House of Representatives from Pennsylvania. It went through all\nits stages without a word of opposition, and finally passed both\nbranches without ayes and nays, which is equivalent to a unanimous\npassage. In this Congress there were sixteen of the thirty-nine fathers\nwho framed the original Constitution. They were John Langdon, Nicholas\nGilman, William S. Johnson, Roger Sherman, Robert Morris, Thomas\nFitzsimmons, William Few, Abraham Baldwin, Rufus King, William Paterson,\nGeorge Clymer, Richard Bassett, George Read, Pierce Butler, Daniel\nCarroll, and James Madison.\n\nThis shows that, in their understanding, no line dividing local from\nFederal authority, nor anything in the Constitution, properly forbade\nCongress to prohibit slavery in the Federal territory; else both their\nfidelity to correct principle, and their oath to support the\nConstitution, would have constrained them to oppose the prohibition.\n\nAgain, George Washington, another of the \"thirty-nine,\" was then\nPresident of the United States and as such approved and signed the bill,\nthus completing its validity as a law, and thus showing that, in his\nunderstanding, no line dividing local from Federal authority, nor\nanything in the Constitution, forbade the Federal Government to control\nas to slavery in Federal territory.\n\nNo great while after the adoption of the original Constitution, North\nCarolina ceded to the Federal Government the country now constituting\nthe State-of Tennessee; and a few years later Georgia ceded that which\nnow constitutes the States of Mississippi and Alabama. In both deeds of\ncession it was made a condition by the ceding States that the Federal\nGovernment should not prohibit slavery in the ceded country. Besides\nthis, slavery was then actually in the ceded country. Under these\ncircumstances, Congress, on taking charge of these countries, did not\nabsolutely prohibit slavery in them. But they did interfere with\nit--take control of it----even there, to a certain extent. In 1798\nCongress organized the Territory of Mississippi. In the act of\norganization they prohibited the bringing of slaves into the Territory\nfrom any place without the United States, by fine, and giving freedom to\nslaves so brought. This act passed both branches of Congress without\nyeas and nays. In that Congress were three of the \"thirty-nine\" who\nframed the original Constitution. They were John Langdon, George Read,\nand Abraham Baldwin. They all probably voted for it. Certainly they\nwould have placed their opposition to it upon record if, in their\nunderstanding, any line dividing local from Federal authority, or\nanything in the Constitution, properly forbade the Federal Government to\ncontrol as to slavery in Federal territory.\n\nIn the end this exact statement of names, for which he had prepared\nhimself with such laborious care, enabled Lincoln to sum up with\nabsolute conclusiveness:\n\nThe cases I have mentioned are the only acts of the \"thirty-nine,\" or of\nany of them, upon the direct issue, which I have been able to discover.\n\nTo enumerate the persons who thus acted as being four in 1784, two in\n1787, seventeen in 1789, three in 1798, two in 7804, and two in\n1819-1820, there would be thirty of them. But this would be counting\nJohn Langdon, Roger Sherman, William Few, Rufus King, and George Read\neach twice, and Abraham Baldwin three times. The true number of those of\nthe \"thirty-nine\" whom I have shown to have acted upon the question\nwhich, by the text, they understood better than we, is twenty-three,\nleaving sixteen not shown to have acted upon it in any way.\n\nHere, then, we have twenty-three out of our thirty-nine fathers \"who\nframed the government under which we live,\" who have, upon their\nofficial responsibility and their corporal oaths, acted upon the very\nquestion which the text affirms they \"understood just as well, and even\nbetter, than we do now\"; and twenty-one of them--a clear majority of the\nwhole \"thirty-nine\"--so acting upon it as to make them guilty of gross\npolitical impropriety and willful perjury if, in their understanding,\nany proper division between local and Federal authority, or anything in\nthe Constitution they had made themselves, and sworn to support, forbade\nthe Federal Government to control as to slavery in the Federal\nterritories. Thus the twenty-one acted; and, as actions speak louder\nthan words, so actions under such responsibility speak still louder.\n\nWhen you come to evidence about a large and complex state of affairs,\nwhich is the kind of fact that so many of the arguments of practical\nlife deal with, though you will still be dealing with a fact, yet the\nvery nature of the fact changes the value and the character of your\nevidence. It is a comparatively simple matter to determine whether a\ncertain woman faced forward or backward as she was getting off a street\ncar, or whether the eggs of a sea urchin do or do not begin to germinate\nunder the influence of a certain chemical substance; but it is far from\nsimple to determine whether a free elective course has or has not inured\nto greater intelligence and cultivation in the graduates of a certain\ncollege, or whether the graduates of another college where the classical\ncourse is maintained have keener and more flexible minds and more\nrefined tastes as a result of their study of the classics. In such cases\nas these the citing of direct evidence brings on you difficulties of a\ndifferent kind from those you face when you are establishing a single,\nsimple fact. Here you will usually depend on two main sources of\nevidence: statistics, and the evidence of recognized authorities on the\nsubject.\n\n30. Statistics. Statistics, which are collections of figures, are\nnotoriously treacherous. On many important subjects, such, for example,\nas the practical effect of the elective system, it is impossible to get\nthem; and on many other subjects, such as the effects of a protective\ntariff, they must be had in so enormous masses, if they are to be\ntrusted at all, that only profound students can handle them. Where the\nfacts are complicated, and interests are tangled, moreover, many sets of\nfigures may enter into the question, as notably in the case of a tariff;\nso clearly is this difficulty now recognized that Congress has\nauthorized a tariff board made up of distinguished students of economics\nand men of long experience in dealing with tariff matters to collect and\nstudy the facts and make recommendations based on them. Similarly, with\nthe investigation into the liquor question made fifteen years ago by the\nCommittee of Fifty: the whole question had been so tangled by assertion\nand counter-assertion that it became desirable to have an investigation\ninto the facts by men of recognized ability and impartiality.[20]\n\nIn general, to use statistics safely you need a wide acquaintance with a\nsubject, especially where the question is in any way mixed up with men's\nfeelings, whether through politics or not. All the statistics we have\nmake dead against great armaments and preparation for war; yet while\nhuman nature is what it is, necessary prudence seems to require every\nnation of any size to have them. A very little human nature will upset a\nvery great body of statistics. Furthermore, in most human affairs\nresults are produced by a multiplicity of causes; and though statistics\nmay throw light on three quarters of all the causes that are potent in\nany given case, yet the other quarter which are irreducible to definite\nstatement may wholly alter the result. If you are using statistics in\nyour argument, therefore, as evidence of some large and complex fact,\nyou should usually justify them to some extent by showing that there are\nno counteracting forces which they do not cover.\n\nWith this precaution, however, statistics are the foundation of most\narguments on large questions. If you were arguing in favor of the\npurchase of local waterworks, you would present figures showing the\nnumber of houses using the public water supply, the rates paid, the\nprofits of the company, the exact points at which public control could\nwork economies. If you were arguing for a rule that no man shall play on\na university team until he has been registered a year at the university,\nyou would need statistics to show how many men would be affected by the\nrule. If you were arguing for a single session at a school instead of\ntwo, you would show exactly how many students in the school live more\nthan a mile away from the building. In every case where statistics can\nbe presented in such a way as to make clear that they fairly cover the\nground, they are most valuable evidence. They give the argument the\neffect of being founded on a rock. If it be obvious that the statistics\nhave been freshly gathered, and are not merely casual and second-hand\ngleanings, they have still greater effect, for then they have a\nsecondary force in testifying to the personal knowledge that the witness\nhas of the subject. We shall see later the danger of the fallacy of\ngeneralizing on too narrow a basis: a generalization based on a good\nbody of statistics runs no danger of this fallacy.\n\n31. The Opinion of Recognized Authorities. The other chief source\nof evidence to establish a fact which consists of a large and complex\nstate of affairs is the opinion of recognized authorities on the\nsubject. The strength of such evidence depends on whether the audience\nwill accept the person you cite as having authority on the matter. Most\nof us read some newspaper or periodical in the opinions of which we have\nconfidence, because they seem to be based on investigation and competent\nknowledge. The annual report of the Secretary of the Treasury is\nexcellent evidence on the state of the national finances. The reports of\npresidents of colleges are excellent evidence from authorities on such\nquestions as the value of the elective system or the effect of raising\nthe standard of admission. The report of a dean or of a schoolmaster on\nthe value of organized athletics is effective if the audience knows that\nhe likes out-of-door sports and takes time to see the games. Evidence\ndrawn from an authority who is likely to be used by the other side is\ndoubly effective, since your readers recognize that his competence is\nadmitted.\n\nIf a man has given his life to the study of a subject and has published\nbooks that are of recognized authority, his evidence will be of especial\nweight. Mr. Bryce's opinion on all questions concerning a state of\naffairs in this country would be recognized at once as weighty, for he\nhas given time and study to collecting the multitude of small facts\nwhich constitute the large fact. His opinion that political honesty is\nincreasing with us has brought comfort to many good citizens who had\ngrown despondent over the accounts of recurrent rascality in the\nnewspapers and magazines. This is a typical case for the citation of\nauthorities; for the facts are enormous in number, very widely\nscattered, and often contradictory. Only a man who has taken the pains\nto keep himself constantly informed, whose judgment has been trained by\nlong consideration and comparison of the facts, and who is born with the\njudicial temperament can attain the authority of Mr. Bryce.\n\nThere will be cases on which you will have the right to put yourself\nforward as an authority, for on many subjects which fall within the\nrange of undergraduates their knowledge is first-hand. On all questions\nof athletics, especially, an undergraduate is apt to have freshly in\nmind a considerable mass of facts. In the same way, on the results of\ncertain requirements for admission to college, you can speak from recent\nexperience. In matters concerning your own city, too, you may have\noriginal knowledge.\n\nIf you are going to put yourself forward as an authority, however, you\nmust round out your knowledge of the facts by extending it beyond your\nown personal experience. If it is a question of entrance requirements,\nyou cannot stop with your own experience, or even with that of your own\nclass at school. You must go back to the records of a number of classes\nbefore and perhaps after your own, and talk them over with the principal\nof the school, to see whether there are any special circumstances which\naffect any of them. If you are arguing for or against a change in the\npresent rules of football, you would have to go beyond the games of your\nown college team, and beyond those of the present season. If, for\nexample, it were a question of amending the rules concerning the forward\npass, you could not speak with full authority unless you had looked up\nthe accounts of the principal games for two or three years at any rate.\nIf you put yourself forward, then, as a witness on one of these cases of\ncomplicated facts, you must make it clear to your readers that you have\na right to be considered such. If you have the right, it would be folly\nto hide your light under a bushel.\n\nAn example of the care which is taken by men who have made themselves\nauthorities on their subjects is to be found in the following passage\nfrom President Eliot's address, \"A Wider Range of Electives in College\nAdmission Requirements.\"[21] Notice how broad a basis he lays for his\nconclusions both in facts and in the opinions of other authorities.\nWhat should be the grounds of a just valuation of all the subjects\nthat can be presented at admission examinations which include\nnumerous options?\n\nThat question introduces us to a difficult inquiry. It is, of course,\nnot an intelligent method to attribute a value to each subject in\naccordance with the time devoted to the examination in that subject.\nWhat clue have we toward a better mode of determining the value\nwhich ought to be attributed to each of the numerous electives,\nwhen the young men cannot present all the permitted subjects,\nand hardly three fifths of them, indeed, if the range is adequately\nwidened? I believe that the best criterion for determining the value\nof each subject is the time devoted to that subject in schools which\nhave an intelligent program of studies. The Committee of Ten[22]\nexamined the number of subjects used in about two hundred of the\nbest secondary schools in this country, and the time-allotments for\nthe several subjects. They found a great variety of practice as to\nboth selection of subjects and time-allotments. You can hardly say\nthat there is an accepted time-allotment in these secondary schools\nfor any subject--not even for the old traditional subjects. The\ntime-allotments differ widely in different parts of the country, and\neven in different schools in the same part of the country. If, then,\nwe are to determine by school time-allotments the valuations of the\ndifferent subjects, prescribed and elective, which may enter into\nadmission examinations, we must have some sort of standard programs for\nsecondary schools. At present (1896) I know no programs which can answer\nthat purpose, except the provisional programs of the Committee of Ten.\nThey may fairly be said to be the best-studied programs now before the\ncountry, and to represent the largest amount of professional consent,\nsimply because they are the result of the work, first, of ninety school\nand college teachers, divided into nine different conferences by\nsubject, and secondly, of ten representative teachers combining and\nrevising the work of the conferences, with careful reference to the\npresent condition of American schools.\n\n32. Indirect Evidence. The term \"indirect evidence\" may be used for\nall evidence as to fact in which reasoning consciously plays a part.\nWithout it we should be helpless in large regions of our intellectual\nlife, notably in science and history, and constantly in everyday life.\nClearly the line between direct and indirect evidence is vague and\nuncertain; it is one of the first things learned in psychology that our\nperceptions and judgments of things about us are almost never based\nexclusively on the testimony of our senses, and that we are all the time\njumping to conclusions from very partial observations.\n\nProfessor Muensterberg gives the following example from his own\nexperience of this unintentional substitution of indirect evidence for\ndirect:\n\nLast summer I had to face a jury as witness in a trial. While I was with\nmy family at the seashore my city house had been burglarized and I was\ncalled upon to give an account of my findings against the culprit whom\nthey caught with part of the booty. I reported under oath that the\nburglars had entered through a cellar window, and then described what\nrooms they had visited. To prove, in answer to a direct question, that\nthey had been there at night, I told that I had found drops of candle\nwax on the second floor. To show that they intended, to return, I\nreported that they had left a large mantel clock, packed in wrapping\npaper, on the dining-room table. Finally, as to the amount of clothes\nwhich they had taken, I asserted that the burglars did not get more than\na specified list which I had given the police.\n\nOnly a few days later I found that every one of these statements was\nwrong. They had not entered through the window, but had broken the lock\nof the cellar door; the clock was not packed by them in wrapping paper,\nbut in a tablecloth; the candle droppings were not on the second floor,\nbut in the attic; the list of lost garments was to be increased by seven\nmore pieces; and while my story under oath spoke always of two burglars,\nI do not know that there was more than one.[23]\n\nConstantly in everyday life we make offhand assertions in the full\nbelief that we are giving direct evidence, when as a matter of fact we\nare announcing inferences. The distinction is of importance in many\nways, and not least as a means of avoiding heat in argument; for to\nquestion a man's inference is much less likely to make him angry than to\ndeny his statement of fact.\n\nFor the practical purposes of argument we may let the distinction\nbetween observation and inference, and consequently that between direct\nand indirect evidence, turn on whether the inference is a conscious and\nreadily distinguishable part of the judgment or not. Though bringing to\nlight an unconscious inference is often an essential part of the\ndetection of false reasoning, where there is no such practical\nconsequence, we need not be too curious here about the line between\ndirect observation and inference from observation. For the rough and\nready purposes of everyday arguments it is exact enough to say that\nwhere you recognize that you are basing your conclusion as to a fact on\nsome process of reasoning, then you are resting on indirect evidence;\nwhere you do not recognize the inference without reflection, you are\nresting on direct evidence.\n\nIn the following discussion of reasoning I shall sometimes be dealing\nwith proving a fact, sometimes with arguing forward to a policy. In many\ncases the two processes are practically identical, for if the fact is\nestablished the policy follows as a matter of course: in these cases,\ntherefore, for the sake of convenience I shall use the terms\ninterchangeably, and keep them separate only where there is danger of\nconfusion.\n\n33. Reasoning. Though the various forms of reasoning and the\nprinciples which they follow are the concern rather of psychology and\nlogic than of a practical work on the writing of arguments, yet these\nsciences help us to understand the processes of the mind by which we\nconvince first ourselves, and then other people, of the existence of\nfacts, when for one reason or another direct testimony is wanting.\nPsychology describes the processes of reasoning as part of the activity\nof the mind, analyzes them into their parts, and shows their working.\nLogic is concerned rather with the forms of reasoning: its aim is to\nestablish principles and rules the application of which will insure\ncorrect reasoning.\n\nI shall first briefly and very simply sketch the underlying nature of\nthe reasoning process as it is described by psychologists; then I shall\npass on to a practical application of the principles thereby attained;\nnext I shall set forth a few of the simplest and clearest of the\nprocesses of reasoning which have been worked out by logic; and,\nfinally, I shall discuss each few of the best-recognized forms of false\nreasoning. From both the psychological description and the rules of\nlogic we shall derive practical suggestions for establishing facts\nwhich may be needed in an argument.\n\nThe essential feature of the process of reasoning is that it proceeds\nfrom like to like, by breaking up whole facts and phenomena,\nand following out the implications or consequences of one\nor more of the parts.[24] For example, if I infer, when my dog\ncomes out of a barnyard with an apologetic air, and with blood and\nfeathers on his mouth, that he has been killing a hen, I am breaking\nup the whole phenomenon of the dog's appearance, and paying\nattention only to the blood and feathers on his head; and\nthese lead me directly to similar appearances when I have caught\nhim in the act. If I reason, Every student who can concentrate his\nattention can learn quickly, George Marston has a notable power\nof concentration, Therefore George Marston can learn quickly, I\nagain break up the abstraction _student_, and the concrete fact\n_George Marston_, and pay attention in each to the single characteristic,\n_concentration of attention_. Thus by means of these similar\nparts of different wholes I pass from the assertion concerning the\nclass as a whole to the assertion concerning the concrete case.\nThis process first of analysis and then of abstraction of similars is\nthe essential part of every act of reasoning.\n\nIn intuitive or unreasoned judgment, on the other hand, we\njump to the conclusion without analyzing the intermediate steps.\nIf I say, _I have a feeling in my bones that it will rain to-morrow,_\nor, _it is borne in on me that our team will win_, the sensations and\nideas that I thus lump together are too subtle and too complex for\nanalysis, and the conclusion, though it may prove sound, is not\narrived at by reasoning. The difference between such intuitive\nand unreasoned judgments, and reasoning properly so called, lies\nin the absence or the presence of the intermediate step by which\nwe consciously recognize and choose out some single attribute or\ncharacteristic of the fact or facts we are considering, and pass\nfrom that to other cases in which it occurs.\n\nThe skill of the reasoner therefore consists of two parts: first, the\nsagacity to pick out of the complex fact before him, the attribute or\ncharacteristic which is significant for his present purpose; and second,\nthe large knowledge of the subject which will enable him to follow it\ninto other cases in which it occurs with different circumstances, or, in\nother words, to follow a similarity through diverse cases. Darwin's\ngreat achievement in establishing the principle of evolution lay first\nin the scientific sagacity which flashed home on him, after years of\npatient study, that the one common fact in all the multitude of plants\nand animals is that in the struggle for existence by which all living\nbeings persist, those who are best fitted to their circumstances\nsurvive; and second, in his rich knowledge of the world of nature, which\nmade it possible for him to follow out this characteristic in all kinds\nof plants and animals, and so to reach the general law. But whether it\nbe so world-sweeping a conclusion as his, or my conclusion that my dog\nhas killed a hen, the process is the same: analysis or breaking up of\nthe complex fact, and following out the consequences or implications of\nsome selected part of it into other cases.\n\nAll reasoning thus reduces itself in the end to a process of passing\nfrom like to like: we notice that the present case is like other cases\nwhich we already know: then, since these cases have always in the past\nbeen accompanied by certain circumstances or consequences, we believe\nthat the present case will also show these same circumstances or\nconsequences. Whenever my dog has killed when the cases have been\nsimilar in the blood and feathers on his mouth; in this case he has\nblood and feathers on his mouth; therefore he must have killed a hen.\nIndividual plants and animals survive which are fitted to their\nenvironment by special characteristics, and those which are not so\nfitted die; species of plants and animals, as well as individuals, show\nspecial adaptation to their environment; therefore species have survived\nthrough the same process of natural selection.\n\nIt follows that reasoning, whether it results in a general law or in\nconcrete judgment, depends on the assumption that nature--and in nature\nwe mean here the whole universe as we know it is uniform; that there are\nties between facts which make it possible for us to be certain that if a\ngiven fact occurs, then another fact always occurs with it as an effect,\nor as a cause, or connected with it in some other manner. Without this\ncertainty of the uniformity of things there would be no reasoning, and\ntherefore no argument from indirect evidence. Huxley sets forth this\nfundamental truth clearly and impressively at the beginning of the first\nof his \"Lectures on Evolution\" (see p. 234).\n\nFor practical purposes the various types of this inference from\nsimilarity can be conveniently thrown into three groups. As will be\nobvious, there is no fixed and impassable line between them.\n\n\"If an inference relies upon a resemblance that is newly seen, rare, or\ndoubtful, it is called an inference from analogy; if it is made upon the\nbasis of an established classification, it is called a generalization;\nif it involves a variety of resemblances so combined as to bear upon a\nsingle point, it is usually or frequently called an inference from\ncircumstantial evidence.\"[25]\n\nI will take up each of these types and show how we use them in the\npractical work of argument. It will be seen that they vary greatly in\ncertainty of results.\n\n34. Reasoning from Analogy. Analogy in its most tenuous form is\nweak as a basis for an actual inference, though it is often effective as\na means of expressing an intuitive judgment where the reasons are too\nsubtle and diffused for formal explanation. When Lincoln in the middle\nof the Civil War said that men do not swap horses while they are\ncrossing a stream, the analog, though subtle, was felt to be real.\nPopular adages and proverbs are common modes of expressing such\ndeep-lying analogies: for example, \"Where there is smoke there is fire\";\n\"The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way.\" Poetry too is full\nof these subtle, pregnant similarities which link things in some one\naspect, but fail for all others.\n\n                          To die; to sleep;\n    No more; and by a sleep to say we end\n    The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks\n    That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation\n    Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; to sleep;--\n    To sleep? Perchance to dream! Ay, there's the rub;\n    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,\n    When we have shuffl'd off this mortal coil,\n    Must give us pause.\n\nBut, as in this case of Hamlet's, poetical analogies will not bear much\nstrain; the aspect in which the similarity holds is usually the only\naspect the two cases have in common, and to take poetry as a precise\nformulation of fact is to sin against both humor and sound reasoning.\n\nIn daily life we are constantly reasoning by analogy. If you argue that\na certain man who has been successful at the head of a railroad will\ntherefore make a good president for a college because that also is a\ncomplex institution, or that because self-government has worked well in\na certain school it will probably work well in a college, or that\nbecause a friend has been cured of sleeplessness by taking a walk just\nbefore going to bed therefore everybody who sleeps badly can be cured in\nthe same way,--in all these cases you are reasoning by analogy. In each\ncase it will be noticed you would pass from a similarity which exists in\na single case or in a small number of cases to the conclusion. The\nreasoning is sound, however, only in so far as the similarity bears on\nthe actual purpose in hand: in the first example, if the success of the\nrailroad president arises from the power of understanding men and of\nphilosophic insight into large problems, the reasoning will probably be\nvalid; in the last example, if applied to insomnia due to overwork, it\nmight be bad.\n\nIn practical affairs it is easy to find examples of reasoning from\nanalogy, especially in arguments of policy. The first trial of city\ngovernment by commission depended on such reasoning: when Galveston,\nTexas, was devastated by a storm it was reasoned that in business\nmatters a small body of picked men with absolute powers are most\nefficient in an emergency, and that since the reconstruction of the city\nwas essentially a matter of business, such a body would best meet the\nemergency. So the extension of commission government in other states at\nfirst followed reasoning by analogy: government by commission worked\nwell in Galveston; it would probably work well in Des Moines. In the\nsame way with the arguments for a parcels post: they proceed from the\nanalogy of the present postal service, which has been successful so far\nas it goes, and from the success of the parcels post in almost all the\ncountries of Europe. If you were arguing that \"Association\" (or\n\"soccer\") football should be made one of the major sports at your\ncollege, you would reason from the analogy of its great popularity with\nEnglishmen all over the world that it would also probably be popular in\nAmerica.\n\nWhen you use the argument from analogy, however, you must make sure that\nthe similarity between the two cases runs to the point you wish to\nestablish. In the following extract from an argument in favor of\ncommission government for all cities, the author explicitly limits his\nreasoning from the analogy of Washington to the point of the extension\nof the system to large cities.\n\nIf we look for successful governments by commission in this\ncountry, it is not difficult to find them in our largest cities. The\ncity of Washington is governed by a small commission, and is\nacknowledged to be one of our best-governed cities. While this\ncommission originated in an entirely different way from that of the\ncommission form of government, successful administration under its rule\nis a valid answer to the argument that small commissions are suited only\nto the administration of small cities.[26]\n\nWhenever you use this type of reasoning, it is wise thus to limit its\nbearing. If in an argument in favor of allowing secret societies in a\nhigh school you rely on the analogy of college life, take pains to show\nthat the resemblance covers the social life of a school. If you were\narguing that your city should establish a municipal gymnasium, and\nrelied on the reasoning from the analogy of a family, in which all the\nmembers have a direct interest in the health of the others, show that\nthis interest has practical grounds of welfare, and does not rest wholly\non affection. In every case, unless the limits of the analogy are\nobvious, specify them in order to carry your readers safely with you.\n\n35. False Analogy. A peculiar danger of the argument from analogy\nis the fallacy which is known as false analogy, or reasoning to a\nconclusion which the similarity does not support. Arguments in which\nthere are many figures of speech, especially when the style is at all\nflorid, are apt to slop over into this fallacy. To liken education to\nthe unfolding of a flower is all very well, if you do not go on to argue\nthat because the lily of the field neither toils nor spins, therefore a\nchild should do no work in school. It is said that M. Stolypin, the\nlate premier of Russia, once half apologized In the Duma for the\nslowness of his reforms, saying that he Was like a man shooting with a\nflintlock musket; to which one of the Liberal members replied that it\nwas not a question of weapons, but of aim, and that if his Excellency\nwas to go on shooting at the people, it would be better if he went on\nusing flintlocks. Under the auspices of the Carnegie Institution an\nexpert in business administration made an inquiry into the methods of\nteaching and research in physics at various American universities, and\nmade recommendations based on the conduct of business establishments. A\nprofessor of physics in answer showed in how many ways the analogy\nbetween a business concern, whose end is profit, and a physical\nlaboratory, whose end is the advancement of knowledge, is false and\nmisleading. The expert had suggested a general research board to\ncorrelate researches; the professor cited the cases of Airy, the\nastronomer royal of England, who by his dominating position held back\nastronomical research in England for a generation, and of Sir Humphry\nDavy, who discouraged the work of Faraday, when the latter was his\nassistant.\n\nThe expert suggested that apparatus could be passed on from\none investigator to another: the professor replied that few men can use\napparatus designed for some one else's purpose, and that the cost of\nreconstruction would exceed the cost of new machines. In short, he\ncompletely riddled the argument from analogy set up by the expert.[27]\n\nA notable example of conclusive refutation of an argument based on a\nfalse analogy is to be found in William James's Ingersoll Lecture on\nImmortality. He took up the ordinary argument against the immortality of\nthe soul, which, starting from the accepted physiological and\npsychological formula, \"Thought is a function of the brain,\" reasons\nthat therefore when the brain dies and decays, thought and consciousness\ndie, too.\n\nThis, then, is the objection to immortality; and the next thing in\norder for me is to try to make plain to you why I believe that it has in\nstrict logic no deterrent power. I must show you that the fatal\nconsequence is not coercive, as is commonly imagined; and that, even\nthough our soul's life (as here below it is revealed to us) may be in\nliteral strictness the function of a brain that perishes, yet it is not\nat all impossible, but on the contrary quite possible, that the life may\nstill continue when the brain itself is dead.\n\nThe supposed impossibility of its continuing comes from too superficial\na look at the admitted fact of functional dependence. The moment we\ninquire more closely into the notion of functional dependence, and ask\nourselves, for example, how many kinds of functional dependence there\nmay be, we immediately perceive that there is one kind at least that\ndoes not exclude a life hereafter at all. The fatal conclusion of the\nphysiologist flows from his assuming offhand another kind of functional\ndependence, and treating it as the only imaginable kind.\n\nWhen the physiologist who thinks that his science cuts off all hope of\nimmortality pronounces the phrase, \"Thought is a function of the brain,\"\nhe thinks of the matter just as he thinks when he says, \"Steam is a\nfunction of the teakettle,\" \"Light is a function of the electric\ncircuit,\" \"Power is a function of the moving waterfall.\" In these latter\ncases the several material objects have the function of inwardly\ncreating or engendering their effects, and their function must be called\n_productive_ function. Just so, he thinks, it must be with the brain.\nEngendering consciousness in its interior, much as it engenders\ncholesterin and creatin and carbonic acid, its relation to our soul's\nlife must also be called productive function. Of course, if such\nproduction be the function, then when the organ perishes, since the\nproduction can no longer continue, the soul must surely die. Such a\nconclusion as this is indeed inevitable from that particular conception\nof the facts.\n\nRut in the world of physical nature productive function of this sort is\nnot the only kind of function with which we are familiar. We have also\nreleasing or permissive function; and we have transmissive function.\n\nThe trigger of a crossbow has a releasing function: it removes the\nobstacle that holds the string, and lets the bow fly back to its natural\nshape. So when the hammer falls upon a detonating compound. By knocking\nout the inner molecular obstructions, it lets the constituent gases\nresume their normal bulk, and so permits the explosion to take place.\n\nIn the case of a  glass, a prism, or a refracting lens, we have\ntransmissive function. The energy of the light, no matter how produced,\nis by the glass sifted and limited in color, and by the lens or prism\ndetermined to a certain path and shape. Similarly, the keys of an organ\nhave only a transmissive function. They open successively the various\npipes and let the wind in the air chest escape in various ways. The\nvoices of the various pipes are constituted by the columns of air\ntrembling as they emerge. But the air is not engendered in the organ.\nThe organ proper, as distinguished from its air chest, is only an\napparatus for letting portions of It loose upon the world in these\npeculiarly limited shapes.\n\nMy thesis now is this: that, when we think of the law that thought is a\nfunction of the brain, we are not required to think of productive\nfunction only; _we are entitled also to consider permissive or\ntransmissive function_. And this the ordinary psychophysiologist leaves\nout of account.[28]\n\nThe question of the validity of an analogy in reasoning is always, as\nhere, whether the similarity on which the reasoning rests really runs\nbetween the two cases in hand, or is not merely a general resemblance\nexpressed by some phrase or word which seems to mean more than it does.\nIn other words, when you are testing an analogy, whether your own or an\nopponent's, make sure that the similarity is real for the present case.\nA picturesque figure of speech may add life to an argument, but it may\nalso cover a gap in the reasoning.\n\n36. Reasoning by Classification or Generalization. Obviously the\nstrength of reasoning from analogy increases with the number of cases\nwhich you can point to as showing the similarity on which you rely, for\nyou can then begin to generalize and classify.\n\nAnalogy expresses our natural tendency to assimilate the new to the old,\nto interpret what is strange and unfamiliar in the light of what we\nalready know. It may therefore be described as classification in the\nmaking. The resemblances which guide us are called analogies so long as\nthey are newly seen, rare, or doubtful; but as the number of cases\nincreases, analogy passes by insensible stages into established\nclassification.[29]\n\nAn excellent example of this transition may be seen in the present state\nof the argument in favor of commission government: at first, as we have\nseen, it depended chiefly on reasoning from analogy; by this time enough\ncities have adopted the plan to make it possible to classify them, and\nso reason by generalization.\n\nGeneralization and classification, it may be noted in passing, are two\naspects of the same process of thought. When one passes from the\nindividual facts to the larger fact which brings them together, as in\nthe assertion, _Members of the Phi Beta Kappa are good scholars_, one\nmakes a generalization; when one asserts of an individual the larger\nfact, as in the assertion, My _brother is a good scholar_ (My _brother\nbelongs to the class Good Scholars_), one makes a classification.\n\nWhen a classification or generalization is constant and familiar, it\nbrings forth, by the natural economy of language, a name for the class\nor the principle; \"federation,\" \"deciduous trees,\" \"emotion,\" \"terminal\nmoraine,\" are all names of classes; \"attraction of gravity,\" \"erosion,\"\n\"degeneration,\" \"natural selection,\" are names of principles which sum\nup acts of generalization. Almost always these names begin as figures of\nspeech, but where they are used accurately they have a perfectly exact\nmeaning. Darwin has given some account of this process of language:\n\n\"It has been said that I speak of natural selection as an active power\nor deity, but who objects to an author speaking of the attraction of\ngravity as ruling the movements of planets? Every one knows what is\nmeant by such metaphorical expressions, and they are almost necessary\nfor brevity: so, again, it is difficult to avoid personifying the word\n'Nature.' But I mean by Nature the aggregate action and product of many\nlaws, and by laws the sequence of events as ascertained by us.\"[30]\n\nWhen the facts intended to be meant by a phrase are thus carefully\nspecified and delimited, the phrase ceases to be a figure of speech, and\nbecomes the name of a class or of a principle.\n\nGeneralization and classification always take place for purposes of\nreasoning;[31] and reasoning which is dependent on them rests on the\nassumption that things are uniformly correlated in nature; when we\nthrow things together into classes we assume that what is true for one\nmember of a class, so far as it is a member of that class, is true to\nthe same extent and for the purpose for which the class is made for all\nother members of that class.\n\nIn practice a large part of our reasoning is through generalization and\nclassification; and as we have seen, it has a more substantial basis\nthan when we rest on an analogy. If you hear that your brother has been\nelected to the Phi Beta Kappa, you reason from the generalization that\nall members of the Phi Beta Kappa are high scholars to the inference\nthat your brother must have taken high rank. When I see a gang of\ncarpenters knocking off work at four o'clock in the afternoon, I infer\nthat they must belong to the union, because I know that unions as a\nclass have established an eight-hour day. If you were arguing that the\nstandards for graduation from your college should be raised, you would\ntry to show that each year enough men are graduated with low\nintellectual attainments to make a class large enough to generalize\nfrom. If you were arguing that your city should establish a municipal\ngymnasium, you would try to show that of the boys and young men brought\nbefore the police courts for petty mischief and more serious offenses\nalmost all have lacked the chance to work off their animal spirits in a\nhealthy way. Wherever you can thus establish your special case in a\nclass which has known characteristics or consequences, you can then\napply the characteristics and consequences of the class to your special\ncase.\n\nWhere the class is recognized as having definite characteristics or\nconsequences, you can make your inference by showing that your case\nfalls within the class. Sometimes the stress of your reasoning will come\non making it clear that the consequence or characteristic on which your\nreasoning depends really belongs to the class. If, for example, you were\narguing, as did the Class of '85 at Amherst College, that your college\nshould return to something like the old-fashioned classical education,\nyou would try to establish the fact that men who have had the\nold-fashioned classical education are as a rule characterized by\nintelligence, liberal culture, and open-mindedness. In such cases it is\nthe generalization on which the class is based which is the difficult\npart of your task.\n\nIn general, however, if you can show your readers that the present case\nbelongs in a class of cases which can be recognized as belonging\ntogether by virtue of definable characteristics, you have established an\nexcellent foundation for an inference based on those characteristics.\n\n37. Reasoning by Causal Relation. Reasoning by generalization rises\ngreatly in certainty, however, whenever you can show the workings of\ncause and effect. If a college receives every year from a certain school\na number of boys who are slack and lazy students, the dean of that\ncollege may come to generalize and expect most of the boys from that\nschool to be poor timber. If, however, he finds that the master of the\nschool will take and keep any boy who lives in the town, he is able to\nargue from this as a cause to the conclusion that the standards of the\nschool are low, and then from these low standards as a cause to the poor\nquality of the graduates of the school.\n\nHere is another example, from Professor James:\n\n    I am sitting in a railroad car, waiting for the train to start. It\n    is winter, and the stove fills the car with pungent smoke. The\n    brakeman enters, and my neighbor asks him to \"stop that stove\n    smoking.\" He replies that it will stop entirely as soon as the car\n    begins to move. \"Why so?\" asks the passenger. \"It _always_ does,\"\n    replies the brakeman. It is evident from this \"always\" that the\n    connection between car moving and smoke stopping was a purely\n    empirical one in the brakeman's mind, bred of habit. But if the\n    passenger had been an acute reasoner ... [and had] singled out of\n    all the numerous points involved in a stove's not smoking the one\n    special point of smoke pouring freely out of the stove-pipe's mouth,\n    he would probably ... have been immediately reminded of the law that\n    a fluid passes more rapidly out of a pipe's mouth if another fluid\n    be at the same time streaming over that mouth.[32]\n\nHere the passenger's certainty that the smoking would stop would have\nbeen much increased if he had, as Professor James suggests, reasoned to\nthe cause, instead of trusting to the brakeman's generalization from\nexperience.\n\nIn scientific matters search for cause and effect the chief mode of\nprogress. General Sternberg's article \"Yellow Fever and Mosquitoes\"\n(p. 251) is an admirable account of this advance from probability to\ncertainty, which comes from demonstrating the necessary sequence which\nwe call cause and effect. When Major Reed and his associates had shown\nthat in cases where mosquitoes were kept away there was no yellow fever,\nbut that in cases where infected mosquitoes were allowed to bite\npatients yellow fever followed, they turned the probability that\nmosquitoes were the transmitting agent of the fever into a certainty.\nLikewise with the glacial theory: it had already in the time of the\nelder Professor Agassiz been established that certain regions of\nnorthern Europe and America could be classed together by the occurrence\nof certain phenomena--rounded hills, ledges of rock smoothed off and\nmarked with scratches running more or less north and south, deposits of\nclean gravel and sand, boulders of various foreign kinds of rock\nscattered over the surface of the country; when he showed that glaciers\nin their movements produce all these phenomena, he laid bare the cause\nof the phenomena, and so demonstrated with practical certainty the\ntheory of the former existence of a huge glacial sheet in the northern\nhemisphere. Wherever you can show that your case not only belongs to a\nrecognized class of cases, with recognized characteristics, but also\nthat in those characteristics there is a necessary sequence of cause and\neffect, you have proved your point.\n\nIn the example above, of an argument for the establishment of a\nmunicipal gymnasium, if after showing that all the boys and young men\nwho get into the courts have no normal and healthy way of working off\ntheir natural animal spirits, you can show that in places where through\nsettlements or municipal action gymnasiums have been provided, the\nnumber of arrests of boys and young men has greatly fallen off, you have\nestablished the grounds for an inference of cause and effect which gives\nyour argument a wholly new strength. In the case of the argument for a\nreturn to a classical course in a college, this sequence of cause and\neffect would be very difficult to establish, for here you would be deep\ndown in the most complex and subtle region of human nature. Wherever it\nis possible, however, lead the inference from a classification or\ngeneralization on to an inference of cause and effect.\n\n38. Induction and Deduction. Our next step is to consider how we\nget the generalizations on which we base so much of our reasoning. As we\nhave seen, the science which deals with the making of them, with their\nbasis, and with the rules which govern inferences made from them is\nlogic.\n\nLogicians generally distinguish between two branches of their science,\ninductive and deductive reasoning. In inductive reasoning we pass from\nindividual facts to general principles; in deductive reasoning we pass\nfrom general principles to conclusions about individual facts. The\ndistinction, however, draws less interest in recent times than formerly,\nand logicians of the present generation tend to doubt whether it has any\nvital significance.[33] They point out that in practice we\nintermingle the two kinds almost inextricably, that the distinction\nbetween facts and principles is temporary and shifting, and that we\ncannot fit some of the common forms of inference into these categories\nwithout difficult and complicated restatement.\n\nNevertheless, as deductive logic and inductive logic are ancient and\ntime-honored terms which have become a part of the vocabulary of\neducated men, it is worth while to take some note of the distinction\nbetween them, I shall not attempt here to do more than to explain a few\nof the more important principles. I shall begin with inductive logic,\nsince that is the branch which deals with the making of generalizations\nfrom individual fact, and therefore that which has most concern in the\narguments of the average man in his passage through life.\n\n39. Inductive Reasoning. In inductive reasoning we put individual\nfacts and cases together into a class on the basis of some definable\nsimilarity, and then infer from them a general principle. The types of\ninductive reasoning have been reduced by logicians to certain canons,\nbut these reduce themselves to two main methods, which depend on whether\nin a given piece of reasoning we start from the likeness between the\ninstances or the differences between them. On these two methods, the\nmethod of agreement and the method of difference, hang all the processes\nof modern science, and most of our everyday arguments.\n\nThe method of agreement has been defined as follows:\n\nIf two or more instances of the phenomenon under investigation have\nonly one circumstance in common, the circumstance in which alone all the\ninstances agree is the cause (or effect) of the given phenomenon.[34]\n\nA few examples, which might easily be multiplied, will show how\nconstantly we use this method in everyday life. Suppose that a teacher\nis annoyed at somewhat irregular intervals by whispering and laughing in\nthe back of the schoolroom, for which he can find no cause, but that\npresently he notices that whenever a certain pair of boys sit together\nthere the trouble begins; he infers that these two boys are the cause of\nthe trouble.\n\nIn the old days before it had been discovered that the germs of malaria\nare carried by mosquitoes, the disease was ascribed to a miasma which\nfloated over low ground at night; and the innkeepers of the Roman\nCampagna, where malaria had almost driven out the population, urged\ntheir guests never to leave their windows open at night, for fear of\nletting in the miasma. In the lights of those days this was good\nreasoning by the method of agreement, for it was common observation that\nof all the many kinds of people who slept with their windows open most\nhad malaria. We are constantly using this method in cases of this sort,\nwhere from observation we are sure that a single cause is at work under\ndiverse circumstances. If the cases are numerous enough and diverse\nenough, we arrive at a safe degree of certainty for practical purposes.\nAs the case just cited shows, however, the method does not establish a\ncause with great certainty. No matter how many cases we gather, if a\nwhole new field related to the subject happens to be opened up, the\nagreement may be shattered.\n\nThe method of difference, which in some cases does establish causes with\nas great certainty as is possible for human fallibility, works in the\nopposite way: instead of collecting a large number of cases and noting\nthe single point of agreement, it takes a single case and varies a\nsingle one of its elements. The method has been stated as follows:\n\nIf an instance in which the phenomenon occurs, and an instance in which\nit does not occur, have every circumstance in common save one, that one\noccurring only in the former; the circumstance in which alone the two\ninstances differ, is the effect, or the cause, or an indispensable part\nof the cause, of the phenomenon.[35]\n\nThe principle is clearer and more apprehensible in the concrete example\nthan in the abstract statement; as a matter of fact it is applied in\nevery experimental search for a cause. The Agricultural College of New\nYork, for example, in the course of certain experiments on apple\norchards, bought an orchard which had not been yielding well, and\ndivided it into halves; one half was then kept plowed and cultivated,\nthe other half was left in grass; otherwise the treatment was the same.\nWhen the half which was kept cultivated gave a much larger yield than\nthe other, it was safe to infer that the cultivation was the cause of\nthe heavier yield. Dr. Ehrlich, the great German pathologist, is said to\nhave tried six hundred and five different substances before he found one\nwhich would kill the germ of a certain disease; in each experiment he\nwas using the method of difference, keeping the conditions the same in\nall except a single point, which was the addition of the substance used\nin that particular experiment. Wherever the conditions of an experiment\ncan be thus controlled, the method of difference gives a very accurate\nway of discovering causes. With advancing knowledge a supposed cause may\nbe in turn analyzed in such a way that each of its parts can be\nseparately varied, in order to come more closely to the actual sequence\ninvolved.\n\nIt has been pointed out[36] that the two methods are really statements\nof what is required for the verification of a theory at two stages of\nits growth: when we are first getting a glimpse of a causal connection\nbetween two facts we collect all the cases in which they occur in as\nmuch variety as possible, to see if the connection is really universal;\nthen, having established the universal sequence, we come to close\nquarters with it in a single critical instance, varying the conditions\nsingly until we run down the one without which the effect cannot take\nplace.\n\nNo neater and more illuminating example of this relation between the two\nmethods and the successful working of them can be found than that in the\narticle by General Steinberg, \"Yellow Fever and Mosquitoes\" (p. 251).\nIn that case first Dr. Carlos Finlay of Havana, and then Dr. Sternberg\nhimself, had become convinced by comparing many cases of yellow fever\nthat there was some intermediate host for the bacillus that caused the\ndisease. This conclusion they reached through the method of agreement.\nDr. Finlay's experiments by the method of difference had failed,\nhowever, indisputably to establish the cause, since he did not see that\nit was necessary to allow the bacillus at least twelve days for\nincubation in the body of the mosquito. The final and definitive proof,\nwhich came through the splendid self-devotion of the surgeons in charge\nof the experiment and of certain enlisted men who volunteered to be made\nthe subject of the experiment, was by the method of difference. These\nbrave men allowed themselves to be exposed to mosquitoes which had\nalready bitten patients suffering from the fever, and they promptly came\ndown with the disease; one of them, Dr. Lazear, gave his life for his\ndevotion to the cause of his fellow men. Then other men were exposed in\na mosquito-proof room to clothes and other articles brought directly\nfrom yellow-fever patients, and showed no ill effects. Thus it was\nabsolutely proved, though the bacillus itself had not been found, that\nyellow fever is carried by mosquitoes, and is not carried by ordinary\ncontagion.\n\nThe unsuccessful experiments of Dr. Finlay and the later success of\nMajor Reed show how science advances by refinement of analysis in the\nuse of the method. The hypothesis on which the former worked was that\nall mosquitoes who had bitten a yellow-fever patient can carry the\ndisease. Dr. Reed and his associates analyzed the phenomenon more\nclosely and tried their experiments on the hypothesis that only\nmosquitoes who have lived twelve days after biting the patient are\ncapable of passing on the disease. This refinement of analysis and\nobservation is the chief mode of advance in the sciences which depend on\nexperiment.\n\nScientific arguments, therefore, make constant use of both methods.\nMedical research frequently begins with the gathering of statistics from\nreported cases, and the theory or theories suggested by the method of\nagreement working on these facts leads to the application of the method\nof difference through some series of critical experiments. In general\nthe conclusions of science where experiment cannot be used depend on the\nmethod of agreement, especially in the larger theories in biology and\ngeology, where the lapse of unnumbered centuries is necessary to bring\nabout changes. In physics, in chemistry, in medicine, on the other hand,\ncritical experiments are generally possible, and so progress is by the\nmethod of difference. In such subjects as political science and\ngovernment, where experiment is out of the question, one must depend\nchiefly on the method of agreement, except in such cases as will be\nmentioned below where a change in policy has the same effect as an\nexperiment. Here, however, one must not forget that in all matters human\nthe incalculable clement of human nature enters to complicate all\nresults, and that emotion and feeling are always irrational.\n\nIt is by the same processes that we get most of our explanations of the\nworld as we go through it, and most of the facts on which we base\njudgment and action. When the same sort of thing happens in a number of\nfairly different cases, we begin to suspect that there is a reason; and\nif we are going to make an argument on the subject, we take note of the\ncases and try in some way to arrange and tabulate them. The supporters\nof a protective tariff collect instances of prosperity under such a\ntariff, the supporters of free trade cases of prosperity under free\ntrade, the believers in the classical education cases of men trained in\nthat way who have attained to eminence, believers in the elective system\ncases of men who are the products of that system who have attained equal\neminence. In most cases such collection of instances does not carry you\nfar toward a coercive argument; the cases are too complex for you to\nassert that any one factor is the cause of the result.\n\nIn another kind of case you can come a little nearer. In an argument for\nthe establishment of a commission form of government in a given city or\ntown there are now enough cases of this type of government in practice\nto make possible a good argument by the method of agreement; the places\nare scattered over the country, north and south, east and west, and\nrange greatly in size and environments; and all of them so far (1911)\nreport improvement in efficiency and honesty of government. Accordingly\nit is a fair presumption that the improvement is due to the introduction\nof the new form of government, since in all other respects the places\nwhich have tried it have little in common.\n\nA more important result of the inquiry is to lead us on to an\napplication of the method of difference. Starting with this strong\nprobability that the improvement is due to the new form of government,\nwe can go a step further and examine a single case, in order to\nestablish more clearly the sequence of events which we call a cause. In\nthe case of any given town which has adopted the commission government\nthe material for the application of the method of difference is ready to\nour hands, if nothing else has been changed in the town but the form of\ngovernment. The inhabitants and the voters are the same, the physical\nconditions are the same. If now we seek for the cause of an admitted\nimprovement in the administration of the city affairs, we are driven to\nascribe it to the only factor in the case which has been changed, and\nthis is the form of government. Such an argument, if supported by\nfigures and specific facts, is obviously strong.\n\nThe same kind of argument is constantly used in the discussion of\nprohibition and local option as a means of reducing the amount of liquor\nconsumed in a community, for the frequent changes both in states and in\nsmaller communities provide material for the application of the same\nmethod of difference. Here, however, the factors are more complex, on\naccount of differences in the character of the population in different\nplaces, and their inherited habits as concerns the use of wine, beer,\nand other liquors.\n\n40. Faulty Generalization. Both generalization through the method\nof agreement, and the assignment of causes through the method of\ndifference, however, have their dangers, like all forms of reasoning. A\ndiscussion of these dangers will throw light on the processes\nthemselves.\n\nThe chief danger when you reason through the method of agreement is of\njumping to a conclusion too soon, and before you have collected enough\ncases for a safe conclusion. This is to commit the fallacy known as\nhasty generalization. It is the error committed by the dogmatic sort of\nglobetrotter, who after six weeks spent in Swiss-managed hotels in Italy\nwill supply you with a full set of opinions on the government, morals,\nand customs of the country. In a less crass form it affects the judgment\nof most Englishmen who write books about this country, for they come\nover with letters of introduction to New York, Boston, Chicago, and San\nFrancisco, and then generalize about the rest of the country and its\npopulation.\n\nWe are all in danger from the fallacy, however, for it is a necessary\nlaw of the mind that we shall begin to make opinions and judgments on a\nsubject as soon as we become acquainted with it. The only safeguards\nare, in the first place, to keep these preliminary judgments tentative\nand fluid, and in the second, to keep them to one's self until there is\nsome need of expressing them. The path to wisdom in action is through\nopen-mindedness and caution.\n\nWhen one has to refute an argument in which there is faulty\ngeneralization, it is often easy to point out that its author had no\nsufficient time or chance to make observations, or to point out that the\ninstances on which he relied are not fair examples of their class. In\npractice the strength of an argument in which this error is to be found\nlies largely in the positiveness with which it is pronounced; for it is\nhuman nature to accept opinions which have an outward appearance of\ncertainty.\n\nA not uncommon form of faulty generalization is to base an argument on a\nmere enumeration of similar cases. This is a poor foundation for an\nargument, especially for a probability in the future, unless the\nenumeration approaches an exhaustive list of all possible cases. To have\nreasoned a few years ago that because Yale had beaten Harvard at rowing\nalmost every year for fifteen years it had a permanent superiority in\nthe strength and skill of its oarsmen would have been dangerous, for\nwhen the years before the given period were looked up they would have\nshown results the other way. And an enumeration may run through a very\nlong period of time, and still in the end be upset.\n\nTo an inhabitant of Central Africa fifty years ago, no fact probably\nappeared to rest on more uniform experience than this, that all human\nbeings are black. To Europeans not many years ago, the proposition, 'All\nswans are white,' appeared an equally unequivocal instance of uniformity\nin the course of nature. Further experience has proved to both that they\nwere mistaken; but they had to wait fifty centuries for this experience.\nDuring that long time, mankind believed in an uniformity of the course\nof nature where no such uniformity really existed.[37]\n\nUnless you have so wide and complete a view of your subject that you can\npractically insure your enumeration as exhaustive, it is not safe to\nreason that because a thing has always happened so in the past, it will\nalways happen so in the future. The notorious difficulty of proving a\nnegative goes back to this principle.\n\nSo closely like hasty generalization that it cannot be clearly separated\nfrom it is faulty reasoning that arises from neglecting exceptions to a\ngeneral principle. All our generalizations, except those that are so\nnear truisms as to be barren of interest, are more or less rough and\nready, and the process of refining them is a process of finding\nexceptions and restating the principle so that it will meet the case of\nthe exceptions.\n\nDarwin is said to have had \"the power of never letting exceptions pass\nunnoticed. Every one notices a fact as an exception when it is striking\nor frequent, but he had a special instinct for arresting an\nexception.\"[38] It was this instinct which made him so cautious and\ntherefore so sure in the statement of his hypotheses: after the idea of\nnatural selection as an explanation of the origin of the species of the\nnatural world had occurred to him, he spent twenty years collecting\nfurther facts and verifying observations to test the theory before he\ngave it to the world. A generalization that the republican form of\ngovernment produces greater peace and prosperity than the monarchical\nwould neglect the obvious exceptions in the Central American republics;\nand to make it at all tenable the generalization would have to have some\nsuch proviso as, \"among peoples of Germanic race.\" Even then the\nexceptions would be more numerous than the cases which would fall within\nthe rule.[39] One must cultivate respect for facts in making theories: a\ntheory should always be held so tentatively that any new or unnoticed\nfacts can have their due influence in altering it.\n\nOf the errors in reasoning about a cause none is more common than that\nknown by the older logic as _post hoc, ergo propter hoc_ (after this,\ntherefore on account of it), or more briefly, the _post hoc_ fallacy.\nAll of us who have a pet remedy for a cold probably commit this fallacy\ntwo times out of three when we declare that our quinine or rhinitis or\ncamphor pill has cured us; for as a wise old doctor of two generations\nago declared, and as the new doctrines of medical research are making\nclear, in nine cases out of ten nature cures.\n\nOf the same character are the common superstitions of daily life, for\nexample, that if thirteen sit at table together one will die within the\nyear, or that crossing a funeral procession brings misfortune. Where\nsuch superstitions are more than playfully held, they are gross cases of\ncalling that a cause which has no relation to the event. Here is another\nexample, from a letter to _The Nation:_[40]\n\nIn the last volume of the Shakespeare controversy, the argument\npresented \"To the Reader\" seems fairly to be summarized as follows: The\nplays are recognized as wonderful; scholars are amazed at the knowledge\nof the classes in them, lawyers at the law, travelers at the minute\naccuracy of the descriptions of foreign cities; they show a keen critic\nof court etiquette and French soldiery; the only possible man of the\ntime with this encyclopedic outlook was Francis Bacon. Both in the\noriginal and in the summary there seems a _casual_ connection implied,\nnamely, that the plays are wonderful because of the knowledge, and\nbecause of the knowledge Bacon is the author. But, stated thus baldly,\nthe fallacy is obvious. It is not because the author \"had by study\nobtained nearly all the learning that could be gained from books\" that\nthe Elizabethans went to see the plays, or that we to-day read them; but\nit is because there is to be found in them wonderful characterization\nexpressed dramatically, namely, before an audience. And this audience is\nwhat the scholars seem to forget. For by it is the dramatist limited,\nsince profundity of thought or skill in allusion is good or bad,\nartistically, exactly in proportion as the thought is comprehended or\nthe allusion understood.\n\nSometimes this fallacy is caused by assuming that because a certain\nresult followed an event in the only case known, therefore there was a\ncausal connection. In a hearing before a committee of the Massachusetts\nlegislature on a bill to establish closer relations between Boston and\nits suburbs, the question was asked of a witness whether he believed\nthat in the case of London \"the London police would have been as\nefficient as they are now if there had been no annexation\" of the\nsurrounding towns; he very properly replied: \"That's a hard question to\nanswer, because we have only the existing side to look at. We don't know\nwhat it would have been as separate communities.\" Wherever multiple\ncauses are possible for a phenomenon it is unsafe to argue from a single\ncase.\n\nAnother form of error in reasoning to a cause is to assume that a fact\nis simple, when it is really complex, as in the following example:\n\nI do not think I am overstepping the bounds when I say that the headship\nof no corporation, or state, or even the headship of the United States,\nrequires greater general ability, force of character, or knowledge of\nadministration than the head of administration of a great city like New\nYork or Berlin. The latter we know to be well administered, the\nformer--well, let us say, less so. The whole difference is in the\nsystems. Apply the Berlin system to New York, and you will get Berlin\nresults.\n\nHere the writer wholly ignores all sorts of active causes for this\ndifference: Berlin has a tolerably homogeneous population, New York the\nmost heterogeneous in the world; Germans by nature respect law and\nauthority, and hanker for centralization; Americans make and break laws\nlight-heartedly, and are restive under authority; and one might easily\ngo further.\n\nArguments that national prosperity has followed a higher or a lower\ntariff are especially apt to be vitiated by this error. It is not that\nthe tariff has no relation to the prosperity, but that there are other\ncauses intermingled with it which may have had more immediate effect. A\nbad grain crop or a season of reckless speculation may obliterate all\nthe traceable causes of a change in the tariff. Arguments from motive,\ntoo, are apt to fall into this error. It is notorious that human motives\nare mixed. If you argue that a whole class of business organizations are\nevil because they have been formed solely for the purpose of making\ninordinate and oppressive profits, you leave out of sight a motive which\nis strong among American business men--the interest in seeing a great\nbusiness more efficiently managed, and the desire to exercise power\nbeneficently; and your argument suffers from its illegitimate assumption\nof a simple cause. So in the same way if you are arguing for or against\nthe advantages of the elective system in a school or a college, or of a\nclassical education, or of athletics, it would be folly to assume that\nany one cause or effect covered the whole case. Whenever in an argument\nyou are trying to establish any such large and complex fact, you must be\nwary lest you thus assume a single cause where in reality there are a\nlegion of causes.\n\n41. Deductive Logic--the Syllogism. Deductive logic, as we have seen,\ndeals with reasoning which passes from general principles to individual\ncases. Its typical form is the syllogism, in which we pass from two\npropositions which are given to a third, the conclusion. Of the two\nformer one is a general principle, the other an assertion of a\nparticular case. The classic example of the syllogism, which started\nwith Aristotle and has grown hoary with repetition, and so venerable\nthat it is one of the commonplaces of educated speech, runs as follows:\n_All men are mortal, Socrates is a man, Therefore Socrates is mortal_.\nHere there is the general principle, _All men are mortal_, and the\nassertion about the particular case, _Socrates is a man_. The two have\none term in common, _men_ (or more strictly, the class Man), which is\nknown as the middle term, through which we reach the conclusion that the\ncharacteristic of mortality in which all men are similar is true also of\nSocrates, by virtue of his being a man. Of the other terms, _mortal_,\nwhich is the more inclusive, is known as the major term, and _Socrates_,\nthe less inclusive, as the minor term. The first two propositions are\nthe premises, that which contains the major term being known as the\nmajor premise, and the other as the minor premise.\n\nThe validity of the syllogism lies, as I have said, in the assertion of\na general principle, and the bringing of the particular case in hand\nunder that principle: if the principle is granted as incontrovertible,\nand the special case as really coming under it, the conclusion is\ninevitable.\n\nOn the syllogism in its various forms deductive logic has built up an\nimposing structure of rules and conclusions. In practice the value of\nthe syllogism is largely indirect. The trouble with it in itself as a\nmode of progress in reasoning is twofold: in the first place there are\nvery few general principles which, if you are cautious, you will accept\nwithout reservations; and in the second place the crucial question in\nanother set of cases is whether the given case really falls under the\ngeneral principle. The syllogism, _All great statesmen are farsighted,\nDaniel Webster was a great statesman, Therefore Daniel Webster was\nfarsighted_, sounds simple; but two generations have disagreed on the\nquestion whether Webster was a great statesman; and both _great\nstatesman_ and _farsighted_ are such vague and inclusive terms that one\nwould either accept a general principle of which they are terms as a\nharmless truism, or else balk at being asked to grant a proposition\nwhich might have unexpected meanings thrust into it. This double\ndifficulty pursues the syllogism as a device for forwarding knowledge:\neither it sets forth a truth so large and vague that you cannot say\nwhether you accept it for all cases or not, or else the disagreement\ncomes on one of the premises, and unless both the premises are granted,\nstrictly syllogistic reasoning does not get under way.\n\nNevertheless, the syllogism has great practical value for the reasoning\nand arguments of everyday life: in the first place it affords a means of\nexpanding and scrutinizing the condensed forms of reasoning which are so\ncommon and so useful; and in the second place it can be used to sum up\nand state the results of a course of reasoning in incontrovertible form.\nI shall examine and illustrate both these uses of the syllogism; but\nfirst I shall give certain rules which govern all sound reasoning\nthrough syllogisms. They were invented by Aristotle, the great Greek\nphilosopher.\n\n42. The Rules of the Syllogism. (A term is said to be distributed,\nor taken universally, when the proposition of which it is a part makes a\nstatement about all the objects included in the term. In the proposition\n_All men are mortal_, the term _men_ is obviously distributed, but\n_mortals_ is not; for no assertion is made about all mortals but only\nabout those that are included under all men. In the proposition _No hens\nare intelligent_, both terms are distributed; for the assertion covers\nall hens, and also the whole class of intelligent beings, since it is\nasserted of the class as a whole that it contains no hens.)\n\nI. A syllogism must contain three terms, and not more than three\nterms.\n\nThis rule is to be understood as guarding against ambiguity, especially\nin the middle term; if the middle term, or either of the others, can be\nunderstood in two ways, the syllogism will not hold water.\n\nII. A syllogism must consist of three and only three propositions.\nThe reasons for this rule are sufficiently obvious.\n\nIII. The middle term of the syllogism must be distributed at least once\nin the premises.\n\nIf it were not thus distributed or taken universally, the two premises\nmight refer to separate parts of the middle term, and so there would be\nno meeting ground on which to form the conclusion. In the syllogism,\nAll good athletes lend a clean life, These men lead a clean life,\nTherefore these men are good athletes, the fallacy lies in the fact\nthat in neither premise is any assertion made about all men who lead a\nclean life. This fallacy, which is not uncommon in practice where the\nterms are complicated, is known as the fallacy of the undistributed\nmiddle.\n\nIV. No term must be distributed in the conclusion unless it was\ndistributed in at least one of the premises.\n\nIn other words, if you have premises which deal with part of a class\nonly, you cannot reach a conclusion about the whole class. In the\nsyllogism, All newspaper editors know how to write, All newspaper\neditors are paid, Therefore all men who know how to write are paid, the\nfallacy is obvious. But in the following, _All bitter partisans are\ndangerous citizens, This man is not a bitter partisan, Therefore this\nman is not a dangerous citizen_, one may have to scrutinize the\nreasoning a little to see that the fallacy lies in the fact that\n_dangerous citizen_ is taken universally in the conclusion, since a\nproposition with a negative predicate makes an assertion about the whole\nof its predicate, but that it is not taken universally in the premise in\nwhich it occurs. A fallacy which thus arises from not noticing that a\nnegative predicate distributes its term is apt to be insidious.\n\nV. No conclusion can be drawn from two negative premises.\n\nIn other words, if both the major term and the minor term lie outside\nthe middle term, the syllogism gives us no means of knowing what their\nrelation is to each other. The following example will make the reason\nclear: _No amateur athlete has a salary for playing, John Gorman is not\nan amateur athlete, Therefore John Gorman has a salary for playing_.\n\nVI. If one of the premises is negative, the conclusion must be\nnegative.\n\nIf of the major and minor premise one is negative, then either the major\nor the minor term does not agree with the middle term, and the other\ndoes; therefore the major and minor term cannot agree with each other.\n\n43. The Syllogism in Practical Use. The practical value of the\nsyllogism and its rules comes in the first place, as I have said, when\nwe expand a condensed form of reasoning into its full grounds in the\nform of a syllogism. Our reasoned judgments ordinarily take the\nshortened form, _Socrates is mortal, because he is a man; The\nCorporation Tax Bill is constitutional, because it is a tax on a way of\ndoing business._ In each of these cases we are reasoning from a general\nprinciple, which is previously established, and from a particular way of\nconceiving the special fact before us, but we assume the general\nprinciple as understood. In the cases above the meaning is clear without\ndeclaring at length, _All men are mortal,_ or _All taxes on a way of\ndoing business are constitutional._\n\nAt any time, however, when you find a piece of reasoning in this\ncondensed form, whether your own or some one else's, which seems to you\nsuspicious, if you expand it into a full syllogism you will have all its\nparts laid bare for scrutiny. Take, for example, the assertion,\n_\"Robinson Crusoe\" must be a true story, for everything in it is so\nminutely described_: if you expand it into the full syllogism, _All\nbooks in which the description is minute are true, \"Robinson Crusoe\" is\na book in which the description is minute, Therefore \"Robinson Crusoe\"\nis true_, you would at once stick at the major premise. So where you\nsuspect an ambiguity in the use of terms, you can bring it to the\nsurface, if it is there, by the same sort of expansion. In the argument,\n_Bachelors should be punished, because they break a law of nature_, the\nambiguity becomes obvious when you expand: _All law breakers should be\npunished, Bachelors break a law of nature, Therefore bachelors should be\npunished_; at once you see that _law_ is used in two senses, one the\n_law of the land_, the other the statement of a uniformity in nature. In\nthe argument, _These men are good citizens, for they take an interest in\npolitics_, the expansion to _All good citizens are interested in\npolitics, These men are interested in politics, Therefore these men are\ngood citizens,_[41] shows that the reasoning contains a breach of the\nthird rule of the syllogism (see p. 148) and is therefore a case of the\nfallacy of the undistributed middle.\n\nWhenever you make or find an assertion with a reason attached by such a\nword as \"since,\" \"for,\" or \"because,\" or an assertion with a consequence\nattached by a word like \"therefore,\" \"hence,\" or \"accordingly,\" you have\na case of this condensed reasoning, which, theoretically at any rate,\nyou can expand into a full syllogism, and so go over the reasoning link\nby link.\n\nSometimes, however, the expansion is far from easy, for in many of the\npractical exigencies of everyday life our judgments are intuitive, and\nnot reasoned. In such judgments we jump to a conclusion by an\ninarticulate, unreasoned feeling of what is true or expedient, and the\ngrounds of the feeling may be so shadowy and complex that they can never\nbe adequately displayed.\n\n\"Over immense departments of our thought we are still, all of us, in the\nsavage state. Similarity operates in us, but abstraction\nhas not taken place. We know what the present case is like, we know\nwhat it reminds us of, we have an intuition of the right course to take,\nif it be a practical matter. But analytic thought has made no tracks,\nand we cannot justify ourselves to others. In ethical, psychological,\nand aesthetic matters, to give a clear reason for one's judgment is\nuniversally recognized as a mark of rare genius. The helplessness of\nuneducated people to account for their likes and dislikes is often\nludicrous. Ask the first Irish girl why she likes this country better or\nworse than her home, and see how much she can tell you. But if you ask\nyour most educated friend why he prefers Titian to Paul Veronese, you\nwill hardly get more of a reply; and you will probably get absolutely\nnone if you inquire why Beethoven reminds him of Michael Angelo, or how\nit comes that a bare figure with unduly flexed joints, by the latter,\ncan so suggest the moral tragedy of life.... The well-known story of the\nold judge advising the new one never to give reasons for his decisions,\n'the decisions will probably be right, the reasons will surely be\nwrong,' illustrates this. The doctor will feel that the patient is\ndoomed, the dentist will have a premonition that the tooth will break,\nthough neither can articulate a reason for his foreboding. The reason\nlies embedded, but not yet laid bare, in all the previous cases dimly\nsuggested by the actual one, all calling up the same conclusion, which\nthe adept thus finds himself swept on to, he knows not how or why.\"[42]\n\nThe small boy who said that he could not keep step because he had a cold\nin his head was relying on a sound general truth, _Colds in the head\nmake one stupid_, for his major premise, but his condition prevented his\ndisentangling it; and all of us every day use minor premises for which\nwe should be incapable of stating the major.\n\nA second practical use of the syllogism is to set forth a chain of\nreasoning in incontrovertible form. If you have a general principle\nwhich is granted, and have established the fact that your case certainly\nfalls under it, you can make an effective summing up by throwing the\nreasoning into the form of a syllogism.\n\nConversely, you can use a syllogism to bring out some essential part of\nthe reasoning of an opponent which you know will not commend itself to\nthe audience, as did Lincoln in his debate with Douglas at Galesburg.\nDouglas had defended the Dred Scott decision of the United States\nSupreme Court, which decided that the right of property in a slave is\naffirmed by the United States Constitution. Lincoln wished to make the\nconsequences of this doctrine as glaringly evident as possible. He did\nso as follows:\n\n    I think it follows, and I submit to the consideration of men capable\n    of arguing, whether as I state it, in syllogistic form, the argument\n    has any fault in it.\n\n    Nothing in the Constitution or laws of any State can destroy a right\n    distinctly and expressly affirmed in the Constitution of the United\n    States.\n\n    The right of property in a slave is distinctly and expressly\n    affirmed in the Constitution of the United States.\n\n    Therefore, nothing in the Constitution or laws of any State can\n    destroy the right of property in a slave.\n\n    I believe that no fault can be pointed out in that argument;\n    assuming the truth of the premises, the conclusion, so far as I have\n    capacity at all to understand it, follows inevitably.[43]\n\nLincoln knew that this doctrine that no state could interfere with\nslavery would be intolerable to the people of Illinois, before whom he\nwas carrying on his campaign; and this syllogism made clear to them the\nconsequences of the decision of the Supreme Court.\n\nOr you can use a syllogism to make obvious a flaw in the reasoning of\nyour opponent, as in the following example:\n\nIn view of the history of commission government in this country so far\nas it has been made, the burden of proof rests with those who attempt to\nshow that a government which has been so successful in cities of\nmoderate size will not be successful in our largest cities. The\nsyllogism they are required to prove runs briefly thus:\n\nCommission government is acknowledged to have been successful in cities\nas large as one hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, but\n\nIt has not been tried in cities containing more than one hundred and\nthirty thousand inhabitants;\n\nTherefore, it will not be successful in cities of four hundred thousand\nor larger, which is a _reductio ad absurdum_.\n\nThe folly of the attempt is shown by the very statement of the\nconclusion.[44]\n\n44. The Dilemma. One special form of the syllogism is at times so\nstrong an argument that it deserves special mention here, namely, the\ndilemma. This is a syllogism in which the major premise consists of two\nor more hypothetical propositions (that is, propositions with an \"if\"\nclause) and the minor of a disjunctive proposition (a proposition with\ntwo or more clauses connected by \"or\").\n\nIn the course of the Lincoln-Douglas debate a question was put by\nLincoln to Douglas, as follows: \"Can the people of a United States\nterritory in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizens of the\nUnited States, exclude slavery from its limits, prior to the formation\nof a state constitution?\" The question may be viewed as the source of a\ndilemma, both in the practical and in the syllogistic sense of the term.\nIn fact it involved a situation which, syllogistically, comprised more\nthan one dilemma. They may be stated as follows:\n\nI. If Douglas answers yes, he offends the South, and if he answers no,\nhe offends the North;\n\nBut he must answer either yes or no;\n\nTherefore he will offend either the South or the North.\n\nII. If Douglas offends the South, he loses the nomination for the\nPresidency in the next convention; and if he offends the North, he loses\nthe election to the United States Senatorship (and his chances for the\nPresidency);\n\nBut he must offend either the South or the North;\n\nTherefore he loses either the Presidency or the Senatorship.\n\nOr, III. If Douglas offends the South, he cannot become President; and\nif he offends the North, he cannot become President;\n\nBut he must offend either the South or the North;\n\nTherefore he cannot become President.[45]\n\nThe dilemma, if it leaves no hole for the other side to creep through,\nis an extremely effective argument in politics and in competitive\ndebate. If you can thus get your adversary between the devil and the\ndeep sea on a point that in the eyes of your audience is interesting and\ncritical, you have crippled his case. But if the point is not momentous,\nthough your audience may find the dilemma amusing, you run the risk of\nthe reproach of \"smartness\" if you crow very loudly over it.\n\nOn the other hand, a dilemma that is not exhaustive will hold no one.\nMany of the arguments against the imposition of a federal tax on\ncorporations assumed that if the tax were imposed it would soon be made\nunreasonable in amount. Most arguments that the other side will abuse\nany power that is given to them may be regarded as falling into the\nclass of incomplete dilemma. A speaker who uses a leaky dilemma must\nhave great confidence in the unintelligence of his audience, but it is\nsurprising to see how often such dilemmas occur in political debates.\n\n45. Reasoning from Circumstantial Evidence. The third type of\nreasoning from similarity named on page 120 is reasoning from\ncircumstantial evidence. The term is familiar to every one from murder\ntrials and detective stories. Webster's argument in the White Murder\nCase, from which I print a short extract on page 157, is a famous\nexample of an argument on circumstantial evidence; and in fiction Sir\nConan Doyle has created for our delectation many notable and ingenious\ncases of it. But reasoning from circumstantial evidence is far from\nbeing confined to criminal cases and fiction; as Huxley points out (see\np. 241), it is also the basis of some of the broadest and most\nilluminating generalizations of science; and the example below from\nMacaulay is only one of innumerable cases of its use in history.\n\nReasoning from circumstantial evidence differs from reasoning from\nanalogy or generalization in that it rests on similarities reaching out\nin a number of separate directions, all of which, however, converge on\nthe case in hand. This convergence is pointed out by Macaulay in the\nfollowing admirable little argument on the authorship of the _Junius\nLetters_, which were a series of pseudonymous and malignant attacks on\nthe British government about 1770:\n\nWas he [Francis] the author of the Letters of Junius? Our own firm\nbelief is that he was. The evidence is, we think, such as would support\na verdict in a civil, nay, in a criminal proceeding. The handwriting of\nJunius is the very peculiar handwriting of Francis, slightly disguised.\nAs to the position, pursuits, and connections of Junius, the following\nare the most important facts which can be considered as clearly proved:\nfirst, that he was acquainted with the technical forms of the secretary\nof state's office; secondly, that he was intimately acquainted with the\nbusiness of the war office; thirdly, that he, during the year 1770,\nattended debates in the House of Lords, and look notes of speeches,\nparticularly of the speeches of Lord Chatham; fourthly, that he bitterly\nresented the appointment of Mr. Chamier to the place of deputy\nsecretary-at-war; fifthly, that he was bound by some strong tie to the\nfirst Lord Holland. Now, Francis passed some years in the secretary of\nstate's office. He was subsequently chief clerk of the war office. He\nrepeatedly mentioned that he had himself, in 1770, heard speeches of\nLord Chatham; and some of these speeches were actually printed from his\nnotes. He resigned his clerkship at the war office from resentment at\nthe appointment of Mr. Chamier. It was by Lord Holland that he was first\nintroduced into the public service. Now, here are five marks all of\nwhich ought to be found in Junius. They are all five found in Francis.\nWe do not believe that more than two of them can be found in any other\nperson whatever. If this agreement does not settle the question, there\nis an end of all reasoning on circumstantial evidence.[46]\n\nHere the five points or marks of similarity between the writer of the\nletters and Philip Francis are of such diversity that it would be an\nextraordinary coincidence if there had happened to be two men whom they\nwould fit: where so many lines converge so closely at a single point it\nwould hardly be possible for them to meet on more than one person.\n\nThe following brief extract from Webster's argument in the White Murder\nCase shows the same sort of convergence of similarities: each\ncircumstance in itself is hardly strong enough to furnish ground for an\nargument on analogy, but taken all together they point irresistibly in\none direction, namely, to the fact of a conspiracy.\n\nLet me ask your attention, then, in the first place, to those\nappearances, on the morning after the murder, which have a tendency to\nshow that it was done in pursuance of a preconcerted plan of operation.\nWhat are they? A man was found murdered in his bed. No stranger had done\nthe deed, no one unacquainted with the house had done it. It was\napparent that somebody within had opened, and that somebody without had\nentered. There had obviously and certainly been concert and cooperation.\nThe inmates of the house were not alarmed when the murder was\nperpetrated. The assassin had entered without any riot or any violence.\nHe had found the way prepared before him. The house had been previously\nopened. The window was unbarred from within, and its fastening\nunscrewed. There was a lock on the door of the chamber in which Mr.\nWhite slept, but the key was gone. It had been taken away and secreted.\nThe footsteps of the murderer were visible, outdoors, tending toward the\nwindow. The plank by which he entered the window still remained. The\nroad he pursued had thus been prepared for him. The victim was slain,\nand the murderer had escaped. Everything indicated that somebody within\nhad cooperated with somebody without. Everything proclaimed that some of\nthe inmates, or somebody having access to the house, had had a hand in\nthe murder. On the face of the circumstances, it was apparent,\ntherefore, that this was a premeditated, concerted murder; that there\nhad been a conspiracy to commit it.[47]\n\nThe strength of reasoning from circumstantial evidence lies in the\nnumber and the diversity of the points of similarity to the point in\nhand. If there are few of them, the possibility of coincidence\nincreases, as it also does when the points of similarity come from the\nsame source or are of the same nature. This possibility of coincidence\nis a good rough test of the value of reasoning from circumstantial\nevidence: where the theory of a coincidence would stretch all\nprobabilities one may safely leave it out of account.\n\nIn practice the argument from circumstantial evidence is more frequent\nin the experience of lawyers than in that of other men; but sooner or\nlater everybody has to pass on such reasoning, for wherever direct\nevidence is out of the question it may be necessary to piece the\nsituation together by circumstantial evidence. There is some prejudice\nagainst such evidence, springing from reported cases of miscarriage of\njustice in convictions based on it. Such cases, however, are very rare\nin reality, and probably do not equal in number the cases in which\nmistaken or false direct testimony has caused injustice.\n\n46. Some Pitfalls of Reasoning--Ambiguity. I have already spoken of\nsome of the dangers to which reasoning is subject--false analogy, faulty\ngeneralization of various kinds, and various sins against the rules of\nthe syllogism. There are still a few general dangers to speak about. It\nshould be noted that the various kinds of fallacies run into each other,\nand not infrequently a given piece of bad reasoning can be described\nunder more than one of them.\n\nOf all the sources of faulty and misleading reasoning, ambiguity is the\nmost fruitful and the most inclusive.\n\nIt springs from the facts that words, except those which are almost\ntechnically specific, are constantly used in more than one sense, and\nthat a great many of the words which we use in everyday life are\nessentially vague in meaning. Such common words as \"liberty,\" \"right,\"\n\"gentleman,\" \"better,\" \"classic,\" \"honor,\" and innumerable others each\nneed a treatise for any thorough definition; and then the definition, if\ncomplete, would be largely a tabulation of perfectly proper senses in\nwhich the words can be used, or a list of the ways in which different\npeople have used them. Besides this notorious vagueness of many common\nwords, a good many words, as I have already shown (p. 54), have two or\nmore distinct and definable meanings.\n\nStrictly speaking, the ambiguity does not inhere in the word itself, but\nrather in its use in an assertion, since ambiguity can arise only when\nwe are making an assertion. It has been defined as \"the neglect of\ndistinctions in the meaning of terms, when these distinctions are\nimportant for the given occasion.\"[48] Suppose, for example, you are\narguing against a certain improvement in a college dormitory, on the\nground that it makes for luxury: clearly \"luxury\" is a word that may\nmean one thing to you, and another to half of your audience. By itself\nit is an indefinite word, except in its emotional implication; and its\nmeaning varies with the people concerning whom it is used, since what\nwould be luxury for a boy brought up on a farm would be bare comfort to\nthe son of wealthy parents in the city. Indeed the advances of plumbing\nin the last generation have completely changed the relative meanings of\nthe words \"comfort\" and \"luxury\" so far as they concern bathrooms and\nbathtubs. In the case of such a word, then, the weight of the definition\nabove falls on the last clause, \"when these distinctions are important\nfor the given occasion\"; here is a case where the occasion on which the\nword \"luxury\" is used determines nearly the whole of its meaning. In\npractice, if you have a suspicion that a word may be taken in another\nsense than that you intend, the first thing to do is to define it--to\nlay down as exactly as possible the cases which it is intended to cover\non the present occasion, and the meaning it is to have in those cases.\nFor good examples of this enlightened caution, see the definitions on\npages 54-65, especially that from Bagchot.\n\nA similar difficulty arises with the words which, in the somewhat\nslipshod use of everyday life, have come to have as it were a sliding\nvalue.\n\nWe may raise no difficulty about understanding the assertions that\nBrown, and Jones, and Robinson are \"honest,\" but when we come to the\ncase of Smith we discover a difficulty in placing him clearly on either\nside of the line. That difficulty is nothing less than the difficulty of\nknowing the meaning given to the word in this particular assertion. We\nmight, for instance, agree to mean by Smith's \"honesty\" that no shady\ntransactions could be legally proved against him, or that he is \"honest\naccording to his lights,\" or again that he is about as honest as the\nmajority of his neighbors or the average of his trade or profession.[49]\n\nThat this is not a fanciful case can be shown by noticing how often we\nspeak of \"transparent\" honesty, or of \"absolute\" honesty: this is\nnotably one of the words for which we have a sliding scale of values,\nwhich vary considerably with the age and the community. \"Political\nhonesty\" has a very different meaning in the England of to-day from that\nwhich it had in the eighteenth century. To get at the exact meaning of\nhonesty, then, either for Mr. Sidgwick's Brown, Jones, Robinson, and\nSmith, or for Mr. Asquith and Mr. Balfour as compared with Walpole or\nPitt, we need a good deal more than a dictionary definition. What has\nalready been said (p. 65) on the use of the history of the case to get a\npreliminary understanding of the question which is to be argued, and the\nterms to be used in it, applies all through the reasoning involved in\nthe argument. Scrutinize all the terms you use yourself, as well as\nthose used in arguments on the other side. I have already pointed out\nthe ambiguity there is in the emotional implications of words; but the\ndanger from it is so subtle and so besetting that it will be worth while\nto dwell on it again. There are many cases in which there is no doubt as\nto the denotation of the word,--the cases which it is intended to\nname,--but in which the two sides to a controversy use the word with a\ntotally different effect on their own and other people's feelings.\nBefore the Civil War pretty much the whole South had come to use the\nword \"slavery\" as implying one of the settled institutions of the\ncountry, more or less sanctified by divine ordinance; at the same time a\nlarge portion of the North had come to look on it as an abomination to\nthe Lord.\n\nHere there was no doubt as to the denotation of the word; but in a\nhighly important respect it was ambiguous, because it implied a totally\ndifferent reaction among the people who used it. In a case where the\ncontrast is so glaring there is little danger of confusion; but there\nare a good many cases where a word may have very different effects on\nthe feelings of an audience without the fact coming very clearly to the\nsurface. \"Liberal\" is to most Americans a term implying praise, so far\nas it goes; to Cardinal Newman it implied what were to him the\nirreverent and dangerous heresies of free thought, and therefore in his\nmouth it was a word of condemnation.[50] \"Aesthetic\" to many good people\nhas an implication of effeminacy and of trifling which is far from\npraiseworthy; to artists and critics it may sum up what is most\nadmirable in civilization. If in an argument on abolishing football as\nan intercollegiate sport you describe a certain game as played \"with\nspirit and fierceness,\" football players would think of it as a good\ngame, but opponents of football would hold that such a description\njustified them in classing the game with prize fighting. When one of the\nterms you use may thus stir one part of your audience in one way, and\nthe other part in just the opposite way, you are dealing with an\nuncomfortable kind of ambiguity.\n\nIt is easy to get into the way of thinking that the denotation of a\nword--the things which it names--is the only part of its meaning that\ncounts; but with many words the connotation--I use the word in the\nrhetorical rather than in the logical sense, to include its\nimplications, associations, and general emotional coloring--has more\neffect on human nature. There is a good deal of difference between\ntelling a man that his assertion is \"incorrect,\" \"untrue,\" or \"false\";\nif you use the last and he is at all choleric you may bring on an\nexplosion. In argument, where you are aiming to persuade as well as to\nconvince, the question of the feelings of your audience and how they\nwill be affected by the terms you use is obviously of great importance.\nAnd if you are using such terms as \"gentleman,\" \"political honesty,\"\n\"socialist,\" \"coeducation,\" you must not forget that such words have a\ndefinite emotional connotation, which will vary largely with the reader.\n\n47. Begging the Question. The fallacy of \"begging the question\"\nconsists of assuming as true something that the other side would not\nadmit. It is especially insidious in the condensed arguments of which I\nspoke a few pages back. A common form of the fallacy consists of\nslipping in an epithet which quietly takes for granted one's own view of\nthe question, or of using some expression that assumes one's own view as\ncorrect. For example, in an argument for a change in a city government,\nto declare that all intelligent citizens favor it would be begging the\nquestion. In an argument for the protection of crows, to begin, \"Few\npeople know how many of these useful birds are killed each year,\" would\nbe to beg the question, since the argument turns on whether crows are\nuseful or not. A gross and uncivil form of this fallacy is to use\nopprobrious epithets in describing persons who take the other view, as\nin the following sentence from an article in a magazine on the question\nof examinations for entrance to college:\n\nAs for interest and variety, what could destroy and taboo both more\neffectually than the rigid and rigorous demands of a formal set of\nexaminations prepared, as a rule, by pedantic specialists who know\npractically nothing of the fundamental problems and needs of the high\nschool.\n\nBegging the question is often committed in the course of defining terms,\nas in the following passage from Cardinal Newman's \"Idea of a\nUniversity\":\n\n    It is the fashion just now, as you very well know, to erect\n    so-called Universities, without making any provision in them at all\n    for Theological chairs. Institutions of this kind exist both here\n    [Ireland] and in England. Such a procedure, though defended by\n    writers of the generation just passed with much plausible argument\n    and not a little wit, seems to me an intellectual absurdity; and my\n    reason For saying so runs, with whatever abruptness, into the form\n    of a syllogism:--A University, I should lay down, by its very name\n    professes to teach universal knowledge; Theology is surely a branch\n    of knowledge; how then is it possible for it to profess all branches\n    of knowledge, and yet to exclude from the subjects of its teaching\n    one which, to say the least, is as important and as large as any of\n    them? I do not see that either premise of this argument is open to\n    exception.[51]\n\nThe obvious answer is that \"university\" is a vague term and that there\nmay be many kinds of universities, as indeed there are in this country;\nmoreover, the importance of theology is an arguable matter even among\nchurch members.\n\nA well-recognized, but often subtle, form of begging the question is\nwhat is known as \"arguing in a circle.\" Usually the fallacy is so\nwrapped up in verbiage that it is hard to pick out. Here is a clear and\nwell-put detection of a case of it:\n\nThere is an argument in favor of child labor so un-American and so\ninhuman that I am almost ashamed to quote it, and yet it has been used,\nand I fear it is secretly in the minds of some who would not openly\nstand for it. A manufacturer standing near the furnace of a glasshouse\nand pointing to a procession of young Slav boys who were carrying the\nglass on trays, remarked, \"Look at their faces, and you will see that it\nis idle to take them from the glasshouse in order to give them an\neducation: they are what they are, and will always remain what they\nare.\" He meant that there are some human beings--and these Slavs of the\nnumber--who are mentally irredeemable, so fast asleep intellectually\nthat they cannot be awakened; designed by nature, therefore, to be\nhewers of wood and drawers of water. This cruel and wicked thing was\nsaid of Slavs; it is the same thing which has been said from time\nimmemorial by the slave owners of their slaves. First they degrade human\nbeings by denying them the opportunity to develop their better nature:\nno schools, no teaching, no freedom, no outlook; and then, as if in\nmockery, they point to the degraded condition of their victims as a\nreason why they should never be allowed to escape from it.[52]\n\nIn a diffuse and disorderly argument there is always a chance to find\nsome begging of the question which may consist either of getting back to\nan assumption of the original proposition and so arguing in a circle, or\nof simply assuming that what has been asserted has been proved. The\nfallacy of the invented example, in which a fictitious case is described\nas an illustration, and presently assumed as a real case, is a not\nuncommon form of begging the question.\n\n48. Ignoring the Question. This is a closely allied error in\nreasoning that is apt to be due to the same kind of confused and woolly\nthinking. It consists in slipping away from the question in debate and\narguing vigorously at something else. A famous exposure of the fallacy\nis Macaulay's denunciation of the arguments in favor of Charles I:\n\nThe advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other malefactors\nagainst whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline all\ncontroversy about the facts, and content themselves with calling\ntestimony as to character. He had so many private virtues! And had James\nthe Second no private virtues? Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest\nenemies themselves being judges, destitute of private virtues? And what,\nafter all, are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, not\nmore sincere than that of his son, and fully as weak and narrow-minded,\nand a few of the ordinary household decencies which half the tombstones\nin England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good father! A good\nhusband! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of persecution,\ntyranny, and falsehood!\n\nWe charge him with having broken his coronation oath; and we are told\nthat he kept his marriage vow! We accuse him of having given up his\npeople to the merciless inflictions of the most hot-headed and\nhard-hearted of prelates; and the defense is, that he took his little\nson on his knee and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the\narticles of the Petition of Right, after having, for good and valuable\nconsideration, promised to observe them; and we are informed that he was\naccustomed to hear prayers at six o'clock in the morning! It is to such\nconsiderations as these, together with his Vandyke dress, his handsome\nface, and his peaked beard, that he owes, we verily believe, most of his\npopularity with the present generation.[53]\n\nIn an argument for woman suffrage on the ground that suffrage is a right\nwhich ought not to be denied, it would be ignoring the question merely\nto enumerate the various ways in which the responsibility of a vote\nmight help to better the condition of women.\n\nTo ignore the question by trying to lead the public off on a false scent\nis a constant device of officials who are accused of misconduct. A\nUnited States senator whose election had been questioned gave in his\ndefense a full and harrowing account of the struggles of his boyhood. A\nboard of assessors who had been charged with incompetence ended their\ndefense, in which they had taken no notice of the charges, as follows:\n\nCriticism of the Board of Assessors comes with poor grace from those\nwhose endeavors for the common good are confined to academic essays on\ngood government. It savors too much of the adroit pickpocket, who,\nfinding himself hard pressed, joins in the chase, shouting as lustily as\nany of the unthinking rabble, \"Stop, thief!\"\n\nThe curious thing is that this trick of crossing the scent does lead so\nmany people off the trail.\n\nThe so-called _argumentum ad hominem_ and the _argumentum ad populum_\nare special cases of ignoring the question: they consist of appeals to\nthe feelings or special interests of the reader or the audience which\nrun away from the question at issue. They are not uncommon in stump\nspeeches, and in other arguments whose chief purpose is to arouse\nenthusiasm.\n\nAn argument on the tariff, for example, sometimes runs off into appeals\nto save this grand country from ruin or from the trusts or from some\nother fate which the speaker pictures as hanging over an innocent and\nplain people. An argument for the restoration of the classical system of\neducation which should run off into eulogies of the good old times might\neasily become an _argumentum ad populum_; an argument in favor of a new\npark which should dwell on selfish advantages which might be gained by\nthe abutters without regard to larger municipal policy would probably be\nan _argumentum ad hominem_.\n\nObviously these two forms of shifting the issue trench closely on the\nelement of persuasion in an argument, and in making the distinction you\nmust apply common sense. Your adversary may reprove you for an\n_argumentum ad hominem_ or _ad populum_, when you believe that you are\nkeeping well within the bounds of legitimate persuasion; but in general\nit is safe to guard your self-respect by drawing a broad line between\ndodging and unworthy appeals to prejudice and justifiable appeals to\nfeeling and personal interest.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Name a question of policy which would be settled by the establishment\nof some controverted fact.\n\n2. Find in the daily papers an account of a trial in which evidence was\ndeclared inadmissible under the rules of law which would have been taken\ninto account by the average man outside the court in making up his own\nmind.\n\n3. Name three questions in which the evidence would be affected by\ntemperamental and other prepossessions of the witness.\n\n4. Name a scientific question in which some important fact is\nestablished by reasoning from other facts.\n\n5. Cite a case, either from real life or from fiction, in which a fact\nwas established by circumstantial evidence; analyze the evidence and\nshow how it rests on reasoning from similarity.\n\n6. Give a case in which what you believed to be direct observation of a\nfact deceived you.\n\n7. Give an example from your own experience within a week where vague\nauthorities have been cited as direct evidence.\n\n8. What would you think of the writer of the following sentences as a\nwitness to the numbers and importance of the participants in the woman\nsuffrage procession he is reporting?\n\n    Fifth Avenue has seldom, if ever, been more crowded than on Saturday\n    afternoon, and never anywhere have I seen so many women among the\n    spectators of a passing pageant. Throngs, many tiers deep, flanked\n    the line of march, and these throngs were overwhelmingly composed of\n    women. As I passed from block to block I could not get away from the\n    thought that the vastest number of these were sick of heart and\n    ashamed that they, too, were not in line behind the kilted band that\n    headed the procession, the historic symbolic floats, and the\n    inscribed banners, along with their three thousand or more sisters.\n    Here were women, fighting a good fight for the cause of women--for\n    the underpaid factory workers and the overfed lady of fortune who is\n    deprived the right of voice in the government over her inherited\n    property. (Report in a daily paper, May 8, 1911)\n\n9. Find an example of historical evidence in a case where there are no\ndirect witnesses to the fact; discuss it according to S. R. Gardiner's\ntests (p. 103).\n\n10. Find two examples from the daily papers where statistics are used to\nestablish a complex fact.\n\n11. Name two subjects on which you could gather statistics, and the\nsources from which you would draw them.\n\n12. Bring to class the testimony of a recognized authority on some\ncomplex fact, and explain why his testimony carries weight.\n\n13. Name a subject on which you can speak with authority, and explain\nwhy your testimony on that subject should carry weight.\n\n14. Give an example from your own experience of a case in which it is\nhard to distinguish between direct and indirect evidence.\n\n15. Find in the daily papers or current magazines an argument based on\nreasoning by analogy; one based on reasoning by generalization; one\nbased on circumstantial evidence; explain the character of each.\n\n16. Find an example of an argument based on reasoning from a causal\nrelation.\n\n17. Find an example of an argument from enumeration of like cases which\nmight be easily upset.\n\n18. In the proposition, \"A gentleman ought not to become a professional\nbaseball player,\" what meaning could be given to the word\n\"gentleman\"?\n\n19. Distinguish between the meanings of _law_ in the phrases \"moral\nlaw,\" \"natural law,\" and \"law of the land.\"\n\n20. What different meanings would the word \"comfort\" have had in the\ndays of your grandfather, as compared with the present day?\n\n21. Give, two examples of words with \"sliding meanings.\"\n\n22. Give two examples of words whose denotation is fixed, but whose\nconnotation or emotional implications would be different with different\npeople.\n\n23. Find an example of false analogy.\n\n24. Criticize the reasoning in the following extract from a letter to a\nnewspaper urging Republican and Democratic tickets at the municipal\nelection in a small city in the country.\n\n    It is an acknowledged fact that competition in the business life of\n    our city is beneficial to the consumer. If that be so, why will not\n    competition in city affairs bring equally good results to the\n    taxpayer?\n\n25. Give an example you have recently heard of hasty generalization;\nexplain its weakness.\n\n26. Give an example of your own of the _post hoc_ fallacy.\n\n27. Give an example of false reasoning based on assuming a complex fact\nto be simple.\n\n28. Criticize the reasoning in the following extracts:\n\n    a. [Dispatch to a daily paper.] Haverhill, March 30, 1911. Opponents\n    of commission form of government are deriving no little satisfaction\n    from the development of testimony borne out by figures taken from\n    the auditing department of the city of Haverhill that this method\n    of administering municipal affairs has proved thus far to be a\n    costly experiment there.... The total amount of bonds issued during\n    the past twenty-seven months, covering the period of operation of\n    commission form of government, was $576,000; the present borrowing\n    capacity of the city is only approximately $35,000; that the city's\n    bonded debt has increased from $441,264 to $1,181,314 in the past\n    five years; the net bonded debt has more than doubled within three\n    years; that the assessed valuation has increased $5,000,000; and the\n    tax rate has been raised from $17.40 to $19 in five years. The\n    borrowing capacity of $341,696 on January 1, 1906, has decreased to\n    $95,000 on January 1, 1911.... Commission form of government went\n    into effect in Haverhill on the first Monday in January, 1909.\n\n    b. From an article in a magazine, opposing the plan of the\n    postmaster-general to increase the postage on the advertising\n    sections of magazines: consider especially the word \"censorship\":\n\n    We see two grave objections to the postmaster-general's plan. First,\n    it requires a censorship to determine what periodicals are\n    \"magazines\" whose advertising pages are to be taxed, and what are\n    the educational and religious periodicals which are to continue to\n    enjoy what the President calls a \"subsidy.\" Such a censorship would\n    be a new feature in postal administration, and it would seem to be a\n    thing very difficult to work out on any fair basis.\n\n29. In a newspaper report of an inquiry made by the director of the\nColumbia University gymnasium into the effects of smoking, the following\nsentences occur:\n\n    In scholarship the nonsmokers had the distinct advantage. The\n    smokers averaged eighty per cent in their studies at entrance,\n    sixty-two per cent during the first two years, and seven per cent of\n    failure. The nonsmokers got ninety-one per cent in their entrance\n    examinations and sixty-nine per cent in their first two years in\n    college, while only four per cent were failures. In this respect Dr.\n    Meylan thinks there is a distinct relation between smoking and\n    scholarship.\n\n    Of the same set of students forty-seven per cent of the smokers won\n    places on varsity athletic teams, while only thirty-seven per cent\n    of the nonsmokers could get places.\n\nIf the next to the last sentence had read, \"Smoking therefore seems to\nbe a cause of low scholarship,\" what should you think of the reasoning?\n\n30. Criticize the reasoning in the following portion of an argument for\nprohibition:\n\n    Dr. Williams says, \"We find no evidence that the prohibition laws\n    have in the past been effective in diminishing the consumption of\n    alcoholic beverages.\" ... The absence of logic in Dr. Williams's\n    conclusion will be readily seen by substituting the homicide evil\n    and the greed evil for the liquor evil in his argument.\n\n    Since its establishment the United States has sought to remedy with\n    prohibition the homicide evil. Every state has laws with severe\n    penalties prohibiting murder. And yet the number of homicides in\n    the United States has steadily increased until the number in 1910\n    was eight thousand nine hundred and seventy-five. Since, then,\n    homicides have steadily increased during the past hundred years\n    under a law with severe penalties prohibiting them, a prohibitory\n    law has not been and cannot be a remedy for homicide.\n\n31. Criticize the reasoning in the following extract from an argument\nfor the electrification of the terminal part of a railroad:\n\n    It is true that locomotive smoke and gas do not kill people\n    outright; but that their influence though not immediately measurable\n    is to shorten life cannot, I submit, be successfully combated.... A\n    few years ago I made some calculations based on the records of ten\n    years' operation of the railroads in this state, and found that if a\n    man should spend his whole time day and night riding in railroad\n    trains at an average rate of thirty miles an hour, and if he had\n    average good luck, he would not be killed by accident, without his\n    fault, oftener than once in fifteen hundred years, and that he would\n    not receive any injury of sufficient importance to be reported\n    oftener than once in five hundred years. I ask you to estimate how\n    long a man would, in your opinion, live if he were obliged\n    continuously day and night to breathe the air of our stations\n    without any opportunity to relieve his lungs by a breath of purer\n    and better air.\n\n32. Give an example in which you yourself have used the method of\nagreement in arriving at a conclusion in the last week.\n\n33. Give an example, from one of your studies, of the use of the method\nof agreement.\n\n34. Give an example, which has recently come to your notice, of the use\nof the method of difference.\n\n36. Criticize the following syllogisms, giving your reasons for thinking\nthem sound or not:\n\n    a. All rich men should be charitable with their wealth; Charitable\n    men forgive their enemies; Therefore all rich men should forgive\n    their enemies.\n\n    b. Every man who plays baseball well has a good eye and quick\n    judgment; Every good tennis player has a good eye and a quick\n    judgment; Therefore every good tennis player is a good baseball\n    player.\n\n    c. Whenever you find a man who drinks hard you find, a man who is\n    unreliable; Our coachman does not drink hard; Therefore he is\n    reliable.\n\n    d. All the steamships which cross the ocean in the quickest time are\n    comfortable; This steamship is slow; Therefore she is not\n    comfortable.\n\n    e. All dogs who bark constantly are not bad-tempered; This dog does\n    not bark constantly; Therefore he is not bad-tempered.\n\n    f. All cold can be expelled by heat; John's illness is a cold;\n    Therefore it can be expelled by heat. (From Minto)\n\n    g. The use of ardent spirits should be prohibited by law, seeing\n    that it causes misery and crime, which it is one of the chief ends\n    of law to prevent. (From Bode)\n\n    h. Rational beings are accountable for their actions; brutes not\n    being rational, are therefore exempt from responsibility. (From\n    Jevons)\n\n36. Expand the following arguments into syllogisms and criticize their\nsoundness:\n\n    a. The snow will turn to rain, because it is getting warmer.\n\n    b. The boy has done well in his examination, for he came out looking\n    cheerful.\n\n    c. We had an economical government last year, therefore the tax rate\n    will be reduced.\n\n    d. Lee will be a good mayor, for men who have energy and good\n    judgment can do incalculable good to their fellow citizens.\n\n    e. There is unshaken evidence that every member of the board of\n    aldermen received a bribe, and George O. Carter was a member of that\n    board.\n\n    f. The candidate for stroke on the freshman crew came from Santos\n    School, therefore he must be a good oarsman.\n\n37. Criticize the reasoning in the following arguments, pointing out\nwhether they are sound or unsound, and why:\n\n    a. It costs a Nebraska farmer twenty cents to raise a bushel of\n    corn. When corn gets down to twenty cents he cannot buy anything,\n    and he cannot pay more than twelve or fifteen dollars a month for\n    help. When it gets up to thirty-five cents the farmer gives his\n    children the best education possible, and buys an automobile.\n    Therefore the farmer will be ruined if the tariff on corn is not\n    raised.\n\n    b. For many years the Democratic platforms have declared explicitly\n    or implicitly against the duties on sugar; if the Democrats should\n    come into power and reduce the duties, they would lose their\n    strength in the states producing cane sugar and beet sugar; if they\n    do not reduce the duty, they admit that their platforms have been\n    insincere. (Condensed from an editorial in a newspaper. March, 1911)\n\n    c. I hardly need say that I am opposed to any such system as that of\n    Galveston, or to call it by its broader name, the commission system.\n    It is but another name for despotism. Louis XIV was a commissioner\n    for executing the duties of governing France. Philip II was the same\n    in Spain. The Decemvirs and Triumvirs of Rome were but the same sort\n    of thing, as was also the Directory in France. They all came to the\n    same end. Says Madison, in No. XLVII of _The Federalist_: \"The\n    accumulation of all powers, legislative and judiciary, in the same\n    hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary,\n    self-appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very\n    definition of tyranny.\" Mr. justice Story said, \"Whenever these\n    departments are all vested in one person or body of men, the\n    government is in fact a despotism, by whatever name it be called,\n    whether a monarchy, an aristocracy, or a democracy.\"\n\n    d. The procedure of Berlin has in it an element of fairness worthy\n    of our consideration; those representing large property interests\n    have a surety of being at least represented. Some such system must\n    be devised if the holding of properly at all be regarded as moral\n    and necessary to our civilization. Remember that you are, in a large\n    sense, but a chartered joint-stock corporation. Can you imagine the\n    control of any other joint-stock corporation delivered over to those\n    who have no stock or the least stock in it? Can you imagine the New\n    York & New Haven Railroad, for example, controlled by the\n    passengers, to the exclusion of the stock holders? Now this, to a\n    very great degree, is what has happened in many of our cities. We\n    have deprived the true stockholders, in some cases, of any\n    representation whatever. I thus hold that to give property some\n    voice in the control of a municipal corporation is but sense and\n    justice.\n\n    e. We have tried commissions in Buffalo in branches of our city\n    government. They have tried them in nearly every city in this\n    country. We have governed our police by commissions, our parks by\n    commissions, our public works by commissions. Commission government\n    was for many years a fad in this country, and it has become\n    discredited, so that of late we have been doing away with\n    commissions and coming to single heads for departments having\n    executive functions and some minor legislative functions, such as\n    park boards, and police boards, and have been trying to concentrate\n    responsibility in that way. In Erie County and throughout New York a\n    commission elected by the people governs our counties. The board of\n    supervisors is a commission government. It has never been\n    creditable--always bad, even as compared with our city governments.\n    To be sure, it is not just that kind of commission government. It is\n    a larger commission; it is not elected at large, but by districts,\n    but it is an attempt at the same thing. So I say there is nothing\n    new about this idea of government by a commission.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE ARGUMENT WRITTEN OUT\n\n\n49. The Brief and the Argument. If your brief is thoroughly worked\nout, and based on a careful canvass of the evidence, the work on your\nargument ought to be at least two thirds over. The last third, however,\nis not to be slighted, for on it will largely depend your practical\nresults in moving your readers. Even a legal argument rarely goes to the\ncourt on a written brief alone; and the average reader will never put\nhimself to the effort of reading through and grasping such a brief as we\nhave been planning here. Furthermore, if your complete argument is\nmerely a copying out of the brief into consecutive sentences and\nparagraphs, you will get few readers. The making of the brief merely\ncompletes what may be called the architectural part of your labors; the\nwriting of an argument will use all the skill you have in the choice of\nwords and putting them together.\n\nWe saw in Chapter I that argument has two kinds of appeal to its reader:\non the one hand, through its power of convincing it appeals to his\nreason; on the other, through its persuasive power it appeals to his\nfeelings and his moral and practical interests. Of these two kinds of\nappeal the convincing power is largely determined by the thoroughness of\nthe analysis and the efficiency of the arrangement, and therefore in\nlarge part hangs on the work done in making the brief; the persuasive\npower, on the other hand, though in part dependent on the line of\nattack laid out in the brief and the choice of points to argue, is far\nmore dependent on the filling in of the argument in the finished form.\nEven the severest scientific argument, however, is much more than the\nbare summary of the line of thought which would be found in a brief; and\nin an argument like the speeches in most political campaigns a brief of\nthe thought would leave out most of the argument. Wherever you have to\nstir men up to do things you have only begun when you have convinced\ntheir reason.\n\n50. The Introduction of the Argument. Much depends on the first\npart of your argument, the introduction. Its length varies greatly, and\nit may differ largely in other ways from the introduction to your brief.\nIf the people you are trying to convince are familiar with the subject,\nyou will need little introduction; a brief but clear statement of\nfundamentals will serve the purpose. For such an audience it is chiefly\nimportant to make the issues stand out, so that they shall see perfectly\ndistinctly the exact points on which the question turns. Then the sooner\nyou are at work on the business of convincing them, the better. In such\narguments the introduction will perhaps not differ greatly in substance\nfrom the introduction to the brief, though it must be reduced to\nconsecutive and agreeable form. At the other extreme is such an argument\nas that of Huxley's (p. 233), where he had to prepare the way very\ncarefully lest the prejudice against a revolutionary and unfamiliar view\nof the animate world should close the minds of his hearers against him\nbefore he was really started. Accordingly, before getting through with\nhis introduction he expounded not only the three hypotheses between\nwhich the choice must be made, but also the law of the uniformity of\nnature and the principles and nature of circumstantial evidence. Where\none shall stop between these two extremes is a question to be decided in\nthe individual argument.\n\nOne thing, however, it is almost always wise to do; indeed, one would\nnot go far wrong in prescribing it as a general rule: that is, to state\nwith almost bald explicitness just how many main issues there are, and\nwhat they are. In writing an argument it is always safe to assume that\nmost of your readers will be careless readers. Few people have the gift\nof reading closely and accurately, and of carrying what they have read\nwith any distinctness. Therefore make it easy for your readers to pick\nup and to carry your points. If you tell them that you are going to make\nthree points or five, they are much more likely to remember those three\nor five points than if they have to pick them out for themselves as they\ngo along. Huxley, perhaps the ablest writer of scientific argument in\nthe language, constantly practiced this device. In his great argument on\nevolution, he says (see p. 235): \"So far as I know, there are only three\nhypotheses which ever have been entertained, or which well can be\nentertained, respecting the past history of nature\"; and then, as will\nbe seen, he takes up each in turn, with the numbering \"first,\" \"second,\"\nand \"third.\" In the same way in his essay \"The Physical Basis of Life\"\nhe says, not far from the beginning, \"I propose to demonstrate to you\nthat, notwithstanding these apparent difficulties, a threefold\nunity--namely, a unity of power or faculty, a unity of form, and a unity\nof substantial composition--does pervade the whole living world.\" Burke,\nin his great speech \"On Conciliation with America,\" said, \"The capital\nleading questions on which you must this day decide are two: first,\nwhether you ought to concede; and secondly, what your concession ought\nto be.\"\n\nIt is hardly too much to say that those writers whose sense of style is\nmost developed are most likely to state the issues with the baldest and\nmost direct precision.\n\nThe statement of the issues will bring out the importance of closely\nlimiting the number of main issues. There are few subjects of argument\nwhich do not conceivably touch the interests and beliefs of their\naudiences in many directions; but out of these aspects some obviously\ncount far more than others. If in your introduction you try to state all\nthese issues, small and great, you will surely leave confusion behind\nyou. Very few people are capable of carrying more than three or four\nissues distinctly enough to affect their judgment of the whole case; and\neven of these some will not take the trouble to do so. If you can simmer\ndown the case to one or two or three critical points, you are making a\ngood start toward winning over the minds of your readers.\n\nA good statement of the history of the case is apt to be a useful and\nvaluable part of an introduction, especially for arguments dealing with\npublic policies. If you remind readers of what the facts have been, you\ncan more easily make clear to them the present situation from which you\nmake your start. An argument for raising or lowering the tariff on some\narticle would be apt to recount the history of the tariff so far as it\nconcerned that article, and the progress in importing it and\nmanufacturing it within the country. In writing out the argument from\nthe brief on page 90 one would almost inevitably include the recent\nhistory of the city government.\n\nIn general it is best to make this preliminary statement of the history\nof the case scrupulously and explicitly impartial. An audience is likely\nto resent any appearance of twisting the facts to suit the case; and if\non their face they bear against your contentions, it is wiser to\nprepare for your argument in some other way. There are more ways of\nbeginning an argument than by a statement of facts; and resource in the\npresentation of a case goes a long way toward winning it.\n\nIt is often wise to state your definitions with care, especially of\nterms which are at the bottom of your whole case. The definition from\nBagchot on page 58 is a good example. Here is the beginning of an\naddress by President Eliot, in 1896, on \"A Wider Range of Electives in\nCollege Admission Requirements\":\n\nAs usual, it is necessary to define the subject a little. \"A wider range\nof electives in college admission requirements.\" What field are we\nthinking of when we state this subject? If we mean the United States,\nthe range of electives is already very large. Take, for example, the\nrequirements for admission to the Leland Stanford University. Twenty\nsubjects are named, of very different character and extent, and the\ncandidate may present any ten out of the twenty. Botany counts just as\nmuch as Latin. There is a wide range of options at admission to the\nUniversity of Michigan, with its numerous courses leading to numerous\ndegrees; that is, there is a wide range of subjects permissible to a\ncandidate who is thinking of presenting himself for some one of its many\ndegrees. If we look nearer home, we find in so conservative an\ninstitution as Dartmouth College that there are three different degrees\noffered, with three different assortments of admission requirements, and\nthree different courses within the college. I noticed that at the last\ncommencement there were forty-one degrees of the old-fashioned sort and\ntwenty-seven degrees of the newer sorts given by Dartmouth College. Here\nin Harvard we have had for many years a considerable range of electives\nin the admission examinations, particularly in what we call the advanced\nrequirements. We therefore need to limit our subject a little by saying\nthat we are thinking of a wider range of admission electives in the\nEastern and Middle State colleges, the range of electives farther west\nbeing already large in many cases.[54]\n\nProfessor William James, in his essay \"The Will to Believe,\" in which he\nargues that it is both right and unavoidable that our feelings shall\ntake part in the making of our faiths, begins with a careful definition\nand illustration of certain terms he is going to use constantly.\n\nNext, let us call the decision between two hypotheses an option. Options\nmay be of several kinds. They may be (1) _living_ or _dead_; (2) _forced_\nor _avoidable_; (3) _momentous_ or _trivial_; and for our purposes we\nmay call an option a _genuine_ option when it is of the forced, living,\nand momentous kind.\n\n1. A living option is one in which both hypotheses are live ones. If I\nsay to you, \"Be a theosophist or be a Mohammedan,\" it is probably a dead\noption, because for you neither hypothesis is likely to be alive. But if\nI say, \"Be an agnostic or be a Christian,\" it is otherwise: trained as\nyou are, each hypothesis makes some appeal, however small, to your\nbelief.\n\n2. Next, if I say to you, \"Choose between going out with your umbrella\nor without it,\" I do not offer you a genuine option, for it is not\nforced. You can easily avoid it by not going out at all. Similarly, if I\nsay: \"Either love me or hate me,\" \"Either call my theory true or call it\nfalse,\" your option is avoidable. You may remain indifferent to me,\nneither loving nor hating, and you may decline to offer any judgment as\nto my theory. But if I say, \"Either accept this truth or go without it,\"\nI put you on a forced option, for there is no standing place outside of\nthe alternative. Every dilemma based on a complete logical disjunction,\nwith no possibility of not choosing, is an option of this forced kind.\n\n3. Finally, if I were Dr. Nansen and proposed to you to join my North\nPole expedition, your option would be momentous; for this would probably\nbe your only similar opportunity, and your choice now would either\nexclude you from the North Pole sort of immortality altogether or put at\nleast the chance of it into your hands. He who refuses to embrace a\nunique opportunity loses the prize as surely as if he tried and failed.\n_Per contra_ the option is trivial when the opportunity is not unique,\nwhen the stake is insignificant, or when the decision is reversible if\nit later prove unwise. Such trivial options abound in the scientific\nlife. A chemist finds an hypothesis live enough to spend a year in its\nverification: he believes in it to that extent. But if his experiments\nprove inconclusive either way, he is quit for his loss of time, no vital\nharm being done.\n\nIt will facilitate our discussion if we keep all these distinctions well\nin mind.[55]\n\nIn some arguments the working out of the definitions of a few principal\nterms may occupy much space. Matthew Arnold, a famous critic of the last\ngeneration, wrote as an introduction to a volume of selections from\nWordsworth's poems an essay with the thesis that Wordsworth is, after\nShakespeare and Milton, the greatest poet who has written in English;\nand to establish his point he laid down the definition that \"poetry is\nat bottom a criticism of life; that the greatness of a poet lies in his\npowerful and beautiful application of ideas to life--to the question,\nHow to live.\" To the development of this definition he gave several\npages, for the success of his main argument lay in inducing his readers\nto accept it.\n\nMany legal arguments are wholly concerned with establishing definitions,\nespecially in those cases which deal with statute law. The recent\ndecisions of the Supreme Court of the United States in the Corporation\nTax cases and the Standard Oil Case are examples: in each of these what\nwas at issue was the exact meaning of the words used in certain statutes\npassed by Congress. In the common law, too, there are many phrases which\nhave come down from past centuries, the meanings of which have been\ndefined again and again as new cases came up. We have seen (p. 63) how\ncareful definition the word \"murder\" may need. \"Malice aforethought\" is\nanother familiar instance: it sounds simple, but when one begins to fix\nthe limits at which sudden anger passes over into cool and deliberate\nenmity, or how far gone a man must be in drink before he loses the\nconsciousness of his purposes, even a layman can see that it has\ndifficulties.\n\nIn such cases as these a dictionary definition would be merely a\nstarting point. It may be a very useful starting point, however, as in\nthe following extract from an article by Mr. E.P. Ripley, president of\nthe Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway Company, on \"The Railroads\nand the People\":\n\nThere is one point regarding this matter that many forget: this is that\nin all affairs there are two kinds of discrimination. There is the kind,\nwhich, as the dictionary expresses it, \"sets apart as being different,\"\nwhich \"distinguishes accurately,\" and there is the widely different kind\nwhich \"treats unequally.\" in all ordinary affairs of life we condemn as\n\"undiscriminating\" those who have so little judgment or fairness as not\nto \"distinguish accurately\" or \"set apart things that are\ndifferent\"--who either treat equally things that are unequal, or treat\nunequally things that are equal. Now, when the railway traffic manager\n\"sets apart things that are different,\" and treats them differently, he\nsimply does what it is the duty of every one to do.[56]\n\nThen he goes on to develop this definition by showing the facts on which\nit has to bear.\n\nOn the other hand do not bore your readers with dictionary definitions\nof words whose meaning no one doubts; that is a waste of good paper for\nyou, and of good time for them; and we have seen in Chapter II the\nfutility of the dictionary for cases in which there is real disagreement\nover the meaning of a word.\n\nIt will be seen, then, that the analysis you have made in preparation\nfor the brief may spread out large or small in the argument itself. It\nis wise, therefore, to look on the work done for the introduction to the\nbrief as work done largely to clear up your own thought on the subject;\nwhen you come to writing out the argument itself, you can go back to the\nintroduction to the brief, and see how much space you are now going to\ngive it.\n\nIn a college or school argument you will usually follow it rather\nclosely; and you do well to do so, for you will thus fix in your mind a\nuseful model. But when you get out into the world, you will have to\nconsider in each case the needs and prepossessions of the particular\naudience. Here as everywhere in the argument you must exercise judgment;\nthere is no formula which will fit all cases. The scheme of analysis of\nthe case which has been expounded in Chapter II has stood the test as\nthe best means yet found of exploring a subject and insuring clarity of\nthought and certainty of attack;[57] but I know of no single fixed scheme\nfor the argument itself which will not be racked apart by the first half\ndozen practical arguments you apply it to.\n\n51. The Body of the Argument. In the main body of the argument the\ndifference from the brief will be largely a matter of expansion: the\nbrief indicates the evidence, the argument states it at length. Here\nagain you cut your argument to fit your audience and the space at your\ncommand. In an argument in the editorial of a newspaper, which is rarely\nlonger than a long college theme, there is little space for the\nstatement of evidence. In Webster's argument in the White Murder Case,\nwhich has some thirteen thousand words and which must have taken two\nhours or more to deliver, the facts are studied in minute detail. Most\npeople are surprised to see the way in which a full statement of\nevidence eats up space; if the facts are at all complicated, they must\nbe analyzed and expounded one by one and their bearing on the case laid\nout in full. This necessity of using space in order to make facts clear\nis the reason why it is so hard to find adequate and convincing\narguments which will print in less than fifteen or twenty pages. The\ntrouble with a swift and compact argument like that of Macaulay's on the\nauthorship of the _Junius Letters_ (see p. 155) is that unless you have\ngone into the question for yourself, you do not know whether to accept\nthe stated facts or not. If you do accept them, the conclusion is\ninevitable; but if you happen to know that scholars have long held the\ndecision doubtful, you want to know more about the facts in detail\nbefore surrendering to Macaulay's conclusion. For an average reader\nto-day, who knows little of the facts, this argument would have to be\ngreatly expanded.\n\nIn this expansion comes the chance for all the skill in exposition that\nyou can muster, and for that subtle appeal to your readers' feelings\nwhich lies in vividness and precision of phrasing, considerations with\nwhich I will deal separately further on. Questions of proportion of\nspace we may consider here.\n\nThe only rule that can be laid down for the distribution of your space\nis to use your sagacity, and all your knowledge of your subject and of\nyour audience. In a written argument you have the advantage that you can\nlet your pen run on your first draft, and then go back and weigh the\ncomparative force of the different parts of the argument, and cut out\nand cut down until your best points for the purpose have the most space.\nIn a debate the same end is gained by rehearsals of the main speeches;\nin the rebuttal, which is best when it is spontaneous, you have to trust\nto the judgment gained by practice.\n\nOther things being equal, however, brevity carries an audience. If you\ncan sum up your case in half the time that it takes the other side to\nstate theirs, the chances are that your audience will think you have the\nright of it. Above all, beware of boring your readers by too exhaustive\nexplanation of details or of aspects of the case which they care nothing\nabout. I suppose there is no one of us who has not a worthy friend or\ntwo who will talk through a whole evening on whether a lawn should be\nwatered in the evening or the early morning, or whether the eighth hole\non the golf course should not be fifty yards longer. One must not be\nlike the man who in the discussion of bimetallism a few years ago used\nto keep his wife awake at night expounding to her the iniquities and\ninequalities of a single standard. It is safer to underestimate than to\noverestimate the endurance and patience of your audience.\n\n52. The Refutation. The place of the refutation will, as we have\nseen in the chapter on planning (see p. 82), vary greatly with the\nargument and with the audience. Its purpose is to put out of the way as\neffectively as possible the main points urged by the other side. In an\nargument of fact this is done both by exposing weak places in the\nreasoning and by throwing doubt on the facts cited, either through proof\nthat they are contradicted by better evidence, or that the evidence\nbrought forward to establish them is shaky or inconclusive. In an\nargument of policy the points on the other side are met either by\nthrowing doubt on the facts on which they rest, or by showing that the\npoints themselves have not coercive force.\n\nWhere there are really strong points on the other side, in either kind\nof argument, it is often sound policy to admit their strength. This is\nespecially true in arguments of policy where the advantages are closely\nbalanced. If you are trying to convince a boy that he should go to your\ncollege rather than to another, you do not gain anything by telling him\nthat the other college is no good; if he is worth gaining over he will\nknow better than that. And in general if you have given a man to\nunderstand that there is nothing to be said for the other side, and he\nafterwards finds that there are strong grounds for it, your argument\nwill have a fall in his estimation.\n\nIn the manner of your refutation lean towards the side of soberness and\ncourtesy. It has been said that the poorest use you can put a man to is\nto refute him; and it is certain that in the give and take of argument\nin active life the personal victories and defeats are what are soonest\nforgotten. If after a while you have to establish a fact in history or\nin biology, or to get a verdict from a jury or a favorable report from\nthe committee of a legislature, you will think a good deal more about\nthe arguments of your opponents than about them personally. There are\nfew arguments in which you can afford to take no notice of the strong\npoints of the other side; and where the burden of proof is strongly with\nyou, your own argument may be almost wholly refutation; but it is\nalways worth bearing in mind that if it is worth while for you to be\narguing at all, there is something, and something of serious weight, to\nbe said on the other side.\n\n53. The Conclusion. The conclusion of your argument should be short\nand pointed. Gather the main issues together, and restate them in terms\nthat will be easy to remember. Mere repetition of the points as you made\nthem in your introduction may sound too much like lack of resource; on\nthe other hand, it helps to make your points familiar, and to drive them\nhome. In any event make your contentions easy to remember. Most of us go\na long way towards settling our own minds on a puzzling question when we\nrepeat to some one else arguments that we have read or heard. If you can\nso sum up your argument that your readers will go off and unconsciously\nretail your points to their neighbors, you probably have them. On the\nother hand, when you have finished your argument, if you start in to\nhedge and modify and go back to points that have not had enough emphasis\nbefore, you throw away all you have gained. In arguing nothing succeeds\nlike decision and certainty of utterance. Even dogmatism is better than\nan appearance of wabbling. It is the men like Macaulay, who see\neverything black and white with no shades between, who are the leaders\nof the world's opinion. Sum up, then, wherever it is decent to do so, as\nif there were only one side of the case, and that could be stated in\nthree lines.\n\n54. The Power of Convincing. The convincing power of an argument\ndepends on its appeal to the reason of its readers. To put the same fact\nin another way, an argument has convincing power when it can fit the\nfacts which it deals with smoothly and intelligently into the rest of\nthe reader's experience. If an argument on a complicated mass of facts,\nsuch as the evidence in a long murder case, makes the reader say, \"Yes,\nnow I see how it all happened,\" or an argument for the direct election\nof United States senators makes him say, \"Yes, that is a plain working\nout of the fundamental principles of popular government,\" then he is\nconvinced. In this aspect argument merges into exposition. It is\nsignificant that, as has already been noted, Matthew Arnold's argument\nthat Wordsworth is the greatest English poet after Shakespeare and\nMilton, and Huxley's argument that the physical basis of animal and\nplant life is the same, are both used in a book of examples of\nexposition.[58] The essential difference between argument and exposition\nfrom this point of view lies in the emphasis: normally an explanation\ncovers the whole case evenly; an argument throws certain parts and\naspects of the case into relief.\n\nIf, therefore, to be convincing, your argument must provide a reasonable\nexplanation of the whole state of affairs to which the case belongs, you\ncan use all the devices there are for clear and effective explanation. I\nwill therefore briefly review a few of these.\n\nOf the value of an introduction which lays out the ground to be covered\nI have already spoken. The more distinct an idea you can implant in your\nreaders' minds of the course you are going to follow in your argument,\nthe more likely they will be to follow it. Since the success of your\nargument hangs on carrying them with you on the main issues, let them\nknow beforehand just what those issues are, and in such a way that they\ncan hold them with a minimum of effort. The value of a clear and, as it\nwere, maplike introduction is even greater in an argument than in an\nexposition.\n\nIn the second place, use your paragraphing for all that it is worth, and\nthat is a great deal. The success of any explanation or argument springs\nfrom the way in which it takes a mass of facts apart, and rearranges\nthem simply and perspicuously; and there is no device of composition\nwhich helps so much towards clearness as good paragraphing. Accordingly\nwhen you come to make your final draft, make certain that each paragraph\nhas unity. If you have any doubts see if you can sum up the paragraph\ninto a single simple sentence. Then look at the beginnings of the\nparagraphs to see whether you have made it easy for your readers to know\nwhat each one is about. Macaulay's style is on the whole clearer and\nmore effective for a general audience than that of any other writer in\nEnglish; and his habit of beginning each paragraph with a very definite\nannouncement of its subject is almost a mannerism. Incidentally there is\nno better rough test of the unity of your paragraphs than thus to give\nthem something of the nature of a title in the first sentence. Often,\ntoo, at the end of an important paragraph it is worth while to sum up\nits essence in pithy form. Mankind in general is lazy about thinking,\nand more than ready to accept an argument which is easy to remember and\nrepeat. The end of a paragraph is the place for a catchword.\n\nIn the third place, bind the sentences in your paragraphs together. When\none is building up a first draft, and picking facts from a variety of\nsources, it is inevitable that the result shall be somewhat disjointed.\nIn working over the first draft, really work it over, and work it\ntogether. Make all the sentences point the same way. Pronouns are the\nmost effective connectives that we have; therefore recast your\nsentences so that there will be as little change of subject as possible.\nThen use the explicit connectives in as much variety as you can. It is\nnot likely that you will make your paragraphs too closely knit for the\naverage reader.\n\nIn the fourth place, bind your argument together as a whole by\nconnectives at the beginnings of the paragraphs and by brief summarizing\nparagraphs. In the present generation of schoolboys a good many have\ngroaned over Burke's speech \"On Conciliation with America\"; but if the\nfirst time that one of these sufferers must make an argument in real\nearnest, he will go back to Burke for some of the devices used to bind\nthat argument together, he will be surprised to see how practically e\nefficient those devices are. And none of them counts more for clarity\nand thoroughness than the conscientious way in which Burke took his\nhearers by the hand at the beginning of each paragraph, and at each turn\nin his argument, to make sure that they knew just how they were passing\nfrom one point to another.\n\nFrom the doctrine of clear explanation, then, we may carry over to the\nmaking of clear arguments the habit of laying out the ground at the\nbeginning, of making the paragraphs do their full work by attending to\nunity, to emphasis, and to coherence, and of binding the paragraphs\ntogether into a closely knit whole.\n\n55. The Power of Persuading. Finally, we have to consider the\nquestion of how an argument can be made persuasive--probably the most\ndifficult subject in the range of rhetoric on which to give practical\nadvice. The key to the whole matter lies in remembering that we are here\ndealing with feelings, and that feelings are irrational and are the\nproduct of personal experience. The experience may be bitter or sweet,\nand to some degree its effects are modified by education; but in\nsubstance your feelings and emotions make you what you are, and your\ncapacities in these directions were born with you. If the citizens of a\ntown have no feeling about political dishonesty, reformers may talk\ntheir throats out without producing any result; it is only when taxes\nget intolerable or the sewers smell to heaven that anything will be\ndone. Many people die for whose deaths each of us ought to feel grief,\nbut if these people have never happened to touch our feelings, we can\nreason with ourselves in vain that we should feel deeply grieved.\nFeeling and emotion are the deepest, most primitive part of human\nnature; and very little of its field has been reduced to the\ngeneralizations of reason.[59]\n\nWhen you come, therefore, in the making of your argument to the point of\nstirring up the feelings of your readers on the subject, do not waste\nany time in considering what they ought to feel: the only pertinent\nquestion is what they do feel. On your shrewdness in estimating what\nthese feelings are, and how strong they are, will hang your success as\nan advocate. Tact is the faculty you need now--the faculty of judging\nmen, of knowing when they will rise to an appeal, and when they will lie\nback inert and uninterested. This is a matter you cannot reason about;\nif you have the faculty it will be borne in on you how other men will\nfeel on your subject. The skill of politicians, where it does not\nconfine itself to estimating how much the people will stand before\nrebelling, consists in this intuition of the movement of public opinion;\nand the great leaders are the men who have so sure a sense of these\nlarge waves of popular feeling that they can utter at the right moment\nthe word that will gather together this diffused and uncrystallized\nfeeling into a living force. Lincoln's declaration, \"A house divided\nagainst itself cannot stand, I believe that this government cannot\nendure permanently half slave and half free,\" brought to a head a\nconflict that had been smoldering ever since the adoption of the\nConstitution, and made him the inevitable leader who was to bring it to\na close. It will be noticed, however, that the time had to come before\nthe inspired word could make its appeal. The abolitionists and\nantislavery men had long been preaching the same doctrine that Lincoln\nuttered, and the folly and wickedness of slavery had been proved by\nphilosophers and preachers for generations. Until the time grows ripe\nthe most reasonable doctrine does not touch the hearts of men; when the\ntime has ripened, the leader knows it and speaks the word that sets the\nworld on fire for righteousness.\n\nThe same faculty, on a smaller scale, is needed by every one of us who\nis trying to make other people do anything. The actual use of the\nfaculty will vary greatly, however, with different kinds of arguments.\nIn certain kinds of scientific argument any attempt at persuasion as\nsuch would be an impertinence: whether heat is a mode of motion, whether\nthere are such infinitesimal bodies as the ions which physicists of\nto-day assume to explain certain new phenomena, whether matter consists\nof infinitesimal whirls of force--in all such questions an argument\nappeals solely to the reason; and in such Bacon's favorite apophthegm\nhas full sway, Dry light is ever the best. In Huxley's arguments for the\ntheory of evolution feeling had some share, for when the theory was\nfirst announced by Darwin some religious people thought that it cut at\nthe foundations of their faith, and Huxley had to show that loyalty to\ntruth is a feeling of equal sanctity to scientific men: hence there is\nsome tinge of feeling, though repressed, in his argument, and a definite\nconsciousness of the feelings of his audience.\n\nAt the other extreme are the arguments where the appeal to feelings is\neverything, since it is clear that the audience is already of the\nspeaker's way of thinking. Examples of such arguments are most apt to be\nfound in speeches in political campaigns and in appeals for money to\nhelp forward charities of all kinds. It is probable that most of the\nconversions in political matters are through reading; consequently the\npurpose of the speeches is to stir up excitement and feeling to such a\nheat that the maximum of the party voters will take the trouble to go\nout to the polls. Arguments directed to this class, accordingly, are\nalmost wholly appeals to feeling. The famous debate between Lincoln and\nDouglas in 1858 was of this character; of the thousands of people who\nheard them in one or another of the seven debates most had taken sides\nalready. In such a case as this, however, where a change in general\npolitical opinion was impending, the reasoning of the debates had more\nforce than in ordinary times, and probably helped many voters to a\nclearer view of a very distressing and harassing situation. Between\ntimes, however, in politics, where there are no great moral or practical\ndifferences between parties, the purpose of speeches is almost wholly\npersuasive. Success one way or another is a question of getting out the\nvoters who more or less passively and as a matter of habit hold to the\nparty. Party speakers, accordingly, use every device to wake up their\nvoters, and to make them believe that there is a real crisis at hand.\nEvery attempt is made to attach moral issues to the party platforms, and\nto show how the material prosperity of the voters will fail if the\nother party wins.\n\nRoughly, therefore, we may say that persuasion tends to play a small\npart in arguments of facts, and a larger part in questions of policy.\nThis is a rough generalization only, for every one knows what eloquence\nand efforts at eloquence go into the arguments before juries in capital\ncases, and how dry and abstract are the arguments before the judges on\npoints of law, or on questions of public policy in books of political\neconomy. But in the long run, the less feeling enters into decisions of\nquestions of fact, the better.\n\nOf the factors which make for the persuasiveness of an argument I will\nspeak here of three--clearness of statement, appeal to the practical\ninterests of the audience, and direct appeal to their feelings.\n\nThere can be no doubt that clearness of statement is a powerful element\nin making an argument persuasive, though the appeal that it makes to the\nfeelings of the readers is slight and subtle. In practice we mostly read\narguments either to help make up our minds on a subject or to get aid in\ndefending views for which we have no ready support. In the latter case\nwe do not need to be persuaded; but in the former there can be no\nquestion that an argument which clears up the subject, and makes it\nintelligible where before it was confusing, does have an effect on us\nover and above its aid to our thought.\n\n56. The Practical Interests of the Audience. Of directly persuasive\npower, however, are the other two factors--the appeal to the practical\ninterests of readers, and the appeal to their emotions. Of these the\nappeal to practical interests has no proper place in arguments on\nquestions of fact, but a large and entirely proper share in most\narguments of policy. Henry Ward Beecher's speech on the slavery issue in\nthe Civil War, before the cotton operatives of Liverpool,[60] is a\nclassic example of the direct appeal to the practical interests of an\naudience. They were bitterly hostile to the North, because the supplies\nof cotton had been cut off by the blockade; and after he had got a\nhearing from them by appealing to the English sense of fair play, he\ndrove home the doctrine that a slave population made few customers for\nthe products of English mills. Then he passed on to the moral side of\nthe question.\n\nArguments on almost all public questions--direct election of senators,\ndirect primaries, commission form of government, tariff, currency,\ncontrol of corporations, or, in local matters, the size of a school\ncommittee, the granting of franchises to street railroads or water\ncompanies, the laying out of streets, the rules governing parks--are all\nquestions of policy in which the greatest practical advantage to the\ngreatest proportion of those who are interested is the controlling force\nin the decision. At particular times and places moral questions may\nenter into some of these questions, but ordinarily we come to them to\nsettle questions of practical advantage.\n\nIn arguments on all such questions, therefore, the direct appeal to the\npractical interests of the people you are addressing is the chief factor\nthat makes for persuasiveness. Will a change to a commission form of\ngovernment make towards a reduction of taxes and towards giving greater\nand more equitably distributed returns for those that are levied? Will\nthe direct primary for state officers make it easier and surer for the\naverage citizen of the state to elect to office the kind of men he wants\nto have in office? Will a central bank of issue, or some institution\nlike it, establish the business of the country on a basis less likely to\nbe disturbed by panics? Will a competing street-car line make for better\nand cheaper transportation in the city? In all such questions the only\ngrounds for decision are practical, and founded in the prosperity and\nthe convenience of the people who have the decision.\n\nTo make arguments in such cases persuasive you must show how the\nquestion affects the practical interests of your readers, and then that\nthe plan which you support will bring them the greatest advantage.\nGeneralities and large political truths may help you to convince them;\nbut to persuade them to active interest and action you must get down to\nthe realities which touch them personally. If you are arguing for a\ncommission government in your city on the ground of economy, show in\ndollars and cents what portion of his income the owner of a house and\nlot worth five or ten thousand dollars pays each year because of the\npresent extravagance and wastefulness. If you can make a voter see that\nthe change is likely to save him ten or twenty-five or a hundred dollars\na year, you have made an argument that is persuasive. The arguments for\nthe reformation of our currency system are aimed directly at the\nmaterial interests of the business men of the country and their\nemployees; and the pleas for one or another system attempt to show how\neach will conduce to the greater security and profit of the greatest\nnumber of people.\n\nTo make such arguments count, however, you must deal in concrete terms.\nA recent argument[61] for the establishment of a general parcels post in\nthis country presents figures to show that for the transportation of a\nparcel by express at a rate of forty-five cents, the railroad gets\ntwenty-two and one-half cents for service which it could do at a\nhandsome profit for five cents. Of the validity of these figures I have\nno means of judging; but the effectiveness of the argument lies in its\nmaking plain to each of its readers a fact which touches his pocket\nevery time he sends a parcel by express. It is this kind of argument\nthat has persuasiveness, for the way we spend our money and what we get\nfor it come close home to most of us. Of all practical interests those\nof the purse are of necessity the most moving for all but the very rich.\n\nMoney interests, however, are far from being the only practical\ninterests which concern us: there are many matters of convenience and\ncomfort where an individual or a community is not thinking of the cost.\nSuch questions as what kind of furnace to set up, whether to build a\nhouse of brick or of cement, which railroad to take between, two cities,\nare questions that draw arguments from other people than advertising\nagents. Of another sort are questions that concern education. What\ncollege shall a boy go to; shall he be prepared in a public school, or a\nprivate day school, or a boarding school? Shall a given college admit on\ncertificate, or demand an examination of its own? Shall a certain public\nschool drop Greek from its list of studies; shall it set up a course in\nmanual training? All these are examples of another set of questions that\ntouch practical interests very closely. In arguments on such questions,\ntherefore, if you are to have the power of persuading and so of\ninfluencing action, you must get home to the interests of the people you\nare trying to move. The question of schools is very different for a boy\nin a small country village and for one in New York City; the question\nof admission is different for a state university and for an endowed\ncollege; the question of Greek is different for a school which sends few\npupils on to college and for one which sends many: and in each case if\nyou want to influence action, you must set forth facts which bear on the\nproblem as it faces that particular audience. Except perhaps for the\nhighest eloquence, there is no such thing as universal persuasiveness.\nThe questions which actively affect the average man usually concern\nsmall groups of people, and each group must be stirred to action by\nincentives adapted to its special interests.\n\n57. The Appeal to Moral Interests. Still further from the interests\nthat touch the pocket, and constantly in healthy and elevating action\nagainst them, are the moral interests. The appeal to moral motives is\nsometimes laughed at by men who call themselves practical, but in\nAmerica it is in the long run the strongest appeal that can be made. We\nare still near enough to the men who fought through the Civil War, in\nwhich each, side held passionately to what it believed to be the moral\nright, for us to believe without too much complacency that moral forces\nare the forces that rule us as a nation. Mr. Bryan and Mr. Roosevelt\nhave both been called preachers, and the hold they have had on great,\nthough differing, parts of the American people is incontestable. If any\nquestion on which you have to argue has a moral side, it is not only\nyour duty, but it is also the path of expediency, to make appeal through\nthe moral principle involved.\n\nThe chief difficulty with making an appeal to moral principles is to set\nthem forth in other than abstract terms, since they are the product of a\nset of feelings which lie too deep for easy phrasing in definite words.\nIn most cases we know what is right long before we can explain why it is\nright; and a man who can put into clear words the moral forces that move\nhis fellows is a prophet and leader of men. Moreover, it must be\nremembered when one is appealing to moral principles that upright men\nare not agreed about all of them, and there is even more doubt and\ndisagreement when one comes to the practical application of the\nprinciples. We have seen in Chapter I what bitter division arose in our\nfathers' time over the right and the righteousness of slavery; and how\nin many states to-day good and God-fearing people are divided on the\nquestion of prohibition.\n\nBut even where the two sides to a question agree on the moral principle\nwhich is involved, it by no means follows that they will agree on its\napplication in a particular case. Church members accept the principle\nthat one must forgive sinners and help them to reform; but it is another\nthing when it comes to getting work for a man who has been in prison, or\nhelp for a woman who has left her husband. How far is the condoning of\noffenses consistent with maintaining the standards of society? And in\nwhat cases shall we apply the principle of forgiveness? In a business\ntransaction how far can one push the Golden Rule? Life would be a\nsimpler matter if moral principles were always easy to apply to concrete\ncases.\n\nOne must use the appeal to moral principles, therefore, soberly and with\ndiscretion. The good sense of readers will rebel if their moral sense is\ncalled on unnecessarily; and even when they cannot explain why they\nbelieve such an appeal unsound, yet their instincts will tell them that\nit is so. The creator whose right hand is always rising to heaven to\ncall God to witness disgusts the right feeling of his audience. On the\nother hand, where moral principles are really concerned there should be\nno compromise. If in a political campaign the issue is between honesty\nand graft in the public service, or between an open discussion of all\ndealings which touch the public good, and private bargaining with party\nmanagers, the moral principles cannot be kept hidden. If a real moral\nprinciple is seriously involved in any question, the debate must rise to\nthe level of that principle and let practical considerations go. And\nevery citizen who has the advantage of having had more education than\nhis fellows is thereby placed under obligation to hold the debate to\nthis higher level.\n\n58. The Appeal of Style. Finally, we have to consider the appeal to\nthe emotions, which is the distinguishing essence of eloquence, and the\nattempts at it. In part this appeal is through the appeal to principles\nand associations which are close to the heart of the audience, in part\nthrough concrete and figurative language, in part through the\nindefinable thrill and music of style which lies beyond definition and\ninstruction.\n\nThe appeal to venerated principle we have considered already, looked at\nfrom the side of morals rather than of emotions. But morality, so far as\nit is a coercive force in human conduct, is emotional; our moral\nstandards lie beyond and above reason in that larger part of our nature\nthat knows through feeling and intuition. All men have certain standards\nand principles whose names arouse strong and reverent emotions. Such\nstandards are not all religious or moral in the stricter sense; some of\nthem have their roots in systems of government. In a case at law, argued\npurely on a question of law, there does not seem much chance for the\nappeal to feeling; but Mr. Joseph H. Choate, in his argument on the\nconstitutionality of the Income Tax of 1894, before the Supreme Court\nof the United States, made the following appeal to the principle of the\nsanctity of private property, and the words he used could not have\nfailed to stir deep and strong feelings in the court.\n\nNo longer ago, if the Court please, than the day of the funeral\nprocession of General Sherman in New York, it was my fortune to spend\nmany hours with one of the ex-Presidents of the United States, who has\nsince followed that great warrior to the bourne to which we were then\nbearing him. President Hayes expressed great solicitude as to the future\nfortunes of this people. In his retirement he had been watching the\ntendency of political and social purposes and events. He had observed\nhow in recent years the possessors of political power had been learning\nto use it for the first time for the promotion of social and personal\nends. He said to me, \"You will probably live to see the day when in the\ncase of the death of any man of large wealth the State will take for\nitself all above a certain prescribed limit of his fortune and divide\nit, or apply it to the equal use of all the people, so as to punish the\nrich man for his wealth, and to divide it among those who, whatever may\nhave been their sins, at least have not committed that.\" I looked upon\nit as the wanderings of a dreaming man; and yet if I had known that\nwithin less than five short years afterwards I should be standing before\nthis tribunal to contest the validity of an alleged act of Congress, of\na so-called law, which was defended here by the authorized legal\nrepresentatives of the Federal Government upon the plea that it was a\ntax levied only upon classes and extremely rich men, I should have given\naltogether a different heed and ear to the warnings of that\ndistinguished statesman.[62]\n\nOur emotions do not rise, however, anymore surely in the case of our\nveneration for the basal principles of religion and government than in\nthat of more personal emotions. The appeal to the Constitution is worn\nsomewhat threadbare by the politicians who call on it at every election,\nsmall or great, as is the appeal to the principles of the Pilgrim\nFathers. It takes eloquence now to rouse our feelings about these\nprinciples. If you have a case important enough to justify appeal to\nsuch great principles and the skill in language to give your appeal\nvitality, you may really arouse your readers. But, on the whole, it is\nsound advice to say, Wait a few years before you call on them.\n\nThe second mode of appeal to the feelings of your audience, that through\nconcrete and figurative language, is more within the reach of advocates\nwho are still of college age. This is particularly true of the use of\nconcrete language. It is a matter of common knowledge that men do not\nrouse themselves over abstract principles; they will grant their assent,\noften without really knowing what is implied by the general principle,\nand go away yawning. On the other hand, the man who talks about the real\nand actual things which you know is likely to keep your attention. This\ngoes back to the truth that our emotions and feelings are primarily the\nreaction to the concrete things that happen to us. The spontaneous\nwhistling and humming of tunes that indicate a cheerful heart rise\nnaturally as a response to the sunlight in spring; the fear at the\nterror that flies in a nightmare is the instinctive and physical\nreaction to indigestion; we sorrow over the loss of our own friends, but\nnot over the loss of some one else's. The stories that stir us are the\nstories that deal with actual, tangible realities in such terms that\nthey make us feel that we are living the story ourselves. Stevenson has\nsome wise words on this subject in his essay, \"A Gossip on Romance.\" The\ndoctrine holds true for the making of arguments.\n\nEven where as in Burke's speech \"On Conciliation with America,\"\nabstractness is not vagueness, the style would be more effective for the\nricher feeling that hangs over and around a concrete vocabulary. The\ngreat vividness of Macaulay's style, and its bold over so many readers,\nis largely due to his unfailing use of the specific word. If you will\ntake the trouble to notice what arguments in the last few months have\nseemed to you especially persuasive, you will be surprised to find how\ndefinite and concrete the terms are that they use.\n\nAccordingly, if you wish to keep the readers of your argument awake and\nattentive, use terms that touch their everyday experience. If you are\narguing for the establishment of a commission form of government, give\nin dollars and cents the sum that it cost under the old system to pave\nthe three hundred yards of A Street, between 12th and 13th streets. The\nlate Mr. Godkin of the New York _Evening Post_, in his lifelong campaign\nagainst corrupt government, to bring home to his readers the actual\nstate of their city government and the character of the men who ran it,\nused their nicknames; \"Long John\" Corrigan, for example (if there had\nbeen such a personage); and \"Bath-house John Somebody\" has been a\nfeature of campaigns in Chicago. The value of such names when skillfully\nused is that by their associations and connotation they do stir feeling.\nLikewise if you are arguing before an audience of graduates for a change\nfrom a group system to a free elective system in your college, you would\nuse the names of courses with which they would be familiar and the names\nof professors under whom they had studied. If you were arguing for the\nintroduction of manual training into a school, you would make taxpayers\ntake an interest in the matter if you gave them the exact numbers of\npupils from that school who have gone directly into mills or other work\nof the kind, and if you describe vividly just what is meant by manual\ntraining. If your description is in general terms they may grant you\nyour principle, and then out of mere inertia and a vague feeling against\nchange vote the other way.\n\nA rough test for concreteness is your vocabulary: if your words are\nmostly Anglo-Saxon you will usually be talking about concrete things; if\nit is Latinate and polysyllabic it is probably abstract and general.\nMost of the things and actions of everyday life, the individual things\nlike \"walls\" and \"puppies,\" \"summer\" and \"boys,\" \"buying\" and \"selling,\"\n\"praying\" and \"singing,\" have names belonging to the Anglo-Saxon part of\nthe language; and though there are many exceptions, like \"tables,\" and\n\"telephones,\" and \"professors,\" yet the more your vocabulary consists of\nthe non-Latinate words, the more likely it is to be concrete, and\ntherefore to keep your readers' attention and feelings alive. Use the\nsimple terms of everyday life, therefore, rather than the learned words\nwhich would serve you if you were generalizing from many cases. Stick to\nthe single case before you and to the interests of the particular people\nyou are trying to win over. To touch their feelings remember that you\nmust talk about the things they have feelings about.\n\nThe use of similes and metaphors and other figurative language raises a\ndifficult question. On the whole, perhaps the best advice about using\nthem is, Don't unless you have to. In other words, where a figure of\nspeech is a necessity of expression, where you cannot make your thought\nclear and impart to it the warmth of feeling with which it is clothed in\nyour own mind except by a touch of imaginative color, then use a figure\nof speech, if one flashes itself on your mind. If you add it\ndeliberately as adornment of your speech, it will strike a false note;\nif you laboriously invent it the effort will show. Unless your thought\nand your eagerness for your subject flow naturally and inevitably into\nan image, it is better to stick to plain speech, for any suggestion of\ninsincerity is fatal to the persuasiveness of an argument.\n\nThe value of the figure of speech is chiefly in giving expression to\nfeelings which cannot be set forth in abstract words, the whole of whose\nmeaning can be defined: in the connotation of words--that indefinable\npart of their meaning which consists in their associations,\nimplications, and general emotional coloring--lies their power to clothe\nthought with the rich color of feeling which is the life. At the same\ntime, they serve as a fillip to the attention. There are not very many\npeople who can long keep the mind fixed on a purely abstract line of\nthought, and none can do it without some effort. Professor William James\nis a notable example of a writer whose thought flowed spontaneously into\nnecessary figures of speech:\n\nWhen one turns to the magnificent edifice of the physical sciences,\nand sees how it was reared; what thousands of disinterested\nmoral lives of men lie buried in its mere foundations; what patience\nand postponement, what choking down of preference, what\nsubmission to the icy laws of outer fact are wrought into its very\nstones and mortar; how absolutely impersonal it stands in its vast\naugustness,--then how besotted and contemptible seems every\nlittle sentimentalist who comes blowing his voluntary smoke wreaths,\nand pretending to decide things out of his private dream.[63]\n\nOne cannot go to sleep over a style like that, for besides the\nobvious sincerity and rush of warm feeling, the vividness of\nthe figures is like that of poetry. On the either hand, one\nmust remember that it is given to few men to attain the\nunstudied eloquence of Professor James.\n\nFables and anecdotes serve much the same purpose, but\nmore especially throw into memorable form the principle\nwhich they are intended to set forth. There are a good many\ntruths which are either so complex or so subtle that they defy\nphrasing in compact form, yet their truth we all know by intuition.\nIf for such a truth you can find a compact illustration,\nyou can leave it much more firmly fixed in your readers' minds\nthan by any amount of systematic exposition. Lincoln in his\nSpringfield speech, for example, threw into striking form the\nfeeling which was so common in the North, that each step\nforward in the advance of slavery so fitted into all earlier ones\nthat something like a concerted plan must be assumed:\n\nWe cannot absolutely know that all these exact adaptations are, the\nresult of preconcert. But when we see a lot of framed timbers, different\nportions of which we know have been gotten cut at different times and\nplaces and by different workmen,--Stephen, Franklin, Roger, and James,\nfor instance,--and we see these timbers joined together, and see they\nexactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and mortises\nexactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the different\npieces exactly adapted to their respective places, and not a piece too\nmany or too few, not omitting even scaffolding,--or, if a single piece\nbe lacking, we see the place in the frame exactly fitted and prepared\nyet to bring such piece in,--in such a case we find it impossible not to\nbelieve that Stephen and Franklin and Roger and James all understood one\nanother from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft\ndrawn up before the first blow was struck.\n\nOn the other hand, there is the danger of being florid or of playing the\nclown if you tell too many stories. Whether your style will seem florid\nor not depends a good deal on the part of the country you are writing\nfor. There is no doubt that the taste of the South and of a good deal of\nthe West is for a style more varied and highly  than suits the\nsoberer taste of the East. But whatever part of the country you are\nwriting for, just so soon as your style seems to those special readers\noverloaded with ornament it will seem insincere. In the same way, if you\nstop too often to tell a story or to make your readers laugh, you will\nproduce the impression of trifling with your subject. In both these\nrespects be careful not to draw the attention of your readers away from\nthe subject to your style.\n\nThe ultimate and least analyzable appeal of style is through that thrill\nof the voice which in written style appears as rhythm and harmony.\nCertain men are gifted with the capacity of so modulating their voices\nand throwing virtue into their tones that whoever hears them feels an\nindefinable thrill. So in writing: where sounds follow sounds in\nharmonious sequence, and the beat of the accent approaches regularity\nwithout falling into it, language takes on the expressiveness of music.\nIt is well known that music expresses a range of feeling that lies\nbeyond the powers of words: who can explain, for example, the thrill\nroused in him by a good brass band, or the indefinable melancholy and\ngloom created by the minor harmonies of one of the great funeral\nmarches, or, in another direction, the impulse that sets him to\nwhistling or singing on a bright morning in summer? There are many such\nkinds of feeling, real and potent parts of our consciousness; and if we\ncan bring them to expression at all, we must do so through the rhythm\nand other sensuous qualities of the style which are pure sensation.\n\nHow is that to be done? The answer is difficult, and like that\nconcerning the use of figurative language: do not try for it too\ndeliberately. If without your thinking of it you find yourself becoming\nmore earnest in speech, and more impressed with the seriousness of the\nissue you are arguing, your voice will show it naturally. So when you\nare writing: your earnestness will show, if you have had the training\nand have the natural gift for expression in words, in a lengthening and\nmore strongly marked rhythm, in an intangibly richer coloring of sound.\nIn speech the rhythm is apt to be shown in what is called parallel\nstructure, the repetition of the same form of sentence, and in\nrhetorical questions. In writing, these forms more easily tend to seem\neither excited or artificial. Sustained periodic structure, too, can be\ncarried by the speaking voice, when it would lag if written. Every one\nrecognizes this incommunicable thrill of eloquence in great speakers and\nwriters, but it is so much a gift of nature that it is not wise\nconsciously to cultivate it.\n\n59. Fairness and Sincerity. In the long run, however, nothing makes\nan argument appeal more to readers than an air of fairness and\nsincerity. If it is evident in an argument of fact that you are seeking\nto establish the truth, or in an argument of policy that your single aim\nis the greatest good of all concerned, your audience will listen to you\nwith favorable ears. If on the other hand you seem to be chiefly\nconcerned with the vanity of a personal victory, or to be thinking of\nselfish advantages, they will listen to you coolly and with jealous\nscrutiny of your points.\n\nAccordingly, in making your preliminary survey to prepare the statement\nof the facts that are agreed on by both sides, go as far as you can in\nyielding points. If the question is worth arguing at all you will still\nhave your hands full to get through it within your space. In particular\nwaive all trivial points: nothing is more wearisome to readers than to\nplow through detailed arguments over points that no one cares about in\nthe end. And meet the other side at least halfway in agreeing on the\nfacts that do not need to be argued out. You will prejudice your\naudience if you make concessions in a grudging spirit. Likewise,\nwherever you have, to meet arguments put forward by the other side,\nstate them with scrupulous fairness; if your audience has any reason to\nsuppose that you are twisting the assertions of the other side to your\nown advantage, you have shaken their confidence in you, and thereby\nweakened the persuasive force of your argument. Use sarcasm with\ncaution, and beware of any seeming of triumph. Sarcasm easily becomes\ncheap, and an air of triumph may look like petty smartness.\n\nIn short, in writing your argument, assume throughout the attitude of\none who is seeking earnestly to bring the disagreement between the two\nsides to an end. If you are dealing with a question of fact, your sole\nduty is to establish the truth. If you are dealing with a question of\npolicy, you know when you begin that whichever way the decision goes,\none side will suffer some disadvantage; but aim to lessen that\ndisadvantage, and to discover a way that will bring the greatest gain to\nthe greatest number. An obvious spirit of conciliation is a large asset\nin persuasion.\n\nWith the conciliation make clear your sincerity. A chief difficulty with\nmaking arguments written in school and college persuasive is that they\nso often deal with subjects in which it is obvious that the writer's own\nfeelings are not greatly concerned. This difficulty will disappear when\nyou get out into the world, and make arguments in earnest. A great part\nof Lincoln's success as an advocate is said to have been due to the fact\nthat he always tried to compose his cases and to make peace between the\nlitigants, and that he never took a case in which he did not believe. If\nyou leave on your audience the impression that you are sincere and in\nearnest, you have taken a long step towards winning over their feelings.\n\nOn the whole, then, when one is considering the question of persuasion,\nthe figure of speech of a battle is not very apt. It is all very well\nwhen you are laying out your brief to speak, of deploying your various\npoints, of directing an attack on your opponent's weakest point, of\nbringing up reserve material in rebuttal; but if the figure gets you\ninto the way of thinking that you must always demolish your opponent,\nand treat him as an enemy, it is doing harm. If you will take the\ntrouble to follow the controversies which are going on in your own city\nand state over public affairs, you will soon see that in most of them\nthe two sides break even, so far as intelligence and public-spiritedness\ngo. In every transaction there are two sides; and the president of a\nstreet railroad may be as honest and as disinterested in seeking to get\nthe best of the bargain for his road as the representatives of the city\nare in trying to get the best of it for the public. There is no use\ngoing into a question of this sort with the assumption that you are on a\nhigher moral plane than the other side. In some cases where a moral\nissue is involved there is only one view of what is right; if honesty is\nin the balance, there can be no other side. But, as we have seen, there\nare moral questions in which one must use his utmost strength for the\nright as he sees the right, and yet know all the time that equally\nhonest men are fighting just as hard on the other side. No American who\nremembers the case of General Robert E. Lee can forget this puzzling\ntruth. Therefore, unless there can be no doubt of the dishonesty of your\nopponent, turn your energies against his cause and not against him; and\nhold that the proper end of argument is not so much to win victories as\nto bring as many people as possible to agreement.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Compare the length of the introductory part of the argument of the\nspecimens at the end of this book; point out reasons for the difference\nin length, if you find any.\n\n2. Find two arguments, not in this book, in which the main points at\nissue are numbered.\n\n3. Find an argument, not in this book, in which a history of the case is\npart of the introduction.\n\n4. Find an argument, not in this book, in which the definitions of terms\noccupy some space.\n\n5. In the argument on which you are working, what terms need definition?\nHow much space should the definitions occupy in the completed argument?\nWhy?\n\n6. In the argument on which you are working, how much of the material in\nthe introduction to the brief shall you use in the argument itself? Does\nthe audience you have in mind affect the decision?\n\n7. How do you intend to distribute your space between the main issues\nyou will argue out?\n\n8. How much will explanation enter into your argument?\n\n9. Find an argument, not in this book, in which the explanation chiefly\nmakes the convincing power.\n\n10. In which of the arguments in this book does explanation play the\nsmallest part?\n\n11. Examine five consecutive paragraphs in Huxley's argument on\nevolution, or _The Outlook_ argument on the Workman's Compensation Act,\nfrom the point of view of good explanation.\n\n12. Find two examples of arguments, not in this book, whose chief\nappeal is to the feelings.\n\n13. Find an argument, not in this book, which is a good illustration of\nthe power of tact.\n\n14. Name an argument which you have read within a few months which made\na special impression on you by its clearness.\n\n15. Find an argument in the daily papers, on local or academic affairs,\nwhich makes effective appeal to the practical interests of its audience.\nAnalyze this appeal.\n\n16. Name three subjects of local and immediate interest on which you\ncould write an argument in which you would appeal chiefly to the\npractical interests of your readers.\n\n17. Name two current political questions which turn on the practical\ninterests of the country at large.\n\n18. Name two public questions now under discussion into which moral\nissues enter. Do both sides on these questions accept the same view of\nthe bearing of the moral issues?\n\n19. Find an argument, not in this book, in which the eloquence of the\nstyle is a distinct part of the persuasive power.\n\n20. What do you think of the persuasive power of Burke's speech \"On\nConciliation with America\"? of its convincing power?\n\n21. Find an argument, not in this book, in which the concreteness of the\nlanguage adds to the persuasive power.\n\n22. Find two examples, not in this book, of apt and effective figures of\nspeech in an argument.\n\n23. Find an example of an apt anecdote or fable used in an argument.\n\n24. In Lincoln's address at Cooper Institute, what do you think of his\nattitude towards the South as respects fairness?\n\n25. In the argument on which you are at work, what chance would there be\nof inducing agreement between the two sides?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nDEBATING\n\n\n60. The Nature of Debate. The essential difference between debate\nand written argument lies not so much in the natural difference between\nall spoken and written discourse as in the fact that in a debate of any\nkind there is the chance for an immediate answer to an opponent.\nQuickness of wit to see the weak points on the other side, readiness in\nattacking them, and resource in defending one's own points make the\ndebater, as distinguished from the man who, if he be given plenty of\ntime, can make a formidable and weighty argument in writing. The best\ndebating is heard in deliberative bodies which are not too large, and\nwhere the rules are not too elaborate. Perhaps the best in the world is\nin the British House of Commons, for there the room is not so large that\nhearing is difficult, and skill in thrust and parry has been valued and\npracticed for generations.\n\nThe military figure for argument is more apposite in debate than\nanywhere else, for in the taking of the vote there is an actual victory\nand defeat, very different in nature from the barren decision of judges\nin intercollegiate and interscholastic contests. It is undoubtedly rare\nthat a particular debate in any legislative body actually changes the\nresult; but in the long run the debates in such bodies do mold public\nopinion, and within the body amalgamate or break up party ties. The\nresource and the ready knowledge of the subject under debate necessary\nto hold one's own in such running contests of wit Is an almost essential\ncharacteristic of a party leader. It is on these two qualities that I\nshall chiefly dwell in this chapter.\n\n61. Subjects for Debate. Debate almost always deals with questions\nof policy. In trials before a jury there is something approaching a\ndebate over questions of fact; but the rules of evidence are so special,\nand within their range so strict, that even though the arguments are\nspoken, they can have little of the free give and take which makes the\nlife and the interest of a real debate. Accordingly I shall draw my\nillustrations here from questions of policy, and so far as is possible\nfrom the sort of question that students are likely to turn their\nattention to. The later years of school and the whole of the college\ncourse are often the molding years for a man's views on all sorts of\npublic questions. It has been said that a man's views rarely change\nafter he is twenty-five years old; and though one must not take such a\ndictum too literally, yet unquestionably it has truth. At any rate it is\ncertain that a student, whether in high school or college, if he is to\ndo his duty as a citizen, must begin to think out many of the questions\nwhich are being decided in Congress, in state legislatures, and in\nsmaller, more local bodies. At the same time, in every school and\ncollege questions are constantly under discussion of a nature to provide\ngood practice in debate. Some of these questions must be decided by\nschool committee, principal, faculty, or trustees, and most of them call\nfor some looking up of facts. They would provide admirable material for\nthe development of judgment and resource in debating, and in some cases\na debate on them might have effect on the actual decision.\n\nThe choice of subject is even more important for debating than for\nwritten argument. In a written argument if you have a question which has\ntwo defensible sides, it does not make much difference whether one is\neasier to defend than the other: in a debate such a difference might\ndestroy the usefulness of the subject. Though to some older minds the\nabolition of football is a debatable question, before an audience of\nundergraduates who had to vote on the merits of the question the subject\nwould be useless, since the side which had to urge the abolition would\nhere have an almost impossible task. So in a debate on the \"closed\nshop,\" in most workingmen's clubs the negative would be able to\naccomplish little, for the other side would be intrenched in the\nprejudices and prepossessions of the audience. In political bodies\nunevenness of sides is of common occurrence, for a minority must always\ndefend its doctrines, no matter how overwhelming the vote is certain to\nbe. In the formal debates of school and college, on the other hand,\nwhere the conditions must be more or less artificial, the first\ncondition is to choose a question which will give the two sides an even\nchance.\n\nA fair test of this evenness of sides is to see whether the public which\nis concerned with the question is evenly divided: if about the same\nnumber of men who are acquainted with the subject and are recognized as\nfair-minded take opposite sides, the question is probably a good subject\nfor debate. Even this test, however, may be deceptive, since believing a\npolicy to be sound and being able to show that it is so are very\ndifferent matters. The reasons for introducing the honor system into a\ncertain school or college are probably easier to state and to support\nthan the reasons against introducing it; yet the latter may be\nunquestionably weighty.\n\nIn general, arguments which rest on large and more or less abstract\nprinciples are at a disadvantage as against arguments based on some\nimmediate and pressing evil or on some obvious expediency. Arguments for\nor against a protective tariff on general principles of political\neconomy are harder to make interesting and, therefore, cogent to the\naverage audience than are those based on direct practical gains or\nlosses. This difference in the ease with which the two sides of a\nquestion can be argued must be taken into account in the choice of a\nsubject.\n\nIn the second place, the subject should be so phrased that it will\ninevitably produce a \"head-on\" collision between the two sides. If such\na proposition as \"The present city government should be changed\" were\nchosen for a debate, one side might argue it as a question of the party\nor of the men who happened to be in control at the time, and the other\nas a question of the form of government. So on the question of\nself-government for a college or school, unless the type of\nself-government were carefully defined, the two sides might argue\nthrough the debate and not come in sight of each other. What was said in\nChapter II about framing the proposition for an argument applies with\neven more force to finding the proposition for a debate; for here if\nthey do not meet on an irreconcilable difference, there is little use in\ntheir coming together.\n\nIn the third place, it is desirable that the proposition should be so\nframed as to throw the burden of proof on the affirmative. Unless the\nside which opens the debate has something definite to propose, the\ndebate must open more or less lamely, for it is hard to attack or oppose\nsomething which is going to be set forth after you have finished\ntalking. Here, however, as in the case of written arguments, it must be\nremembered that burden of proof is a vague and slippery term; \"he who\nasserts must prove\" is a maxim that in debate applies to the larger\nissues only, and the average audience will give themselves little\ntrouble about the finer applications of it. If you are proposing a\nchange in present conditions, and the present conditions are not very\nbad, they will expect you to show why there should be a change, and to\nmake clear that the change you propose will work an improvement. It is\nonly when conditions have become intolerable that an audience thinks\nfirst of the remedy. In the ordinary school or college, for example,\nthere is little reason in current conditions for introducing the honor\nsystem in examinations: in such a case the burden of proof on the\naffirmative would be obvious, If, however, as occasionally happens,\nthere has been an epidemic of dishonesty in written work, then the\nauthorities of the school and the parents would want to know why there\nshould not be a change. But it would both bore and confuse an audience\nto explain to them at length the theory of the shifting of the burden of\nproof; and the chances are that they would say, \"Why doesn't he prove\nhis point, and not spend his time beating about the bush?\"\n\nFinally, the proposition should, if possible, give to the negative as\nwell as to the affirmative some constructive argument. If one side\noccupies itself wholly with showing the weakness of the arguments on the\nother side, you get nowhere on the merits of the question; for all that\nhas been shown in the debate, the proposition put forward by the\naffirmative may be sound, and the only weakness lie in its defenders.\nMoreover, where the negative side finds no constructive argument on the\nmerits of the question, or elects to confine itself to destructive,\narguments, it must beware of the fallacy \"of objections\"; that is, of\nassuming that when it has brought forward some objections to the\nproposition it has settled the matter. As I have so often pointed out in\nthis treatise, no question is worth arguing unless it has two sides; and\nthat is merely saying, in another way, that to both sides there are\nreasonable objections. Where a negative side confines itself to\ndestructive arguments it must make clear that the objections it presents\nare really destructive, or at any rate are clearly more grave than those\nwhich can be brought against leaving things as they are. And if they\nconfine themselves to destroying the arguments brought forward by the\naffirmative in this particular debate, they must make clear that these\narguments are the strongest that can be brought forward on that side.\n\nOn all questions as to construction of terms and burden of proof, it\nshould be understood beforehand that the judges of a formal debate will\nheavily penalize anything like pettifogging or quibbling. The two sides\nshould do their best to come to a \"head-on\" issue; and any attempt at\nstanding on precise definition, or sharp practice in leading the other\nside away from the main question, should be held to be not playing the\ngame. Where the judges are drawn from men of experience in affairs, as\nis usually the case, they will estimate such boyish smartnesses at their\ntrue value.\n\n62. Technical Forms. The formal debates of school and college have\ncertain forms and conventions which are partly based on parliamentary\nprocedure, partly have been worked out to make these debates more\ninteresting and better as practice; and there are certain preliminary\narrangements that improve debating both as intellectual training and as\nfun. I shall speak first of the forms and conventions.\n\nIn debates in school and college it is usual to have two or three on a\nside, and for good reasons. In the first place, the labor of working up\nthe subject is shared, and it is better fun working with some one else.\nThen, in the debate itself there is more variety. In class debates there\nare usually two speakers on each side, with provision of time for\nseveral four- or five-minute speeches from the floor before the closing\nspeeches in rebuttal.[64] If there are as many speakers as this a\ntwo-hour period must be allowed. This allotment of time will naturally\nbe adapted to special conditions; as, for example, where it is desirable\nthat there shall be more speakers from the floor, or where it is desired\nto give the whole time to the regular debaters. In important\nintercollegiate debates there are usually three speakers, each of whom\nhas ten minutes for his main speech and five minutes for rebuttal. This\narrangement varies greatly, however, in different places, and not\ninfrequently there is only one speech in rebuttal. The affirmative is\nusually given the last speech, on the theory that it is a disadvantage\nto have to open the debate. Obviously, however, in practice the reverse\nmay often be true, since a skillful speech in opening may largely\ndetermine the course of the debate; and for this reason many debating\nsocieties and colleges allow the closing speech to the negative. It is\nwise not to look on any of these rules as inviolable.[65]\n\nThe distribution of the points between the speakers on a side should be\nmade beforehand, but always with the understanding that the exigencies\nof the debate may upset the arrangement. We shall see presently the\nadvantage there is in having each member of a \"team\" prepared to defend\nall the points on his side. The only speech for which a fixed program\ncan be made beforehand is the first speech on the affirmative: obviously\nthis must at any rate expound the main facts which the audience must\nknow in order to understand the speeches that follow. After that each\nspeaker should be prepared either to answer directly what has just been\nsaid or to explain why he postpones the answer. At the same time, unless\nhis hand has been forced, he must make the point or points which have\nbeen committed to him in the preliminary plan of campaign. Each speaker\nafter the first generally takes a minute or two to sum up the position\nas his side sees it; and the final speaker on each side ought to save\ntime to recapitulate and drive home the main points that his side has\nmade and the chief objections to the arguments on the other side. Beyond\nthese suggestions, which should not be allowed to harden into invariable\nrules, much must be left to the swift judgment of the debaters. It is a\ngood test of skill in debating to know just when to stick to such rules,\nand when to break away from them.\n\nA debater uses certain forms which have long been established in\nparliamentary law. To begin with, he never uses the name of his\nopponent: if he has to refer to him he refers indirectly in some such\nform as \"the last speaker,\" \"the first speaker for the affirmative,\"\n\"the gentlemen from Wisconsin,\" \"our opponents,\" \"my colleague who has\njust spoken.\" This is an inviolable rule of all debating bodies, whether\na class in school or college or one of the Houses of Congress.\n\nIn a formal debate the subject is stated by the presiding officer, who\nis usually not one of the judges, and he also introduces each of the\nspeakers in the order agreed on beforehand.\n\nIn class debates the subject is usually given out by the instructor, who\nmay assign the speakers, or may call for volunteers, or may let each\nmember of the class take his turn in regular rotation. This distribution\nwill usually work itself out to suit the class and the circumstances. In\ninterscholastic and intercollegiate debates the subject is generally\nchosen by letting one side offer a number of subjects from which the\nother selects one. Sometimes the team which does not have the choice of\nsubject has the choice of sides after the other team has picked the\nsubject. In a triangular debate two or three subjects are proposed by\neach team, and then one is selected by preferential voting of all the\ncontestants, first choice counting three points, second two, and third\none. In such a contest each institution has two teams, one of which\nsupports the affirmative, and the other the negative; and the three\ndebates take place on the same day or evening.\n\nIn class debates the two sides should unite in preparing an agreed\nstatement of facts, which shall contain so much of the history of the\ncase as is pertinent, facts and issues which it is agreed shall be\nwaived, and a statement of the main issues. Furthermore, it is highly\ndesirable that the sides should submit to each other outline briefs\ncovering the main points of their case. With such preparations there is\nlittle probability that there can be any failure to meet. The same\npreparations would be useful in interscholastic and intercollegiate\ndebates, wherever they are practicable. Anything which leads to a\nthorough discussion of identical points and to the consequent\nillumination of the question makes these entertainments more valuable.\n\nFor intercollegiate and interscholastic debates it is wise to have some\nsort of instructions for the judges, which should be agreed on\nbeforehand. These instructions must make clear that the decision is to\nturn not on the merits of the question, as in real life, but on the\nmerits of the debaters. Among those merits the substance should count\nmuch more than the form. Of the points that count in judging the\nsubstance of the debate the instructions may note keenness of analysis,\npower of exposition, thoroughness of preparation, judgment in the\nselection of evidence, readiness and effectiveness in rebuttal, and\ngrasp of the subject as a whole. For form the instructions may mention\nbearing, ease and appropriateness of gesture, quality and expressiveness\nof voice, enunciation and pronunciation, and general effectiveness of\ndelivery. Sometimes these points are drawn up with percentages to\nsuggest their proportionate weight; but it is doubtful whether so exact\na calculation can ever be of practical value. In most cases the judges\nwill decide from a much less articulate sense of which side has the\nadvantage.[66]\n\n63. Preparations for Debating. Since the chief value of debating,\nas distinguished from written arguments, is in cultivating readiness and\nflexibility of wit, the speaking should be as far as possible\nextemporaneous. This does not imply that the speaking should be without\npreparation: on the contrary, the preparation for good debating is more\narduous than for a written argument, for when you are on your feet on\nthe platform you cannot run to your books or to your notes to refresh\nyour memory or to find new material. The ideal debater is the man who so\ncarries the whole subject in his mind that the facts flow to his mind as\nhe talks, and fit into the plan of his argument without a break. To the\nrare men who remember everything they read, such readiness is natural,\nbut to far the largest number of speakers it comes only through hard\nstudy of the material. Daniel Webster declared that the material for his\nfamous Reply to Hayne had been in his desk for months. In so far as\ndebating consists in the recitation of set speeches written out and\ncommitted to memory beforehand, it throws away most of what makes\ndebating valuable, and tends to become elocution. We shall consider\nhere, therefore, ways in which speakers can make themselves so familiar\nwith the subject to be debated that they can confidently cut loose from\ntheir notes.\n\nIn the first place, each debater on a team should prepare himself on the\nwhole subject, not only on the whole of his own side, but also on the\nwhole of the other side. It is usual to divide up the chief points that\na team is to make among its different members; but in the sudden turns\nto which every debate is liable such assignment may easily become\nimpossible. If the other side presents new material or makes a point in\nsuch a way as manifestly to impress the audience, the next speaker may\nhave to throw over the point assigned to him and give himself\nimmediately to refuting the arguments just made. Then his points must be\nleft to his colleagues, and they must be able to use them to effect.\nLikewise a team should know the strong points on the other side as well\nas on its own, and come to the platform primed with arguments to meet\nthem. In intercollegiate contests, to insure this fore-knowledge of the\nother side the speakers as part of their preparation meet men from their\nown college who argue out the other side in detail and at length. In a\ntriangular contest each team from a college has the advantage of having\nworked up the subject in actual debate against the other. The more\nthoroughly you have worked up both sides of the question, the less\nlikely are you to be taken by surprise by some argument which you do not\nknow how to meet.\n\n64. On the Platform. When it comes to the actual debate experience\nshows that speeches committed to memory are almost always ineffective as\ncompared with extemporaneous speaking. Even when your confidence is not\ndisturbed by a slippery memory there is an impalpable touch of the\nartificial about the prepared speech which impairs its vitality. On the\nother hand, especially with the first speeches on each side, you cannot\nget to your feet and trust entirely to the inspiration of the moment;\nyou must have something thought out. One of the most notable lecturers\nin Harvard University prepares his lectures in a way which is an\nexcellent model for debaters. He writes out beforehand a complete\nanalytical and tabulated plan of his lecture, similar to the briefs\nwhich have been recommended here in Chapter II, with each of the main\nprinciples of his lecture, and with the subdivisions and illustrations\ninserted. Then he leaves this outline at home and talks from a full and\nwell-ordered mind. Some such plan is the best possible one for the main\nspeeches in a debate. Often the plan can be most easily prepared by\nwriting out the argument in full; and this expansion of the argument has\nthe added advantage of providing you with much of your phrasing. But it\nis better not to commit the complete argument to memory: the brief of\nit, if thoroughly digested and so studied as to come readily to mind, is\nenough. Then practice, practice, practice, will give the ease and\nfluency that you need.\n\nThe rebuttal should always be extemporaneous. Even if you have foreseen\nthe strongest points made by your opponent and prepared yourself to meet\nthem, you cannot foresee just the way he will make the points. Nothing\nis more awkward in a debate than to begin with a few obviously\nextemporaneous remarks, and then to let loose a little speech which has\nbeen kept, as it were, in cold storage, and which just misses fitting\nthe speech to which it should be an answer. It is better to make the\nrebuttal a little less sweeping than it might be and have it fall pat on\nthe speech which it is attacking. Ready and spontaneous skill in\nrebuttal is the final excellence of debating. At the same time the skill\nshould be so natural that wit and good humor may have their chance. If\nfrom the beginning you practice making your speeches in rebuttal\noffhand, you will constantly gain in confidence when you are called on\nto speak.\n\nWhether to take notes on to the platform or not is a somewhat disputed\nquestion. If you can speak without them and hold without stumbling to\nthe main course of your argument, so much the better. On the other hand,\nmost lawyers have their briefs when they are arguing on points of law,\nand some sort of rough notes when they are arguing before a jury; and\nwhen unassumingly and naturally used, notes are hardly observed by an\naudience. Only, if you do have notes, do not try to conceal them: hold\nthem so that the audience will know what they are, and will not wonder\nwhat you are doing when you peer into the palm of your hand.\n\nIf you have passages to quote from a book or other document, have the\nbook on the table beside you; its appearance will add substance to your\npoint, and the audience will have ocular proof that you are quoting\nexactly.\n\nFor purposes of rebuttal it is usual to have material on cards arranged\nunder the principal subdivisions of the subject, so that they can\nreadily be found. These cards can be kept in the small wooden or\npasteboard boxes that are sold for the purpose at college stationers. If\nthe cards have the proper kind of headings, you can easily look them\nover while your opponent is speaking and pull out the few that bear on\nthe point you are to meet. Examples of these cards have been given in\nChapter II. The important thing for their use in a debate is to have the\nheadings so clear and pertinent that you can instantly find the\nparticular card you want. Naturally you will have made yourself\nthoroughly familiar with them beforehand.\n\nWhen you have to use statistics, simplify them so that your hearers can\ntake them in without effort. Large numbers should be given in round\nfigures, except where some special emphasis or perhaps some semihumorous\neffect is to be gained by giving them in full. Quotations from books or\nspeeches must of necessity be short: where you have only ten minutes\nyourself you cannot give five minutes to the words of another man.\n\nKeep your audience in good humor; if you can occasion ally relieve the\nsolemnity of the occasion by making them laugh, they will like you the\nbetter for it, and think none the worse of your argument. On the other\nhand, remember that such diversion is incidental, and that your main\nbusiness is to deal seriously with a serious question. The uneasy\nself-consciousness that keeps a man always trying to be funny is\nnowhere more out of place than in a debate.\n\n65. Voice and Position. The matter of delivery is highly important,\nand here no man can trust to the light of nature. Any voice can be made\nto carry further and to be more expressive, and the poorest and thinnest\nvoice can be improved. Every student who has a dream of being a public\nspeaker should take lessons in elocution or in singing or in both. The\nexpressiveness as well as the carrying power and the endurance of a\nvoice depend on a knowledge of how to use the muscles of the chest,\nthroat, and face; and trainers of the voice have worked out methods for\nthe proper use of all these sets of muscles. A man who throws his breath\nfrom the top of his chest and does not use the great bellows that reach\ndown to his diaphragm can get little carrying power. So with the throat:\nif it is stiff and pinched the tones will be high and forced, and\nlistening to them will tire the audience nearly as much as making them\nwill tire the speaker. Finally, the expressiveness of a voice, the\nthrill that unconsciously but powerfully stirs hearers, is largely a\nmatter of the resonance that comes from the spaces above the mouth and\nbehind the nose. A humorous singing teacher once declared that the soul\nresides in the bridge of the nose; and the saying is not so paradoxical\nas it sounds. Lessons in the use of all these parts, and faithful\npractice in the exercises which go with them, are essential for any man\nwho wishes to make a mark in public speaking.\n\nWith the use of the voice, though less essential, goes the position and\nbearing on the platform. It is not necessary to insist that the more\nnatural this is, the better. If you can wholly forget yourself and think\nonly of your points, the chances are that your attitudes and position\nwill take care of themselves. Only, before thus forgetting yourself,\nform the habit of talking without putting your hands in your pockets.\nYou ought to need your hands to talk with, if not as much as a Frenchman\nor an Italian, yet enough to emphasize your points naturally. The mere\nphysical stimulus to the eye of an audience in following your movements\nwill help to keep their attention awake. Every one who has tried\nlecturing to a large class knows how much easier it is to hold them if\nhe stands up and moves a little from time to time. Learn to stand easily\nand naturally, with your chest well expanded, and your weight\ncomfortably balanced on your feet. If it comes natural to you, move\nabout the stage slightly from time to time; but be careful not to look\neach time you move as if a string had been pulled. In attitude and\ngesture the only profitable council is, Be natural.\n\nFor all these matters of preparation, both of what you are going to say,\nthe use of your voice, and your attitude and action on the platform, be\nprepared for hard practice with competent criticism. It is a good plan\nto practice talking from your outlines with your watch open, until you\ncan bring your speech to an end in exactly the time allowed you. The\ngain in confidence when you go to the debate will in itself be worth the\ntime. Again, practice speaking before a glass to make sure that you have\nno tricks of scowling or of making faces when you talk, and to get used\nto standing up straight and holding yourself well. What you see for\nyourself of your own ways will help you more than the advice of a\ncritic.\n\nBut in all your preparation think beyond the special debate you are\npreparing for. What you are or should be aiming at is habit--the\ninstinctive, spontaneous execution of rules which you have forgotten.\nWhen the habit is established you can let all these questions of voice,\nof attitude, of gesture, drop from your mind, and give your whole\nattention to the ideas you are developing, and the language in which you\nshall clothe them. Then the tones of your voice will respond to the\nearnestness of your feeling, and your gestures will be the spontaneous\nresponse to the emphasis of your thought. You will not be a perfect\ndebater until all these matters are regulated from the unconscious\ndepths of your mind.\n\nIn your attitude towards the debaters on the other side be scrupulously\nfair and friendly. In class debates the matter is finished when the\ndebate is over; and what you are after is skill, and not beating some\none. In interscholastic and intercollegiate debates victory is the end;\nbut even there, after the debate you will often go out to supper with\nyour opponents. Therefore demolish their arguments, but do not smash\ntheir makers.\n\nIf the first speech falls to you, set forth the facts in such a way that\nnot only your opponents will have no corrections or protests to make,\nbut that they will be wholly willing to make a start from your\nfoundation. Yield all trivial points: it is a waste of your time and\nproof of an undeveloped sense of proportion to haggle over points that\nin the end nobody cares about. You have won a point if you can make the\naudience and the judges feel that you are anxious to allow everything\npossible to the other side.\n\nIf your opponent trips on some small point of fact or reasoning, don't\nheckle him; let it pass, or, at the most, point it out with some kindly\ntouch of humor. If his facts or his reasoning are wrong on important\npoints, that is your opportunity, and you must make the most of it.\nEven then, however, stick to the argument, and keep away from any\nappearance of being personal.\n\n66. The Morals of Debating. There is a moral or ethical side to\npractice in debating which one cannot ignore. It is dangerous to get\ninto the habit of arguing lightly for things in which one does not\nbelieve; and students may be forced into doing this if great care is not\ntaken in the choice of subjects and sides. The remedy lies in using, so\nfar as they can be kept interesting, questions in which there is no\nmoral element; but still better in assigning sides to correspond with\nthe actual views and preferences of the debaters. Where a question of\nprinciple is involved no one should ever argue against his beliefs. The\nbetter class of lawyers are scrupulous about this: they will not accept\na brief which they believe to be in a cause which ought not to win. If\nyou have clearly made up your mind on a question of public policy, you\nare in a false position if you argue, even for practice, against what\nyou believe to be the right.\n\nThe formal debates of school and college are of necessity barren of\npractical result; yet even here your discussions have a potent effect in\nmolding your opinions. It is a habit of mankind to start idly talking on\na subject, and as idly taking sides; then, when the talk grows warmer,\nin the natural desire to carry a point to talk themselves into belief.\nThis is a human, though not a very reasonable way of framing your views\non public questions; and it does not make either for consistency or for\nusefulness as a voter. It is not good to back one's self into opinions\nof what makes for the common weal.\n\nFurthermore, debate is something very different from dispute: to talk\nround and round a subject, contradicting blindly and asserting without\nbringing forward facts, has its place in our life with our friends, so\nlong as it is good-natured; but it does not bring illumination. The\nessence of debate, whether in a classroom, in a city council, or in\nCongress, should be to throw light into dark corners, and to disentangle\nthe view that most makes for the general good. For us in America\n_noblesse oblige_ applies to every educated man. The graduate of a high\nschool, and, even more, the graduate of a college, has taken exceptional\nbenefits from the community. This obligation he can in part repay by\nhelping all citizens to a better understanding of the issues on which\nthe progress of the nation turns.\n\nFinally, debating should share the zest that comes of any good game that\nmeans hard work and an honorable struggle with opponents one respects\nand likes. It is preeminently a social occupation. The House of Commons\nhas long been noted as the best club in England; and this sense of\nfellowship, of continuing friendship and intimacy, gives a charm to\nEnglish parliamentary life which is hardly possible with the unwieldy\nnumbers and huge hall of our own House of Representatives, but does\nspring out of the smaller and continuing membership of the Senate. A\nclass in debating should have the sense of comradeship which comes of\nhard work together and the trying out of one's own powers against one's\nequals and betters, and from the memory of hard-fought contests; and\nintercollegiate and interscholastic contests should be carried on in the\nsame spirit of zest in the hard work, of a sane desire to win, and of\ncomradeship with worthy opponents.\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Name three questions in national affairs which have been debated\nwithin a month, on which you could profitably debate; three in state\naffairs; three in local affairs.\n\n2. Name two subjects affecting your school or college which are under\ndebate at the present time.\n\n3. Name two subjects on which you could write an argument, but which\nwould not be profitable for debate. Explain the reason.\n\n4. Name two good subjects for a debate drawn from athletics; two from\nsome current academic question; two from local or municipal affairs.\n\n5. Find a proposition in which the two sides to a debate might in good\nfaith pass each other without meeting. Make it over so that the issue\nwould be unavoidable.\n\n6. Frame a proposition in which the burden of proof would not be on the\naffirmative. Make it over so that the burden of proof would fall on the\naffirmative.\n\n7. Draw up a scheme for a debate on one of the propositions in Exercise\n4, with a tentative assignment of points to three debaters on a side.\n\n8. Draw up a set of instructions to judges for an intercollegiate or\ninterscholastic debate, so framed as to produce a decision on the points\nwhich seem to you the most important.\n\n9. Prepare yourself for a five-minute extemporaneous speech on a subject\non which you have written an argument.\n\n10. Name three questions on which you could not, without violence to\nyour convictions, argue on more than one side.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX I\n\n\nEXAMPLES OF ARGUMENT\n\nTHE THREE HYPOTHESES RESPECTING THE HISTORY OF NATURE[67]\n\nTHOMAS H. HUXLEY\n\nThis is the first of three lectures which make a continuous argument,\nwhich were delivered in New York. September 18, 20, and 22, 1876. It\nshould therefore be regarded as the introductory part of the argument;\nand as a matter of fact it does not get to Huxley's positive proof, but\nis occupied with disposing of the other theories. This refutation\nfinished, Huxley was then at liberty to go ahead with the affirmative\nargument, as he indicates in the last paragraph of the lecture.\n\nThe argument is a notable piece of reasoning on a scientific subject, in\nterms which make it intelligible to all educated men. When Huxley spoke,\nthe heat which had been kindled by the first announcement of the theory\nof evolution in Darwin's \"Origin of Species\" was still blazing; and\nthere were many church people who held that the theory was subversive of\nreligion, without giving themselves the trouble to understand it. This\ntimid frame of mind explains Hurley's mode of approach to the subject.\n\nWe live in and form part of a system of things of immense diversity and\nperplexity, which we call Nature; and it is a matter of the deepest\ninterest to all of us that we should form just conceptions of the\nconstitution of that system and of its past history. With relation to\nthis universe, man is, in extent, little more than a mathematical point:\nin duration but a fleeting shadow: he is a mere reed shaken in the winds\nof force. But, as Pascal long ago remarked, although a mere reed, he is\na thinking reed; and in virtue of that wonderful capacity of thought, he\nhas the power of framing for himself a symbolic conception of the\nuniverse, which, although doubtless highly imperfect and inadequate as a\npicture of the great whole, is yet sufficient to serve him as a chart\nfor the guidance of his practical affairs. It has taken long ages of\ntoilsome and often fruitless labor to enable man to look steadily at the\nshifting scenes of the phantasmagoria of Nature, to notice what is fixed\namong her fluctuations, and what is regular among her apparent\nirregularities; and it is only comparatively lately, within the last few\ncenturies, that the conception of a universal order and of a definite\ncourse of things, which we term the course of Nature, has emerged.\n\nBut, once originated, the conception of the constancy of the order of\nNature has become the dominant idea of modern thought. To any person who\nis familiar with the facts upon which that conception is based, and is\ncompetent to estimate their significance, it has ceased to be\nconceivable that chance should have any place in the universe, or that\nevents should depend upon any but the natural sequence of cause and\neffect. We have come to look upon the present as the child of the past\nand as the parent of the future; and, as we have excluded chance from a\nplace in the universe, so we ignore, even as a possibility, the notion\nof any interference with the order of Nature. Whatever may be men's\nspeculative doctrines, it is quite certain that every intelligent person\nguides his life and risks his fortune upon the belief that the order of\nNature is constant, and that the chain of natural causation is never\nbroken.\n\nIn fact, no belief which we entertain has so complete a logical basis as\nthat to which I have just referred. It tacitly underlies every process\nof reasoning; it is the foundation of every act of the will. It is based\nupon the broadest induction, and it is verified by the most constant,\nregular, and universal of deductive processes. But we must recollect\nthat any human belief, however broad its basis, however defensible it\nmay seem, is, after all, only a probable belief, and that our widest and\nsafest generalizations are simply statements of the highest, degree of\nprobability. Though we are quite clear about the constancy of the order\nof Nature, at the present time, and in the present state of things, it\nby no means necessarily follows that we are justified in expanding this\ngeneralization into the infinite past, and in denying, absolutely, that\nthere may have been a time when Nature did not follow a fixed order,\nwhen the relations of cause and effect were not definite, and when\nextranatural agencies interfered with the general course of Nature.\nCautious men will allow that a universe so different from that which we\nknow may have existed; just as a very candid thinker may admit that a\nworld in which two and two do not make four, and in which two straight\nlines do inclose a space, may exist. But the same caution which forces\nthe admission of such possibilities demands a great deal of evidence\nbefore it recognizes them to be anything more substantial. And when it\nis asserted that, so many thousand years ago, events occurred in a\nmanner utterly foreign to and inconsistent with the existing laws of\nNature, men, who without being particularly cautious, are simply honest\nthinkers, unwilling to deceive themselves or delude others, ask for\ntrustworthy evidence of the fact. Did things so happen or did they not?\nThis is a historical question, and one the answer to which must be\nsought in the same way as the solution of any other historical problem.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo far as I know, there are only three hypotheses which ever have been\nentertained, or which well can be entertained, respecting the past\nhistory of Nature. I will, in the first place, state the hypotheses, and\nthen I will consider what evidence bearing upon them is in our\npossession, and by what light of criticism that evidence is to be\ninterpreted.\n\nUpon the first hypothesis, the assumption is, that phenomena of Nature\nsimilar to those exhibited by the present world have always existed; in\nother words, that the universe has existed from all eternity in what may\nbe broadly termed its present condition.\n\nThe second hypothesis is, that the present state of things has had only\na limited duration; and that, at some period in the past, a condition of\nthe world, essentially similar to that winch we now know, came into\nexistence, without any precedent condition from which it could have\nnaturally proceeded. The assumption that successive stales of Nature\nhave arisen, each without any relation of natural causation to an\nantecedent state, is a mere modification of this second hypothesis.\n\nThe third hypothesis also assumes that the present state of things has\nhad but a limited duration; but it Supposes that this state has been\nevolved by a natural process from an antecedent state, and that from\nanother, and so on; and, on this hypothesis, the attempt to assign any\nlimit to the series of past changes is, usually, given up.\n\nIt is so needful to form clear and distinct notions of what is really\nmeant by each of these hypotheses that I will ask you to imagine what,\naccording to each, would have been visible to a spectator of the events\nwhich constitute the history of the earth. On the first hypothesis,\nhowever far back in time that spectator might be placed, he would see a\nworld essentially, though perhaps not in all its details, similar to\nthat which now exists. The animals which existed would be the ancestors\nof those which now live, and similar to them; the plants, in like\nmanner, would be such as we know; and the mountains, plains, and waters\nwould foreshadow the salient features of our present land and water.\nThis view was held more or less distinctly, sometimes combined with the\nnotion of recurrent cycles of change, in ancient times; and its\ninfluence has been felt down to the present day. It is worthy of remark\nthat it is a hypothesis which is not inconsistent with the doctrine of\nUniformitarianism, with which geologists are familiar. That doctrine was\nheld by Hutton, and in his earlier days by Lyell. Hutton was struck by\nthe demonstration of astronomers that the perturbations of the planetary\nbodies, however great they may be, yet sooner or later right themselves;\nand that the solar system possesses a self-adjusting power by which\nthese aberrations are all brought back to a mean condition. Hutton\nimagined that the like might be true of terrestrial changes; although no\none recognized more clearly than he the fact that the dry land is being\nconstantly washed down by rain and rivers and deposited in the sea; and\nthat thus, in a longer or shorter time, the inequalities of the earth's\nsurface must be leveled, and its high lards brought down to the ocean.\nBut, taking into account the internal forces of the earth, which,\nupheaving the sea bottom, give rise to new land, he thought that these\noperations of degradation and elevation might compensate each other: and\nthat thus, for any assignable time, the general features of our planet\nmight remain what they are. And inasmuch as, under these circumstances,\nthere need be no limit to the propagation of animals and plants, it is\nclear that the consistent working out of the uniformitarian idea might\nload to the conception of the eternity of the world. Not that I mean to\nsay that either Hutton or Lyell held this conception--assuredly not;\nthey would have been the first to repudiate it. Nevertheless, the\nlogical development of their arguments lends directly towards this\nhypothesis.\n\nThe second hypothesis supposes that the present order of things, at some\nno very remote time, had a sudden origin, and that the world, such as it\nnow is, had chaos for its phenomenal antecedent. That is the doctrine\nwhich you will find stated most fully and clearly in the immortal poem\nof John Milton,--the English _Divina Commedia,_--\"Paradise Lost.\" I\nbelieve it is largely to the influence of that remarkable work, combined\nwith the daily teachings to which we have all listened in our childhood,\nthat this hypothesis owes its general wide diffusion as one of the\ncurrent beliefs of English-speaking people. If you turn to the seventh\nbook of \"Paradise Lost,\" you will find there stated the hypothesis to\nwhich I refer, which is briefly this: That this visible universe of ours\ncame into existence at no great distance of time from the present; and\nthat the parts of which it is composed made their appearance, in a\ncertain, definite order, in the space of six natural days, in such a\nmanner that, on the first of these days, light appeared; that, on the\nsecond, the firmament, or sky, separated the waters above, from the\nwaters beneath the firmament; that, on the third day, the waters drew\naway from the dry land, and upon it a varied vegetable life, similar to\nthat which now exists, made its appearance; that the fourth day was\nsignalized by the apparition of the sun, the stars, the moon, and the\nplanets; that, on the fifth day, aquatic animals originated within the\nwaters; that, on the sixth day, the earth gave rise to our four-footed\nterrestrial creatures, and to all varieties of terrestrial animals\nexcept birds, which had appeared on the preceding day; and, finally,\nthat man appeared upon the earth, and the emergence of the universe from\nchaos was finished. Milton tells us, without the least ambiguity, what a\nspectator of these marvelous occurrences would have witnessed. I doubt\nnot that his poem is familiar to all of you, but I should like to recall\none passage to your minds, in order that I may be justified in what I\nhave said regarding the perfectly concrete, definite picture of the\norigin of the animal world which Milton draws. He says:\n\n  \"The sixth, and of creation last, arose\n  With evening harps and matin, when God said,\n  'Let tine earth bring forth soul living in her kind,\n  Cattle and creeping things, and beast of the earth,\n  Each in their kind!' The earth obeyed, and, straight\n  Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth.\n  Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms,\n  Limbed and full-grown. Out of the ground uprose,\n  As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons\n  In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den:\n  Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked;\n  The cattle in the fields and meadows green;\n  Those rare and solitary; these in flocks\n  Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung.\n  The grassy clods now calved; now half appears\n  The tawny lion, pawing to get free\n  His hinder parts--then springs, as broke from bonds,\n  And rampant shakes his brinded mane; the ounce,\n  The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole\n  Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw\n  In hillocks; the swift stag from underground\n  Bore up his branching head; scarce from his mould\n  Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved\n  His vastness; fleeced the flocks and bleating rose\n  As plants; ambiguous between sea and land,\n  The river-horse and scaly crocodile.\n  At once came forth whatever creeps the ground,\n  Insect or worm.\"\n\nThere is no doubt as to the meaning of this statement, nor as to what a\nman of Milton's genius expected would have been actually visible to an\neyewitness of this mode of origination of living things.\n\nThe third hypothesis, or the hypothesis of evolution, supposes that, at\nany comparatively late period of past time, our imaginary spectator\nwould meet with a state of things very similar to that which now\nobtains; but that the likeness of the past to the present would\ngradually become less and less, in proportion to the remoteness of his\nperiod of observation from the present day: that the existing\ndistribution of mountains and plains, of rivers and seas, would show\nitself to be the product of a slow process of natural change operating\nupon more and more widely different antecedent conditions of the mineral\nframework of the earth; until, at length, in place of that framework, he\nwould behold only a vast nebulous mass, representing the constituents of\nthe sun and of the planetary bodies. Preceding the forms of life which\nnow exist, our observer would see animals and plants not identical with\nthem, but like them: increasing their differences with their antiquity,\nand at the same time becoming simpler and simpler; until, finally, the\nworld of life would present nothing but that undifferentiated\nprotoplasmic matter which, so far as our present knowledge goes, is the\ncommon foundation of all vital activity.\n\nThe hypothesis of evolution supposes that in all this vast progression\nthere would be no breach of continuity, no point at which we could say\n\"This is a natural process,\" and \"This is not a natural\nprocess\"; but\nthat the whole might be compared to that wonderful process of\ndevelopment which may be seen going on every day under our eyes, in\nvirtue of which there arises, out of the semifluid, comparatively\nhomogeneous substance which we call an egg, the complicated organization\nof one of the higher animals. That, in a few words, is what is meant by\nthe hypothesis of evolution.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have already suggested that in dealing with these three hypotheses, in\nendeavoring to form a judgment as to which of them is the more worthy of\nbelief, or whether none is worthy of belief--in which case our\ncondition of mind should be that suspension of judgment which is so\ndifficult to all but trained intellects,--we should be indifferent to\nall _a priori_ considerations. The question is a question of historical\nfact. The universe has come into existence somehow or other, and the\nproblem is, whether it came into existence in one fashion, or whether it\ncame into existence in another; and, as an essential preliminary to\nfurther discussion, permit me to say two or three words as to the nature\nand the kinds of historical evidence.\n\nThe evidence as to the occurrence of any event in past time may be\nranged under two heads, which, for convenience' sake, I will speak of as\ntestimonial evidence and as circumstantial evidence. By testimonial\nevidence I mean human testimony; and by circumstantial evidence I mean\nevidence which is not human testimony. Let me illustrate by a familiar\nexample what I understand by these two kinds of evidence, and what is to\nbe said respecting their value.\n\nSuppose that a man tells you that he saw a person strike another and\nkill him; that is testimonial evidence of the fact of murder. But it is\npossible to have circumstantial evidence of the fact of murder; that is\nto say, you may find a man dying with a wound upon his head having\nexactly the form and character of the wound which is made by an ax, and,\nwith due care in taking surrounding circumstances into account, you may\nconclude with the utmost certainty that the man has been murdered; that\nhis death is the consequence of a blow inflicted by another man with\nthat implement. We are very much in the habit of considering\ncircumstantial evidence as of less value than testimonial evidence, and\nit may be that, where the circumstances are not perfectly clear and\nintelligible, it is a dangerous and unsafe kind of evidence; but it must\nnot be forgotten that, in many cases, circumstantial evidence is quite\nas conclusive as testimonial evidence, and that, not unfrequently, it is\na great deal weightier than testimonial evidence. For example, take the\ncase to which I referred just now. The circumstantial evidence may be\nbetter and more convincing than the testimonial evidence; for it may be\nimpossible, under the conditions that I have defined, to suppose that\nthe man met his death from any cause but the violent blow of an ax\nwielded by another man. The circumstantial evidence in favor of a murder\nhaving been committed, in that case, is as complete and as convincing as\nevidence can be. It is evidence which is open to no doubt and to no\nfalsification. But the testimony of a witness is open to multitudinous\ndoubts. He may have been mistaken. He may have been actuated by malice.\nIt has constantly happened that even an accurate man has declared that a\nthing has happened in this, that, or the other way, when a careful\nanalysis of the circumstantial evidence has shown that it did not happen\nin that way, but in some other way.\n\nWe may now consider the evidence in favor of or against the three\nhypotheses. Let me first direct your attention to what is to be said\nabout the hypothesis of the eternity of the state of things in which we\nnow live. What will first strike you is, that it is a hypothesis which,\nwhether true or false, is not capable of verification by any evidence.\nFor, in order to obtain either circumstantial or testimonial evidence\nsufficient to prove the eternity of duration of the present state of\nnature, you must have an eternity of witnesses or an infinity of\ncircumstances, and neither of these is attainable. It is utterly\nimpossible that such evidence should be carried beyond a certain point\nof time; and all that could be said, at most, would be, that so far as\nthe evidence could be traced, there was nothing to contradict the\nhypothesis. But when you look, not to the testimonial evidence--which,\nconsidering the relative insignificance of the antiquity of human\nrecords, might not be good for much in this case--but to the\ncircumstantial evidence, then you will find that this hypothesis is\nabsolutely incompatible with such evidence as we have; which is of so\nplain and so simple a character that it is impossible in any way to\nescape from the conclusions which it forces upon us.\n\nYou are, doubtless, all aware that the outer substance of the earth,\nwhich alone is accessible to direct observation, is not of a homogeneous\ncharacter, but that it is made up of a number of layers or strata, the\ntitles of the principal groups of which are placed upon the\naccompanying diagram.[68] Each of these groups represents a number of\nbeds of sand, of stone, of clay, of slate, and of various other\nmaterials.\n\nOn careful examination, it is found that the materials of which each of\nthese layers of more or less hard rock are composed are, for the most\npart, of the same nature as those which are at present being formed\nunder known conditions on the surface of the earth. For example, the\nchalk, which constitutes a great part of the Cretaceous formation in\nsome parts of the world, is practically identical in its physical and\nchemical characters with a substance which is now being formed at the\nbottom of the Atlantic Ocean, and covers an enormous area; other beds of\nrock are comparable with the sands which art; being formed upon\nseashores, packed together, and so on. Thus, omitting rocks of igneous\norigin, it is demonstrable that all these beds of stone, of which a\ntotal of not less than seventy thousand feet is known, have been formed\nby natural agencies, either out of the waste and washing of the dry\nland, or else by the accumulation of the exuviae of plants and animals.\nMany of these strata are full of such exuviae--the so-called\n\"fossils.\"\n\nRemains of thousands of species of animals and plants, as perfectly\nrecognizable as those of existing forms of life which you meet with in\nmuseums, or as the shells which you pick up upon the seabeach, have been\nembedded in the ancient sands, or muds, or limestones, just as they are\nbeing embedded now, in sandy, or clayey, or calcareous subaqueous\ndeposits. They furnish us with a record, the general nature of which\ncannot be misinterpreted, of the kinds of things that have lived upon\nthy surface of the earth during the time that is registered by this\ngreat thickness of stratified rocks. But even a superficial study of\nthese fossils shows us that the animals and plants which live at the\npresent time have had only a temporary duration; for the remains of such\nmodern forms of life are met with, for the most part, only in\nthe uppermost or latest tertiaries, and their number rapidly diminishes\nin the lower deposits of that epoch. In the older tertiaries, the places\nof existing animals and plants are taken by other forms, as numerous and\ndiversified as those which live now in the same localities, but more or\nless different from them; in the Mesozoic rocks, these are replaced by\nothers yet more divergent from modern types; and in the Paleozoic\nformations the contrast is still more marked. Thus the circumstantial\nevidence absolutely negatives the conception of the eternity of the\npresent condition of things. We can say with certainly that the present\ncondition of things has existed for a comparatively short period; and\nthat, so far as animal and vegetable nature are concerned, it has been\npreceded by a different condition. We can pursue this evidence until we\nreach the lowest of the stratified rocks, in which we lose the\nindications of life altogether. The hypothesis of the eternity of the\npresent state of nature may therefore be put out of court.\n\nWe now come to what I will term Milton's hypothesis--the hypothesis that\nthe present condition of things has endured for a comparatively short\ntime; and, at the commencement of that time, came into existence within\nthe course of six days. I doubt not that it may have excited some\nsurprise in your minds that I should have spoken of this as Milton's\nhypothesis, rather than that I should have chosen the terms which are\nmore customary, such as \"the doctrine of creation,\" or the \"Biblical\ndoctrine,\" or \"the doctrine of Moses,\" all of which denominations, as\napplied to the hypothesis to which I have just referred, are certainly\nmuch more familiar to you than the title of the Miltonic hypothesis. But\nI have had what I cannot but think are very weighty reasons for taking\nthe course which T have pursued. In the first place, I have discarded\nthe title of the doctrine of \"creation,\" because my present business is\nnot with the question why the objects which constitute Nature came into\nexistence, but when they came into existence, and in what order. This is\nas strictly a historical question as the question when the Angles and\nthe Jutes invaded England, and whether they preceded or followed the\nRomans. But the question about creation is a philosophical problem, and\none which cannot be solved, or even approached, by the historical\nmethod. What we want to learn is, whether the facts, so far as they are\nknown, afford evidence that things arose in the way described-by Milton,\nor whether they do not; and, when that question is settled, it will be\ntime enough to inquire into the causes of their origination.\n\nIn the second place, I have not spoken of this doctrine as the Biblical\ndoctrine, It is quite true that persons as diverse in their general\nviews as Milton the Protestant and the celebrated Jesuit Father Suarez,\neach put upon the first chapter of Genesis the interpretation embodied\nin Milton's poem. It is quite true that this interpretation is that\nwhich has been instilled into every one of us in our childhood; but I do\nnot for one moment venture to say that it can properly be called the\nBiblical doctrine. It is not my business, and does not lie within my\ncompetency, to say what the Hebrew text does, and what it does not\nsignify; moreover, were I to affirm that this is the Biblical doctrine,\nI should be met by the authority of many eminent scholars, to say\nnothing of men of science, who, at various times, have absolutely denied\nthat any such doctrine is to be found in Genesis. If we are to listen to\nmany expositors of no mean authority, we must believe that what seems so\nclearly defined in Genesis--as if very great pains had been taken that\nthere should be no possibility of mistake--is not the meaning of the\ntext at all. The account is divided into periods that we may make just\nas long or short as convenience requires. We are also to understand that\nit is consistent with the original text to believe that the most complex\nplants and animals may have been evolved by natural processes, lasting\nfor millions of years, out of structureless rudiments. A person who is\nnot a Hebrew scholar can only stand aside and admire the marvelous\nflexibility of a language which admits of such diverse interpretations.\nBut assuredly, in the face of such contradictions of authority upon\nmatters respecting which he is incompetent to form any judgment, he will\nabstain, as I do, from giving any opinion.\n\nIn the third place, I have carefully abstained from speaking of this as\nthe Mosaic doctrine, because we are now assured upon the authority of\nthe highest critics, and even of dignitaries of the Church, that there\nis no evidence that Moses wrote the Book of Genesis, or knew anything\nabout it. You will understand that I give no judgment--it would be an\nimpertinence upon my part to volunteer even a suggestion--upon such a\nsubject. But, that being the state of opinion among the scholars and the\nclergy, it is well for the unlearned in Hebrew lore, and for the laity,\nto avoid entangling themselves in such a vexed question. Happily, Milton\nleaves us no excuse for doubting what he means, and I shall therefore be\nsafe in speaking of the opinion in question as the Miltonic hypothesis.\n\nNow we have to test that hypothesis. For my part, I have no prejudice\none way or the other. If there is evidence in favor of this view, I am\nburdened by no theoretical difficulties in the way of accepting it: but\nthere must be evidence. Scientific men get an awkward habit--no, I won't\ncall it that, for it is a valuable habit--of believing nothing unless\nthere is evidence for it; and they have a way of looking upon belief\nwhich is not based upon evidence, not only as illogical, but as immoral.\nWe will, if you please, test this view by the circumstantial evidence\nalone; for, from what I have said, you will understand that I do not\npropose to discuss the question of what testimonial evidence is to be\nadduced in favor of it. If those whose business it is to judge are not\nat one as to the authenticity of the only evidence of that kind which is\noffered, nor as to the facts to which it bears witness, the discussion\nof such evidence is superfluous.\n\nBut I may be permitted to regret this necessity of rejecting the\ntestimonial evidence the less, because the examination of the\ncircumstantial evidence leads to the conclusion, not only that it is\nincompetent to justify the hypothesis, but that, so far as it goes, it\nis contrary to the hypothesis.\n\nThe considerations upon which I base this conclusion are of the simplest\npossible character. The Miltonic hypothesis contains assertions of a\nvery definite character relating to the succession of living forms. It\nis stated that plants, for example, made their appearance upon the third\nday, and not before. And you will understand that what the poet means\nby plants are such plants as now live, the ancestors, in the ordinary\nway of propagation of like by like, of the trees and shrubs which\nflourish in the present world. It must needs be so; for, if they were\ndifferent, either the existing plants have been the result of a separate\norigination since that described by Milton, of which we have no record,\nnor any ground for supposition that such an occurrence has taken place;\nor else they have arisen by a process of evolution from the original\nstocks.\n\nIn the second place, it is clear that there was no animal life before\nthe fifth day, and that, on the fifth day, aquatic animals and birds\nappeared. And. it is further clear that terrestrial living things, other\nthan birds, made their appearance upon the sixth day, and not before.\nHence, it follows that, if, in the large mass of circumstantial evidence\nas to what really has happened in the past history of the globe, we find\nindications of the existence of terrestrial animals, other than birds,\nat a certain period, it is perfectly certain that all that has taken\nplace since that time must be referred to the sixth day.\n\nIn the great Carboniferous formation,[69] whence America derives so vast\na proportion of her actual and potential wealth, in the beds of coal\nwhich have been formed from the vegetation of that period, we find\nabundant evidence of the existence of terrestrial animals. They have\nbeen described, not only by European but by your own naturalists. There\nare to be found numerous insects allied to our cockroaches. There are to\nbe found spiders and scorpions of large size, the latter so similar to\nexisting scorpions that it requires the practiced eye of the naturalist\nto distinguish them. Inasmuch as these animals can be proved to have\nbeen alive in the Carboniferous epoch, it is perfectly clear that, if\nthe Miltonic account is to be accepted, the huge mass of rocks extending\nfrom the middle of the Paleozoic formations to the uppermost members of\nthe series, must belong to the day which is termed by Milton the sixth.\nBut, further, it is expressly stated that aquatic animals took their\norigin upon the fifth day, and not before; hence, all formations in\nwhich remains of aquatic animals can be proved to exist, and which\ntherefore testify that such animals lived at the time when these\nformations were in course of deposition, must have been deposited during\nor since the period which Milton speaks of as the fifth. But there is\nabsolutely no fossiliferous formation in which the remains of aquatic\nanimals are absent. The oldest fossils in the Silurian rocks[70] are\nexuviae of marine animals; and if the view which is entertained by\nPrincipal Dawson and Dr. Carpenter respecting the nature of the _eozooen_\nbe well founded, aquatic animals existed at a period as far antecedent\nto the deposition of the coal as the coal is from us; inasmuch as the\n_eozooen_ is met with in those Laurentian strata which lie at the bottom\nof the series of stratified rocks. Hence it follows, plainly enough,\nthat the whole series of stratified rocks, if they are to be brought\ninto harmony with Milton, must be referred to the fifth and sixth days,\nand that we cannot hope to find the slightest trace of the products of\nthe earlier days in the geological record. When we consider these simple\nfacts, we see how absolutely futile are the attempts that have been made\nto draw a parallel between the story told by so much of the crust of the\nearth as is known to us and the story which Milton tells. The whole\nseries of fossiliferous stratified rocks must be referred to the last\ntwo days; and neither the Carboniferous, nor any other, formation can\nafford evidence of the work of the third day.\n\nNot only is there this objection to any attempt to establish a harmony\nbetween the Miltonic account and the facts recorded in the fossiliferous\nrocks, but there is a further difficulty. According to the Miltonic\naccount, the order in which animals should have made their appearance in\nthe stratified rocks would be this: Fishes, including the great whales,\nand birds; after them, all varieties of terrestrial animals except\nbirds.\n\nNothing could be further from the facts as we find them; we know of not\nthe slightest evidence of the existence of birds before the Jurassic, or\nperhaps the Triassic, formation;[71] while terrestrial animals, as we\nhave just seen, occur in the Carboniferous rocks.\n\nIf there were any harmony between the Miltonic account and the\ncircumstantial evidence, we ought to have abundant evidence of the\nexistence of birds in the Carboniferous, the Devonian, and the Silurian\nrocks. I need hardly say that this is not the case, and that not a trace\nof birds makes its appearance until the Tar later period which I have\nmentioned.\n\nAnd again, if it be true that all varieties of fishes and the great\nwhales, and the like, made their appearance on the fifth day, we ought\nto find the remains of these animals in the older rocks--in those which\nwere deposited before the Carboniferous epoch. Fishes we do find, in\nconsiderable number and variety; but the great whales are absent, and\nthe fishes are not such as now live. Not one solitary species of fish\nnow in existence is to be found in the Devonian or Silurian formations.\nHence we are introduced afresh to the dilemma which I have already\nplaced before you: either the animals which came into existence on the\nfifth day were not such as those which are found at present, are not the\ndirect and immediate ancestors of those which now exist; in which case\neither fresh creations of which nothing is said, or a process of\nevolution must have occurred; or else the whole story must be given up\nas not only devoid of any circumstantial evidence, but contrary to such\nevidence as exists.\n\nI placed before you in a few words, some little time ago, a statement of\nthe sum and substance of Milton's hypothesis. Let me now try to state as\nbriefly, the effect of the circumstantial evidence bearing upon the past\nhistory of the earth which is furnished, without the possibility of\nmistake, with no chance of error as to its chief features, by the\nstratified rocks. What we find is, that the great series of formations\nrepresents a period of time of which our human chronologies hardly\nafford us a unit of measure. I will not pretend to say how we ought to\nestimate this time, in millions or in billions of years. For my purpose,\nthe determination of its absolute duration is wholly unessential. But\nthat the time was enormous there can be no question.\n\nIt results from the simplest methods of interpretation, that leaving out\nof view certain patches of metamorphosed rocks, and certain volcanic\nproducts, all that is now dry land has once been at the bottom of the\nwaters. It is perfectly certain that, at a comparatively recent period\nof the world's history--the Cretaceous epoch--none of the great physical\nfeatures which at present mark the surface of the globe existed. It is\ncertain that the Rocky Mountains were not. It is certain that the\nHimalaya Mountains were not. It is certain that the Alps and the\nPyrenees had no existence. The evidence is of the plainest possible\ncharacter, and is simply this:--We find raised up on the flanks of these\nmountains, elevated by the forces of upheaval which have given rise to\nthem, masses of Cretaceous rock which formed the bottom of the sea\nbefore those mountains existed. It is therefore clear that the elevatory\nforces which gave rise to the mountains operated subsequently to the\nCretaceous epoch; and that the mountains themselves are largely made up\nof the materials deposited in the sea which once occupied their place.\nAs we go back in time, we meet with constant alternations of sea and\nland, of estuary and open ocean; and, in correspondence with these\nalternations, we observe the changes in the fauna and flora to which I\nhave referred.\n\nBut the inspection of these changes gives us no right to believe that\nthere has been any discontinuity in natural processes. There is no trace\nof general cataclysms, of universal deluges, or sudden destructions of a\nwhole fauna or flora. The appearances which were formerly interpreted in\nthat way have all been shown to be delusive, as our knowledge has\nincreased and as the blanks which formerly appeared to exist between the\ndifferent formations have been filled up. That there is no absolute\nbreak between formation and formation, that there has been no sudden\ndisappearance of all the forms of life and replacement of them by\nothers, but that changes have gone on slowly and gradually, that one\ntype has died out and another has taken its place, and that thus, by\ninsensible degrees, one fauna has been replaced by another, are\nconclusions strengthened by constantly increasing evidence. So that\nwithin the whole of the immense period indicated by the fossiliferous\nstratified rocks, there is assuredly not the slightest proof of any\nbreak in the uniformity of Nature's operations, no indication that\nevents have followed other than a clear and orderly sequence.\n\nThat, I say, is the natural and obvious teaching of the circumstantial\nevidence contained in the stratified rocks. I leave you to consider how\nfar, by any ingenuity of interpretation, by any stretching of the\nmeaning of language, it can be brought into harmony with the Miltonic\nhypothesis.\n\nThere remains the third hypothesis, that of which I have spoken as the\nhypothesis of evolution; and I purpose that, in lectures to come, we\nshould discuss it as carefully as we have considered the other two\nhypotheses. I need not say that it is quite hopeless to look for\ntestimonial evidence of evolution. The very nature of the case precludes\nthe possibility of such evidence, for the human race can no more be\nexpected to testify to its own origin, than a child can be tendered as a\nwitness of its own birth. Our sole inquiry is, what foundation\ncircumstantial evidence lends to the hypothesis, or whether it lends\nnone, or whether it controverts the hypothesis. I shall deal with the\nmatter entirely as a question of history. I shall not indulge in the\ndiscussion of any speculative probabilities. I shall not attempt to show\nthat Nature is unintelligible unless we adopt some such hypothesis. For\nanything I know about the matter, it may be the way of Nature to be\nunintelligible; she is often puzzling, and I have no reason to suppose\nthat she is bound to fit herself to our notions.\n\nI shall place before you three kinds of evidence entirely based upon\nwhat is known of the forms of animal life which are contained in the\nseries of stratified rocks. I shall endeavor to show you that there is\none kind of evidence which is neutral, which neither helps evolution nor\nis inconsistent with it. I shall then bring forward a second kind of\nevidence which indicates a strong probability in favor of evolution, but\ndoes not prove it; and, lastly, I shall adduce a third kind of evidence\nwhich, being as complete as any evidence which we can hope to obtain\nupon such a subject, and being wholly and strikingly in favor of\nevolution, may fairly be called demonstrative evidence of its\noccurrence.\n\n\n\nTHE TRANSMISSION OF YELLOW FEVER BY MOSQUITOES\n\nGEORGE M. STERNBERG, M.D., L.L.D, SURGEON-GENERAL U.S. ARMY[72]\n\nThis article is a scientific demonstration of a new fact. It shows\nclearly the processes of scientific reasoning based on the methods known\nto Logic as the Methods of Agreement and Difference. The theory that the\ngerms of the disease are carried by mosquitoes seems first to have\nsuggested itself to Dr. Sternberg and to Dr. Finlay through noticing a\nsimilarity of phenomena in many cases under different conditions. Yet,\nhowever plausible, the theory, neither of them could declare that he had\ndiscovered the fact until the experiments carried on under rigorous\nprecautions had been tried. By these experiments all other causes were\nruled out of consideration.\n\nThe discoveries which have been made in the past twenty-five years with\nreference to the etiology[73] of infectious diseases constitute the\ngreatest achievement of scientific medicine and afford a substantial\nbasis for the application of intelligent measures of prophylaxis.[74] We\nknow the specific cause (\"germ\") of typhoid fever, of pulmonary\nconsumption, of cholera, of diphtheria, of erysipelas, of croupous\npneumonia, of the malarial fevers, and of various other infectious\ndiseases of man and of the domestic animals, but, up to the present\ntime, all efforts to discover the germ of yellow fever have been without\nsuccess. The present writer, as a member of the Havana Yellow Fever\nCommission, in 1879, made the first systematic attempt to solve the\nunsettled questions relating to yellow fever etiology by modern methods\nof research.\n\nNaturally the first and most important question to engage my attention\nwas that relating to the specific infectious agent, or \"germ,\" which\nthere was every reason to believe must be found in the bodies of\ninfected individuals. Was this germ present in the blood, as in the case\nof relapsing fever; or was it to be found in the organs and tissues\nwhich upon post-mortem examination give evidence of pathological\nchanges, as in typhoid fever, pneumonia, and diphtheria; or was it to be\nfound in the alimentary canal, as in cholera and dysentery?\n\nThe clinical history of the disease indicated a general blood\ninfection. As my equipment included the best microscopical apparatus\nmade, I had strong hopes that in properly stained preparations of blood\ntaken from the circulation of yellow fever patients my Zeiss 1-18 oil\nimmersion objective would reveal to me the germ I was in search of. But\nI was doomed to disappointment. Repeated examinations of blood from\npatients in every stage of the disease failed to demonstrate the\npresence of microorganisms of any kind. My subsequent investigations in\nHavana, Vera Cruz, and Rio de Janeiro, made in 1887, 1888, and 1889,\nwere equally unsuccessful. And numerous competent microscopists of\nvarious nations have since searched in vain for this elusive germ.\nAnother method of attacking this problem consists in introducing blood\nfrom yellow fever patients or recent cadavers into various \"culture\nmedia\" for the purpose of cultivating any germ that might be present.\nExtended researches of this kind also gave a negative result, which in\nmy final report I stated as follows:\n\n    The specific cause of yellow fever has not yet been demonstrated.\n\n    It is demonstrated that microorganisms, capable of development in\n    the culture media usually employed by the bacteriologists, are only\n    found in the blood and tissues of yellow fever cadavers in\n    exceptional cases, when cultures are made very soon after death.\n\nSince this report was made, various investigators have attacked the\nquestion of yellow fever etiology, and one of them has made very\npositive claims to the discovery of the specific germ. I refer to the\nItalian bacteriologist, Sanarelli. His researches were made in Brazil,\nand, singularly enough, he found in the blood of the first case examined\nby him a bacillus. It was present in large numbers, but this case\nproved to be unique, for neither Sanarelli nor any one else has since;\nfound it in such abundance. It has been found in small numbers in the\nblood and tissues of yellow fever cadavers in a certain number of the\ncases examined. But carefully conducted researches by competent\nbacteriologists have failed to demonstrate its presence in a\nconsiderable proportion of the cases, and the recent researches of Reed,\nCarroll, and Agramonte, to which I shall shortly refer, demonstrate\nconclusively that the bacillus of Sanarelli has nothing to do with the\netiology of yellow fever.\n\nSo far as I am aware, Dr. Carlos Finlay, of Havana, Cuba, was the first\nto suggest the transmission of yellow fever by mosquitoes. In a\ncommunication made to the Academy of Sciences of Havana, in October,\n1881, he gave an account of his first attempts to demonstrate the truth\nof his theory. In a paper contributed to _The Edinburgh Medical Journal_\nin 1894, Dr. Finlay gives a summary of his experimental inoculations up\nto that date as follows:\n\nA summary account of the experiments performed by myself (and some also\nby my friend, Dr. Delgado), during the last twelve years, will enable\nthe reader to judge for himself. The experiment has consisted in first\napplying a captive mosquito to a yellow fever patient, allowing it to\nintroduce its lance and to fill itself with blood; next, after the lapse\nof two or more days, applying the same mosquito to the skin of a person\nwho is considered susceptible to yellow fever: and, finally, observing\nthe effects, not only during the first two weeks, but during periods of\nseveral years, so as to appreciate the amount of immunity that should\nfollow.\n\nBetween the 30th of June, 1881, and the 2d of December, 1893,\neighty-eight persons have been so inoculated. All were white adults,\nuniting the conditions which justify the assumption that they were\nsusceptible to yellow fever. Only three were women. The chronological\ndistribution of the inoculations was as follows: seven in 1881, ten in\n1883, nine in 1885, three in 1886, twelve in 1887, nine in 1888, seven\nin 1889, ten in 1890, eight in 1891, three in 1892, and ten in 1893.\n\nThe yellow fever patients upon whom the mosquitoes were contaminated\nwere, almost in every instance, well-marked cases of the albuminuric or\nmelanoalbuminuric forms, in the second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth\nday of the disease. In some of the susceptible subjects, the inoculation\nwas repeated when the source of the contamination appeared uncertain.\n\nAmong the eighty-seven who have been under observation, the following\nresults have been recorded:\n\nWithin a term of days, varying between five and twenty-five after the\ninoculation, _one_ presented a mild albuminuric attack, and _thirteen,\nonly_ \"acclimation fevers.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhile Finlay's theory appeared to be plausible and to explain many of\nthe facts relating to the etiology of yellow fever, his experimental\ninoculations not only failed to give it substantial support, but the\nnegative results, as reported, by himself, seemed to be opposed to the\nview that yellow fever is transmitted by the mosquito. It is true that\nhe reports one case which \"presented a mild albuminuric attack\" which we\nmay accept as an attack of yellow fever. But in view of the fact that\nthis case occurred in the city of Havana, where yellow fever is endemic,\nand of the eighty-six negative results from similar inoculations, the\ninference seemed justified that in this case the disease was contracted\nin some other way than as a result of the so-called \"mosquito\ninoculation.\" The thirteen cases in which only \"acclimation fevers\"\noccurred \"within a term of days varying between five and twenty-five\nafter the inoculation\" appeared to me to have no value as giving support\nto Finlay's theory; first, because these \"acclimation fevers\" could not\nbe identified as mild cases of yellow fever; second, because the\nordinary method of incubation in yellow fever, is less than five days;\nand, third, because these individuals, having recently arrived in\nHavana, were liable to attacks of yellow fever, or of \"acclimation\nfever\" as a result of their residence in this city and quite\nindependently of Dr. Finlay's mosquito inoculations. For these reasons\nDr. Finlay's experiments failed to convince the medical profession\ngenerally of the truth of his theory relating to the transmission of\nyellow fever, and this important question remained in doubt and a\nsubject of controversy. One party regarded the disease as personally\ncontagious and supposed it to be communicated directly from the sick to\nthe well, as in the case of other contagious diseases, such as smallpox,\nscarlet fever, etc. Opposed to this theory was the fact that in\ninnumerable instances nonimmune persons had been known to care for\nyellow-fever patients as nurses, or physicians, without contracting the\ndisease; also the fact that the epidemic extension of the disease\ndepends upon external conditions relating to temperature, altitude,\nrainfall, etc. It was a well-established fact that the disease is\narrested by cold weather and does not prevail in northern latitudes or\nat considerable altitudes. But diseases which are directly transmitted\nfrom man to man by personal contact have no such limitations. The\nalternate theory took account of the above-mentioned facts and assumed\nthat the disease was indirectly transmitted from sick to well, as is the\ncase in typhoid fever and cholera, and that its germ was capable of\ndevelopment external to the human body when conditions were favorable.\nThese conditions were believed to be a certain elevation of the\ntemperature, the presence of moisture and suitable; organic pabulum\n(filth) for the development of the germ. The two first-mentioned\nconditions were known to be essential, the third was a subject of\ncontroversy.\n\nYellow fever epidemics do not occur in the winter months in the\ntemperate zone and they do not occur in arid regions. As epidemics have\nfrequently prevailed in seacoast cities known to be in an insanitary\ncondition, it has been generally assumed that the presence of\ndecomposing organic material is favorable for the development of an\nepidemic and that, like typhoid fever and cholera, yellow fever is a\n\"filth disease.\" Opposed to this view, however, is the fact that\nepidemics have frequently occurred in localities (e.g. at military\nposts) where no local insanitary conditions were to be found. Moreover,\nthere are marked differences in regard to the transmission of the\nrecognized filth diseases--typhoid fever and cholera--and yellow fever.\nThe first-mentioned diseases are largely propagated by means of a\ncontaminated water supply, whereas there is no evidence that yellow\nfever is ever communicated in this way. Typhoid fever and cholera\nprevail in all parts of the world and may prevail at any season of the\nyear, although cholera, as a rule, is a disease of the summer months. On\nthe other hand, yellow fever has a very restricted area of prevalence\nand is essentially a disease of seaboard cities and of warm climates.\nEvidently neither of the theories referred to accounts for all of the\nobserved facts with reference to the endemic prevalence and epidemic\nextension of the disease under consideration.\n\nHaving for years given much thought to this subject, I became some time\nsince impressed with the view that probably in yellow fever, as in the\nmalarial fevers, there is an \"intermediate host.\" I therefore suggested\nto Dr. Reed, president of the board appointed upon my recommendation for\nthe study of this disease in the island of Cuba, that he should give\nspecial attention to the possibility of transmission by some insect,\nalthough the experiments of Finlay seemed to show that this insect was\nnot a mosquito of the genus _Culex_, such as he had used in his\ninoculation experiments. I also urged that efforts should be made to\nascertain definitely whether the disease can be communicated from man to\nman by blood inoculations. Evidently if this is the case the blood must\ncontain the living infectious agent upon which the propagation of the\ndisease depends, notwithstanding the fact that all attempts to\ndemonstrate the presence of such a germ in the blood, by means of\nmicroscope and culture methods, have proved unavailing. I had previously\ndemonstrated by repeated experiments that inoculations of yellow fever\nblood into lower animals--dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs--give a negative\nresult, but this negative result might well be because these animals\nwere not susceptible to the disease and could not be accepted as showing\nthat the germ of yellow fever was not present in the blood. A single\ninoculation experiment on man had been made in my presence in the city\nof Vera Cruz, in 1887, by Dr. Daniel Ruiz, who was in charge of the\ncivil hospital in that city. But this experiment was inconclusive for\nthe reason that the patient from whom the blood was obtained was in the\neighth day of the disease, and it was quite possible that the specific\ngerm might have been present at an earlier period and that after a\ncertain number of days the natural resources of the body are sufficient\nto effect its destruction, or in some way to cause its disappearance\nfrom the circulation.\n\nThis was the status of the question of yellow fever etiology when Dr.\nReed and his associates commenced their investigations in Cuba during\nthe summer of 1900. In a \"Preliminary Note,\" read at the meeting of the\nAmerican Public Health Association, October 22, 1900, the board gave a\nreport of three cases of yellow fever which they believed to be direct\nresults of mosquito inoculations. Two of these were members of the\nboard, viz., Dr. Jesse W. Lazear and Dr. James Carroll, who voluntarily\nsubmitted themselves to the experiment. Dr. Carroll suffered a severe\nattack of the disease and recovered, but Dr. Lazear fell a victim to his\nenthusiasm and died in the cause of science and humanity. His death\noccurred on September 25, after an illness of six days' duration. About\nthe same time nine other individuals who volunteered for the experiment\nwere bitten by infected mosquitoes--i.e. by mosquitoes which had\npreviously been allowed to fill themselves with blood from yellow fever\ncases--and in these cases the result was negative. In considering the\nexperimental evidence thus far obtained, the attention of the members of\nthe board was attracted by the fact that in the nine inoculations with a\nnegative result \"the time elapsing between the biting of the mosquito\nand the inoculation of the healthy subject varied in seven cases from\ntwo to eight days, and in the remaining two from ten to thirteen days,\nwhereas in two of the three successful cases the mosquito had been kept\nfor twelve days or longer.\" In the third case, that of Dr. Lazear, the\nfacts are stated in the report of the board as follows:\n\nCase 3. Dr. Jesse W. Lazear, Acting Assistant Surgeon U.S. Army, a\nmember of this board, was bitten on August 16, 1900 (Case 3, Table III)\nby a mosquito (_Culex fasciatus_), which ten days previously had been\ncontaminated by biting a very mild case of yellow fever (fifth day). No\nappreciable disturbance of health followed this inoculation.\n\nOn September 13, 1900 (forenoon), Dr. Lazear, while on a visit to Las\nAnimas Hospital, and while collecting blood from yellow fever patients\nfor study, was bitten by a _Culex_ mosquito (variety undetermined). As\nDr. Lazear had been previously bitten by a contaminated insect without\nafter effects, he deliberately allowed this particular mosquito, which\nhad settled on the back of his hand, to remain until it had satisfied\nits hunger.\n\nOn the evening of September 18, five days after the bite, Dr. Lazear\ncomplained of feeling \"out of sorts,\" and had a chill at 8 P.M.\n\nOn September 19, twelve o'clock noon, his temperature was 102.4 deg., pulse\n112; his eyes were injected and his face suffused; at 3 P.M. temperature\nwas 103.4 deg., pulse 104; 6 P.M., temperature 103.8 deg. and pulse 106; albumin\nappeared in the urine. Jaundice appeared on the third day. The\nsubsequent history of this case was one of progressive and fatal yellow\nfever, the death of our much-lamented colleague having occurred on the\nevening of September 25, 1900.\n\nEvidently in this case the evidence is not satisfactory as to the fatal\nattack being the result of the bite by a mosquito \"while on a visit to\nLas Animas Hospital,\" although Dr. Lazear himself was thoroughly\nconvinced that this was the direct cause of his attack.\n\nThe inference by Dr. Reed and his associates, from the experiments thus\nfar made, was that yellow fever may be; transmitted by mosquitoes of the\ngenus _Culex_, but that in order to convey the infection to a nonimmune\nindividual the insect must be kept for twelve days or longer after it\nhas filled itself with blood from a yellow fever patient in the earlier\nstages of the disease. In other words, that a certain period of\nincubation is required in the body of the insect before the germ reaches\nits salivary glands, and consequently before it is able to inoculate any\nindividual with the germs of yellow fever. This inference, based upon\nexperimental data, received support from other observations, which have\nbeen repeatedly made, with reference to the introduction and spread of\nyellow fever in localities favorable to its propagation. When a case is\nimported to one of our southern seaport cities, from Havana, Vera Cruz,\nor some other endemic focus of the disease, an interval of two weeks or\nmore occurs before secondary cases are developed as a result of such\nimportation. In the light of our present knowledge this is readily\nunderstood. A certain number of mosquitoes having filled themselves with\nblood from this first case after an interval of twelve days or more bite\nnonimmune individuals living in the vicinity, and these individuals\nafter a brief period of incubation fall sick with the disease; being\nbitten by other mosquitoes they serve to transmit the disease through\nthe \"intermediate host\" to still others. Thus the epidemic extends, at\nfirst slowly from house to house, then more rapidly, as by geometrical\nprogression.\n\nIt will be seen that the essential difference between the successful\nexperiments of the board of which Dr. Reed is president and the\nunsuccessful experiments of Finlay consists of the length of time during\nwhich the mosquitoes were kept after filling themselves with blood from\na yellow fever patient. In Finlay's experiments the interval was usually\nshort,--from two to five or six days,--and it will be noted that in the\nexperiments of Reed and his associates the result was invariably\nnegative when the insect had been kept less than eight days (7 cases).\n\nHaving obtained what they considered satisfactory evidence that yellow\nfever is transmitted by mosquitoes, Dr. Reed and his associates\nproceeded to extend their experiments for the purpose of establishing\nthe fact in such a positive manner that the medical profession and the\nscientific world generally might be convinced of the reliability of the\nexperimental evidence upon which their conclusions were based. These\nconclusions, which have been fully justified by their subsequent\nexperiments, were stated in their \"Preliminary Note\" as follows:\n\n    1. Bacillus icteroides (Sanarelli) stands in no causative relation\n    to yellow fever, but, when present, should be considered as a\n    secondary invader in this disease.\n\n    2. The mosquito serves as the intermediate host for the parasite of\n    yellow fever.\n\nIn \"An Additional Note\" read at the Pan-American Medical Congress held\nin Havana, Cuba, February 4,-7, 1901, a report is made of the further\nexperiments made up to that date. In order that the absolute scientific\nvalue of these experiments may be fully appreciated I shall quote quite\nfreely from this report with reference to the methods adopted for the\npurpose of excluding all sources of infection other than the mosquito\ninoculation:\n\nIn order to exercise perfect control over the movements of those\nindividuals who were to be subjected to experimentation, and to avoid\nany other possible source of infection, a location was selected in an\nopen and uncultivated field, about one mile from the town of Quemados,\nCuba. Here an experimental sanitary station was established under the\ncomplete control of the senior member of this board. This station was\nnamed Camp Lazear, in honor of our late colleague, Dr. Jesse W. Lazear,\nActing Assistant Surgeon U.S.A., who died of yellow fever, while\ncourageously investigating the causation of this disease. The site\nselected was well drained, freely exposed to sunlight and winds, and\nfrom every point of view satisfactory for the purposes intended.\n\nThe personnel of this camp consisted of two medical officers, Dr. Roger\nP. Ames, Acting Assistant Surgeon U.S.A., an immune, in immediate\ncharge; Dr. R. P. Cooke, Acting Assistant Surgeon U.S.A., nonimmune; one\nacting hospital steward, an immune; nine privates of the hospital corps,\none of whom was immune, and one immune ambulance driver.\n\nFor the quartering of this detachment, and of such nonimmune individuals\nas should be received for experimentation, hospital tents, properly\nfloored, were provided. These were placed at a distance of about twenty\nfeet from each other, and numbered 1 to 7 respectively.\n\nCamp Lazear was established November 20, 1900, and from this date was\nstrictly quarantined, no one being permitted to leave or enter camp\nexcept the three immune members of the detachment and the members of the\nboard. Supplies were drawn chiefly from Columbia Barracks, and for this\npurpose a conveyance under the control of an immune acting hospital\nsteward, and having an immune driver, was used.\n\nA few Spanish immigrants recently arrived at the port of Havana were\nreceived at Camp Lazear, from time to time, while these observations\nwere being carried out. A nonimmune person, having once left the camp,\nwas not permitted to return to it under any circumstances whatsoever.\n\nThe temperature and pulse of all nonimmune residents were carefully\nrecorded three times a day. Under these circumstances any infected\nindividual entering the camp could be promptly detected and removed. As\na matter of fact, only two persons, not the subject of experimentation,\ndeveloped any rise of temperature; one, a Spanish immigrant, with\nprobable commencing pulmonary tuberculosis, who was discharged at the\nend of three days: and the other, a Spanish immigrant, who developed a\ntemperature of 102.6 deg. F. on the afternoon of his fourth day in camp. He\nwas at once removed with his entire bedding and baggage and placed in\nthe receiving ward at Columbia Barracks. His fever, which was marked by\ndaily intermissions for three days, subsided upon the administration of\ncathartics and enemata. His attack was considered to be due to\nintestinal irritation. He was not permitted, however, to return to the\ncamp.\n\nNo nonimmune resident was subjected to inoculation who had not passed in\nthis camp the full period of incubation of yellow fever, with one\nexception, to be hereinafter mentioned.\n\nFor the purpose of experimentation subjects were selected as follows:\nFrom Tent No. 2, 2 nonimmunes, and from Tent No. 5, 3 nonimmunes. Later,\n1 nonimmune in Tent No. 6 was also designated for inoculation.\n\nIt should be borne in mind that at the time when these inoculations were\nbegun, there were only 12 nonimmune residents at Camp Lazear, and that 5\nof those were selected for experiment, viz., 2 in Tent No. 2, and 3 in\nTent No. 5. Of these we succeeded in infecting 4, viz., 1 in Tent No. 2.\nand 3 in Tent No. 5, each of whom developed an attack of yellow fever\nwithin the period of incubation of this disease. The one negative\nresult, therefore, was in Case 2--Moran--inoculated with a mosquito on\nthe fifteenth day after the insect had bitten a case of yellow-fever on\nthe third day. Since this mosquito failed to infect Case 4, three days\nafter it had bitten Moran, it follows that the result could not have\nbeen otherwise than negative in the latter case. We now know, as the\nresult of our observations, that in the case of an insect kept at room\ntemperature during the cool weather of November, fifteen or even\neighteen days would, in all probability, be too short a time to render\nit capable of producing the disease.\n\nAs bearing upon the source of infection, we invite attention to the\nperiod of time during which the subjects had been kept under rigid\nquarantine, prior to successful inoculation, which was as follows: Case\n1, fifteen days; Case 3, nine days; Case 4, nineteen days; Case 5,\ntwenty-one days. We further desire to emphasize the fact that this\nepidemic of yellow fever, which affected 33.33 per cent of the nonimmune\nresidents of Camp Lazear, did not concern the seven nonimmunes occupying\nTents Nos, 1, 4, 6 and 7, _but was strictly limited to those individuals\nwho had been bitten by contaminated mosquitoes._\n\nNothing could point more forcibly to the source of this infection than\nthe order of the occurrence of events at this camp. The precision with\nwhich the infection of the individual followed the bite of the mosquito\nleft nothing to be desired in order to fulfill the requirements of a\nscientific experiment.\n\nIn summing up their results at the conclusion of this report the\nfollowing statement is made:\n\nOut of a total or eighteen nonimmunes whom we have inoculated with\ncontaminated mosquitoes, since we began this line of investigation,\neight, or 44.4 per cent, have contracted yellow fever. If we exclude\nthose individuals bitten by mosquitoes that had been kept less than\ntwelve days after contamination, and which were therefore probably\nincapable of conveying the disease, we have to record eight positive and\ntwo negative results--80 per cent.\n\nIn a still later report (May, 1901) Dr. Reed says, \"We have thus far\nsucceeded in conveying yellow fever to twelve individuals by means of\nthe bites of contaminated mosquitoes.\"\n\nThe nonimmune individuals experimented upon were all fully informed as\nto the nature of the experiment and its probable results and all gave\ntheir full consent. Fortunately no one of these brave volunteers in the\ncause of science and humanity suffered a fatal attack of the disease,\nalthough several were very ill and gave great anxiety to the members of\nthe board, who fully appreciated the grave responsibility which rested\nupon them. That these experiments were justifiable under the\ncircumstances mentioned is, I believe, beyond question. In no other way\ncould the fact established have been demonstrated, and the knowledge\ngained is of inestimable value as a guide to reliable measures of\nprevention. Already it is being applied in Cuba, and without doubt\ninnumerable lives will be saved as a result of these experiments showing\nthe precise method by which yellow fever is contracted by those exposed\nin an \"infected locality.\" Some of these volunteers were enlisted men of\nthe United States Army and some were Spanish immigrants who had recently\narrived in Cuba. When taken sick they received the best possible care,\nand after their recovery they had the advantage of being \"immunes\" who\nhad nothing further to fear from the disease which has caused the death\nof thousands and tens of thousands of Spanish soldiers and immigrants\nwho have come to Cuba under the orders of their government or to seek\ntheir fortunes.\n\nThe experiments already referred to show in the most conclusive manner\nthat the blood of yellow fever patients contains the infectious agent,\nor germ, to which the disease is due, and this has been further\ndemonstrated by direct inoculations from man to man. This experiment was\nmade by Dr. Reed at \"Camp Lazear\" upon four individuals, who freely\nconsented to it; and in three of the four a typical attack of yellow\nfever resulted from the blood injection. The blood was taken from a vein\nat the bend of the elbow on the first or second day of sickness and was\ninjected subcutaneously into the four nonimmune individuals, the amount\nbeing in one positive case 2 cc, in one 1.5 cc, and in one O.5 cc. In\nthe case attended with a negative result, a Spanish immigrant, a\nmosquito inoculation also proved to be without effect, and Dr. Reed\nsupposes that this individual \"probably possesses a natural immunity to\nyellow fever.\" Dr. Reed says with reference to these experiments:\n\nIt is important to note that in the three cases in which the injection\nof the blood brought about an attack of yellow fever, careful culture\nfrom the same blood, taken immediately after injection, failed to show\nthe presence of Sanarelli's bacillus.\n\nHaving demonstrated the fact that yellow fever is propagated by\nmosquitoes, Dr. Reed and his associates have endeavored to ascertain\nwhether it may also be propagated, as has been commonly supposed, by\nclothing, bedding, and other articles which have been in use by those\nsick with this disease. With reference to the experiments made for the\nsolution of this question I cannot do better than to quote _in extensa_\nfrom Dr. Reed's paper read at the Pan-American Medical Congress in\nHavana.\n\n[This extract from Dr. Reed's paper describes in careful scientific\ndetail the experiments which finally established the fact that the\ncontagion came through mosquitoes, and in no other way. Into a small\nhouse, thoroughly air-proof, were brought bedclothes, clothing, and\nother articles which had been contaminated by yellow fever patients.\nThen for twenty days men who were nonimmune to the fever slept in this\nbuilding, with no evil effects. This experiment was repeated several\ntimes. Then in another building similar, except that it was ventilated\nby mosquito-proof windows, and had been thoroughly disinfected, another\nvolunteer was bitten by mosquitoes which had first bitten patients\nsuffering with yellow fever; and he developed the disease. The last\nparagraph of the extract is as follows:]\n\n    \"Thus at Camp Lazear, of seven nonimmunes whom we attempted to\n    infect by means of the bites of contaminated mosquitoes, we have\n    succeeded in conveying the disease to six, or 85.71 per cent. On the\n    other hand, of seven nonimmunes whom we tried to infect by means of\n    fomites [cloth and other material generally capable of carrying\n    germs] under particularly favorable circumstances, we did not\n    succeed in a single instance.\"\n\nIt is evident that in view of our present knowledge relating to the mode\nof transmission of yellow fever, the preventive measures which have\nheretofore been considered most important, that is, isolation of the\nsick, disinfection of clothing and bedding, and municipal sanitation,\nare either of no avail or of comparatively little value. It is true that\nyellow fever epidemics have resulted, as a rule, from the introduction\nto a previously healthy locality of one or more persons suffering from\nthe disease. But we now know that its extension did not depend upon the\ndirect contact of the sick with the nonimmune individuals and that\nisolation of the sick from such contact is unnecessary and without\navail. On the other hand, complete isolation from the agent which is\nresponsible for the propagation of the disease is all-important. In the\nabsence of a yellow fever patient from which to draw blood the mosquito\nis harmless, and in the absence of the mosquito the yellow fever patient\nis harmless--as the experimental evidence now stands. Yellow fever\nepidemics are terminated by cold weather because the mosquitoes die or\nbecome torpid. The sanitary condition of our southern seaport cities is\nno better in winter than in summer, and if the infection attached to\nclothing and bedding it is difficult to understand why the first frosts\nof autumn should arrest the progress of an epidemic. But all this is\nexplained now that the mode of transmission has been demonstrated.\n\nInsanitary local conditions may, however, have a certain influence in\nthe propagation of the disease, for it has been ascertained that the\nspecies of mosquito which serves as an intermediate host for the yellow\nfever germ may breed in cesspools and sewers, as well as in stagnant\npools of water. If, therefore, the streets of a city are unpaved and\nungraded and there are open spaces where water may accumulate in pools,\nas well as open cesspools to serve as breeding places for _Culex\nfasciatus_, the city will present conditions more favorable for the\npropagation of yellow fever than it would if well paved and drained and\nsewered.\n\nThe question whether yellow fever may be transmitted by any other\nspecies of mosquito than _Culex fasciatus_ has not been determined.\nFacts relating to the propagation of the disease indicate that the\nmosquito which serves as an intermediate host for the yellow fever germ\nhas a somewhat restricted geographical range and is to be found\nespecially upon the seacoast and the margins of rivers in the so-called\n\"yellow fever zone.\" While occasional epidemics have occurred upon the\nsouthwest coast of the Iberian Peninsula, the disease, as an epidemic,\nis unknown elsewhere in Europe, and there is no evidence that it has\never invaded the great and populous continent of Asia. In Africa it is\nlimited to the west coast. In North America, although it has\noccasionally prevailed as an epidemic in every one of our seaport cities\nas far north as Boston, and in the Mississippi Valley as far north as\nSt. Louis, it has never established itself as an epidemic disease within\nthe limits of the United States. Vera Cruz, and probably other points on\nthe Gulf coast of Mexico, are, however, at the present time, endemic\nfoci of the disease. In South America it has prevailed as an epidemic at\nall of the seaports on the Gulf and Atlantic coasts, as far south as\nMontevideo and Buenos Aires, and on the Pacific along the coast of Peru.\n\nThe region in which the disease has had the greatest and most frequent\nprevalence is bounded by the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and includes\nthe West India islands. Within the past few years yellow fever has been\ncarried to the west coast of North America, and has prevailed as an\nepidemic as far north as the Mexican port of Guaymas, on the Gulf of\nCalifornia.\n\nIt must be supposed that _Culex fasciatus_ is only found where yellow\nfever prevails. The propagation of the disease depends upon the\nintroduction of an infected individual to a locality where this mosquito\nis found, at a season of the year when it is active. Owing to the short\nperiod of incubation (five days or less), the brief duration of the\ndisease and especially of the period during which the infectious agent\n(germ) is found in the blood, it is evident that ships sailing from\ninfected ports, upon which cases of yellow fever develop, are not likely\nto introduce the disease to distant seaports. The continuance of an\nepidemic on shipboard, as on the land, must depend upon the presence of\ninfected mosquitoes and of nonimmune individuals. Under these conditions\nwe can readily understand why the disease should not be carried from the\nWest Indies or from South America to the Mediterranean, to the east\ncoast of Africa, or to Asiatic seaport cities. On the other hand, if the\ndisease could be transmitted by infected clothing, bedding, etc., there\nseems no good reason why it should not have been carried to these\ndistant localities long ago.\n\nThe restriction as regards altitude, however, probably depends upon the\nfact that the mosquito which serves as an intermediate host is a coast\nspecies, which does not live in elevated regions. It is a\nwell-established fact that yellow fever has never prevailed in the City\nof Mexico, although the city has constant and unrestricted intercourse\nwith the infected seaport, Vera Cruz. Persons who have been exposed in\nVera Cruz during the epidemic season frequently fall sick after their\narrival in the City of Mexico, but they do not communicate the disease\nto those in attendance upon them or to others in the vicinity. Evidently\nsome factor essential for the propagation of the disease is absent,\nalthough we have the sick man, his clothing and bedding, and the\ninsanitary local conditions which have been supposed to constitute an\nessential factor. I am not aware that any observations have been made\nwith reference to the presence or absence of _Culex fasciatus_ in high\naltitudes, but the inference that it is not to be found in such\nlocalities as the City of Mexico seems justified by the established\nfacts already referred to.\n\nAs pointed out by Hirsch, \"the disease stops short at many points in the\nWest Indies where the climate is still in the highest degree tropical.\"\nIn the Antilles it has rarely appeared at a height of more than seven\nhundred feet. In the United States the most elevated locality in which\nthe disease has prevailed as an epidemic is Chattanooga, Tennessee,\nwhich is seven hundred and forty-five feet above sea level.\n\nIt will be remembered that the malarial fevers are contracted as a\nresult of inoculation by mosquitoes of the genus _Anopheles_, and that\nthe malarial parasite has been demonstrated not only in the blood of\nthose suffering from malarial infection, but also in the stomach and\nsalivary glands of the mosquito. If the yellow fever parasite resembled\nthat of the malarial fevers, it would no doubt have been discovered long\nago. But, as a matter of fact, this parasite, which we now know is\npresent in the blood of those sick with the disease, has thus far eluded\nall researches. Possibly it is ultramicroscopic. However this may be, it\nis not the only infectious disease germ which remains to be discovered.\nThere is no doubt a living germ in vaccine lymph and in the virus from\nsmallpox pustules, but it has not been demonstrated by the microscope.\nThe same is true of foot and mouth disease and of infectious\npleuropneumonia of cattle, although we know that a living element of\nsome kind is present in the infectious material by which these diseases\nare propagated. In Texas fever, of cattle, which is transmitted by\ninfected ticks, the parasite is very minute, but by proper staining\nmethods and a good microscope it may be detected in the interior of the\nred blood corpuscles. Drs. Reed and Carroll are at present engaged in a\nsearch for the yellow fever germ in the blood and in the bodies of\ninfected mosquitoes. What success may attend their efforts remains to be\nseen, but at all events the fundamental facts have been demonstrated\nthat this germ is present in the blood and that the disease is\ntransmitted by a certain species of mosquito--_Culex fasciatus_.\n\n[At the end of the article General Sternberg reproduces the general\norders issued to the army in Cuba with directions for the precautions to\nbe taken against the disease.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKMAN'S COMPENSATION ACT[75]\n\nThis is a good example of the high quality of argumentative writing\nwhich is being turned out by daily and weekly journals in great\nquantities throughout the year. This article, being from a weekly\njournal, is longer and more searching than the editorial in a daily\npaper, and to some extent partakes of the nature of an essay. It is\nnotable for the thoroughness of the analysis of the question, for the\ncareful review of the history of the case, and for the precise statement\nof the points at issue. There is little space for the presentation of\nevidence, though the specific statement of facts and the quotations from\nauthorities, so far as they go, serve as evidence.\n\nWe purpose in this article to give to our readers an interpretation of\nthe recent decision of the New York Court of Appeals declaring that the\nWorkman's Compensation Act is unconstitutional. We regard this decision\nas of very great importance, because, if the Court has correctly\ninterpreted the Constitution of the United States, that document\nprevents America from adopting an industrial reform which has been\nadopted as just and necessary by practically the entire civilized world.\nWe do not believe that the interpretation of the Court is correct. It\nis, in our opinion, in conflict alike with the progress of civilization,\nthe spirit of democracy, the principles of social justice, and the\nanalogies and tendencies of law. And we believe that this unconscious\nattempt to fasten upon the workingman an unjust and intolerable burden\nfrom which all other civilized nations, with one exception, have\nrelieved him, will ultimately prove as futile as was the conscious and\ndeliberate attempt of the United States Supreme Court, under the lead of\nChief Justice Taney, to halt the movement for the emancipation of the\nslaves.\n\nIn the earlier stages of industrial development, when industry was\nunorganized, machinery hardly existed, and labor was an individual\nhandicraft, the courts naturally assumed that accidents occurring to a\nworkman were probably due to his own negligence.\n\nIf he were mowing in a field and cut himself with his scythe, if he\nwere digging a ditch and sprained his ankle, if he were cutting down a\ntree and it fell upon him and broke his leg, he could recover from his\nemployer only on proof that his employer was at fault. Nor could he\nrecover if the accident were due to the carelessness of a fellow\nworkman. There was always a natural presumption that he could better\nguard against such carelessness than could the probably absent employer.\nIf he were turning a grindstone and his awkward fellow workman so held\nthe scythe as to cut him, if he were in the forest and his fellow\nworkman gave no notice of the falling tree, it was natural to presume\nthat the carelessness was shared between the two, and the law would\nneither attribute blame to the employer nor levy the damage upon him\nwhen he was not blameworthy.\n\nBut the organization of labor and the creation of elaborate machinery\nhas destroyed this presumption of the common sense, and therefore in all\ncivilized countries has destroyed this presumption of law. When a\nrailway train runs off the track because of a misplaced switch or a\ndefective rail, there is no presumption that the engineer was careless\nor could have guarded against the carelessness of the switch tender or\nof the manufacturer of the rail. When a fire breaks out in a room where\nscores of shirt-waist makers are confined at their work and a hundred\nand forty of them are burned to death, there is no presumption that the\nimpossibility of their escape through narrow passageways and a locked\ndoor was due to their carelessness, or that they were to blame because\nthe tables at which they were working were wood, not metal, or that they\ncould have prevented the careless fellow workman from throwing his\ncigarette down in the inflammable material which surrounded them. In\nfact, only a very limited number of modern accidents are due to the\ncarelessness of the injured party; probably a somewhat larger number are\ndue to the carelessness of some other employee; while a very\nconsiderable proportion are incidents of the trade and due to no\ndefinite culpability which it is possible to trace home either to the\nemployer or the employed.\n\nThe Christian nations of the world have, with singular unanimity,\nrecognized this change, and have changed their laws to meet the new\nconditions. The change which they have made was indicated to them by\ntheir maritime laws, which in this respect have been alike in all\ncivilized nations and from a very early period. An accident occurring to\na sailor on shipboard has always been regarded as an accident to the\nship; and the ship has always been required to bear the burden of his\ncare and keep and cure. This right to be cared for does not rest on any\nassumption that the master of the ship has been negligent, nor is the\nseaman deprived of his right to care and keep and cure by proof that the\naccident was due in part, or even altogether, to his negligence. He is\nnot debarred from recovery by proof of his carelessness; he is not given\nlarger damages upon proof of the negligence of the master. His right to\nbe cared for rests, says Mr. Justice Story, upon the fact that \"seamen\nare in some sort co-adventurers upon the voyage.\" Modern jurisprudence\nthroughout Christendom recognizes that under modern industrial\nconditions the workman in the railway, the mine, and the factory is a\nco-adventurer in the enterprise, and that the hazards incident to his\nemployment should be borne, not by the individual, but by the industry.\nThis principle is now recognized and incorporated in their legal,\nsystems by every country in Europe (including Russia but not Turkey)\nwith the single exception of Switzerland.[76]\n\nThe justice and importance of this reform have been recognized by such\nstatesmen as the President of the United States and his predecessor in\noffice, by such lawyers as Elihu Root, by workmen who desire some better\ninsurance against accident than is furnished them by a right to sue\ntheir employers, by employers who desire to be protected from vexatious\nlawsuits and the peril of verdicts for great sums, and by about half a\ndozen states, including Kansas, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and New York,\nall of which have passed Workmen's Compensation Acts. Such an act,\nshifting the responsibility for the risks which are incident to the\ntrade in organized industry from the individual to the organization, the\nNew York Court of Appeals declares no state in the Union has authority\nto enact, because the Constitution of the United States forbids its\nenactment. The Court recognizes the need for a change in the Law. \"We\ndesire,\" says the Court, \"to present no purely technical or\nhypercritical obstacles to any plan for the beneficent reformation of a\nbranch of our jurisprudence in which, it may be conceded, reform is a\nconsummation devoutly to be wished.\" It presents forcibly,\nappreciatively, and apparently with entire approbation, the arguments\nwhich have brought about this reform in other lands: \"There can be no\ndoubt as to the theory of this law. It is based upon the proposition\nthat the inherent risks of an employment should, in justice, be placed\nupon the shoulders of the employer, who can protect himself against loss\nby insurance, and by such an addition to the price of his wares as to\ncast the burden ultimately upon the consumer; that indemnity to an\ninjured employee should be as much a charge upon the business as the\ncost of replacing or repairing disabled or defective machinery,\nappliances, or tools; that under our present system the loss falls\nimmediately upon the employee, who is almost invariably unable to bear\nit, and ultimately upon the community, which is taxed for the support of\nthe indigent; and that our present system is uncertain, unscientific,\nand wasteful, and fosters a spirit of antagonism between employer and\nemployee which it is for the interest of the state to remedy.\"\n\nTo these considerations the Court suggests no reply, and upon them it\noffers no criticism. On the contrary, it in terms concedes \"the strength\nof this appeal to recognized and widely prevalent sentiment.\" It\ndeclares that \"no word of praise could overstate the industry and\nIntelligence of the Commission\" which prepared the New York law, and it\napparently agrees with the conclusion of the Commission, based on \"a\nmost voluminous array of statistical tables, extracts from the works of\nphilosophical writers, and the industrial laws of many countries\"--the\nconclusion that \"our own system of dealing with industrial accidents is\neconomically, morally, and legally unsound.\" But all these\nconsiderations of public policy, social justice, and world-wide\nconviction are set aside \"as subordinate to the primary question whether\nthey can be molded into statutes without infringing upon the letter or\nspirit of our own written Constitution.\" The countries which have\nadopted this desirable reform, it is said, \"are so-called constitutional\nmonarchies in which, as in England, there is no written constitution,\nand the Parliament or lawmaking body is supreme. In our country the\nFederal and State Constitutions are the charters which demark the extent\nand the limitation of legislative power.\"\n\nIn brief: The change in the law is just: it is demanded by the change\nwhich has taken place in our industrial system; it is all but\nuniversally desired; the experience and the conscience of the civilized\nworld call for it; but America is powerless to make it under her present\nConstitution. Other countries can make it because they are monarchies:\nAmerica cannot make it because she is free.\n\nThe clause in the Constitution which, in the opinion of the Court of\nAppeals, prohibits the legislature from making this wise and just reform\nin our law is the clause which provides that \"no person shall be ...\ndeprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law\"--a\nprohibition which occurs twice in our Federal Constitution (Amendments V\nand XIV), and is to be found in many, very probably in most, State\nConstitutions. We believe that the Court of Appeals, in its contention\nthat this clause in our Constitution prohibits this just and necessary\nreform in our industrial laws, is sustained neither by the spirit nor by\nthe letter of this clause in the Constitution, neither by the history of\nits origin and significance nor by the course of judicial interpretation\nwhich has been given to it by the United Slates Supreme Court.\n\nLet the reader stop a moment here and reflect upon the principle\ninvolved in the law enacted in other civilized countries and proposed in\nours. It is not that an employer should be mulcted in damages when he\nhas been guilty of no fault. It is not that he should be compelled to\npay for his carelessness without an opportunity to prove to the court\nthat he has not been careless. It is that accidents occurring in the\ncourse of organized industry should be held to have occurred, not to the\nindividual, but to the industry.\n\n\"In everything within the sphere of human activity,\" says the Court of\nAppeals, \"the risks which are inherent and unavoidable must fall upon\nthose who are exposed to them.\" The jurists of all the civilized\ncountries of Europe agree that in modern organized industries it is the\nindustry, not the individual, that is exposed to the accidents. The law\napplies to the factory hand for the future the principle heretofore\napplied to the seaman in maritime law. The factory hand is henceforth to\nbe regarded as a \"co-adventurer\" with the employer in the industry.\n\nNor is \"due process of law\" denied by the Workman's Compensation Act. No\ndamages can be recovered from the employer against his consent without a\nsuit at law. The statute in terms provides that \"any question which\nshall arise under this act shall be determined either by agreement or by\narbitration as provided in the Code of Civil Procedure, or by an action\nat law as herein provided.\" And what is provided is that, if the\nemployer fail to make compensation as provided by the Act, the injured\nparty or his guardian or executor may sue for the amount. The law does\nnot deny the employer his day in court. But it redefines the question\nfor the court to decide. It has not to decide whether the employer is\nguilty of fault. His liability does not depend on his fault. The court\nhas simply to decide whether the accident occurred in the due course of\nthe business, and, if the employer chooses to raise the question,\nwhether it was \"caused in whole or in part by the serious and willful\nmisconduct of the workman.\" If not, the workman is entitled to recover,\nand the amount which he is entitled to recover is fixed by the statute.\nThe question, then, is this:\n\nDoes a law which, for accidents in certain carefully defined and\nespecially dangerous employments, transfers the liability from the\nindividual to the organization, and which carefully preserves the right\nof the employer to submit any questions which arise under the law to the\ncourts for adjudication, deprive the employer of his property without\ndue process of law? The Court of Appeals of New York State affirms that\nit does. _The Outlook_ affirms that it does not.\n\nTo state this question appears to us to answer it. Certainly there is\nnothing in the Workman's Compensation Act which violates the _letter_ of\nthe Constitution. It does not in terms take the property of the employer\nwithout due process of law. How any one can find in the act a violation\nof the _spirit_ of the Constitution we find it difficult to conceive.\nAnd that difficulty is enhanced, not relieved, by a careful study of the\nopinions of the Court. For in those opinions it is assumed that on its\nface the law is unconstitutional, and the Court devotes all its\nintellectual energies to an attempt to show that the authorities cited\nin opposition are exceptional. That the law and the Constitution are not\ninconsistent is, however, established both by a consideration of the\nobject and intent of the Constitutional provision and by judicial\ndecisions interpreting it. To these two considerations we now direct the\nattention of the reader.\n\nThe provision in the federal Constitution that \"no person shall be ...\ndeprived of life, liberty, or property, except by due process of law\"\n(Fifth Amendment), and the provision, \"nor shall any state deprive any\nperson of life, liberty, or property without due process of law\"\n(Fourteenth Amendment), are derived from the Great Charter wrested from\nKing John by the Barons in 1215. \"No freeman shall be taken or\nimprisoned, or disseized, or outlawed, or banished, or any ways\ndestroyed, nor will we pass upon him, nor will we send upon him, unless\nby the lawful judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land.\" This is\nperhaps the most important of those general clauses in the Great Charter\nwhich, says Hallam in his \"History of the Middle Ages,\" \"protect the\npersonal liberty and property of all freemen by giving security from\narbitrary imprisonment and arbitrary spoliation.\" Hume gives some\nintimation of the abuses that led to this provision: merchants had been\nsubjected to arbitrary tolls and impositions; the property of the dying\nhad been seized and their lawful heirs dispossessed; officers of the\nCrown had levied on horses and carts in time of peace for their own or\nthe public service. Green, in his \"History of the English People,\" gives\nthe picture of John's despotism and of the growing spirit of liberty in\nthe English common people with greater detail The King's exactions drove\nthe Barons into alliance with the people. \"Illegal exactions, the\nseizure of their castles, the preference shown to foreigners, were small\nprovocations compared with his attacks on the honor of their wives and\ndaughters.\" The demand of the common people to substitute due process of\nlaw for wager by battle, and to be secure in their lives, their\nliberties, and their property from acts of lawless and irresponsible\npower, the Barons made their own, and by the same act claimed for others\nwhat they claimed for themselves. \"The under tenants were protected\nagainst all exactions of their lords in precisely the same terms as they\nwere protected against the lawless exactions of the Crown.\"\n\nFrom such a provision for the protection of the fundamental rights of\nperson and property it is a far cry to the conclusion that the people\ncannot remedy the injustice which inflicts all the consequences of\naccidents which occur in extrahazardous trades upon the individual who,\nin practicing that trade, happens to be subjected to the peril. Common\nsense, as well as frequent decisions of the courts, sustain Daniel\nWebster's definition of the scope of the Constitutional provision\nembodying in our law this provision of the Great Charter: \"The meaning\nis that every citizen shall hold his life, liberty, and property and\nimmunities under the protection of general rules which govern society.\"\nThat society can never make new rules for the better protection of life,\nliberty, and property and immunities, is a doctrine as repugnant to\nreason as it is to social progress. It is equally repugnant to the\nprinciple of interpretation laid down by the Supreme Court of the United\nStates: \"The law is perfectly well settled that the first ten amendments\nto the Constitution, commonly known as the Bill of Rights, were not\nintended to lay down any novel principles of government, but simply to\nembody certain guarantees and immunities which we had inherited from our\nEnglish ancestors.\"[77] And it seems never even to have occurred to\nEnglish law makers that the Workman's Compensation Act is inconsistent\nwith this provision of their Great Charter--a charter which is as much a\npart of the British constitution as the Fifth and Tenth Amendments are\nof ours. In the English Constitution, as in the American, the principle\nis carefully defined in writing. The only difference is that in England\nthe Parliament is the final judge of its meaning; in the United States\nthat final judge is the Supreme Court of the United States.\n\nAt least it ought to be. But the New York Court of Appeals does not\nallow that it is the final authority. In this particular case it is not,\nfor no appeal lies by the plaintiff in this case from the state to the\nnational court. But an appeal does lie by the public. _The Outlook_ takes\nsuch an appeal. And it declares without hesitation that the decision of\nthe New York Court of Appeals is in conflict, not only with the trend of\njudicial decisions in that Court, but also with its very explicit\nstatement of the fundamental principles to be applied in interpreting\nthe Constitution.\n\nWe have already noted the fact that maritime law regards a seaman as a\nco-adventurer with the shipowner, and therefore makes the ship liable\nfor his care, keep, and cure in case any accident occurs to him, even\nthough it be produced by his own fault. We now add that the Supreme\nCourt of the United States has decided that such a law does not take the\nshipowner's property without due process of law. That, says the Court of\nAppeals, is different, for \"the contract and services of seamen are\nexceptional in character ... When he is sick or injured he is entitled\nto be cared for at the expense of the ship, and for the failure of the\nmaster to perform his duty in this regard the ship or the owner is\nliable.\" No doubt there is a difference between a seaman on a ship and a\nfactory hand in a factory. Very probably that difference ought to weigh\nwith the representatives of the people in determining what difference\nthere should be in their respective treatment. But if making a ship\nliable for accidents happening to a seaman does not take the shipowner's\nproperty without due process of law, then rendering a factory liable for\naccidents happening to a factory hand does not lake the factory owner's\nproperty without due process of law. The Constitution of the United\nStates is precisely the same on sea as on land; but to the Constitution\nof the United Slates the Court of Appeals gives one meaning on shipboard\nand another meaning in the town.\n\nThe right of the legislature to impose new responsibilities upon\nproperty is not confined by the United States Supreme Court to the sea.\nIt is equally sustained upon the land. The State of Oklahoma provided\nfor an assessment on all banks in the State in order to create a fund\nfor the purpose of guaranteeing the depositors in all banks in the\nState. The Noble State Bank brought suit against the State to prevent it\nfrom collecting this assessment, on the ground that it was taking\nproperty without due process of law. The Supreme Court, without a\ndissenting opinion, held that the act was constitutional, on two\ngrounds: first, because \"it is established by a series of cases that an\nulterior public advantage may justify a comparatively insignificant\ntaking of private property for what in its immediate purpose is a\nprivate use\"; and, second, because \"it may be said in a general way\nthat the police power extends to all the great public needs. It may be\nput forth in aid of what is sanctioned by usage or held by the\nprevailing morality or strong and preponderant opinion to be greatly and\nimmediately necessary to the public welfare.\" A similar case coming\nbefore the Court from the State of Kansas was decided with the same\nunanimity by the Court at the same time.[78]\n\nThis definition of Constitutional law by the unanimous opinion of the\nSupreme Court of the United Slates, if accepted, clearly determines the\nconstitutionality of the Workman's Compensation Act. That this Act \"is\nsanctioned by usage and held by the prevailing morality and strong and\npreponderant opinion to be greatly and immediately necessary to the\npublic welfare\" is proved by the fact that it is demanded alike by\nemployer and employee, that it has been approved by the general public,\nthat it is apparently regarded by the Court of Appeals itself as a\nreform much to be desired, and that it has been adopted by every\ncivilized country in Europe except Switzerland. The New York Court of\nAppeals can find only one escape from this declaration of principle by\nthe highest tribunal in the land, in these two cases, namely, a\nrepudiation of the authority of that tribunal in these cases: \"We cannot\nrecognize them as controlling our construction of our Constitution.\"\n\nIn this review of the decision of the New York Court of Appeals we have\npassed by without comment some extraordinary statements which should not\nbe passed by in any complete review--the statement that \"practically all\nof these [European] countries are so-called constitutional monarchies in\nwhich, as in England, there is no written constitution,\" whereas, in\nfact, practically all of the European nations have written\nconstitutions; and the statement that the Workman's Compensation Act\n\"does nothing to conserve the health, safety, or morals of the\nemployee,\" whereas, in fact, it is aimed and purposed to accomplish all\nthree results, and was urged in the English House of Lords by Lord\nSalisbury specifically on the ground that \"to my mind the great\nattraction of this bill is that I believe it will turn out a great\nmachinery for the saving of human life.\"\n\nBut we have deliberately neglected all minor details in an endeavor to\nput before our lay readers a true interpretation, and what we hope they\nwill generally believe to be a just criticism, of this decision of the\nhighest court of the Empire State. In that decision, in our opinion, the\nCourt has disregarded all considerations of social justice and public\npolicy, has set itself against the conscience and judgment of the\ncivilized world, and in its forced interpretation of the Constitution\nhas disregarded alike the history of the Constitution's origin and of\nits judicial interpretation by the highest court in the land.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX II\n\nSOME SUGGESTIONS TO INSTRUCTORS\n\n\nWhat is the purpose of a course in the writing of arguments? The\narguments which it turns out cannot convince any one, since there is no\none for them to convince; so that the immediate and tangible product of\nthe course must be looked on as a by-product, and a by-product from\nwhich there can be no salvage.\n\nWhat products, then, can teachers aim to produce? First, a vital respect\nfor facts and for sound reasoning therefrom; second, the power so to\nanalyze and marshal the facts in an obscure and complicated case as to\nbring order and light out of confusion; and third, the appreciation of\nother men's point of view and training in the tact which will influence\nthem. Incidentally a good course in argumentation should leave with its\nstudents an acquaintance with certain effective and economical devices\nfor going to work that should serve them well in later life.\n\nI will take up each of these points in order, and speak of a few methods\nwhich I have found useful in practice.\n\nIn the first place, how can a teacher establish and strengthen the\nveneration for fact and the suspicion of all unsupported assertion and\n_a priori_ reasoning? Partly by judicious exercises, partly by quiet\nguidance in the choice of subjects. Let a class cross-examine each other\non their exact knowledge of the ultimate facts on some familiar subject.\nOn the question of the value of Latin, for example, just how many of the\nclass know no Latin? In a piece of their own writing, how many of the\nwords are derived from the Latin? and what kind of words are they? Of\nthe leaders in scholarship in the class how many know Latin? Of the best\nwriters? Of the authors whose works they are studying in English\nliterature, how many were trained in Latin? Of the authors of the\ntextbooks in science how many? A few such questions as these will\nsuggest others; and the members of the class should keep a record of how\nmany such questions they can answer with precision. Very few people have\nany exact command of facts on subjects about which they talk freely and\nwith authority; and a young man who has had this truth borne in on him\nby personal examination will come to writing an argument with more\nmodesty and scrupulousness.\n\nThen a class can be guided away from the large subjects where of\nnecessity their knowledge of facts is second-hand, and in which their\narguments, being of necessity short, can touch only the surface of the\nsubject. Here, I think, is where much of the ineffectiveness of courses\nin argument is to be found. \"Judges should be elected by direct vote of\nthe people,\" \"The right of suffrage should be limited by an educational\ntest,\" \"Corporations engaged in interstate commerce should be required\nto take out a federal license,\" are samples of propositions recommended\nas subjects for arguments of two thousand words or less. No\nundergraduate has the practical knowledge of affairs to judge the value\nof facts adduced in support of such propositions, and except for the\nmembers of debating teams, who spend time on their contests comparable\nto that given by athletes to their sports, no undergraduate can make\nhimself acquainted with the vast fields of economics and governmental\ntheory covered by such subjects. To write an argument of twelve hundred\nwords on such a subject will weaken rather than strengthen the respect\nfor facts.\n\nWhat sort of subjects, then, can be used? This is, I confess, a question\nnot altogether easy to answer; but I have had a try at an answer in the\nlist of Subjects which is given in Chapter I, which can be adapted to\nspecial conditions of time or place. In general a question which a\nstudent would discuss of his own accord and with some warmth is the best\nsubject for him. There are many such subjects in athletics: at this date\nthe rules of football seem not yet settled beyond amendment, and the\nmaterial for hunting facts in the records of past games is large; Dean\nBriggs of Harvard is making an appeal to players to raise the level of\nmanners and of ethics in baseball; do all your students agree with him?\nShould the universities be allowed to use men in their graduate schools\nas members of their teams? And what are the facts about the playing of\nsuch men in the universities in which your students would be interested?\n\nThen there are various educational questions, on which the views of\nstudents have real value, especially if they are based on some\nexamination of facts in the course of writing an argument. President\nLowell of Harvard told a body of students whom he was consulting that it\ndid not make much difference what they wanted, but that their views when\nset forth for the purpose of helping the authorities of the college were\nof great value. The views of your class on examinations for entrance\nwould be based on knowledge which a member of the faculty cannot have at\nfirst-hand. What is the estimate of the relative difficulty of getting\ninto various colleges, and on what figures from schools is the estimate\nbased? For how many boys are languages easier or harder than history or\nmathematics or science? Does admission by certificate provide sufficient\nsafeguard for the standards of the college? Does a rigid prescription of\nsubjects for examination distort the course for the high school? How\nmany boys, who can be named, had their education injured by such\nprescription? Should the standard for entrance or for graduation be\nraised, or lowered, at your college? Should honor students be excused\nfrom final examinations? Should they have special privileges? Should\nfreshmen be required to be within college bounds at a fixed hour every\nnight? Should class rushes be abolished? Here are only a few suggestions\nof subjects which can be adapted to the needs and the knowledge of\nspecial classes. They are of no value, however, unless the students are\ndriven to gather facts, and to reason from these facts, not from general\nimpressions. School catalogues, college catalogues, informal censuses,\nreports of presidents and of committees, and other printed or oral\nsources will help in the gathering of facts.\n\nThen there are the innumerable local and state questions that touch the\nfathers of at least half of any class, and that the sons may be in the\nway of hearing discussed at home, or may be sent to hear discussed in\nlegislatures and city councils. Every instructor who takes a daily\nnewspaper will be provided with more of these subjects than his class\ncan use. For their facts the students can go to the newspapers, to\nprinted reports, to the persons who are concerned with the questions\nwhich they are going to argue. In some cases the students will get\nvaluable interest and advice from the older men who have the active\ncharge of the questions under discussion; and it is not inconceivable,\nthat if some of the latter happen to be graduates of the college or\nschool, they will even read the arguments and make helpful criticisms on\nthem. The grateful interest of graduates is a source which has not been\noverdrawn for aid in the processes of instruction.\n\nMany of the subjects which I have here offered as suggestions can be\ndiscussed in part, at any rate, within the space of an editorial\narticle; and that I conceive to be about the length which most arguments\nwritten by students, except those in special courses, will run to. In so\nshort a space, it is hardly necessary to point out, evidence cannot be\npresented and discussed with the detail, say, of Webster's \"Speech in\nthe White Murder Case.\" It would be a good separate exercise to call for\nsuch detailed presentation of evidence on some single point in the\nargument. With most classes, however, the instructor cannot do much more\nthan rule out wholly unsupported assertion, and insist that the\ndistinction between fact and inference from fact shall be kept in sight.\n\nThe second of the results which an instructor in a course in\nargumentation should aim for is the power to analyze complicated masses\nof facts and so arrange them and present them as to bring order out of\nconfusion. President Taft has said that Justice Hughes \"won his\nreputation at the bar by his gift of boring to the innermost core of a\nsubject\"; and that is what the drill on the introduction to the brief\nshould to some degree impart to students. The orderly analysis of the\nquestion, step by step, according to the admirable scheme devised by\nProfessor Baker, cannot help implanting some understanding of what it\nmeans to go to the heart of a question. Every man sooner or later, must\nface complicated and puzzling questions; and the ordinary man will give\nhimself a long start if he will thus put down on paper the points that\ncan be urged on the two sides of a question, and then study them until\nthe real points at issue emerge. Then the drill in laying out the\nlogical skeleton of an argument, so plainly that no false or broken\nconnection can escape detection, will strengthen the conscience for\nclearness and coherence of thought; and the necessity for getting back\nto ultimate facts for every assertion, and putting down the source from\nwhich the facts are derived, will help to implant a wholesome respect\nfor facts as something different from assertion.\n\nSince the argument written out is the final test of the thinking, some\ncare must be taken that students do not obscure by careless paragraphing\nand slovenly sentences such clearness of thought as they have attained\nin their brief. I have found it useful to prescribe marginal titles to\nthe paragraphs: a student who has struggled to find a single phrase that\nwill cover all of a sprawling paragraph will have learned some respect\nfor firmness of paragraphing. In general, an instructor has a right to\ninsist that his class shall apply in practice all that they have learned\nabout the ordinary devices for getting clearness and emphasis.\n\nIn the third place, this practice in writing arguments ought to leave\nwith students a more developed idea of how to make readers look\nfavorably on a proposition which they are urging. I have insisted, at\nthe risk of seeming repetitious, on the need of considering the audience\nwhose minds are to be won over; for what persuasiveness can mean apart\nfrom specific persons to persuade I cannot conceive. Much of the\nperfunctory emptiness of the textbooks when they get to this part of the\nsubject comes from neglecting this very practical and obvious side of\nmaking an argument. The difficulty it raises for arguments written in\nclass work is just as obvious; more than most kinds of composition\nwritten for practice, arguments run the risk of having no touch with\nreality. Something may be done, however, if an instructor guides his\nclass toward the kind of questions I have suggested above: an argument\non the rules of football would be addressed to the Rules Committee, and\nmost youths would know something of the prepossessions of so famous a\nman as Mr. Camp; an argument on a college question would be addressed\nto the faculty or the president, and it may be assumed that students\nhave some idea of their general attitude on such matters. I have\nfollowed the practice in my own sections of freshmen of requiring them\nto put at the head of their brief and of their argument the audience\nwhich they had in mind. Then when one comes to criticism and conference\none can by a little cross-examination bring home to them the very\npractical nature of this matter of persuasion.\n\nOne must be careful not to insist too strictly on the model and the\nscheme of work laid down here, and in practically the same form in other\nbooks. It is the best that has yet been devised, but any student who is\nset to making a brief of one of the examples of argument at the end of\nthis book will see for himself that there is no one infallible way of\nmaking an argument. Each argument must adapt itself to its occasion and\nits audience; and an instructor will be wise to keep himself awake to\nthis truth by noting divergencies from the model. The rules which are\nhere set forth and the model which is built on them are serviceable just\nso long as they are serviceable, and no longer. Their chief service is\ndone when they have set up in the minds of students a standard of\neffectiveness in singling out and emphasizing the critical issues of a\nquestion.\n\nAs to the exercises which should accompany the work in argument my\nexperience with classes of five to six hundred freshmen leads me to\nthink that their value to the student can hardly be overestimated. I\nwill speak here of a few of them.\n\nThe exercises in the use of reference books is something that every\nstudent ought to be put through. I found it simple and not too\nextravagant of time to take my sections to the library in squads of ten\nor a dozen, and show them and let them handle the principal books on the\nlist. Then on the spot I gave each of them a sheet of theme paper on\nwhich I had written some sort of fact drawn from one of these books, and\ntold them to look up that fact and report on it. My object was to\nconvince them that most ordinary facts can be looked up in less than\nfive minutes. The material for this exercise I got by turning over the\nreference books and jotting down almost anything that caught my eye. One\ncan in this way get a great variety of facts in a very short time. In\nsome libraries it might be possible to get members of the library staff\nto share in this instruction; in all libraries one will find active\ncooperation.\n\nFor the preliminary work on the argument we found that it was often\npracticable and advisable to let the students pair off on the two sides\nof the question, and work together through all the preliminaries. Two\nmen thus working together often discuss themselves into the liveliest\nkind of interest in their question; and almost always they come closer\nto the important issues involved by sharpening their wits against each\nother. Their arguments, too, are better, especially in the refutation,\nfrom their knowing just what points can be made on the other side.\n\nIt is excellent practice, not only for the brief and the argument, but\nalso for all other college work, to set the students to making briefs of\nparts or wholes of the arguments printed here as examples, or of other\narguments found outside. Not only lawyers, but other men of affairs,\nconstantly have to digest and summarize papers; and skill in picking out\nessential facts and the thread of thought from a document is a highly\nvaluable asset for practical life. The exercise is sometimes irksome to\nstudents, for it is hard work at first and calls for concentration of\nmind: but it can be sweetened and made livelier by the competition of\nclassroom discussion.\n\nAll through the work on the argument students may well be set to\nwatching the daily papers and the magazines for examples of arguments,\nand of good and bad reasoning. Very often an instructor can get, at the\ncost of a cent or two apiece, a set of arguments printed in a newspaper\nfor his class to analyze. Senators and representatives in Congress are\nnotably willing to send copies of speeches, and these sometimes furnish\ngood examples of both sound and unsound reasoning.\n\nIf time serves, instructors will do well to give a grounding in logic. I\nhave inserted a brief discussion of the subject with the hope that it\nwill furnish a basis for a short study; it can be reenforced by a few\nweeks on such a manual as Jevons's \"Primer of Logic,\" or Bode's \"Outline\nof Logic\" if there is time. Whatever be one's view of the positive value\nof deductive logic, there can be no doubt that every student should have\nsome knowledge of the canons of inductive logic, and that a study of\npropositions and syllogisms is a mighty sharpener of the discrimination\nfor the real meaning of words and sentences.\n\nThe short chapter on debating I have added for the use of classes where\na moderate amount of training in this most useful of exercises is\npracticable. Debating may be looked at in two ways, either as training\nin alertness and effectiveness in discussion, or as a form of\nintercollegiate or interscholastic sport. On the latter aspect a\nrecognized authority has said: \"Formal debate is a kind of game. In the\ntime limit, the order of speakers, the alternation of sides, the give\nand take of rebuttal, the fixed rules of conduct, the ethics of the\ncontest, the qualifications for success, and the final awarding of\nvictory, debate has much in common with tennis\";[79] and he develops the\nlikeness through a page of rather fine print. From this point of view\ndebating has keenly interested a small body of students; in some\ncolleges it has been recognized by hatbands or other emblems of\ndistinction for the successful \"teams\"; and it has developed an\nelaborate apparatus of rules and of \"coaches.\" With the game in this\nfull bloom I have not space to deal in this small book; for such\nelaborate work of analysis and preparation one must go to special\nmanuals which deal with it at length. I have confined myself to an\napplication of the general principles of the subject to the spoken\nargument, and to a few suggestions for preparing for and carrying on the\nnot very formal discussions which the average man gets into in the\nordinary run of life.\n\nEven where there is not time for systematic practice in debating, much\nmay be done by extemporaneous five-minute speeches. There is\nunquestionably an active movement among the best teachers of English for\nmore stress on oral composition; they recognize that the power to stand\nquietly and at one's ease on one's feet and explain one's views clearly\nand cogently will help any man in his life work.\n\nIn some cases there may be local or academic subjects under discussion\nat the time the class is working on argument on which they can prepare\nthemselves to speak. It may be possible to interest graduates of the\nschool and college, so that they will give help in getting material, and\nperhaps in judging and criticizing. Occasionally, perhaps, a man who has\nthe actual settlement of a local question or a share in the settlement\nmay be willing to hear the discussion. Any aid of this sort that will\nbring the debate within the bounds of reality will add zest to it.\n\nFor the use of this book when a comparatively short time, perhaps six\nweeks, is at the disposal of the instructor, my advice, based on the\npractice worked out with my colleagues in the freshman course at\nHarvard, would be to begin with Chapter I, and at the same time ask the\nclass to hand in subjects for approval. This should be done a fortnight\nahead of the main work, in order to allow changes of subject, after\nconsultation if necessary. In connection with Chapter II would come\nexercises in making briefs of one or more of the arguments in the back\nof the book or of others provided for the purpose. Then would come the\npreliminary work on the brief, the introduction to the brief. This it is\nprofitable to treat as a separate piece of work, with a grade of its\nown. At this stage would be the place for the exercises in the use of\nreference books, which will lead naturally to looking up the material\nfor the brief. If possible a conference should be given on the\nintroduction to the brief. Then comes the next main step in the work,\nthe brief. The work for this would naturally be accompanied by study of\nChapter III, and by such exercises in the correction of bad briefing and\nin correction of fallacies as the instructor finds time for. There\nshould be another conference on the brief, and it should be rewritten if\nnecessary. Instructors who have been through the subject will know from\nsad experience that one rewriting and one conference may be only\nstarters. Then comes the argument itself: this should be the climax, and\nnot merely a perfunctory filling out of the brief. If it be at all\npossible, the argument should be rewritten after a conference, and the\nconference can hardly be too long. If the argument is fifteen hundred or\ntwo thousand words long, a half an hour will be found a short time to go\nover the whole with any thoroughness. No instructor in English needs to\nhave it pointed out that conferences are his most efficient means of\neducation.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: See Lincoln's speech at Galesburg and at Quincy, in the\nLincoln-Douglas debates.]\n\n[Footnote 2: O. W. Holmes, Jr., The Common Law, Boston, 1881, p. 35.]\n\n[Footnote 3: For such changes of fashion in literature see Stevenson's\nGossip on Romance and A Humble Remonstrance in \"Memories and Portraits,\"\nand The Lantern Bearers in \"Across the Plains.\"]\n\n[Footnote 4: From the speech on the Repeal of the Union with Ireland;\nquoted by W. T. Foster, Argumentation and Debating, Boston, 1908, p,\n90.]\n\n[Footnote 5: A. Sidgwick, The Application of Logic, London, 1910, pp.\n40, 44.]\n\n[Footnote 6: From the speech of Senator Depew, January 24,\n1911.]\n\n[Footnote 7: C. R. Woodruff, City Government by Commission, New York,\n1911, p. 11.]\n\n[Footnote 8: A. Sidgwick, The Application of Logic, London, 1910, p.\n248.]\n\n[Footnote 9: W. Bagchot, The Metaphysical Basis of Toleration,\n\"Works,\" Hartford, Connecticut, 1889, Vol. II, p. 339.]\n\n[Footnote 10: From Huxley's first Lecture on Evolution (see p. 233).]\n\n[Footnote 11: C.R. Woodruff, City Government by Commission, New York,\n1911, p. 6]\n\n[Footnote 12: See Lincoln's speech at Ottawa.]\n\n[Footnote 13: _The Outlook_, November 20, 1909. See also the example\nquoted on page 180, from William James's Will to Believe.]\n\n[Footnote 14: A full and very readable account of the growth of the law\nof evidence and the changes in the system of trial by jury will be found\nin J. B. Thayer's Preliminary Treatise on the Law of Evidence, Boston,\n1896.]\n\n[Footnote 15: George Bemis, Report of the Case of John W. Webster,\nBoston, 1850, p. 462. Quoted in part by A.S. Hill, Principles of\nRhetoric, p. 340.]\n\n[Footnote 16: H. Muensterberg. On the Witness Stand, New York, 1908, p.\n51.]\n\n[Footnote 17: _The Nation_, New York, Vol. XCI, p. 603, In a review of J.\nBigelow, Jr.'s Campaign of Chancellorsville.]\n\n[Footnote 18: Mr. Gardiner was answering Father Gerard's book on the\nGunpowder Plot.]\n\n[Footnote 19: S. R. Gardiner, What Gunpowder Plot Was, London, 1897, pp.\n4-11.]\n\n[Footnote 20: Wines and Koren, The Liquor Problem. Published by the\nCommittee of Fifty, Boston, 1897.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Reprinted in Educational Reform, New York, 1898. See p.\n381.]\n\n[Footnote 22: A committee appointed by the National Educational\nAssociation to recommend a course of study for secondary schools.]\n\n[Footnote 23: H. Muensterberg, On the Witness Stand, New York, 1908, p.\n39.]\n\n[Footnote 24: W. James, Psychology, New York, 1890, Vol. II, p. 330; B.H.\nBode, An Outline of Logic, New York. 1910, p. 216.]\n\n[Footnote 25: B. H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New _York_, 1910, p. 170.]\n\n[Footnote 26: C. R. Woodruff, City Government by Commission, p. 184.]\n\n[Footnote 27: Professor John Trowbridge, in the _Harvard Graduates\nMagazine_, for March, 1911.]\n\n[Footnote 28: W. James, Human Immortality, Boston, 1898, p. 11.]\n\n[Footnote 29: B. H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 162.]\n\n[Footnote 30: The Origin of Species, London, 1875, p. 63.]\n\n[Footnote 31: \"There is only one aim in all generalization--the finding\nof signs that are fit to be trusted, so that, given one fact, another\nmay be inferred.\"--A. Sidgwick, The Process of Argument, London, 1893,\np. 108.\n\n\"The whole object of any class name is to group together (for the\npurpose of making general assertions) individual members which are not\nonly alike but different; and so to give unity in spite of\ndifference.\"--A. Sidgwick, The Use of Words in Reasoning, London, 1901,\np. 165.]\n\n[Footnote 32: W. James, Psychology, New York, 1890, Vol. II, p. 342.]\n\n[Footnote 33: See B. Bosanquet, The Essentials of Logic, London, 1895, p.\n162; A. Sidgwick, The Process of Argument, London, 1893, chap. vi; B.H.\nBode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 234.]\n\n[Footnote 34: A. Sidgwick, Fallacies, New York, 1884, p. 342.]\n\n[Footnote 35: A. Sidgwick, Fallacies, New York, 1884, P. 345.]\n\n[Footnote 36: A. Sidgwick, The Use of Words in Reasoning, London, 1901,\np. 91.]\n\n[Footnote 37: J.S. Mill, A System of Logic, Book III, chap. iii, sect. 2;\nquoted by E.H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 109.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Quoted by A. Sidgwick, The Use of Words in Reasoning,\nLondon, 1901, p. 28, note.]\n\n[Footnote 39: See also the next to last paragraph of the argument on The\nWorkman's Compensation Act, p. 268.]\n\n[Footnote 40: New York, March 9, 1911, p. 241.]\n\n[Footnote 41: B. H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 71.]\n\n[Footnote 42: W. James, Psychology, New York, 1890, Vol. II, p. 365.]\n\n[Footnote 43: Abraham Lincoln, Complete Works, edited by Nicolay and Hay,\nNew York, 1894, p. 445.]\n\n[Footnote 44: C. R. Woodruff, City Government by Commission, New York,\n1911, p. 186.]\n\n[Footnote 45: B. H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 86. For\nanother example see Luke XX, I 8.]\n\n[Footnote 46:  From the Essay on Warren Hastings, The Works of Lord\nMacaulay, London, 1879, Vol. VI, p. 567.]\n\n[Footnote 47: The Works of Daniel Webster, Boston, 1851, Vol. VI, p. 62.]\n\n[Footnote 48: B.H. Bode, An Outline of Logic, New York, 1910, p. 30.]\n\n[Footnote 49: Sidgwick, The Use of Words in Reasoning, London, 1901, p.\n192.]\n\n[Footnote 50: See, for example, his Apologia pro Vita Sua, London, 1864,\npp. 192, 329.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Newman, The Idea of a University, London, 1875, p. 20.]\n\n[Footnote 52: Felix Adler; quoted by Foster. Argumentation and\nDebating, Boston, 1908, p. 168.]\n\n[Footnote 53: From the Essay on Milton, The Works of Lord Macaulay,\nLondon, 1879, Vol. V, p. 28.]\n\n[Footnote 54: C.W. Eliot, Educational Reform, New York, 1898, p. 375.]\n\n[Footnote 55: W. James, The Will to Believe, New York, 1897, p. 3.]\n\n[Footnote 56: _The Atlantic Monthly_, Vol. CVII, p, 14.]\n\n[Footnote 57: It was invented and developed by Professor George P. Baker\nin the first edition of his Principles of Argumentation, Boston, 1895.]\n\n[Footnote 58: Lamont, Specimens of Exposition.]\n\n[Footnote 59: See the passage from James's Psychology, p. 150.]\n\n[Footnote 60: Reprinted in Baker's Specimens of Argumentation, New York,\n1897.]\n\n[Footnote 61: _World's Work_, Vol. XXI, p. 14242]\n\n[Footnote 62: From the stenographic report of the argument; reprinted in\nthe author's Forms of Prose Literature, New York, 1900, p. 316.]\n\n[Footnote 63: W. James, The Will to Believe, New York, 1897, p. 7.]\n\n[Footnote 64: See Baker and Huntington, Principles of Argumentation,\nBoston, 1305, p. 415.]\n\n[Footnote 65: Fuller discussion of the rules for the distribution of the\nspeakers and the time will be found in Baker and Huntington, Principles\nof Argumentation, p. 415; and an elaborate, almost legal, set of\ninstructions to judges, and the agreement of a tricollegiate league, in\nFoster, Argumentation and Debating, Boston, 1908, pp. 466, 468.]\n\n[Footnote 66: Suggestions of points for the judges to consider will be\nfound in Pattee, Practical Argumentation, p. 300; and format\ninstructions in Foster, Argumentation and Debating, Boston, 1908, p.\n466.]\n\n[Footnote 67: Lecture I of three Lectures on Evolution. From American\nAddresses, London, 1877.]\n\n[Footnote 68: The diagram, which is not reproduced here, gives an ideal\nsection of the crust of the earth, showing the various strata lying one\nunder the other. The strata are divided by geologists into three groups:\nthe Primary, which is the oldest and deepest; the Secondary, above that;\nand the Tertiary and Quaternary on top. The Cretaceous is the lowest\nstratum of the Tertiary.]\n\n[Footnote 69: One of the upper strata of the Primary rocks.]\n\n[Footnote 70: The Silurian rocks occur about the middle of the Primary\nformations. The _eozooen_ was formerly supposed by some geologists to be\na form of fossil. The Laurentian rocks are the lowest strata of the\nPrimary formations.]\n\n[Footnote 71: The Jurassic formation occurs about the middle, the\nTriassic, just below it, in the lower half of the Secondary rocks. The\nDevonian occurs just above the middle of the Secondary, between the\nCarboniferous above and the Silurian below.]\n\n[Footnote 72: From _The Popular Science Monthly_, July, 1901.]\n\n[Footnote 73: Knowledge of the cause.]\n\n[Footnote 74: Prevention.]\n\n[Footnote 75: _The Outlook_, April 29, 1911.]\n\n[Footnote 76: Probably the reason why it has not yet been adopted by\nSwitzerland is because her organized manufacturing Industries are so few\nthat no pressure has been brought upon the state to change the law.]\n\n[Footnote 77: Robertson _vs_. Baldwin, United States, 281.]\n\n[Footnote 78: Noble State Bank _vs_. Haskell; Shallenberger _vs_. Bank of\nHolstein, January 3, 1911. Lawyers' Cooperative Publishing Company,\nRochester, New York.]\n\n[Footnote 79: Foster, Argumentation and Debating, p. 281.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Making of Arguments, by J. H. Gardiner\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "'Way Down East by Joseph R. Grismer",
        "publication_date": 1900,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/16959",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: Miss Lillian Gish as Anna Moore.  D. W. Griffith's\nProduction.  'Way Down East.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'WAY DOWN EAST\n\nA ROMANCE OF NEW ENGLAND LIFE\n\n\n\nBY\n\nJOSEPH R. GRISMER\n\n\n\n\nFounded on the Very Successful Play of the\n\nSame Title by\n\nLOTTIE BLAIR PARKER\n\n\n\n\n\n  ILLUSTRATED WITH SCENES FROM\n  D. W. GRIFFITH'S MAGNIFICENT\n  MOTION PICTURE PRODUCTION OF THE\n  ORIGINAL STORY AND STAGE PLAY\n\n\n\n\nGROSSET & DUNLAP\n\nPUBLISHERS -------------- NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n_Copyright, 1900_\n\n_By Joseph R. Grismer_\n\n\n_'Way Down East_\n\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER\n\n    I.  All Hail to the Conquering Hero.\n\n   II.  The Conquering Hero is Disposed to be Human.\n\n  III.  Containing Some Reflections and the Entrance\n        of Mephistopheles.\n\n   IV.  The Mock Marriage.\n\n    V.  A Little Glimpse of the Garden of Eden.\n\n   VI.  The Ways of Desolation.\n\n  VII.  Mother and Daughter.\n\n VIII.  In Days of Waiting.\n\n   IX.  On the Threshold of Shelter.\n\n    X.  Anna and Sanderson Again Meet.\n\n   XI.  Rustic Hospitality.\n\n  XII.  Kate Brewster Holds Sanderson's Attention.\n\n XIII.  The Quality of Mercy.\n\n  XIV.  The Village Gossip Sniffs Scandal.\n\n   XV.  David Confesses his Love.\n\n  XVI.  Alone in the Snow.\n\n XVII.  The Night in the Snowstorm.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nMiss Lillian Gish as Anna Moore. . . . _Frontispiece_\n\nMartha Perkins and Maria Poole.\n\nMartha Perkins tells the story of Anna Moore's past life.\n\nLillian Gish and Burr McIntosh.\n\n\n\n\nWAY DOWN EAST\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nALL HAIL TO THE CONQUERING HERO.\n\n\n  Methinks I feel this youth's perfections,\n  With an invisible and subtle stealth,\n  To creep in at mine eyes.--_Shakespeare_.\n\n\nIt had come at last, the day of days, for the two great American\nuniversities; Harvard and Yale were going to play their annual game of\nfootball and the railroad station of Springfield, Mass., momentarily\nbecame more and more thronged with eager partisans of both sides of the\ngreat athletic contest.\n\nAll the morning trains from New York, New Haven, Boston and the smaller\ntowns had been pouring their loads into Springfield.  Hampden Park was\na sea of eager faces.  The weather was fine and the waiting for the\nfootball game only added to the enjoyment--the appetizer before the\nfeast.\n\nThe north side of the park was a crimson dotted mass full ten thousand\nstrong; the south side showed the same goodly number blue-bespeckled,\nand equally confident.  Little ripples of applause woke along the banks\nas the familiar faces of old \"grads\" loomed up, then melted into the\nvast throng.  These, too, were men of international reputation who had\nwon their spurs in the great battles of life, and yet, who came back\nyear after year, to assist by applause in these mimic battles of their\n_Alma Mater_.\n\nBut the real inspiration to the contestants, were the softer, sweeter\nfaces scattered among the more rugged ones like flowers growing among\nthe grain--the smiles, the mantling glow of round young cheeks, the\nclapping of little hands--these were the things that made broken\ncollarbones, scratched faces, and bruised limbs but so many honors to\nbe contended for, votive offerings to be laid at the little feet of\nthese fair ones.\n\nMrs. Standish Tremont's party occupied, as usual, a prominent place on\nthe Harvard side.  She was so great a factor in the social life at\nCambridge that no function could have been a complete success without\nthe stimulus of her presence.  Personally, Mrs. Standish Tremont was\none of those women who never grow old; one would no more have thought\nof hazarding a guess about her age than one would have made a similar\ncalculation about the Goddess of Liberty.  She was perennially young,\nperennially good-looking, and her entertainments were above reproach.\nSome sour old \"Grannies\" in Boston, who had neither her wit, nor her\nhealth, called her Venus Anno Domino, but they were jealous and cynical\nand their testimony cannot be taken as reliable.\n\nWhat if she had been splitting gloves applauding college games since\nthe fathers of to-day's contestants had fought and struggled for\nsimilar honors in this very field.  She applauded with such vim, and\nshe gave such delightful dinners afterward, that for the glory of old\nHarvard it is to be hoped she will continue to applaud and entertain\nthe grandsons of to-day's victors, even as she had their sires.\n\nIt was said by the uncharitable that the secret of the lady's youth was\nthe fact that she always surrounded herself with young people, their\npleasure, interests, entertainments were hers; she never permitted\nherself to be identified with older people.\n\nTo-day, besides several young men who had been out of college for a\nyear or two, she had her husband's two nieces, the Misses Tremont,\nyoung women well known in Boston's inner circles, her own daughter, a\nMrs. Endicott, a widow, and a very beautiful young girl whom she\nintroduced as \"My cousin, Miss Moore.\"\n\nMiss Moore was the recipient of more attention than she could well\nhandle.  Mrs. Tremont's cavaliers tried to inveigle her into betting\ngloves and bon-bons; they reserved their wittiest replica for her, they\nwere her ardent allies in all the merry badinage with which their party\nwhiled away the time waiting for the game to begin.  Miss Moore was\ngetting enough attention to turn the heads of three girls.\n\nAt least, that was what her chaperone concluded as she skilfully\nconcealed her dissatisfaction with a radiant smile.  She liked girls to\nachieve social success when they were under her wing--it was the next\nbest thing to scoring success on her own account.  But, it was quite a\ndifferent matter to invite a poor relation half out of charity, half\nout of pity, and then have her outshine one's own daughter, and one's\nnieces--the latter being her particular proteges--girls whom she hoped\nto assist toward brilliant establishments.  The thought was a\ndisquieting one, the men of their party had been making idiots of\nthemselves over the girl ever since they left Boston; it was all very\nwell to be kind to one's poor kin--but charity began at home when there\nwere girls who had been out three seasons!  What was it, that made the\nmen lose their heads like so many sheep?  She adjusted her lorgnette\nand again took an inventory of the girl's appearance.  It was eminently\nsatisfactory even when viewed from the critical standard of Mrs.\nStandish Tremont.  A delicately oval face, with low smooth brow, from\nwhich the night-black hair rippled in softly crested waves and clung\nabout the temples in tiny circling ringlets, delicate as the faintest\nshading of a crayon pencil.  Heavily fringed lids that lent mysterious\ndepths to the great brown eyes that were sorrowful beyond their years.\nA mouth made for kisses--a perfect Cupid's bow; in color, the red of\nthe pomegranate--such was Anna Moore, the great lady's young kinswoman,\nwho was getting her first glimpse of the world this autumn afternoon.\n\n\"You were born to be a Harvard girl, Miss Moore, the crimson becomes\nyou go perfectly, that great bunch of Jacqueminots is just what you\nneed to bring out the color in your cheeks,\" said Arnold Lester, rather\nan old beau, and one of Mrs. Endicott's devoted cavaliers.\n\n\"Miss Moore is making her roses pale with envy,\" gallantly answered\nRobert Maynard.  He had not been able to take his eyes from the girl's\nface since he met her.\n\nAnna looked down at her roses and smiled.  Her gown and gloves were\nblack.  The great fragrant bunch was the only suggestion of color that\nshe had worn for over a year.  She was still in mourning for her\nfather, one of the first great financial magnates to go under in the\nlast Wall Street crash.  His failure killed him, and the young daughter\nand the invalid wife were left practically unprovided for.\n\nMrs. Tremont could hardly conceal her annoyance.  She had met her young\ncousin for the first time the preceding summer and taking a fancy to\nher; she exacted a promise from the girl's mother that Anna should pay\nher a visit the following autumn.  But she reckoned without the girl's\nbeauty and the havoc it would make with her plans.  The discussion as\nto the roses outvieing Anna's cheeks in color was abruptly terminated\nby a great cheer that rolled simultaneously along both sides of the\nfield as the two teams entered the lists.  Cheer upon cheer went up,\nswelled and grew in volume, only to be taken up again and again, till\nthe sound became one vast echoing roar without apparent end or\nbeginning.\n\nFrom the moment the teams appeared, Anna Moore had no eyes or ears for\nsights or sounds about her.  Every muscle in her lithe young body was\nstrained to catch a glimpse of one familiar figure.  She had little\ndifficulty in singling him out from the rest.  He had stripped off his\nsweater and stood with head well down, his great limbs tense, straining\nfor the word to spring.  Anna's breath came quickly, as if she had been\nrunning, the roses that he had sent her heaved with the tumult in her\nbreast.  It seemed to her as if she must cry out with the delight of\nseeing him again.\n\n\"Look, Grace,\" said Mrs. Standish Tremont, to the younger of her\nnieces, \"there is Lennox Sanderson.\"\n\n\"Play!\" called the referee, and at the word the Harvard wedge shot\nforward and crashed into the onrushing mass of blue-legged bodies.  The\nmimic war was on, and raged with all the excitement of real battle for\nthe next three-quarters of an hour; the center was pierced, the flanks\nwere turned, columns were formed and broken, weak spots were protected,\nall the tactics of the science of arms was employed, and yet, neither\nside could gain an advantage.\n\nThe last minutes of the first half of the game were spent\ndesperately--Kenneth, the terrible line breaker of Yale, made two\nfamous charges, Lennox Sanderson, the famous flying half-back, secured\nHarvard a temporary advantage by a magnificently supported run.\n\"Time!\" called the referee, and the first half of the game was over.\n\nFor fifteen minutes the combatants rested, then resumed their massing,\nwedging and driving.  Sanderson, who had not appeared to over-exert\nhimself during the first half of the game, gradually began to turn the\ntide in favor of the crimson.  After a decoy and a scrimmage,\nSanderson, with the ball wedged tightly under one arm, was seen flying\nlike a meteor, well covered by his supports.  On he dashed at full\nspeed for the much-desired touch-line.  The next minute he had reached\nthe goal and was buried under a pile of squirming bodies.\n\nThen did the Harvard hosts burst into one mighty and prolonged cheer\nthat made the air tremble.  Sanderson was the hero of the hour.\nGray-haired old men jumped up and shouted his name with that of the\nuniversity.  It was one mad pandemonium of excitement, till the game\nwas won, and the crowd woke up amid the \"Rah, Rahs, Harvard, Sanderson.\"\n\nAnna's cheeks burned crimson.  She clapped her hands to the final\ndestruction of her gloves.  She patted the roses he had sent her.  She\nhad never dreamed that life was so beautiful, so full of happiness.\n\nShe saw him again for just a moment, before they left the park.  He\ncame up to speak to them, with the sweat and grime of battle still upon\nhim, his hair flying in the breeze.  The crowds gave way for the hero;\nwomen gave him their brightest smiles; men involuntarily straightened\ntheir shoulders in tribute to his inches.\n\nYears afterwards, it seemed to Anna, in looking back on the tragedy of\nit all, that he had never looked so handsome, never been so absolutely\nirresistible as on that autumn day when he had taken her hand and said:\n\"I couldn't help making that run with your eyes on me.\"\n\n\"And we shall see you at tea, on Saturday?\" asked Mrs. Tremont.\n\n\"I shall be delighted,\" he answered: \"thank you for persuading Miss\nMoore to stay over for another week.\"  Mrs. Tremont smiled, she could\nsmile if she were on the rack; but she assured herself that she was\ndone with poverty-stricken beauties till Grace and Maud were married,\nat least.  For years she had been planning a match between Grace and\nLennox Sanderson.\n\nAnna and Sanderson exchanged looks.  Robert Maynard bit his lips and\nturned away.  He realized that the dearest wish of his life was beyond\nreach of it forever.  \"Ah, well,\" he murmured to himself--\"who could\nhave a chance against Lennox Sanderson?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE CONQUERING HERO IS DISPOSED TO BE HUMAN.\n\n\n  \"Her lips are roses over-wash'd with dew,\n  Or like the purple of narcissus' flower;\n  No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their powers,\n  But by her breath her beauties do renew.\"--_Robert Greene_.\n\n\nThe dusk of an autumn afternoon was closing in on the well-filled\nlibrary of Mrs. Standish Tremont's Beacon street home.  The last rays\nof sunlight filtered softly through the rose silk curtains and blended\nwith the ruddy glow of fire-light.  The atmosphere of this room was\nmore invitingly domestic than that of any other room in Mrs. Tremont's\nsomewhat bleakly luxurious home.\n\nPerhaps it was the row upon row of books in their scarlet leather\nbindings, perhaps it was the fine old collection of Dutch masterpieces,\nportraying homely scenes from Dutch life, that robbed the air of the\nchilling effect of the more formal rooms; but, whatever was the reason,\nthe fact remained that the library was the room in which to dream\ndreams, appreciate comfort and be content.\n\nAt least so it seemed to Anna Moore, as she glanced from time to time\nat the tiny French clock that silently ticked away the hours on the\nhigh oaken mantel-piece.  Anna had dressed for tea with more than usual\ncare on this particular Saturday afternoon.  She wore a simply made\nhouse gown of heavy white cloth, that hung in rich folds about her\nexquisite figure, that might have seemed over-developed in a girl of\neighteen, were it not for the long slender throat and tapering waist of\nmore than usual slenderness.\n\nThe dark hair was coiled high on top of the shapely head, and a few\ntendrils strayed about her neck and brow.  She wore no ornaments--not\neven the simplest pin.\n\nShe was curled up in a great leather chair, in front of the open fire,\nplaying with a white angora kitten, who climbed upon her shoulder and\ngenerally conducted himself like a white ball of animated yarn.  It was\ntoo bad that there was no painter at hand to transfer to canvas so\nlovely a picture as this girl in her white frock made, sitting by the\nfirelight in this mellow old room, playing with a white imp of a\nkitten.  It would have made an ideal study in white and scarlet.\n\nHow comfortable it all was; the book-lined walls, the repose and\ndignity of this beautiful home, with its corps of well-trained servants\nwaiting to minister to one's lightest wants.  The secure and sheltered\nfeeling that it gave appealed strongly to the girl, who but a little\nwhile ago had enjoyed similar surroundings in her father's house.\n\nAnd then, there had been that awful day when her father's wealth had\nvanished into air like a burst bubble, and he had come home with a\nwhite drawn face and gone to bed, never again to rise from it.\n\nAnna did not mind the privations that followed on her own account, but\nthey were pitifully hard on her invalid mother, who had been used to\nevery comfort all her life.\n\nAfter they had left New York, they had taken a little cottage in\nWaltham, Mass., and it was here that Mrs. Standish Tremont had come to\ncall on her relatives in their grief and do what she could toward\nlightening their burdens.  Anna was worn out with the constant care of\nher mother, and would only consent to go away for a rest, because the\ndoctor told her that her health was surely breaking under the strain,\nand that if she did not go, there would be two invalids instead of one.\n\nIt was at Mrs. Tremont's that she had met Lennox Sanderson, and from\nthe first, both seemed to be under the influence of some subtle spell\nthat drew them together blindly, and without the consent of their\nwills.  Mrs. Tremont, who viewed the growing attraction of these two\nyoung people with well-concealed alarm, watched every opportunity to\nprevent their enjoying each other's society.  It irritated her that one\nof the wealthiest and most influential men in Harvard should take such\na fancy to her penniless young relative, instead of to Grace Tremont,\nwhom she had selected for his wife.\n\nThere were few things that Mrs. Tremont enjoyed so much as arranging\nromances in everyday life.\n\n\"Pardon me, Miss Moore,\" said the butler, standing at her elbow, \"but\nthere has been a telephone message from Mrs. Tremont, saying that she\nand Mrs. Endicott have been detained, and will you be kind enough to\nexplain this to Mr. Sanderson.\"  Anna never knew what the message cost\nMrs. Tremont.\n\nA moment later, Sanderson's card was sent up; Anna rose to meet him\nwith swiftly beating heart.\n\n\"What perfect luck,\" he said.  \"How do I happen to find you alone?\nUsually you have a regiment of people about you.\"\n\n\"Cousin Frances has just telephoned that she has been detained, and I\nsuppose I am to entertain you till her return.\"\n\n\"I shall be sufficiently entertained if I may have the pleasure of\nlooking at you.\"\n\n\"Till dinner time?  You could never stand it.\"  She laughed.\n\n\"It would be a pleasure till eternity.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" said Anna, \"I am not going to put you to the test.  If\nyou will be good enough to ring for tea, I will give you a cup.\"\n\nThe butler brought in the tea.  Anna lighted the spirit lamp with\npretty deftness, and proceeded to make tea.\n\n\"I could not have taken this, even from your hands last week,\nAnna--pardon me, Miss Moore.\"\n\n\"And why not?  Had you been taking pledges not to drink tea?\"\n\n\"It seems to me as if I've been living on rare beef and whole wheat\nbread ever since I can remember----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I forgot about your being in training for the game, but you\ndid so magnificently, you ought not to mind it.  Why, you made Harvard\nwin the game.  We were all so proud of you.\"\n\n\"All!  I don't care about 'all.'  Were you proud of me?\"\n\n\"Of course I was,\" she answered with the loveliest blush.\n\n\"Then it is amply repaid.\"\n\n\"Let me give you another cup of tea.\"\n\n\"No, thanks, I don't care about any more, but if you will let me talk\nto you about something--  See here, Anna.  Yes, I mean Anna.  What\nnonsense for us to attempt to keep up the Miss Moore and Mr. Sanderson\nbusiness.  I used to scoff at love at first sight and say it was all\nthe idle fancy of the poets.  Then I met you and remained to pray.\nYou've turned my world topsy-turvy.  I can't think without you, and yet\nit would be folly to tell this to my Governor, and ask his consent to\nour marriage.  He wants me to finish college, take the usual trip\naround the world and then go into the firm.  Besides, he wants me to\neventually marry a cousin of mine--a girl with a lot of money and with\nabout as much heart as would fit on the end of a pin.\"\n\nShe had followed this speech with almost painful attention.  She bit\nher lips till they were but a compressed line of coral.  At last she\nfound words to say:\n\n\"We must not talk of these things, Mr. Sanderson.  I have to go back\nand care for my mother.  She is an invalid and needs all my attention.\nBedsides, we are poor; desperately poor.  I am here in your world, only\nthrough the kindness of my cousin, Mrs. Tremont.\"\n\n\"It was your world till a year ago, Anna.  I know all about your\nfather's failure, and how nobly you have done your part since then, and\nit kills me to think of you, who ought to have everything, spending\nyour life--your youth--in that stupid little Waltham, doing the work of\na housemaid.\"\n\n\"I am very glad to do my part,\" she answered him bravely, but her eyes\nwere full of unshed tears.\n\n\"Anna, dearest, listen to me.\"  He crossed over to where she sat and\ntook her hand.  \"Can't you have a little faith in me and do what I am\ngoing to ask you?  There is the situation exactly.  My father won't\nconsent to our marriage, so there is no use trying to persuade him.\nAnd here you are--a little girl who needs some one to take care of you\nand help you take care of your mother, give her all the things that\nmean so much to an invalid.  Now, all this can be done, darling, if you\nwill only have faith in me.  Marry me now secretly, before you go back\nto Waltham.  No one need know.  And then the governor can be talked\naround in time.  My allowance will be ample to give you and your mother\nall you need.  Can't you see, darling?\"\n\nThe color faded from her cheeks.  She looked at him with eyes as\nstartled as a surprised fawn.\n\n\"O, Lennox, I would be afraid to do that.\"\n\n\"You would not be afraid, Anna, if you loved me.\"\n\nIt was so tempting to the weary young soul, who had already begun to\nsink under the accumulated burdens of the past year, not for herself,\nbut for the sick mother, who complained unceasingly of the changed\nconditions of their lives.  The care and attention would mean so much\nto her--and yet, what right had she to encourage this man to go against\nthe wishes of his father, to take advantage of his love for her?  But\nshe was grateful to him, and there was a wealth of tenderness in the\neyes that she turned toward him.\n\n\"No, Lennox, I appreciate your generosity, but I do not think it would\nbe wise for either of us.\"\n\n\"Don't talk to me of generosity.  Good God, Anna, can't you realize\nwhat this separation means to me?  I have no heart to go on with my\nlife away from you.  If you are going to throw me over, I shall cut\ncollege and go away.\"\n\nShe loved him all the better for his impatience.\n\n\"Anna,\" he said--the two dark heads were close together, the madness of\nthe impulse was too much for both.  Their lips met in a first long\nkiss.  The man was to have his way.  The kiss proved a more eloquent\nargument than all his pleading.\n\n\"Say you will, Anna.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered.\n\nAnd then they heard the street door open and close, and the voices of\nMrs. Tremont and her daughter, as they made their way to the library.\nAnd the two young souls, who hovered on the brink of heaven, were\nobliged to listen to the latest gossip of fashionable Boston.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nCONTAINING SOME REFLECTIONS AND THE ENTRANCE OF MEPHISTOPHELES.\n\n\n  \"Not all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,\n  Nor florid prose, nor horrid lies of rhyme,\n  Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.\"--_Byron_.\n\n\nLennox Sanderson was stretched in his window-seat with a book, of\nwhich, however, he knew nothing--not even the title--his mind being\noccupied by other thoughts than reading at that particular time.\n\nDid he dare do it?  The audacity of the proceeding was sufficient to\nmake the iron will of even Lennox Sanderson waver.  And yet, to lose\nher!  Such a contingency was not to be considered.  His mind flew\nbackward and forward like a shuttle, he turned the leaves of his book;\nhe smoked, but no light came from within or without.\n\nHe glanced about the familiar objects in his sitting-room as one\nunconsciously does when the mind is on the rack of anxiety, as if to\nseek council from the mute things that make up so large a part of our\ndaily lives.\n\nIt was an ideal sitting-room for a college student, the luxury of the\nappointments absolutely subservient to taste and simplicity.  Heavy red\ncurtains divided the sitting-room from the bedroom beyond, and imparted\na degree of genial warmth to the atmosphere.  Russian candlesticks of\nhighly polished brass stood about on the mantel-piece and book shelves.\nAbove the high oak wainscoting the walls were covered with dark red\npaper, against which background brown photographs of famous paintings\nshowed to excellent advantage.  They were reproductions of Botticelli,\nRembrant, Franz Hals and Velasquez hung with artistic irregularity.\nAbove the mantel-piece were curious old weapons, swords, matchetes,\nflintlocks and carbines.  A helmet and breastplate filled the space\nbetween the two windows.  Some dozen or more of pipe racks held the\nyoung collegian's famous collection of pipes that told the history of\nsmoking from the introduction during the reign of Elizabeth, down to\nthe present day.\n\nIn taking a mental inventory of his household goods, Sanderson's eyes\nfell on the photograph of a woman on the mantel-piece.  He frowned.\nWhat right had she there, when his mind was full of another?  He walked\nover to the picture and threw it into the fire.  It was not the first\npicture to know a similar fate after occupying that place of honor.\n\nThe blackened edges of the picture were whirling up the chimney, when\nSanderson's attention was arrested by a knock.\n\n\"Come in,\" he called, and a young man of about his own age entered.\nWithout being in the least ill-looking, there was something repellent\nabout the new comer.  His eyes were shifty and too close together to be\ntrustworthy.  Otherwise no fault could be found with his appearance.\n\n\"Well, Langdon, how are you?\" his host asked, but there was no warmth\nin his greeting.\n\n\"As well as a poor devil like me ever is,\" began Langdon obsequiously.\nHe sighed, looked about the comfortable room and finished with: \"Lucky\ndog.\"\n\nSanderson stood on no ceremony with his guest, who was a thoroughly\nunscrupulous young man.  Once or twice Langdon had helped Sanderson out\nof scrapes that would have sent him home from college without his\ndegree, had they come to the ears of the faculty.  In return for this\nassistance, Sanderson had lent him large sums of money, which the owner\nentertained no hopes of recovering.  Sanderson tried to balance matters\nby treating Langdon with scant ceremony when they were alone.\n\n\"Well, old man,\" began his host, \"I do not flatter myself that I owe\nthis call to any personal charm.  You dropped in to ease a little\nfinancial embarrassment by the request of a loan--am I not right?\"\n\n\"Right, as usual, Sandy, though I'd hardly call it a loan.  You know I\nwas put to a devil of a lot of trouble about that Newton affair, and it\ncost money to secure a shut mouth.\"\n\nSanderson frowned.  \"This is the fifth time I have had the pleasure of\nsettling for that Newton affair, Langdon.  It seems to have become a\nsort of continuous performance.\"\n\nLangdon winced.\n\n\"I'll tell you what I'll do, Langdon.  You owe me two thousand now, not\ncounting that poker debt.  We'll call it square if you'll attend to a\nlittle matter for me and I'll give you an extra thou. to make it worth\nyour while.\"\n\n\"You know I am always delighted to help you, Sandy.\"\n\n\"When I make it worth your while.\"\n\n\"Put it that way if you wish.\"\n\n\"Do you think that for once in your life you could look less like the\ndevil than you are naturally, and act the role of parson?\"\n\n\"I might if I associate with you long enough.  Saintly company might\nchange my expression.\"\n\n\"You won't have time to try.  You've got to have your clerical look in\ngood working order by Friday.  Incidently you are to marry me to the\nprettiest girl in Massachusetts and keep your mouth closed.\"\n\nAs if to end the discussion, Sanderson strode over to his desk and\nwrote out a check for a thousand dollars.  He came back, waving it in\nthe air to dry the ink.\n\n\"Perhaps you will condescend to explain,\" Langdon said, as he pocketed\nthe check.\n\n\"Explanations are always bores, my dear boy.  There is a little girl\nwho feels obliged to insist on formalities, not too many.  She'll think\nyour acting as the parson the best joke in the world, but it would not\ndo to chaff her about it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I see,\" and Langdon's laugh was not pleasant.\n\n\"Exactly.  You will have everything ready--white choker, black coat and\nall the rest of it, and now, my dear boy, you've got to excuse me as\nI've got a lot of work on hand.\"\n\nThey shook hands and Langdon's footsteps were soon echoing down the\ncorridor.\n\nThe foul insinuation that Sanderson had just made about Anna rankled in\nhis mind.  He went to the sideboard and poured himself out a good stiff\ndrink.  After that, his conscience did not trouble him.\n\nThe work on account of which he excused himself from Langdon's society,\nwas apparently not of the most pressing order, for Sanderson almost\nimmediately started for Boston, turning his steps towards Mrs. Standish\nTremont's.\n\n\"Mrs. Tremont was not at home,\" the man announced at the door, \"and\nMrs. Endicott was confined to her room with a bad headache.  Should he\ntake his card to Miss Moore?\"\n\nSanderson assented, feeling that fate was with him.\n\n\"My darling,\" he said, as Anna came in a moment later, and folded her\nclose in a long embrace.  She was paler than when he had last seen her\nand there were dark rings under her eyes that hinted at long night\nvigils.\n\n\"Lennox,\" she said, \"do not think me weak, but I am terribly\nfrightened.  It does not seem as if we were doing the right thing by\nour friends.\"\n\n\"Goosey girl,\" he said, kissing her, \"who was it that said no marriage\never suited all parties unconcerned?\"\n\nShe laughed.  \"I am thinking more of you Lennox, than of myself.\nSuppose your father should not forgive you, cut you off without a cent,\nand you should have to drudge all your life with mother and me on your\nhands!  Don't you think you would wish we had never met, or, at least,\nthat I had thought of these things?\"\n\n\"Suppose the sky should fall, or the sun should go out, or that I could\nstop loving you, or any of the impossible things that could not happen\nonce in a million years.  Aren't you ashamed of yourself to doubt me in\nthis way?  Answer me, miss,\" he said with mock ferocity.\n\nFor answer she laid her cheek against his.--\"I am so happy, dear, that\nI am almost afraid.\"\n\nHe pressed her tenderly.  \"And now, darling, for the\nconspiracy--Cupid's conspiracy.  You write to your mother to-night and\nsay that you will be home on Wednesday because you will.  Then tell\nMrs. Tremont that you have had a wire from her saying you must go home\nFriday (I'll see that you _do_ receive such a telegram), and leave\nFriday morning by the 9:40.  I will keep out of the way, because the\nentire Tremont contingent will doubtless see you off.  I will then meet\nyou at one of the stations near Boston.  I can't tell you which, till I\nhear from my friend, the Reverend John Langdon.  He will have\neverything arranged.\"\n\nShe looked at him with dilating eyes, her cheeks blanched with fear.\n\n\"Anna,\" he said, almost roughly, \"if you have no confidence in me, I\nwill go out of your life forever.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I believe in you,\" she said.  \"It isn't that, but it is the\nfirst thing I have ever kept from mother, and I would feel so much more\ncomfortable if she knew.\"\n\n\"Baby.  An' so de ittle baby must tell its muvver ev'yting,\" he\nmimicked her, till she felt ashamed of her good impulse--an impulse\nwhich if she had yielded to, it would have saved her from all the\nbitterness she was to know.\n\n\"And so you will do as I ask you, darling?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Do you promise?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" and they sealed the bargain with a kiss.\n\n\"Dearest, I must be going.  It would never do for Mrs. Tremont to see\nus together.  I should forget and call you pet names, and then you\nwould be sent supperless to bed, like the little girls in the story\nbooks.\"\n\n\"I suppose you must go,\" she said, regretfully.\n\n\"It will not be for long,\" and with another kiss he left her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE MOCK MARRIAGE.\n\n\n  \"Thus grief still treads upon the heel of pleasure,\n  Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.\"--_Congreve_.\n\n\nIt seemed to Anna when Friday came, that human experience had nothing\nfurther to offer in the way of mental anguish and suspense.  She had\nthrashed out the question of her secret marriage to Sanderson till her\nbrain refused to work further, and there was in her mind only dread and\na haunting sense of loss.  If she had only herself to consider, she\nwould not have hesitated a moment.  But Sanderson, his father, and her\nown mother were all involved.\n\nWas she doing right by her mother?  At times, the advantage to the\ninvalid accruing from this marriage seemed manifold.  Again it seemed\nto Anna but a senseless piece of folly, prompted by her own selfish\nlove for Sanderson.  And so the days wore on until the eventful Friday\ncame, and Anna said good-bye to Mrs. Standish Tremont with livid cheeks\nand tearful eyes.\n\n\"And do you feel so badly about going away, my dear?\" said the great\nlady, looking at those visible signs of distress and feeling not a\nlittle flattered by her young cousin's show of affection.  \"We must\nhave you down soon again,\" and she patted Anna's cheek and hurried her\ninto the car, for Mrs. Tremont had a horror of scenes and signals\nwarned her that Anna was on the verge of tears.\n\nThe locomotive whistled, the cars gave a jolt, and Anna Moore was\nlaunched on her tragic fate.  She never knew how the time passed after\nleaving Mrs. Tremont, till Sanderson joined her at the next station.\nShe felt as if her will power had deserted her, and she was dumbly\nobeying the behests of some unseen relentless force.  She looked at the\nstrange faces about her, hopelessly.  Perhaps it was not too\nlate---perhaps some kind motherly woman would tell her if she were\ndoing right.  But they all looked so strange and forbidding, and while\nshe turned the question over and over in her mind, the car stopped, the\nbrakeman called the station and Lennox Sanderson got on.\n\nShe turned to him in her utter perplexity, forgetting he was the cause\nof it.\n\n\"My darling, how pale you are.  Are you ill?\"\n\n\"Not ill, but----\"  He would not let her finish, but reassured her by\nthe tenderest of looks, the warmest of hand clasps, and the terrified\ngirl began to lose the hunted feeling that she had.\n\nThey rode on for fully an hour.  Sanderson was perfectly\nself-possessed.  He might have been married every day in the year, for\nany difference it made in his demeanor.  He was perfectly composed,\nlaughed and chatted as wittily as ever.  In time, Anna partook of his\nmood and laughed back.  She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her\nmind.  At last they stopped at a little station called Whiteford.  An\nold-fashioned carriage was waiting for them; they entered it and the\ndriver, whipped up his horses.  A drive of a half mile brought them to\nan ideal white cottage surrounded by porches and hidden in a tangle of\nvines.  The door was opened for them by the Rev. John Langdon in person.\nHe seemed a preternaturally grave young man to Anna and his clerical\nattire was above reproach.  Any misgivings one might have had regarding\nhim on the score of his youth, were more than counterbalanced by his\nalmost supernatural gravity.\n\nHe apologized for the absence of his wife, saying she had been called\naway suddenly, owing to the illness of her mother.  His housekeeper and\ngardener would act as witnesses.  Sanderson hastily took Anna to one\nside and said: \"I forgot to tell you, darling, that I am going to be\nmarried by my two first names only, George Lennox.  It is just the\nsame, but if the Sanderson got into any of those country marriage\nlicense papers, I should be afraid the governor would hear of\nit--penalty of having a great name, you know,\" he concluded gayly.\n\"Thought I had better mention it, as it would not do to have you\nsurprised over your husband's name.\"\n\nAgain the feeling of dread completely over-powered her.  She looked at\nhim with her great sorrowful eyes, as a trapped animal will sometimes\nlook at its captor, but she could not speak.  Some terrible blight\nseemed to have overgrown her brain, depriving her of speech and\nwillpower.\n\nThe witnesses entered.  Anna was too agitated to notice that the Rev.\nJohn Langdon's housekeeper was a very singular looking young woman for\nher position.  Her hair was conspicuously dark at the roots and\nconspicuously light on the ends.  Her face was hard and when she smiled\nher mouth, assumed a wolfish expression.  She was loudly dressed and\nwore a profusion of jewelry--altogether a most remarkable looking woman\nfor the place she occupied.\n\nThe gardener had the appearance of having been suddenly wakened before\nnature had had her full quota of sleep.  He was blear-eyed and his\nbreath was more redolent of liquor than one might have expected in the\ngardener of a parsonage.\n\nThe room in which the ceremony was to take place was the ordinary\ncottage parlor, with crochet work on the chairs, and a profusion of\nvases and bric-a-brac on the tables.  The Rev. John Langdon requested\nAnna and Sanderson to stand by a little marble table from which the\nhousekeeper brushed a profusion of knick-knacks.  There was no Bible.\nAnna was the first to notice the omission.  This seemed to deprive the\nyoung clergyman of his dignity.  He looked confused, blushed, and\nturning to the housekeeper told her to fetch the Bible.  This seemed to\nappeal to the housekeeper's sense of humor.  She burst out laughing and\nsaid something about looking for a needle in a haystack.  Sanderson\nturned on her furiously, and she left the room, looking sour, and\nmuttering indignantly.  She returned, after what seemed an interminable\nspace of time, and the ceremony proceeded.\n\nAnna did not recognize her own voice as she answered the responses.\nSanderson's was clear and ringing; his tones never faltered.  When the\ntime came to put the ring on her finger, Anna's hand trembled so\nviolently that the ring fell to the floor and rolled away.  Sanderson's\nface turned pale.  It seemed to him like a providential dispensation.\nFor some minutes, the assembled company joined in the hunt for the\nring.  It was found at length by the yellow-haired housekeeper, who\nreturned it with her most wolfish grin.\n\n\"Trust Bertha Harris to find things!\" said the clergyman.\n\nThe ceremony proceeded without further incident.  The final words were\npronounced and Anna sank into a chair, relieved that it was over,\nwhether it was for better or for worse.\n\nSanderson hurried her into the carriage before the clergyman and the\nwitnesses could offer their congratulations.  He pulled her away from\nthe yellow-haired housekeeper, who would have smothered her in an\nembrace, and they departed without the customary handshake from the\nofficiating clergyman.\n\n\"You were not very cordial, dear,\" she said, as they rolled along\nthrough the early winter landscape.\n\n\"Confound them all.  I hated to see them near you\"--and then, in answer\nto her questioning gaze--\"because I love you so much, darling.  I hate\nto see anyone touch you.\"\n\nThe trees were bare; the fields stretched away brown and flat, like the\nfolds of a shroud, and the sun was veiled by lowering clouds of gray.\nIt was not a cheerful day for a wedding.\n\n\"Lennox, did you remember that this is Friday?  And I have on a black\ndress.\"\n\n\"And now that Mrs. Lennox has settled the question of to wed or not to\nwed, by wedding--behold, she is worrying herself about her frock and\nthe color of it, and the day of the week and everything else.  Was\nthere ever such a dear little goose?\"  He pinched her cheek, and\nshe--she smiled up at him, her fears allayed.\n\n\"And why don't you ask where we are going, least curious of women?\"\n\n\"I forgot; indeed I did.\"\n\n\"We are going to the White Rose Inn.  Ideal name for a place in which\nto spend one's honeymoon, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Any place would be ideal with you Lennie,\" and she slipped her little\nhand into his ruggeder palm.\n\nAt last the White Rose Inn was sighted; it was one of those modern\nhostelries, built on an old English model.  The windows were muslined,\nthe rooms were wainscoted in oak, the furniture was heavy and\ncumbersome.  Anna was delighted with everything she saw.  Sanderson had\nhad their sitting-room filled with crimson roses, they were everywhere;\nbanked on the mantelpiece, on the tables and window-sills.  Their\nperfume was to Anna like the loving embrace of an old friend.\nJacqueminots had been so closely associated with her acquaintance with\nSanderson, in after years she could never endure their perfume and\ntheir scarlet petals unnerved her, as the sight of blood does some\nwomen.\n\nA trim English maid came to assist \"Mrs. Lennox,\" to unpack her things.\nLunch was waiting in the sitting-room.  Sanderson gave minute orders\nabout the icing of his own particular brand of champagne, which he had\nhad sent from Boston.\n\nAnna had recovered her good spirits.  It seemed \"such a jolly lark,\" as\nher husband said.\n\n\"Sweetheart, your happiness,\" he said, and raised his glass to hers.\nHer eyes sparkled like the champagne.  The honeymoon at the White Rose\nTavern had begun very merrily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nA LITTLE GLIMPSE OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN.\n\n\n  \"The moon--the moon, so silver and cold,\n  Her fickle temper has oft been told,\n  Now shady--now bright and sunny--\n  But of all the lunar things that change,\n  The one that shows most fickle and strange,\n  And takes the most eccentric range\n  Is the moon--so called--of honey.\"--_Hood_.\n\n\n\"My dear, will you kindly pour me a second cup of coffee?  Not because\nI really want it, you know, but entirely for the aesthetic pleasure of\nseeing your pretty little hands pattering about the cups.\"\n\nLennox Sanderson, in a crimson velvet smoking jacket, was regarding\nAnna with the most undisguised admiration from the other side of the\nround table, that held their breakfast,--their first honeymoon\nbreakfast, as Anna supposed it to be.\n\n\"Anything to please my husband,\" she answered with a flitting blush.\n\n\"Your husband?  Ah, say it again; it sounds awfully good from you.\"\n\n\"So you don't really care for any more coffee, but just want to see my\nhands among the cups.  How appreciative you are!\"  And there was a\nmischievous twinkle in her eye as she began with great elaboration the\npantomimic representation of pouring a cup of coffee, adding sugar and\ncream; and concluded by handing the empty cup to Sanderson.  \"It would\nbe such a pity to waste the coffee, Lennie, when you only wanted to see\nmy hands.\"\n\n\"If I am not going to have the coffee, I insist on both the hands,\" he\nsaid, taking them and kissing them repeatedly.\n\n\"I suppose I'll have to give it to you on those terms,\" and she\nproceeded to fill the cup in earnest this time.\n\n\"Let me see.  How is it that you like it?  One lump of sugar and quite\na bit of cream?  And tea perfectly clear with nothing at all and toast\nvery crisp and dry.  Dear me, how do women ever remember all their\nhusband's likes and dislikes?  It's worse than learning a new\nmultiplication table over again,\" and the most adorable pucker\ncontracted her pretty brows.\n\n\"And yet, see how beautifully widows manage it, even taking the\nthirty-third degree and here you are, complaining before you are\ninitiated, and kindly remember, Mrs. Lennox Sanderson, if I take but\none lump of sugar in my coffee, there are other ways of sweetening it.\"\nPresumably he got it sweetened to his satisfaction, for the proprietor\nof the \"White Rose,\" who attended personally to the wants of \"Mr. and\nMrs. Lennox\" had to cough three times before he found it discreet to\nenter and inquire if everything was satisfactory.\n\nHe bowed three times like a disjointed foot rule and then retired to\ncharge up the wear and tear to his backbone under the head of \"special\nattendance.\"\n\n\"H-m-m!\" sighed Sanderson, as the door closed on the bowing form of the\nproprietor, \"that fellow's presence reminds me that we are not\nabsolutely alone in the world, and you had almost convinced me that we\nwere, darling, and that by special Providence, this grim old earth had\nbeen turned into a second Garden of Eden for our benefit.  Aren't you\ngoing to kiss me and make me forget in earnest, this time?\"\n\n\"I'm sure, Lennie, I infinitely prefer the 'White Rose Inn' with you,\nto the Garden of Paradise with Adam.\"  She not only granted the\nrequest, but added an extra one for interest.\n\n\"You'll make me horribly vain, Anna, if you persist in preferring me to\nAdam; but then I dare say, Eve would have preferred him and Paradise to\nme and the 'White Rose.'\"\n\n\"But, then, Eve's taste lacked discrimination.  She had to take Adam or\nbecome the first girl bachelor.  With me there might have been\nalternatives.\"\n\n\"There might have been others, to speak vulgarly?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"By Jove, Anna, I don't see how you ever did come to care for me!\"  The\nlaughter died out of his eyes, his face grew prefer naturally grave, he\nstrode over to the window and looked out on the desolate landscape.\nFor the first time he realized the gravity of his offense.  His crime\nagainst this girl, who had been guilty of nothing but loving him too\ndeeply stood out, stripped of its trappings of sentiment, in all its\nfoul selfishness.  He would right the wrong, confess to her; but no, he\ndare not, she was not the kind of woman to condone such an offense.\n\n\"Needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man's married his trouble\nbegins,\" quoted Anna gayly, slipping up behind him and, putting her\narms about his neck; \"one would think the old nursery ballad was true,\nto look at you, Lennox Sanderson.  I never saw such a married-man\nexpression before in my life.  You wanted to know why I fell in love\nwith you.  I could not help it, because you are YOU.\"\n\nShe nestled her head in his shoulder and he forgot his scruples in the\nsorcery of her presence.\n\n\"Darling,\" he said; taking her in his arms, with perhaps the most\ngenuine affection he ever felt for her, \"I wish we could spend our\nlives here in this quiet little place, and that there were no\ntroublesome relations or outside world demanding us.\"\n\n\"So do I, dear,\" she answered, \"but it could not last; we are too\nperfectly happy.\"\n\nNeither spoke for some minutes.  At that time he loved her as deeply as\nit was possible for him to love anyone.  Again the impulse came to tell\nher, beg for forgiveness and make reparation.  He was holding her in\nhis arms, considering.  A moment more, and he would have given way to\nthe only unselfish impulse in his life.  But again the knock, followed\nby the discreet cough of the proprietor.  And when he entered to tell\nthem that the horses were ready for their drive, \"Mrs. Lennox\" hastened\nto put on her jacket and \"Mr. Lennox\" thanked his stars that he had not\nspoken.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE WAYS OF DESOLATION.\n\n\n  \"Oh! colder than the wind that freezes\n  Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,\n  Is that congealing pang which seizes\n  The trusting bosom when betray'd.\"--_Moore_.\n\n\nFour months had elapsed since the honeymoon at the White Rose Tavern,\nand Anna was living at Waltham with her mother who grew more fretful\nand complaining every day.  The marriage was still the secret of Anna\nand Sanderson.  The honeymoon at the White Rose had been prolonged to a\nweek, but no suspicion had entered the minds of Mrs. Moore or Mrs.\nStandish Tremont, thanks to Sanderson's skill in sending fictitious\ntelegrams, aided by so skilled an accomplice as the \"Rev.\" John Langdon.\n\nWeek after week, Anna had yielded to Sanderson's entreaties and kept\nher marriage a secret from her mother.  At first he had sent her\nremittances of money with frequent regularity, but, lately, they had\nbegun to fall off, his letters were less frequent, shorter and more\nreserved in tone, and the burden of it all was crushing the youth out\nof the girl and breaking her spirit.  She had grown to look like some\ngreat sorrowful-eyed Madonna, and her beauty had in it more of the\nspiritual quality of an angel than of a woman.  As the spring came on,\nand the days grew longer she looked like one on whom the hand of death\nhad been laid.\n\nHer friends noticed this, but not her mother, who was so engrossed with\nher own privations, that she had no time or inclination for anything\nelse.\n\n\"Anna, Anna, to think of our coming to this!\" she would wail a dozen\ntimes a day--or, \"Anna, I can't stand it another minute,\" and she would\nburst into paroxysms of grief, from which nothing could arouse her, and\nutterly exhausted by her own emotions, which were chiefly regret and\nself-pity, she would sink off to sleep.  Anna had no difficulty in\naccounting to her mother for the extra comforts with which Lennox\nSanderson's money supplied them.  Mrs. Standish Tremont sometimes sent\nchecks and Mrs. Moore never bothered about the source, so long as the\nluxuries were forthcoming.\n\n\"Is there no more Kumyss, Anna?\" she asked one day.\n\n\"No, mother.\"\n\n\"Then why did you neglect to order it?\"\n\nThe girl's face grew red.  \"There was no money to pay for it, mother.\nI am so sorry.\"\n\n\"And does Frances Tremont neglect us in this way?  When we were both\ngirls, it was quite the other way.  My father practically adopted\nFrances Tremont.  She was married from our house.  But you see, Anna,\nshe made a better marriage than I.  Oh, why was your father so\nreckless?  I warned him not to speculate in the rash way he was\naccustomed to doing, but he would never take my advice.  If he had, we\nwould not be as we are now.\"  And again the poor lady was overcome with\nher own sorrows.\n\nIt was not Mrs. Tremont's check that had bought the last Kumyss.  In\nfact, Mrs. Tremont, after the manner of rich relations, troubled her\nhead but little about her poor ones.  Sanderson had sent no money for\nnearly a month, and Anna would have died sooner than have asked for it.\nHe had been to Waltham twice to see Anna, and once she had gone to meet\nhim at the White Rose Tavern.  Mrs. Moore, wrapped in gloom at the loss\nof her own luxury, had no interest in the young man who came down from\nBoston to call on her daughter.\n\n\"You met him at Cousin Frances's, did you say?  I don't see how you can\nask him here to this abominable little house.  A girl should have good\nsurroundings, Anna.  Nothing detracts from a girl's beauty so much as\ncheap surroundings.  Oh, my dear, if you had only been settled in life\nbefore all this happened, I would not complain.\"  And, as usual, there\nwere more tears.\n\nBut the wailings of her mother, over departed luxuries, and the poverty\nof her surroundings were the lightest of Anna's griefs.  At their last\nmeeting--she had gone to him in response to his request--Sanderson's\nmanner had struck dumb terror into the heart of the girl who had\nsacrificed so much at his bidding.  She had been very pale.  The strain\nof facing the terrible position in which she found herself, coupled\nwith her own failing health, had robbed her of the beautiful color he\nhad always so frankly admired.  Her eyes were big and hollow looking,\nand the deep black circles about them only added to her unearthly\nappearance.  There were drawn lines of pain about the mouth, that\nrobbed the Cupid's bow of half its beauty.\n\n\"My God, Anna!\" he had said to her impatiently.  \"A man might as well\ntry to love a corpse as a woman who looks like that.\"  He led her over\nto a mirror, that she might see her wasted charms.  There was no need\nfor her to look.  She knew well enough, what was reflected there.\n\n\"You have no right to let yourself get like this.  The only thing a\nwoman has is her looks, and it is a crime if she throws them away\nworrying and fretting.\"\n\n\"But Lennox,\" she answered, desperately, \"I have told you how matters\nstand with me, and mother knows nothing--suspects nothing.\"  And the\ngirl broke down and wept as if her heart would break.\n\n\"Anna, for Heaven's sake, do stop crying.  I hate a scene worse than\nanything in the world.  When a woman cries, it means but one thing, and\nthat is that the man must give in--and in this particular instance I\ncan't give in.  It would ruin me with the governor to acknowledge our\nmarriage.\"\n\nThe girl's tears froze at his brutal words.  She looked about dazed and\nhopeless.\n\nSanderson was standing by the window, drumming a tattoo on the pane.\nHe wheeled about, and said slowly, as if he were feeling his way:\n\n\"Anna, suppose I give you a sum of money and you go away till all this\nbusiness is over.  You can tell your mother or not; just as you see\nfit.  As far as I am concerned, it would be impossible for me to\nacknowledge our marriage as I have said before.  If the governor found\nit out, he would cut me off without a cent.\"\n\n\"But, Lennox, I cannot leave my mother.  Her health grows worse daily,\nand it would kill her.\"\n\n\"Then take her with you.  She's got to know, sooner or later, I\nsuppose.  Now, don't be a stupid little girl, and everything will turn\nout well for us.\"  He patted her cheek, but it was done perfunctorily,\nand Anna knew there was no use in making a further appeal to him.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" he said, \"I have got to take that 4.30 train back to\nCambridge.  Here is something for you, and let me know just as soon as\nyou make up your mind, when you intend to go and where.  There is no\nuse in your staying in Waltham till those old cats begin to talk.\"\n\nHe put a roll of bills in her hand, kissed her and was gone, and Anna\nturned her tottering steps homeward, sick at heart.  She must tell her\nmother, and the shock of it might kill her.  She pressed her hands over\nher burning eyes to blot out the hideous picture.  Could cruel fate\noffer bitterer dregs to young lips?\n\nShe stopped at the postoffice for mail.  There was nothing but the\ndaily paper.  She took it mechanically and turned into the little side\nstreet on which they lived.\n\nThe old family servant, who still lived with them, met her at the door,\nand told her that her mother had been sleeping quietly for more than an\nhour.\n\n\"Good gracious, Miss Anna, but you do look ill.  Just step into the\nparlor and sit down for a minute, and I'll make you a cup of tea.\"\n\nAnna suffered herself to be led into the little room, smiling\ngratefully at the old servant as she assisted her to remove her hat and\njacket.  She took up the paper mechanically and glanced through its\ncontents.  Her eyes fell on the following item, which she followed with\nhypnotic interest: \"Harvard Student in Disgrace!\" was the headline.\n\n\"John Langdon, a Harvard student, was arrested on the complaint of\nBertha Harris, a young woman, well known in Boston's gas-light circles,\nyesterday evening.  They had been dining together at a well-known chop\nhouse, when the woman, who appeared to be slightly under the influence\nof liquor, suddenly arose and declared that Langdon was trying to rob\nher.\n\n\"Both were arrested on the charge of creating a disturbance.  At the\nState Street Police Station the woman said that Langdon had performed a\nmock marriage for a fellow student some four months ago.  She had acted\nas a witness, for which service she was to receive $50.  The money had\nnever been paid.  She stated further that the young man, whom Langdon\nis alleged to have married, is the son of a wealthy Boston banker, and\nthe young woman who was thus deceived is a young relative of one of\nBoston's social leaders.\n\n\"Later Bertha Harris withdrew her charges, saying she was intoxicated\nwhen she made them.  The affair has created a profound sensation.\"\n\n\"Mock marriage!\"  The words whirled before the girl's eyes in letters\nof fire.  Bertha Harris!  Yes, that was the name.  It had struck her at\nthe time when Sanderson dropped the ring.  Langdon had said \"Bertha\nHarris has found it.\"\n\nThe light of her reason seemed to be going out.  From the blackness\nthat engulfed her, the words \"mock marriage\" rang in her ear like the\ncry of the drowning.\n\n\"God, oh God!\" she called and the pent up agony of her wrecked life was\nin the cry.\n\nThey found her senseless a moment later, staring up at the ceiling with\nglassy eyes, the crumpled paper crushed in her hand.\n\n\"She is dead,\" wailed her mother.  The old servant wasted no time in\nwords.  She lifted up the fragile form and laid it tenderly on the bed.\nThen she raised the window and called to the first passerby to run for\nthe nearest doctor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMOTHER AND DAUGHTER.\n\n\n  A mother's love--how sweet the name!\n  What is a mother's love?\n  --A noble, pure and tender flame,\n  Enkindled from above,\n  To bless a heart of earthly mould;\n  The warmest love that can grow cold;\n  That is a mother's love.--_James Montgomery_.\n\n\nIt took all the medical skill of which the doctor was capable, and the\nbest part of twenty-four hours of hard work to rouse Anna from the\ndeath-like lethargy into which she had fallen.  Toward morning she\nopened her eyes and turning to her mother, said appealingly:\n\n\"Mother, you believe I am innocent, don't you?\"\n\n\"Certainly, darling,\" Mrs. Moore replied, without knowing in the least\nto what her daughter referred.  The doctor, who was present at the\ntime, turned away.  He knew more than the mother.  It was one of those\ntragedies of everyday life that meant for the woman the fleeing away\nfrom old associations, like a guilty thing, long months of hiding, the\nfacing of death; and, if death was not to be, the beginning of life\nover again branded with shame.  And all this bitter injustice because\nshe had loved much and had faith in the man she loved.  The doctor had\nfaced tragedies before in his professional life, but never had he felt\nhis duty so heavily laid upon him as when he begged Mrs. Moore for a\nfew minutes' private conversation in the gray dawn of that early\nmorning.\n\nHe felt that the life of his patient depended on his preparing her\nmother for the worst.  The girl, he knew, would probably confess all\nduring her convalescence, and the mother must be prepared, so that the\nfirst burst of anguish would have expended itself before the girl\nshould have a chance to pour out the story of her misfortune.\n\n\"Tell me, doctor, is she going to die?\" the mother asked, as she closed\nthe door of the little sitting-room and they were alone.  The poor lady\nhad not thought of her own misfortunes since Anna's illness.  The\nselfishness of the woman of the world was completely obliterated by the\nanxiety of the mother.\n\n\"No, she will not die, Mrs. Moore; that is, if you are able to control\nyour feelings sufficiently, after I have made a most distressing\ndisclosure, to give her the love and sympathy that only you can.\"\n\nShe looked at him with troubled eyes.  \"Why, doctor, what do you mean?\nMy daughter has always had my love and sympathy, and if of late I have\nappeared somewhat engrossed by my own troubles, I assure you my\ndaughter is not likely to suffer from it during her illness.\"\n\n\"Her life depends on how you receive what I am going to tell you.\nShould you upbraid her with her misfortune, or fail to stand by her as\nonly a mother can, I shall not answer for the consequences.\"  Then he\ntold her Anna's secret.\n\nThe stricken woman did not cry out in her anguish, nor swoon away.  She\nraised a feebly protesting hand, as if to ward off a cruel blow; then\nburying her face in her arms, she cowed before him.  Not a sob shook\nthe frail, wasted figure.  It was as if this most terrible misfortune\nhad dried up the well-springs of grief and robbed her of the blessed\ngift of tears.  The woman who in one brief year had lost everything\nthat life held dear to her--husband, home, wealth, position--everything\nbut this one child, could not believe the terrible sentence that had\nbeen pronounced against her.  Her Anna--her little girl!  Why, she was\nonly a child!  Oh, no, it could not be true.  She never, never would\nbelieve it.\n\nHer brain whirled and seemed to stop.  It refused to grasp so hideous a\nproposition.  The doctor was momentarily at a loss to know how to deal\nwith this terrible dry-eyed grief.  The set look in her eyes, the\nterrible calm of her demeanor were so much more alarming than the\nwildest outpourings of grief would, have been.\n\n\"And this seizure, Mrs. Moore.  Tell me exactly how it was brought\nabout,\" thinking to turn the current of her thoughts even for a moment.\n\nShe told him how Anna had gone out in the early afternoon, without\nsaying where she was going, and how she had returned to the house about\nfive o'clock, looking so pale and ill, that Hannah, an old family\nservant who still lived with them, noticed it and begged her to sit\ndown while she went to fetch her a cup of tea.  The maid left her\nsitting by the fire-place reading a paper, and the next thing was the\nterrible cry that brought them both.  They found her lying on the floor\nunconscious with the crumpled newspaper in her hand.\n\n\"See, here is the paper now, doctor,\" and he stooped to pick up the\ncrumpled sheet from which the girl had read her death warrant.\nTogether they went over it in the hope that it might furnish some clue.\nMrs. Moore's eyes were the first to fall on the fatal paragraph.  She\nread it through, then showed it to the doctor.\n\n\"That is undoubtedly the cause of the seizure,\" said the doctor.\n\n\"Oh, my poor, poor darling,\" moaned the mother, and the first tears\nfell.\n\nIn the first bitterness of regret, Mrs. Moore imagined that in\nselfishly abandoning herself to her own grief, she must have neglected\nher daughter, and her remorse knew no bounds.  Again and again she\nbitterly denounced herself for giving way to sorrow that now seemed\nlight and trivial, compared to the black hopelessness of the present.\n\nAnna's mind wandered in her delirium, and she would talk of her\nmarriage and beg Sanderson to let her tell her mother all.  Then she\nwould fancy that she was again with Mrs. Tremont and she would go\nthrough the pros and cons of the whole affair.  Should she marry him\nsecretly, as he wished?  Yes, it would be better for poor mama, who\nneeded so many comforts, but was it right?  And then the passionate\nappeal to Sanderson.  Couldn't he realize her position?----\n\n\"Yes, darling, it is all right.  Mother understands,\" the heartbroken\nwoman would repeat over and over again, but the sick girl could not\nhear.\n\nAnd so the days wore on, till at last Anna's wandering mind turned back\nto earth, and again took up the burden of living.  There was nothing\nfor her to tell her mother.  In her delirium she had told all, and the\nmother was prepared to bravely face the worst for her daughter's sake.\n\nThe terrible blow brought mother and daughter closer together than they\nhad been for years.  In their prosperity, the young girl had been busy\nwith her governess and instructors, while her mother had made a fine\nart of her invalidism and spent the greater part of her time at health\nresorts, baths and spas.\n\nBy mutual consent, they decided that it was better not to attempt to\nseek redress from Sanderson.  Anna's letters, written during her\nconvalescence, had remained unanswered, and any effort to force him,\neither by persuasion or process of law, to right the terrible wrong he\nhad done, was equally repulsive to both mother and daughter.\n\nMrs. Standish Tremont was also equally out of the question, as a court\nof final appeal.  She had been so piqued with Anna for interfering with\nher most cherished plans regarding Sanderson and Grace Tremont, that\nAnna knew well enough that there would only be further humiliation in\nseeking mercy from that quarter.\n\n\nSo mother and daughter prepared to face the inevitable alone.  To this\nend, Mrs. Moore sold the last of her jewelry.  She had kept it,\nthinking that Anna would perhaps marry some day and appreciate the\nheirlooms; but such a contingent was no longer to be considered, and\nthe jewelry, and the last of the family silver, were sent to be sold,\ntogether with every bit of furniture with which they could dispense,\nand mother and daughter left the little cottage in Waltham, and went to\nthe town of Belden, New Hampshire,--a place so inconceivably remote,\nthat there was little chance of any of their former friends being able\nto trace them, even if they should desire to do so.\n\nAs the summer days grew shorter, and the hour of Anna's ordeal grew\nnear, Mrs. Moore had but one prayer in her heart, and that was that her\nlife might be spared till her child's troubles were over.  Since Anna's\nillness in the early spring, she had utterly disregarded herself.  No\ncomplaint was heard to pass her lips.  Her time was spent in one\nunselfish effort to make her daughter's life less painful.  But the\nstrain of it was telling, and she knew that life with her was but the\nquestion of weeks, perhaps days.  As her physical grasp grew weaker,\nher mental hold increased proportionately, and she determined to live\ntill she had either closed her child's eyes in death, or left her with\nsomething for which to struggle, as she herself was now struggling.\n\nBut the poor mother's last wish was not to be granted.  In the\nbeginning of September, just when the earth was full of golden promise\nof autumn, she felt herself going.  She felt the icy hand of death at\nher heart and the grim destroyer whispered in her ear: \"Make ready.\"\nOh, the anguish of going just then, when she was needed so sorely by\nher deceived and deserted child.\n\n\"Anna, darling,\" she called feebly, \"I cannot be with you; I am\ngoing--I have prayed to stay, but it was not to be.  Your child will\ncomfort you, darling.  There is nothing like a child's love, Anna, to\nmake a woman forget old sorrows--kiss me, dear----\"  She was gone.\n\nAnd so Anna was to go down into the valley of the shadow of death\nalone, and among strangers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nIN DAYS OF WAITING.\n\n\n  \"Bent o'er her babe, her eyes dissolved in dew,\n  The big drops mingled with the milk he drew\n  Gave the sad presage of his future years--\n  The child of misery, baptized in tears.\"--_John Langhorne_.\n\n\nThe days of Anna's waiting lagged.  She lost all count of time and\nseason.  Each day was painfully like its predecessor, a period of time\nto be gone through with, as best she could.  She realized after her\nmother's death what the gentle companionship had been to her, what a\nprop the frail mother had become in her hour of need.  For a great\nchange had come over the querulous invalid with the beginning of her\ndaughter's troubles, the grievances of the woman of the world were\nforgotten in the anxiety of the mother, and never by look or word did\nshe chide her daughter, or make her affliction anything but easier to\nbear by her gentle presence.\n\nAnna, sunk in the stupor of her own grief, did not realize the comfort\nof her mother's presence until it was too late.  She shrank from the\nstrangers with whom they made their little home--a middle aged\nshopkeeper and his wife, who had been glad enough to rent them two\nunused rooms in their house at a low figure.  They were not lacking in\nsympathy for young \"Mrs. Lennox,\" but their disposition to ask\nquestions made Anna shun them as she would have an infection.  After\nher mother's death, they tried harder than ever to be kind to her, but\nthe listless girl, who spent her days gazing at nothing, was hardly\naware of their comings and goings.\n\n\"If you would only try to eat a bit, my dear,\" said the corpulent Mrs.\nSmith, bustling into Anna's room.  \"And land sakes, don't take on so.\nThere you set in that chair all day long.  Just rouse yourself, my\ndear; there ain't no trouble, however bad, but could be wuss.\"\n\nTo this dismal philosophy, Anna would return a wan smile, while she\nfelt her heart almost break within her.\n\n\"And, Mrs. Lennox, don't mind what I say to you.  I am old enough to be\nyour grandmother, but if you have quarreled with any one, don't be too\nspunky now about making up.  Spunk is all right in its place, but its\nplace ain't at the bedside of a young woman who's got to face the trial\nof her life.  If you have quarreled with any one--your--your husband,\nsay, now is the time to make it up, since your ma is gone.\"\n\nThe old woman looked at her with a strange mixture of motherliness and\ncuriosity.  As she said to her husband a dozen times a day, \"her heart\njust ached for that pore young thing upstairs,\" but this tender\nsolicitude did not prevent her ears from aching, at the same time, to\nhear Anna's story.\n\n\"Thank you very much for your kind interest, Mrs. Smith; but really,\nyou must let me judge of my own affairs.\"  There was a dignity about\nthe girl that brooked no further interference.\n\n\"That's right, my dear, and I wouldn't have thought of suggesting it,\nbut you do seem that young--well, I must be going down to put the\npotatoes on for dinner.  If you want anything, just ring your bell.\"\n\nThere was not the least resentment cherished by the corpulent Mrs.\nSmith.  The girl's answer confirmed her opinion from the first.  \"She\nwould not send for her husband, because there wasn't no husband to send\nfor.\"  She mentioned her convictions to her husband and added she meant\nto write to sister Eliza that very night.\n\n\"Sister Eliza has an uncommon light hand with babies and that pore\nyoung thing'll be hard pushed to pay the doctor, let alone a nurse.\"\n\nThese essentially feminine details regarding the talents of Sister\nEliza, did not especially interest Smith, who continued his favorite\noccupation--or rather, joint occupations, of whittling and\nexpectorating.  Nevertheless, the letter to Sister Eliza was written,\nand not a minute sooner than was necessary; for, the little soul that\nwas to bring with it forgetfulness for all the agony through which its\nmother had lived during that awful year, came very soon after the\narrival of Sister Eliza.\n\nAnna had felt in those days of waiting that she could never again be\nhappy; that for her \"finis\" had been written by the fates.  But, as she\nlay with the dark-haired baby on her breast, she found herself planning\nfor the little girl's future; even happy in the building of those\nheavenly air-castles that young mothers never weary of building.  She\nfelt the necessity of growing strong so that she could work early and\nlate, for baby must have everything, even if mother went without.\nSometimes a fleeting likeness to Sanderson would flit across the\nchild's face, and a spasm of pain would clutch at Anna's heart, but she\nwould forget it next moment in one of baby's most heavenly smiles.\n\nShe could think of him now without a shudder; even a lingering remnant\nof tenderness would flare up in her heart when she remembered he was\nthe baby's father.  Perhaps he would see the child sometime, and her\nsweet baby ways would plead to him more eloquently than could all her\nwords to right the wrong he had done, and so the days slipped by and\nthe little mother was happy, after the long drawn out days of waiting\nand misery.  She would sing the baby to sleep in her low contralto\nvoice, and feel that it mattered not whether the world smiled or\nfrowned on her, so long as baby approved.\n\nBut this blessed state of affairs was not long to continue.  Anna, as\nshe grew stronger, felt the necessity of seeking employment, but to\nthis the baby proved a formidable obstacle.  No one would give a young\nwoman, hampered with a child, work.  She would come back to the baby at\nnight worn out in mind and body, after a day of fruitless searching.\nThese long trips of the little mother, with the consequent long absence\nand exhaustion on her return, did not improve the little one's health,\nand almost before Anna realized it was ailing, the baby sickened and\ndied.  It was her cruelest blow.  For the child's sake she had taken up\nher interest in life, made plans; and was ready to work her fingers to\nthe bone, but it was not to be and with the first falling of the clods\non the little coffin, Anna felt the last ray of hope extinguished from\nher heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nON THE THRESHOLD OF SHELTER.\n\n\n  Alas!  To-day I would give everything\n  To see a friend's face, or hear voice\n  That had the slightest tone of comfort in it.--_Longfellow_.\n\n\nAbout two miles from the town of Belden, N. H., stands an irregular farm\nhouse that looks more like two dwellings forced to pass as one.  One part\nof it is all gables, and tile, and chimney corners, and antiquity, and\nthe other is square, slated, and of the newest cut, outside and in.\n\nThe farm is the property of Squire Amasa Bartlett, a good type of the big\nman of the small place.  He was a contented and would have been a happy\nman--or at least thought he would have been--if the dearest wish of his\nlife could have been realized.  It was that his son, Dave, and his wife's\nniece, Kate, should marry.  Kate was an orphan and the Squire's ward.\nShe owned the adjoining land, that was farmed with the Squire's as one.\nSo that Cupid would not have come to them empty handed; but the young\npeople appeared to have little interest in each other apart from that\ncousinly affection which young people who are brought together would in\nall probability feel for each other.\n\nDave was a handsome, dark-eyed young man, whose silence passed with some\nfor sulkiness; but he was not sulky--only deep and thoughtful, and\nperhaps a little more devoid of levity than becomes a young man of\ntwenty-five.  He had great force of character--you might have seen that\nfrom his grave brow, and felt it in his simple speech and manner, that\nwas absolutely free from affectation.\n\nDave was his mother's idol, but his utter lack of worldliness, his\ninability to drive a shrewd bargain sometimes annoyed his father, who was\na just, but an undeniably hard man, who demanded a hundred cents for his\ndollar every day in the year.\n\nKate, whom the family circle hoped would one day be David's wife, was all\nblonde hair, blue eyes and high spirits, so that the little blind god,\naided by the Squire's strategy, propinquity and the universal law of the\nattraction of opposites, should have had no difficulty in making these\nyoung people fall in love--but Destiny, apparently, decided to make them\nexceptions to all rules.\n\nKate was fond of going to Boston to visit a schoolmate, and the Squire,\nwho looked with small favor on these visits, was disposed to attribute\nthem to Dave's lack of ardor.\n\n\"Confound it, Looizy,\" he would say to his wife, \"if Dave made it more\nlively for Kate she would not be fer flying off to Boston every time she\ngot a chance.\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Bartlett had no answer.  Having a woman's doubtful gift of\nintuition, she was afraid that the wedding would never take place, and\nalso having a woman's tact she never annoyed her husband by saying so.\n\nKate, who had been in Boston for two months, was coming home about the\nmiddle of July, and a little flutter of preparation went all over the\nfarm.\n\nDave had said at breakfast that he regretted not being able to go to\nWakefield to meet Kate, but that he would be busy in the north field all\nday.  Hi Holler, the Bartlett chore boy, had been commissioned to go in\nhis stead, and Hi's toilet, in consequence, had occupied most of the\nmorning.\n\nMrs. Bartlett was churning in the shadow of the wide porch, the Squire\nwas mending a horse collar with wax thread, and fussing about the heat\nand the slowness of Hi Holler, who was always punctually fifteen minutes\nlate for everything.\n\n\"Confound it, Looizy, what's keeping that boy; the train'll get in before\nhe's started.  Here you, Hi, what's keeping you?\"\n\nThe delinquent stood in the doorway, his broad face rippling with smiles;\nhe had spent time on his toilet, but he felt that the result justified it.\n\nHis high collar had already begun to succumb to the day, and the labor\ninvolved in greasing his boots, which were much in evidence, owing to the\nbrevity of the white duck trousers that needed but one or two more\nwashings, with the accompanying process of shrinking, to convert them\ninto knickerbockers.  Bear's grease had turned his ordinary curling brown\nhair into a damp, shining mass that dripped in tiny rills, from time to\ntime, down on his coat collar, but Hi was happy.  Beau Brummel, at the\nheight of his sartorial fame, never achieved a more self-satisfying\ntoilet.\n\nThe Squire adjusted his spectacles.  \"What are you dressing up like that\non a week day for, Hi?  Off with you now; and if you ain't in time for\nthem cars you'll catch 'Hail Columbia' when you get back.\"\n\n\"Looizy,\" said the Squire, as soon as Hi was out of hearing, \"why didn't\nDave go after Katie?  Yes, I know about the hay.  Hay is hay, but it\nought not to come first in a man's affections.\"\n\n\"You'd better let 'em alone, Amasy; if they're going to marry they will\nwithout any help from us; love affairs don't seem to prosper much, when\nold folks interfere.\"\n\n\"Looizy, it's my opinion that Dave's too shy to make up to women folks.\nI don't think he'll even get up the courage to ask Kate to marry him.\"\n\n\"Well, I never saw the man yet who was too bashful to propose to the\nright woman.\"  And a great deal of decision went into the churning that\naccompanied her words.\n\n\"Mebbe so, mebbe so,\" said the Squire.  He felt that the vagaries of the\naffections was too deep a subject for him.  \"Anyhow, Looizy, I don't want\nno old maids and bachelors potterin' round this farm getting cranky\nnotions in their heads.  Look at the professor.  Why, a good woman would\nhave taken the nonsense out of him years ago.\"\n\nMrs. Bartlett did not have to go far to look at the professor.  He was\nflying about her front garden at that very moment in an apparently\ndistracted state, crouching, springing, hiding back of bushes and\nreappearing with the startling swiftness of magic.  The Bartletts were\nquite used to these antics on the part of their well-paying summer\nboarder.  He was chasing butterflies--a manifestly insane proceeding, of\ncourse, but if a man could afford to pay ten dollars a week for summer\nboard in the State of New Hampshire, he could afford to chase butterflies.\n\nProfessor Sterling was an old young man who had given up his life to\nentomology; his collection of butterflies was more vital to him than any\nliving issue; the Bartletts regarded him as a mild order of lunatic,\nwhose madness might have taken a more dangerous form than making up long\nnames for every-day common bugs.\n\n\"Look at him, just look at him, Looizy, sweating himself a day like this,\nover a common dusty miller.  It beats all, and with his money.\"\n\n\"Well, it's a harmless amusement,\" said the kindly Louisa, \"there's a\nheap more harmful things that a man might chase than butterflies.\"\n\nThe stillness of the midsummer day was broken by the sound of far-off\nsinging.  It came in full-toned volume across the fields, the high\nsoaring of women's voices blended with the deeper harmony of men.\n\n\"What's that?\" said the Squire testily, looking in the direction of the\nstrawberry beds, from whence the singing came.\n\n\"It's only the berry-pickers, father,\" said David, coming through the\nfield gate and going over to the well for a drink.\n\n\"I wish they'd work more and sing less,\" said the Squire.  \"All this\nsinging business is too picturesque for me.\"\n\n\"They've about finished, father.  I came for the money to pay them off.\"\n\nIt was characteristic of Dave to uphold the rights of the berry-pickers.\nThey were all friends of his, young men and women who sang in the village\nchoir and who went out among their neighbors' berry patches in summer,\nand earned a little extra money in picking the fruit.  The village\nthought only the more of them for their thrift, and their singing at the\nclose of their work was generally regarded in the light of a favor.\nZeke, Sam, Cynthia and Amelia who formed the quartet, had all fine voices\nand no social function for miles around Wakefield was complete without\ntheir music.\n\nThe Squire said no more about the berry-pickers.  Dave handed him a paper\non which the time of each berry-picker and the amount of his or her wage\nwas marked opposite.  The Squire took it and adjusted his glasses with a\ncertain grimness--he was honest to the core, but few things came harder\nto him than parting with money.\n\nDave and his mother at the churn exchanged a friendly wink.  The\nextracting of coin from the head of the house was no easy process.\nMother and son both enjoyed its accomplishment through an outside agency.\nIt was too hard a process in the home circle to be at all agreeable.\n\nWhile the Squire was wrestling with his arithmetic, Dave noticed a\nstrange girl pass by the outer gate, pause, go on and then return.  He\nlooked at her with deep interest.  She was so pale and tired-looking it\nseemed as if she had not strength enough left to walk to the house.  Her\nlong lashes rested wearily on the pale cheeks.  She lifted them with an\neffort, and Dave found himself staring eagerly in a pair of great,\nsorrowful brown eyes.\n\nThe girl came on unsteadily up the walk to where the Squire sat, thumbing\nhis account to the berry-pickers.  \"Well, girl, who are you?\" he said,\nnot as unkindly as the words might imply.\n\nThe sound of her own voice, as she tried to answer his question, was like\nthe far-off droning of a river.  It did not seem to belong to her.  \"My\nname is Moore--Anna Moore--and I thought--I hoped perhaps you might be\ngood enough to give me work.\"  The strange faces spun about her eyes.\nShe tottered and would have fallen if Dave had not caught her.\n\nDave, the silent, the slow of action, the cool-headed, seemed suddenly\nbereft of his chilling serenity.  \"Here, mother, a chair; father, some\nwater, quick.\"  He carried the swooning girl to the shadow of the porch\nand fanned her tenderly with his broad-brimmed straw hat.\n\nThe old people hastened to do his bidding.  Dave, excited and issuing\norders in that tone, was too unusual to be passed over lightly.\n\n\"What were you going to say, Miss Moore?\" said the Squire as soon as the\nbrown eyes opened.\n\n\"I thought, perhaps, I might find something to do here--I'm looking for\nwork.\"\n\n\"Why, my dear,\" said Mrs. Bartlett, smoothing the dark curls, \"you are\nnot fit to stand, let alone work.\"\n\n\"You could not earn your salt,\" was the Squire's less sympathetic way of\nexpressing the same sentiment.  \"Where is your home?\"\n\n\"I have no home.\"  She looked at them desperately, her dark eyes\nappealing to one and the other, as if they were the jury that held her\nlife in the balance.  Only one pair of eyes seemed to hold out any hope.\n\n\"If you would only try me I could soon prove to you that I am not\nworthless.\"  Unconsciously she held out her hand in entreaty.\n\n\"Here we are, here we are, all off for Boston!\"  The voice was Hi's.  He\nwas just turning in at the field gate with Kate beside him.  Kate, a\nravishing vision, in pink muslin; a smiling, contented vision of happy,\nrosy girlhood, coming back to the home-nest, where a thousand welcomes\nawaited her.\n\n\"Hello, every one!\" she said, running in and kissing them in turn, \"how\nnice it is to be home.\"\n\nThey forgot the homeless stranger and her pleading for shelter in their\nglad welcome to the daughter of the house.  She had shrunk back into the\nshadow.  She had never felt the desolation, the utter loneliness of her\nposition so keenly before.\n\n\"Hurrah for Kate!\" cried the Squire, and everyone took it up and gave\nthree cheers for Kate Brewster.\n\nThe wanderer withdrew into the deepest shadow of the porch, that her\nalien presence might not mar the joyous home-coming of Kate Brewster.\nThere was no jealousy in her soul for the fair girl who had such a royal\nwelcome back to the home-nest.  She would not have robbed her of it if\nsuch a thing had been possible, but the sense of her own desolation\ngripped at the heart like an iron band.\n\nShe waited like a mendicant to beg for the chance of earning her bread.\nThat was all she asked--the chance to work, to eat the bread of\nindependence, and yet she knew how slim the chance was.  She had been\nwandering about seeking employment all day, and no one would give it.\n\nOnly Dave had not forgotten the stranger is the joy of Kate's\nhome-coming.  He had welcomed the flurry of excitement to say a few words\nto his mother, his sworn ally in all the little domestic plots.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, \"do contrive to keep that girl.  It would be nothing\nshort of murder to turn her out on the highway.\"\n\nA pressure of the motherly hand assured Dave that he could rely on her\nsupport.\n\n\"Well, well, Katie,\" said the Squire with his arm around his niece's\nwaist, \"the old place has been lonely without you!\"\n\n\"Uncle, who is that girl on the porch?\" she asked in an undertone.\n\n\"That we don't know; says her name is Moore, and that she wants work.\nKind of sounds like a fairy story, don't it, Kate?\"\n\n\"Poor thing, poor thing!\" was Kate's only answer.\n\n\"Amasy,\" said Mrs. Bartlett, assuming all the courage of a rabbit about\nto assert itself, \"this family is bigger than it was with Kate home and\nthe professor here, and I am not getting younger--I want you to let me\nkeep this young woman to help me about the house.\"\n\nThe Squire set his jaw, always an ominous sign to his family.  \"I don't\nlike this takin' strangers, folks we know nothing about; it's mighty\nsuspicious to see a young woman tramping around the country, without a\nhome, looking for work.  I don't like it.\"\n\nThe girl, who sat apart while these strangers considered taking her in,\nas if she had been a friendless dog, arose, her eyes were full of unshed\ntears, her voice quivered, but pride supported her.  Turning to the\nSquire, she said:\n\n\"You are suspicious because you are blest with both home and family.  My\nmother died a few months ago, I myself have been ill.  I make this\nexplanation not because your kindness warrants it, sir, but because your\nfamily would have been willing to take me on faith.\"  She bowed her head\nin the direction of Mrs. Bartlett and Dave.\n\n\"Well,\" the Squire interrupted, \"you need not go away hungry, you can\nstop here and eat your dinner, and then Hi Holler can take you in the\nwagon to the place provided for such unfortunate cases, and where you'll\nhave food and shelter.\"\n\n\"The poor farm, do you mean?\" the girl said, wildly; \"no, no; if you will\nnot give me work I will not take your charity.\"\n\n\"Father!\" exclaimed Dave and his mother together.\n\n\"Now, now,\" said Kate, going up to the Squire and putting her hands on\nhis shoulders, \"it seems to me as if my uncle's been getting a little\nhard while I've been away from home, and I don't think it has improved\nhim a bit.  The uncle I left here had a heart as big as a house.  What\nhas he done with it?\"\n\nHere the professor came to Kate's aid.  \"Squire,\" said he, \"isn't it\nwritten that 'If ye do it unto the least of these, ye do it unto me?'\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the Squire, \"when a man's family are against him,\nthere's only one thing for him to do if he wants any peace of mind, and\nthat is to come round to their way, and I ain't never goin' to have it\nsaid I went agin the _Scripter_.\"  He went over to Anna and took her\npale, thin hand in his great brown one.\n\n\"Well, little woman, they want you to stay, and I am not going to\ninterfere.  I leave it to you that I won't live to regret it.\"\n\nThis time the tears splashed down the pale cheeks.  \"Dear sir, I thank\nyou, and I promise you shall never repent this kindness.\"  Then turning\nto the rest--\"I thank you all.  I can only repay you by doing my best.\"\n\n\"Well said, well said,\" and Kate gave her a sisterly pat on the shoulder.\n\nAnna would not listen to Mrs. Bartlett's kind suggestion that she should\nrest a little while.  She went immediately to the house, removed her hat,\nand returned completely enveloped in a big gingham apron that proved\nwonderfully becoming to her dark beauty--or was it that the homeless,\nhunted look had gone out of those sorrowful eyes?\n\nAnd so Anna Moore had found a home at last, one in which she would have\nto work early and late to retain a foothold--but still a home, and the\nword rang in her ears like a soothing song, after the anguish of the last\nyear.  Her youth and beauty, she had long since discovered, were only\nbarriers to the surroundings she sought.  There had been many who offered\nto help the friendless girl, but their offers were such that death seemed\npreferable, by contrast, and Anna had gone from place to place, seeking\nonly the right to earn her bread, and yet, finding only temptation and\ndanger.\n\nDave, passing out to the barn, stopped for a moment to regard her, as she\nsat on the lowest step of the porch, with her sleeves rolled above the\nelbow, working a bowl of butter.  He smiled at her encouragingly--it was\nwell that none of his family saw it.  Such a smile from the shy, silent\nDave might have been a revelation to the home circle.\n\n[Illustration: Martha Perkins and Maria Poole.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nANNA AND SANDERSON AGAIN MEET.\n\n\n  \"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd\n  Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn'd.\"--_Congreve_.\n\n\n\"And who be you, with those big brown eyes, sitting on the Bartlett's\nporch working that butter as if you've been used to handling butter all\nyour life?  No city girl, I'm sure.\"  Anna had been at the Squire's for\na week when the above query was put to her.\n\nThe voice was high and rasping.  The whole sentence was delivered\nwithout breath or pause, as if it was one long word.  The speaker might\nhave been the old maid as portrayed in the illustrated weekly.  Nothing\nwas lacking--corkscrew curls, prunella boots, cameo brooch and chain, a\ngown of the antiquated Redingote type, trimmed with many small ruffles\nand punctuated, irrelevantly, with immovable buttons.\n\n\"I am Anna Moore.\"\n\n\"Know as much now as I ever did,\" snapped the interlocutor.\n\n\"I have come to work for Mrs. Bartlett, to help her about the house.\"\n\n\"Land sakes.  Bartlett's keeping help!  How stylish they're getting.\"\n\n\"Yes, Marthy, we are progressing,\" said Kate, coming out of the house.\n\"Anna, this is our friend, Miss Marthy Perkins.\"\n\nThe village gossip's confusion was but momentary.  \"Do you know, Kate,\nI just came over a-purpose to see if you'd come.  What kind of clothes\nare they wearing in Boston?  Are shirtwaists going to have tucked backs\nor plain?  I am going to make over my gray alpaca, and I wouldn't put\nthe scissors into it till I seen you.\"\n\n\"Come upstairs, Marthy, and I'll show you my new shirtwaists.\"\n\n\"Land sakes,\" said the spinster, bridling.  \"I would be delighted, but\nyou know how I can't move without that Seth Holcomb a-taggin' after me;\nit's just awful the way I am persecuted.  I do wish I'd get old and\nthen there'll be an end of it.\"  She held out a pair of mittens,\nvintage of 1812, to Kate, appealingly.\n\nSeth Holcomb stumped in sight as she concluded; he had been Martha's\nfaithful admirer these twenty years, but she would never reward him;\nher hopes of younger and less rheumatic game seemed to spring eternal.\n\nDuring the few days that Anna had made one of the Squire's family she\nwent about with deep thankfulness in her heart; she had been given the\nchance to work, to earn her bread by these good people.  Who could\ntell--as time went on perhaps they would grow fond of her, learn to\nregard her as one of themselves--it was so much better than being so\nutterly alone.\n\nHer energy never flagged, she did her share of the work with the light\nhand of experience that delighted the old housekeeper.  It was so good\nto feel a roof over her head, and to feel that she was earning her\nright to it.\n\nSupper had been cooked, the table laid and everything was in readiness\nfor the family meal, but the old clock wanted five minutes of the hour;\nthe girl came out into the glowing sunset to draw a pail of water from\nthe old well, but paused to enjoy the scene.  Purple, gold and crimson\nwas the mantle of the departing day; and all her crushed and hopeless\nyouth rose, cheered by its glory.\n\n\"Thank God,\" she murmured fervently, \"at last I have found a refuge.  I\nam beginning life again.  The shadow of the old one will rest on me\nforever, but time and work, the cure for every grief, will cure me.\"\n\nHer eyes had been turned toward the west, where the day was going out\nin such a riot of splendor, and she had not noticed the man who entered\nthe gate and was making his way toward her, flicking his boots with his\nriding crop as he walked.\n\nShe turned suddenly at the sound of steps on the gravel; in the\ngathering darkness neither could see nor recognize the other till they\nwere face to face.\n\nThe woman's face blanched, she stifled an exclamation of horror and\nstared at him.\n\n\"You! you here!\"\n\nIt was Lennox Sanderson, and the sight of him, so suddenly, in this\nout-of-the-way place, made her reel, almost fainting against the\nwell-curb.\n\nHe grabbed her arm and shook her roughly, and said, \"What are you doing\nhere, in this place?\"\n\n\"I am trying to earn my living.  Go, go,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Do you think I came here after you?\" he sneered.  \"I've come to see\nthe Squire.\"  All the selfishness and cowardice latent in Sanderson's\ncharacter were reflected in his face, at that moment, destroying its\nnatural symmetry, disfiguring it with tell-tale lines, and showing him\nat his par value--a weak, contemptible libertine, brought to bay.\n\nThis meeting with his victim after all these long months of silence, in\nthis remote place, deprived him, momentarily, of his customary poise\nand equilibrium.  Why was she here?  Would she denounce him to these\npeople?  What effect would it have? were some of the questions that\nwhirled through his brain as they stood together in the gathering\ntwilight.\n\nBut the shrinking look in her eyes allayed his fears.  He read terror\nin every line of her quivering figure, and in the frantic way she clung\nto the well-curb to increase the space between them.  She, with the\nright to accuse, unconsciously took the attitude of supplication.  The\nman knew he had nothing to fear, and laid his plans accordingly.\n\n\"I don't believe you've come here to look for work,\" he said, stooping\nover the crouching figure.  \"You've come here to make trouble--to hound\nthe life out of me.\"\n\n\"My hope in coming here was that I might never see you again.  What\ncould I want of you, Lennox Sanderson?\"\n\nThe measured contempt of her tones was not without its effect.  He\nwinced perceptibly, but his coarse instincts rallied to his help and\nagain he began to bully:\n\n\"Spare me the usual hard-luck story of the deceived young woman trying\nto make an honest living.  If you insist on drudging, it's your own\nfault.  I offered to take care of you and provide for your future, but\nyou received my offers of assistance with a 'Villain-take-your-gold'\nstyle, that I was not prepared to accept.  If, as you say, you never\nwish to see me again, what is simpler than to go away?\"\n\nHis cold-blooded indifference, his utter withdrawal from the calamity\nhe had brought upon her, his airy suggestion that she should go because\nit suited his pleasure to remain, maddened Anna.  The blood rushed to\nher pale cheeks and there came her old conquering beauty with it.  She\neyed him with equal defiance.\n\n\"I shall not go, because it does not suit me.\"  And then wavering a\nlittle at the thought of her wretched experience--\"I had too much\ntrouble finding a place where an honest home is offered for honest\nwork, to leave this one for your whim.  No, I shall not go.\"\n\nThey heard footsteps moving about the house.  A lamp shone out from the\ndining-room window.  The Squire's voice, inquiring for Kate, came\nacross to them on the still summer air.  They looked into each other's\npale, determined faces.  Which would yield?  It was the old struggle\nbetween the sexes--a struggle old as earth, unsettled as chaos.\n\nWhich should yield?  The man who had sinned much, or the woman who had\nloved much?\n\nSanderson employed all the force of his brutality to frighten Anna into\nyielding.  \"See here,\" and he caught her arm in no uncertain grasp.\n\"You've got to go.  You can't stay here in the same place with me.  If\nmoney is what you want, you shall have it; but you've got to go.  Do\nyou understand?  _Go_!\"\n\nHe had emphasized his words by tightening the grip on her arm, and the\npain of it well nigh made her cry out.  He relaxed his hold just as Hi\nHoller came out on the porch, seized the supper horn and blew it\nfuriously.  The Squire came down and looked amazed at the smartly\ndressed young city man talking to Anna.\n\n\"Squire,\" she said, taking the initiative, \"this gentleman is inquiring\nfor you.\"\n\nOn hearing the Squire's footsteps, Sanderson turned to him with all the\ncordiality at his command, and, slapping him on the back, said: \"Hello,\nSquire, I've just ridden over to talk to you about your prize Jersey\nheifer.\"  The Squire had only met Sanderson once or twice before, and\nthat was prior to Kate's visit to Boston; but he knew all about the\nyoung man who had become his neighbor.\n\nLennox Sanderson was a lucky fellow, and while waiting impatiently for\nhis father to start him in life, his uncle, the judge, died and\nmentioned no one but Lennox Sanderson in his will.\n\nThe Squire had known the late Judge Sanderson, the \"big man\" of the\ncounty, very well, and lost no time in cultivating the acquaintance of\nthe judge's nephew, who had fallen heir to the fine property the judge\nhad accumulated, no small part of which was the handsome \"country seat\"\nof the judge in the neighborhood.\n\nThat is how this fine young city man happened to drop in on the Squire\nso unceremoniously.  He had learned of Kate's return from Boston and\nwas hastening to pay his respects to the pretty girl.  To say he was\nastounded to find Anna on the spot is putting it mildly.  He believed\nshe had learned of his good fortune and had followed him, to make\ndisagreeable exactions.  It put him in a rage and it cost him a strong\neffort to conceal it before the Squire.\n\n\"Walk right in,\" said the Squire, beaming with hospitality.  Sanderson\nentered and the girl found herself alone in the twilight.  Anna sat on\nthe bench by the well-curb and faced despair.  She was physically so\nweak from her long and recent illness that the unexpected interview\nwith Sanderson left her faint and exhausted.  The momentary flare up of\nher righteous indignation at Sanderson's outrageous proposition that\nshe should go away had sapped her strength and she made ready to meet\none of the great crises of life with nerveless, trembling body and a\nmind incapable of action.\n\nShe pressed her throbbing head on the cool stones of the well-curb and\nprayed for light.  What could she do--where could she go?  Her fate\nrose up before her like a great stone prison wall at which she beat\nwith naked bleeding hand and the stones still stood in all their\nmightiness.\n\nHow could she cope with such heartless cruelty as that of Sanderson?\nAll that she had asked for was an honest roof in return for honest\ntoil.  And there are so few such, thought the helpless girl,\nremembering with awful vividness her efforts to find work and the\npitfalls and barriers that had been put in her way, often in the guise\nof friendly interest.\n\nShe could not go out and face it all over again.  It was so bleak--so\nbleak.  There seemed to be no place in the great world that she could\nfill, no one stood in need of her help, no one required her services.\nThey had no faith in her story that she was looking for work and had no\nhome.\n\n\"What, a good-looking young girl like you!  What, no home?  No, no; we\ndon't need you,\" or the other frightful alternative.\n\nAnd yet she must go.  Sanderson was right.  She could not stay where he\nwas.  She must go.  But where?\n\nShe could hear his voice in the dining-room, entertaining them all with\nhis inimitable gift of story-telling.  And then, their laughter--peal\non peal of it--and his voice cutting in, with its well-bred modulation:\n\"Yes, I thought it was a pretty good story myself, even if the joke was\non me.\"  And again their laughter and applause.  She had no weapons\nwith which to fight such cold-blooded selfishness.  To stay meant\neternal torture.  She saw herself forced to face his complacent sneer\nday after day and death on the roadside seemed preferable.\n\nShe tried to face the situation in all its pitiful reality, but the\ninjustice of it cried out for vengeance and she could not think.  She\ncould only bury her throbbing temples in her hands and murmur over and\nover again: \"It is all wrong.\"\n\nDavid found her thus, as he made his way to the house from the barn,\nwhere he had been detained later than the others.  When he saw her\nforlorn little figure huddled by the well-curb in an attitude of\nabsolute dejection, he could not go on without saying some word of\ncomfort.\n\n\"Miss Anna,\" he said very gently, \"I hope you are not going to be\nhomesick with us.\"\n\nShe lifted a pale, tear-stained face, on which the lines of suffering\nwere written far in advance of her years.\n\n\"It does not matter, Mr. David,\" she answered him, \"I am going away.\"\n\n\"No, no, you are not going to do anything of the kind,\" he said gently;\n\"the work seems hard today because it is new, but in a day or two you\nwill become accustomed to it, and to us.  We may seem a bit hard and\nunsympathetic; I can see you are not used to our ways of living, and\nlooking at things, but we are sincere, and we want you to stay with us;\nindeed, we do.\"\n\nShe gave him a wealth of gratitude from her beautiful brown eyes.  \"It\nis not that I find the place hard, Mr. David.  Every one has been so\nkind to me that I would be glad to stay, but--but----\"\n\nHe did not press her for her reason.  \"You have been ill, I believe you\nsaid?\"\n\n\"Yes, very ill indeed, and there are not many who would give work to a\ndelicate girl.  Oh, I am sorry to go----\"  She broke off wildly, and\nthe tears filled her eyes.\n\n\"Miss Anna, when one is ill, it's hard to know what is best.  Don't\nmake up your mind just yet.  Stay for a few days and give us a trial,\nand just call on me when you want a bucket of water or anything else\nthat taxes your strength.\"\n\nShe tried to answer him but could not.  They were the first words of\nreal kindness, after all these months of sorrow and loneliness, and\nthey broke down the icy barrier that seemed to have enclosed her heart.\nShe bent her head and wept silently.\n\n\"There, there, little woman,\" he said, patting her shoulder when he\nwould have given anything to put his arm around her and offer her the\ndevotion of his life.  But Dave had a good bit of hard common sense\nunder his hat, and he knew that such a declaration would only hasten\nher departure and the wise young man continued to be brotherly, to urge\nher to stay for his mother's sake, and because it was so hard for a\nyoung woman to find the proper kind of a home, and really she was not a\ngood judge of what was best for her.\n\nAnd Anna, whose storm-swept soul was so weary of beating against the\nrocks, listened and made up her mind to enjoy the wholesome\ncompanionship of these good people, for a little while at least.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nRUSTIC HOSPITALITY.\n\n\n  \"Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned,\n  Where all the ruddy family around\n  Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,\n  Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale.\"--_Goldsmith_.\n\n\nSanderson's clothes, his manner, his slightly English accent, were all\nso many items in a good letter of credit to those simple people.  The\nSquire was secretly proud at having a city man like young Sanderson for\na neighbor.  It would unquestionably add tone to Wakefield society.\n\nKate regarded him with the frank admiration of a young woman who\nappreciates a smart appearance, good manner, and the indefinable\nsomething that goes to make up the ensemble of the man of the world.\nHe could say nothing, cleverly; he had little subtleties of manner that\nput the other men she had met to poor advantage beside him.  On the\nnight in question the Squire was giving a supper in honor of the\nberry-pickers who had helped to gather in the crop the week before.\nAfterwards, they would sing the sweet, homely songs that all the\nvillage loved, and then troop home by moonlight to the accompaniment of\ntheir own music.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Sanderson,\" said the Squire, \"suppose you stay to supper\nwith us.  See, we've lots of good company\"--and he waved his hand,\nindicating the different groups, \"and we'll talk about the stock\nafterwards.\"\n\nHe accepted their invitation to supper with flattering alacrity; they\nwere so good to take pity on a solitaire, and Mrs. Bartlett was such a\nfamous housekeeper; he had heard of her apple-pies in Boston.  Dave\nscented patronage in his \"citified\" air; he and other young men at the\ntable--young men who helped about the farm--resented everything about\nthe stranger from the self-satisfied poise of his head to the\naggressive gloss on his riding-boots.\n\n\"Why, Dave,\" said Kate to her cousin in an undertone, \"you look\npositively fierce.  If I had a particle of vanity I should say you were\njealous.\"\n\n\"When I get jealous, Kate, it will be of a man, not of a tailor's sign.\"\n\n\"Say, Miss Kate,\" said Hi Holler, \"they're a couple of old lengths of\nstove-pipes out in the loft; I'm going to polish 'em up for leggins.\nDarned if I let any city dude get ahead o' me.\"\n\n\"The green-eyed monster is driving you all crazy,\" laughed Kate, in\ngreat good humor.  \"The girls don't seem to find any fault with him.\"\nCynthia and Amelia were both regarding him with admiring glances.\n\nDave turned away in some impatience.  Involuntarily his eyes sought out\nAnna Moore to see if she, too, was adding her quota of admiration to\nthe stranger's account.  But Anna had no eyes or ears for anything but\nthe business of the moment, which was attending to the Squire's guests.\nEvidently one woman could retain her senses in the presence of this\ntailor's figure.  Dave's admiration of Anna went up several points.\n\nShe slipped about as quietly as a spirit, removing and replacing dishes\nwith exquisite deftness.  Even the Squire was forced to acknowledge\nthat she was a great acquisition to the household.  She neither sought\nto avoid nor to attract the attention of Sanderson; she waited on him\nattentively and unobtrusively as she would have waited on any other\nguest at the Squire's table.  The Squire and Sanderson retired to the\nporch to discuss the purchase of the stock, and Mrs. Bartlett and Anna\nset to work to clear away the dishes.  Kate excused herself from\nassisting, as she had to assume the position as hostess and soon had\nthe church choir singing in its very best style.  Song after song rang\nout on the clear summer air.  It was a treat not likely to be forgotten\nsoon by the listeners.  All the members of the choir had what is known\nas \"natural talent,\" joined to which there was a very fair amount of\ncultivation, and the result was music of a most pleasing type, music\nthat touches the heart--not a mere display Of vocal gymnastics.\n\nToward the close of the festivities, the sound of wheels was heard, and\nthe cracked voice of Rube Whipple, the town constable, urging his\nancient nag to greater speed, issued out of the darkness.  Rube was\nwhat is known as a \"character.\"  He had held the office, which on\naccount of being associated with him had become a sort of municipal\njoke, in the earliest recollections of the oldest inhabitants.  He\napparently got no older.  For the past fifty years he had looked as if\nhe had been ready to totter into the grave at any moment, but he took\nit out apparently, in attending to other people's funerals instead.\nHis voice was cracked, he walked with a limp, and his clothes, Hi\nHoller said: \"was the old suit Noah left in the ark.\"\n\nThe choir had just finished singing \"Rock of Ages\" as the constable\nturned his venerable piece of horseflesh into the front yard.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said, in a voice like a graphophone badly in need of\nrepair, \"I might have knowed it was the choir kicking up all that\nrumpus.  Heard the row clear up to the postoffice, and thought I'd come\nup to see if anyone was getting murdered.\"\n\n\"Thought you'd be on the spot for once, did you, Rube?\" inquired Hi\nHoller.  \"Well, seeing you're here, we might accommodate you, by\ngetting up a murder, or a row, or something.  'Twould be too bad to\nhave nothing happen, seeing you are on hand for once.\"\n\nThe choir joined heartily in the laugh on the constable, who waited\ntill it had subsided and then said:\n\n\"Well, what's the matter with jailing all of you for disturbing the\npublic peace.  There's law for it--'disturbin' the public peace with\nstrange sounds at late and unusual hours of the night.'\"\n\n\"All right, constable,\" said Cynthia, \"I suppose you'll drive us to\njail in that rig o' yourn.  I'd be willing to stay there six months for\nthe sake o' driving behind so spry a piece of horse-flesh as that.\"\n\n\"'Tain't the horseflesh she's after, constable, it's the driver.\nEveryone 'round here knows how Cynthia dew admire you.\"\n\n\"Professional jealousy is what's at the bottom of this,\" declared Kate,\n\"the choir is jealous of Uncle Rube's reputation as a singer, and Uncle\nRube does not care for the choir's new-fangled methods of singing.\nRivalry!  Rivalry!  That's what the matter.\"\n\n\"That's right, Miss Kate,\" squeaked the constable, \"they're jealous of\nmy singing.  There ain't one of 'em, with all their scaling, and\ndo-re-mi-ing can touch me.  If I turned professional to-day, I'd make\nmore'n all of 'em put together.\"\n\n\"That's cause they'd pay you to quit.  Ha, ha,\" said Hi Holler.\n\nAnd so the evening passed with the banter that invariably took place\nwhen Rube was of the party.  It was late when they left the Squire's,\nthe constable going along with them, and all singing merrily as birds\non a summer morning.\n\nDavid went out under the stars and smoked innumerable pipes, but they\ndid not give their customary solace to-night.  There was an upheaval\ngoing on in his well regulated mind.  \"Who was she?  What was the\nmystery about her?  How did a girl like that come to be tramping about\nthe country looking for work?\"  Her manner of speaking, the very\nintonations of her voice, her choice of words, all proclaimed her from\na different world from theirs.  He had noticed her hands, white and\nfragile, and her small delicate wrists.  They did not belong to a\nworking woman.\n\nAnd her eyes, that seemed to hold the sorrows of centuries in their\nliquid depths.  What was the mystery of it all?  And that insolent city\nchap!  What a look he had given her.  The memory of it made Dave's\nhands come together as if he were strangling something.  But it was all\ntoo deep for him.  The lights glimmered in the rooms upstairs.  His\nfather walked to the outer gate to say good-night to Mr. Sanderson--and\nhe tried to justify the feeling of hatred he felt toward Sanderson, but\ncould not.  The sound of a shutter being drawn in, caused him to look\nup.  Anna, leaned out in the moonlight for a moment before drawing in\nthe blind.  Dave took off his hat--it was an unconscious act of\nreverence.  The next moment, the grave, shy countryman had smiled at\nhis sentimentality.  The shutters closed and all was dark, but Dave\ncontinued to think and smoke far into the night.\n\nThe days slipped by in pleasant and even tenor.  The summer burned\nitself out in a riot of glorious colors, the harvest was gathered in,\nand the ripe apples fell from the trees--and there was a wail of coming\nwinter to the night wind.  Anna Moore had made her place in the\nBartlett family.  The Squire could not imagine how he ever got along\nwithout her; she always thought of everyone's comfort and remembered\ntheir little individual likes and dislikes, till the whole household\ngrew to depend on her.\n\nBut she never spoke of herself nor referred to her family, friends or\nmanner of living, before coming to the Bartlett farm.\n\nWhen she had first come among them, her beauty had caused a little\nripple of excitement among the neighbors; the young men, in particular,\nwere all anxious to take her to husking bees and quilting parties, but\nshe always had some excellent excuse for not going, and while her\nrefusals were offered with the utmost kindness, there was a quiet\ndignity about the girl that made any attempt at rustic playfulness or\nfamiliarity impossible.\n\nSanderson came to the house from time to time, but Anna treated him\nprecisely as she would have treated any other young man who came to the\nSquire's.  She was the family \"help,\" her duty stopped in announcing\nthe guests--or sometimes, and then she felt that fate had been\nparticularly cruel--in waiting on him at table.\n\nOnce or twice when Sanderson had found her alone, he had attempted to\nspeak to her.  But she silenced him with a look that seat him away\ncowering like a whipped cur.  If he had any interest in any member of\nthe Squire's family, Anna did not notice it.  He was an ugly scar on\nher memory, and when not actually in his presence she tried to forget\nthat he lived.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nKATE BREWSTER HOLDS SANDERSON'S ATTENTION.\n\n\n  \"A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch\n  Incapable of pity, void and empty\n  From any dram of mercy.\"--_Shakespeare_.\n\n\nIt was perhaps owing to the fact that Anna strove hourly to eliminate\nthe memory of Lennox Sanderson from her life, that she remained wholly\nunaware of that which every member of the Squire's household was\nbeginning to notice: namely, that Lennox Sanderson was becoming daily\nmore attentive to Kate Brewster.\n\nShe had more than once hazarded a guess on why a man of Sanderson's\ntastes should care to remain in so quiet a neighborhood, but could\narrive at no solution of the case.  In discussing him, she had heard\nthe Bartletts quote his reason, that he was studying practical farming,\nand later on intended to take it up, on a large scale.  When she had\nfirst seen him at the Squire's, she had made up her mind that it would\nbe better for her to go away, but the memory of the homeless wanderings\nshe had endured after her mother's death, filled her with terror, and\nafter the first shock of seeing Sanderson, she concluded that it was\nbetter to remain where she was, unless he should attempt to force his\nsociety on her, in which case she would have to go, if she died by the\nwayside.\n\nDave was coming across the fields late one autumn afternoon when he saw\nAnna at the well, trying with all her small strength to draw up a\nbucket of water.  The well--one of the old-fashioned kind that worked\nby a \"sweep\" and pole, at the end of which hung \"the old oaken bucket\"\nwhich Anna drew up easily till the last few feet and then found it was\nhard work.  She had both hands on the iron bale of the bucket and was\npanting a little, when a deep, gentle voice said in her ear: \"Let go,\nlittle woman, that's too heavy for you.\"  And she felt the bucket taken\nforcibly out of her hand.\n\n\"Never mind me, Mr. David,\" she said, giving way reluctantly.\n\n\"Always at some hard work or other,\" he said; \"you won't quit till you\nget laid up sick.\"\n\nHe filled the water-pail from the bucket for her, which she took up and\nwas about to go when he found courage to say:\n\n\"Won't you stay a minute, Anna, I want to talk to you.\n\n\"Anna, have you any relatives?\"\n\n\"Not now.\"\n\n\"But have you no friends who knew you and loved you before you came to\nus?\"\n\n\"I want nothing of my friends, Mr. David, but their good will.\"\n\n\"Anna, why will you persist in cutting yourself off from the rest of\nthe world like this?  You are too good, too womanly a girl, to lead\nthis colorless kind of an existence forever.\"\n\nShe looked at him pleadingly out of her beautiful eyes.  \"Mr. David,\nyou would not be intentionally cruel to me, I know, so don't speak to\nme of these things.  It only distresses _me_--and can do you no good.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, Anna, I would not hurt you for the world--but you must\nknow that I love you.  Don't you think you could ever grow to care for\nme?\"\n\n\"Mr. David, I shall never marry any one.  Do not ask me to explain, and\nI beg of you, if you have a feeling of even ordinary kindness for me.\nthat you will never mention this subject to me again.  You remember how\nI promised your father that if he would let me make my home with you,\nhe should never live to regret it?  Do you think that I intend to repay\nthe dearest wish of his heart in this way?  Why, Mr. David, you are\nengaged to marry Kate.\"  She took up the water-pail to go.\n\n\"Kate's one of the best girls alive, but I feel toward her like a\nbrother.  Besides, Anna, what have you been doing with those big brown\neyes of yours?  Don't you see that Kate and Lennox Sanderson are head\nover heels in love with each other?\"\n\nThe pail of water slipped from Anna's hand and sent a flood over\nDavid's boots.\n\n\"No, no--anything but that!  You don't know what you are saying!\"\n\nDave looked at her in absolute amazement.  He had no chance to reply.\nAs if in answer to his remark, there came through the outer gate, Kate\nand Sanderson arm in arm.  They had been gathering golden-rod, and\ntheir arms were full of the glory of autumn.\n\nThere was a certain assumption of proprietary right in the way that\nSanderson assisted Kate with the golden-rod that Anna recognized.  She\nknew it, and falseness of it burned through, her like so much corrosive\nacid.  She stood with the upturned pail at her feet, unable to recover\nher composure, her bosom heaving high, her eyes dilating.  She stood\nthere, wild as a startled panther, uncertain whether to fight or fly.\n\n\"You don't know what a good time we've been having,\" Kate called out.\n\n\"You see, Anna dear, I was right,\" David said to her.\n\nBut Anna did not answer.  Sorrow had broken her on its wheel.  Where\nwas the justice of it?  Why should he go forth to seek his\nhappiness--and find it--and she cower in shame through all the years to\ncome?\n\nDave saw that she had forgotten his presence; she stood there in the\ngathering night with wild, unseeing eyes.  Memory had turned back the\nhands of the clock till it pointed out that fatal hour on another\ngolden afternoon in autumn, and Sanderson, the hero of the hour, had\ncome to her with the marks of battle still upon him, and as the crowd\ngave away for him, right and left, he had said: \"I could not help\nwinning with your eyes on me.\"\n\nOh, the lying dishonor of it!  It was not jealousy that prompted her,\nfor a moment, to go to Kate and tell her all.  What right had such\nvultures as he to be received, smiled upon, courted, caressed?  If\nthere was justice on earth, his sin should have been branded on him,\nthat other women might take warning.\n\nDave knew that her thoughts had flown miles wide of him, and his\nunselfishness told him that it would be kindness to go into the house\nand leave her to herself, which he did with a heavy heart and many\nmisgivings.\n\nHi Holler had none of Dave's sensitiveness.  He saw Anna standing by\nthe gate, and being a loquacious soul, who saw no advantage in silence,\nif there was a fellow creature to talk to; he came up grinning: \"Say,\nAnna, I wonder if me and you was both thinkin' about the same thing--I\nwas thinkin' as I seen Sanderson and Kate passing that I certainly\nwould enjoy a piece o' weddin' cake, don't care whose it was.\"\n\n\"No, Hi,\" Anna said, being careful to restrain any bitterness of tone,\n\"I certainly was not wishing for a wedding cake.\"\n\n\"I certainly do like wedding cake, Anna, but then, I like everything to\neat.  Some folks don't like one thing, some folks don't like another.\nDifference between them an' me is, I like everything.\"\n\nAnna laughed in spite of herself.\n\n\"Yes, since I like everything, and I like it all the time, why, I ain't\nmore than swallowed the last buckwheat for breakfast, than I am ready\nfor dinner.  You don't s'pose I'm sick or anything, do you, Anna?\"\n\n\"I don't think the symptoms sound alarming, Hi.\"\n\n\"Well, you take a load off my mind, Anna, cause I was getting scared\nabout myself.\"  Seeing the empty water-pail, Hi refilled it and carried\nit in the house for Anna.  Dave was not the only one in that household\nwho was miserable, owing to Cupid's unaccountable antics.  Professor\nSterling, the well-paying summer boarder, continued to remain with the\nBartletts, though summer, the happy season during which the rustic may\nsquare his grudge with the city man within his gates, had long since\npassed.\n\nThe professor had spared enough time from his bugs and beetles to\nnotice how blue Kate's eyes were, and how luxurious her hair; then he\nhad also, with some misgivings, regarded his own in the mirror, with\nthe unassuring result that his hair was thinning on top and his eyes\nlooked old through his gold-bowed spectacles.\n\nThe discovery did not meet with the indifference one might have\nexpected on the part of the conscientious entomologist.  He fell even\nto the depths of reading hair-restoring circulars and he spent\nconsiderable time debating whether he should change his spectacles for\na pince-nez.\n\nThe spectacles, however, continued to do their work nobly for the\nprofessor, not only assisting him to make his scientific observations\non the habits of a potato-bug in captivity, but showing him with far\nmore clearness that Kate Brewster and Lennox Sanderson contrived to\nspend a great deal of time in each other's society, and that both\nseemed to enjoy the time thus spent.\n\nThe professor went back to his beetles, but they palled.  The most\ngorgeous butterfly ever constructed had not one-tenth the charm for him\nthat was contained in a glance of Kate Brewster's eyes, or a glimpse of\nher golden head as she flitted about the house.  And so the autumn\nwaned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nTHE QUALITY OF MERCY\n\n\n  \"Teach me to feel another's woe,\n  To hide the fault I see;\n  That mercy I to others show,\n  That mercy show to me.\"--_Pope_.\n\n\nSanderson, during his visits to the Bartlett farm--and they became more\nfrequent as time went on--would look at Anna with cold curiosity, not\nunmixed with contempt, when by chance they happened to be alone for a\nmoment.  But the girl never displayed by so much as the quiver of an\neye-lash that she had ever seen him before.\n\nHad Lennox Sanderson been capable of fathoming Anna Moore, or even of\nreading her present marble look or tone, he would have seen that he had\nlittle to apprehend from her beyond contempt, a thing he would not in\nthe least have minded; but he was cunning, and like the cunning\nshallow.  So he began to formulate plans for making things even with\nAnna--in other words, buying her off.\n\nHis admiration for Kate deepened in proportion as the square of that\nyoung woman's reserve increased.  She was not only the first woman who\nrefused to burn incense at his shrine, but also the first who frankly\nadmitted that she found him amusing.  She mildly guyed his accent, his\nmanner of talking, his London clothes, his way of looking at things.\nNever having lived near a university town, she escaped the traditional\nhero worship.  It was a new sensation for Sanderson, and eventually he\nsuccumbed to it.\n\n\"You know, Miss Kate,\" he said one day, \"you are positively the most\nrefreshing girl I have ever met.  You don't know how much I love you.\"\n\nKate considered for a moment.  There was a hint of patronage, it seemed\nto her, in his compliment, that she did not care for.\n\n\"Oh, consider the debt cancelled, Mr. Sanderson.  You have not found my\nrustic simplicity any more refreshing than I have found your poster\nwaistcoats.\"\n\n\"Why do you persist is misunderstanding and hurting me?\"\n\n\"I apologize to your waistcoats, Mr. Sanderson.  I have long considered\nthem the substitute for your better nature.\"\n\n\"Better natures and that sort of thing have rather gone out of style,\nhaven't they?\"\n\n\"They are always out of style with people who never had them.\"\n\n\"Is this quarreling, Kate, or making love?\"\n\n\"Oh, let's make it quarreling, Mr. Sanderson.  And now about that horse\nyou lent me.  That's a vile bit you've got on him.\"  And the\nconversation turned to other things, as it always did when he tried to\nbe sentimental with Kate.  Sometimes he thought it was not the girl,\nbut her resistance, that he admired so much.\n\nThings in the Bartlett household were getting a bit uneasy.  The Squire\nchafed that his cherished project of Kate and Dave's marrying seemed no\nnearer realization now than it had been two years ago.\n\nDave's equable temper vanished under the strain and uncertainty\nregarding Anna Moore's silence and apparent indifference to him.  He\nwould have believed her before all the world; her side of the story was\nthe only version for him; but Anna did not see fit to break her\nsilence.  When he would approach her on the subject she would only say:\n\n\"Mr. David, your father employs me as a servant.  I try to do my work\nfaithfully, but my past life concerns no one but myself.\"\n\nAnd Dave, fearing that she might leave them, if he continued to force\nhis attentions on her, held his peace.  The thought of losing even the\nsight of her about the house wrung his heart.  He could not bear to\ncontemplate the long winter days uncheered by her gentle presence.\n\nIt was nearly Thanksgiving.  The first snow had come and covered up\neverything that was bare and unsightly in the landscape with its\nbeautiful mantle of white, and Anna, sitting by the window, dropped the\nstocking she was darning to press the bitter tears back to her eyes.\n\nThe snow had but one thought for her.  She saw it falling, falling soft\nand feathery on a baby's grave in the Episcopal Cemetery at Somerville.\nShe shivered; it was as if the flakes were falling on her own warm\nflesh.\n\nIf she could but go to that little grave and lie down among the\nfeathery flakes and forget it all, it would be so much easier than this\neternal struggle to live.  What had life in store for her?  There was\nthe daily drudgery, years and years of it, and always the crushing\nknowledge of injustice.\n\nShe knew how it would be.  Scandal would track her down--put a price on\nher head; these people who had given her a home would hear, and what\nwould all her months of faithful service avail?\n\n\"Is this true?\" she already heard the Squire say in imagination, and\nshe should have to answer: \"Yes\"--and there would be the open door and\nthe finger pointing to her to go.\n\nShe heard the Squire's familiar step on the stair; unconsciously, she\ncrouched lower; had he come to tell her to go?\n\nBut the Squire came in whistling, a picture of homely contentment,\nhands in pocket, smiling jovially.  She knew there must be no telltale\ntears on her cheeks, even if her heart was crying out in the cold and\nsnow.  She knew the bitterness of being denied the comfort of tears.\nIt was but one of the hideous train of horrors that pursued a woman in\nher position.\n\nShe forced them back and met the Squire with a smile that was all the\nsweeter for the effort.\n\n\"Here's your chair, Squire, all ready waiting for you, and the only\nthing you want to make you perfectly happy--is--guess?\"  She held out\nhis old corncob pipe, filled to perfection.\n\n\"I declare, Anna, you are just spoiling me, and some day you'll be\ngoing off and getting married to some of these young fellows 'round\nhere, and where will I be then?\"\n\n\"You need have no fears on that score,\" she said, struggling to\nmaintain a smile.\n\n\"Well, well, that's what girls always say, but I don't know what we'll\ndo without you.  How long have you been with us, now?\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" counting on her fingers: \"just six months.\"\n\n\"So it is, my dear.  Well, I hope it will be six years before you think\nof leaving us.  And, Anna, while we are talking, I like to say to you\nthat I have felt pretty mean more than once about the way I treated you\nthat first day you come.\"\n\n\"Pray, do not mention it, Squire.  Your kindness since has quite made\nme forget that you hesitated to take an utter stranger into your\nhousehold.\"\n\n\"That was it, my dear--an utter stranger--and you cannot really blame\nme; here was Looizy and Kate and I was asked to take into the house\nwith them a young woman whom I had never set eyes on before; it seemed\nto me a trifle risky, but you've proved that I was wrong, my dear, and\nI'll admit it.\"\n\nThe girl dropped the stocking she was mending; her trembling hand\nrefused to support even the pretense of work.  Outside the snow was\nfalling just as it was falling, perhaps, on the little grave where all\nher youth and hope were buried.\n\nThe thought gave her courage to speak, though the pale lips struggled\npitifully to frame the words.\n\n\"Squire, suppose that when I came to you that day last June you had\nbeen right--I am only saying this for the sake of argument, Squire--but\nsuppose that I had been a deceived girl, that I had come here to begin\nall over again; to live down the injustice, the scandal and all the\nother things that unfortunate woman have to live down, would you still\nhave felt the same?\"\n\n\"Why, Anna, I never heard you talk like this before; of course I should\nhave felt the same; if a commandment is broke, it's broke; nothing can\nalter that, can it?\"\n\n\"But, Squire, is there no mercy, no chance held out to the woman who\nhas been unfortunate?\"\n\n\"Anna, these arguments don't sound well from a proper behaving young\nwoman like you.  I know it's the fashion nowadays for good women to\ntalk about mercy to their fallen sisters, but it's a mistake.  When a\nwoman falls, she loses her right to respect, and that's the end of it.\"\n\nShe turned her face to the storm and the softly falling flakes were no\nwhiter than her face.\n\nAs Anna turned to leave the room on some pretext, she saw Kate coming\nin with a huge bunch of Jacqueminot roses in her hand.  Of course,\nSanderson had sent them.  The perfume of them sickened Anna, as the\nodor of a charnel house might have done.   She tried to smile bravely\nat Kate, who smiled back triumphantly as she went in to show her uncle\nthe flowers.  But the sight of them was like the turning of a knife in\na festering wound.\n\nAnna made her way to the kitchen.  Dave was sitting there smoking.\nAnna found strength and sustenance in his mere presence, though she did\nnot say a word to him, but he was such a faithful soul.  Good, honest\nDave.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nTHE VILLAGE GOSSIP SNIFFS SCANDAL.\n\n\n  \"Flavia, most tender of her own good name,\n  Is rather careless of her sister's fame!\n  Her superfluity the poor supplies,\n  But if she touch a character it dies.\"--_Cowper_.\n\n\nIt was characteristic of Marthy Perkins and her continual pursuit of\npleasure, that she should wade through snowdrifts to Squire Bartlett's\nand ask for a lift in his sleigh.  The Squire's family were going to a\nsurprise party to be given to one of the neighbor's, and Marthy was as\ndetermined about going as a debutante.\n\nShe came in, covered with snow, hooded, shawled and coated till she\nresembled a huge cocoon.  The Squire placed a big armchair for her near\nthe fire, and Marshy sat down, but not without disdaining Anna's offers\nto remove her wraps.  She sniffed at Anna--no other word will express\nit--and savagely clutched her big old-fashioned muff when Anna would\nhave taken it from her to dry it of the snow.\n\nThe sleighbells jingled merrily as the different parties drove by,\nsinging, whistling, laughing, on their way to the party.  The church\nchoir, snugly installed in \"Doc\" Wiggins' sleigh, stopped at the\nSquire's to \"thaw out,\" and try a step or two; Rube Whipple, the town\nconstable, giving them his famous song, \"All Bound 'Round with a Woolen\nString.\"\n\nRube was, as usual, the pivot around which the merry-making centered.\nA few nights before, burglars had broken into the postoffice and\ncarried off the stamps, and the town constable was, as usual, the last\none to hear of it.  On the night in question, he had spent the evening\nat the corner grocery store with a couple of his old pals, the stove\nanswering the purpose of a rather large bulls-eye, at which they\nexpectorated, with conscientious regularity, from time to time.  Seth\nHolcomb, Marthy Perkins' faithful swain, had been of the corner grocery\nparty.\n\n\"Well, Constable, hear you and Seth helped keep the stove warm the\nother night, while thieves walked off with the postoffice,\" Marthy\nannounced; \"what I'd like to know is, how much bitters, rheumatism\nbitters, you had during the evening?\"\n\n\"Well, Marthy Perkins, you ought to be the last to throw it up to Seth\nthat he's obliged to spend his evenings round a corner grocery--that's\nadding insult to injury.\"\n\n\"Insult to injury I reckon can stand, Rube; it's when you add Seth's\nbitters that it staggers.\"\n\nBut Seth, who never minded Marthy's stings and jibes, only remarked:\n\"The recipy for them bitters was given to me by a blame good doctor.\"\n\n\"That cuts you out, Wiggins,\" the Squire said playfully.\n\n\"No, I don't care about standing father to Seth's bitters,\" \"Doc\"\nWiggins remarked, \"but I've tasted worse stuff on a cold night.\"\n\n\"Oh, Seth ain't pertickler about the temperature, when he takes a dose\nof bitters.  Hot or cold, it's all the same to him,\" finished Marthy.\n\nSeth took the opportunity to whisper to her: \"You're going to sit next\nto me in 'Doc' Wiggins' sleigh to-night, ain't you, Marthy?\"\n\n\"Indeed I ain't,\" said the spinster, scornfully tossing her head, \"my\nplace will have to be filled by the bitters-bottle; I am going with the\nSquire and Mrs. Bartlett.\"\n\n\"Doc\" Wiggins' party left in high good humor, the Squire and his party\npromising to follow immediately.  Anna ran upstairs to get Mrs.\nBartlett's bonnet and cloak, and Marthy, with a great air of mystery,\ngot up, and, carefully closing the door after the girl, turned to the\nSquire and his wife with:\n\n\"I've come to tell you something about her.\"\n\n\"Something about Anna?\" said the Squire indignantly.\n\n\"Oh, no, not about our Anna,\" protested Mrs. Bartlett: \"Why, she is the\nbest kind of a girl; we are all devoted to her.\"\n\n\"That's just the saddest part of it, I says to myself when I heard.\nHow can I ever make up my mind to tell them pore, dear Bartletts, who\ntook her in, and has been treating her like one of their own family\never since?  It will come hard on, them, I sez, but that ought not to\ndeter me from my duty.\"\n\n\"Look here, Marthy,\" thundered the Squire, \"if you've got anything to\nsay about that girl, out with it----\"\n\n\"Well, land sake--you needn't be so touchy; she ain't kin to you, and\nyou might thank your lucky stars she ain't.\"\n\n\"Well, what is it, Marthy?\" interposed Mrs. Bartlett.  \"Anna'll be down\nin a minute.\"\n\n\"Well, you know, I have been sewin' down to Warren Center this last\nweek, and Maria Thomson, from Belden, was visiting there, and naturally\nwe all got to talking 'bout folks up this way, and that girl Anna\nMoore's name was mentioned, and I'm blest if Maria Thomson didn't\nrecognize her from my description.\n\n\"I was telling them 'bout the way she came here last June, pale as a\nghost, and how she said her mother had just died and she'd been sick,\nand they knew right off who she was.\"\n\nMarthy loved few things as she did an interested audience.  It was her\nmeat and drink.\n\n\"Well, she didn't call herself Moore in Belden, though that was her\nmother's name--she called herself Lennox,\" Marthy grinned.  \"She was\none of those married ladies who forgot their wedding rings.\"\n\nThe Squire knit his brows and his jaws came together with a snap; there\nwere tears in Mrs. Bartlett's eyes.  The gossip looked from one to the\nother to see the impression her words were making.\n\nIt spurred her on to new efforts.  She positively rolled the words\nabout in delight before she could utter them.\n\n\"Well, the girl's mother, who had been looking worried out of her skin,\ntook sick and died all of a sudden, and the girl took sick herself very\nsoon afterwards--and what do you think?  A girl baby was born to Mrs.\nLennox, but her husband never came near her.  Fortunately, the baby did\nnot live to embarrass her.  It died, and she packed up and left Belden.\nThat's when she came here.\n\n\"And now,\" continued the village inquisitor, summing up her terrible\nevidence, \"what are we to think of a girl called Miss Moore in one town\nand Mrs. Lennox in the other, with no sign of a wedding ring and no\nsign of a husband?  And what are we going to think of that baby?  It\nseems to me scandalous.\"  And she leaned back in her chair and rocked\nfuriously.\n\n[Illustration: Martha Perkins tells the story of Anna Moore's past\nlife.]\n\nThe Squire brought his hand down or the table with terrible force, his\npleasant face, was distorted with rage and indignation.\n\n\"Just what I always said would come of taking in strange creatures that\nwe knew nothing about.  Do you think that I will have a creature like\nthat in my house with my wife and my niece, polluting them with her\nvery presence?--out she goes this minute!\"\n\nHe strode over to the door through which Anna had passed a few moments\nbefore, he flung it open and was about to call when he felt his wife\ncling frantically to his arm.\n\n\"Father, don't do anything in anger that you'll repent of later.  How\ndo you know this is true?  Look how well the girl has acted since she\nhas been here\"--and in a lower voice, \"you know that Marthy's given to\ntalking.\"\n\nThe hand on the knob relaxed, a kindly light replaced the anger in his\neyes.\n\n\"You are right, Looizy, what we've heard is only hearsay, I'll not say\na word to the girl till I know; but to-morrow I am going to Belden and\nfind out the whole story from beginning to end.\"\n\nKate and the professor came in laden with wraps, laughing and talking\nin great glee.  Kate was going to ride in the sleigh with the\nprofessor, and the discovery of a new species of potato-bug could not\nhave delighted him more.  He was in a most gallant mood, and concluding\nthat this was the opportunity for making himself agreeable, he\nundertook to put on Kate's rubbers over her dainty dancing slippers.\n\nPerhaps it was a glimpse of the cobwebby black silk stocking that\nensnared his wits, perhaps it was the delight of kneeling to Kate even\nin this humble capacity.  In either case, the result was equally\ngrotesque; Kate found her dainty feet neatly enclosed in the\nprofessor's ungainly arctics, while he hopelessly contemplated her\novershoe and the size of his own foot.\n\nAnna returned with Mrs. Bartlett's bonnet and cloak before the laugh at\nthe professor had subsided.  She adjusted the cloak, tied Mrs.\nBartlett's bonnet strings with daughterly care and then turned to look\nafter the Squire's comfort, but he strode past her to the sleigh with\nMarthy.  Kate and the professor called on a cheery \"Good-night,\" but\nMrs. Bartlett remained long enough to take the pretty, sorrowful face\nin her hands and give it a sweet, motherly kiss.\n\nWhen the jingling of the sleighbells died away across the snow, Hi\noffered to read jokes to Anna from \"Pickings from Puck,\" which he had\nselected as a Christmas present from Kate, if she would consent to have\nsupper in the sitting-room, where it was warm and cosy.  Anna began to\npop the corn, and Hi to read the jokes with more effort than he would\nhave expended on the sawing of a cord of wood.\n\nHe bit into an apple.  An expression of perfect contentment illuminated\nhis countenance and in a voice husky with fruit began: \"Oh, here is a\nlovely one, Anna,\" and he declaimed, after the style usually employed\nby students of the first reader.\n\n\"Weary Raggles: 'Say, Ragsy, w'y don't you ask 'em for something to eat\nin dat house.  Is you afraid of de dog?'\"\n\n\"Ragsy Reagan: 'No, I a-i-n-t 'fraid of the dog, but me pants is frayed\nof him.'\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha--say, Anna, that's the funniest thing I ever did see.  The\ntramp wasn't frayed of him, but his pants was 'fraid of him.  Gee,\nain't that a funny joke?  And say, Anna, there's a picture with his\nclothes all torn.\"\n\nHi was fairly convulsed; he read till the tears rolled down his cheeks.\n\"'Pickin's from Puck, the funniest book ever wrote.'  Here's another,\nAnna.\"\n\n\"'A p-o-o-r old man was sunstruck on Broadway this morning.  His son\nstruck him for five dollars.'\"  Hi sat pondering over it for a full\nminute, then he burst into a loud guffaw that continued so long and\nuproariously that neither heard the continued rapping on the front door.\n\n\"Hi, some one is knocking on the front door.  Do go and see who it is.\"\n\n\"O! let 'em knock, Anna; don't let's break up our party for strangers.\"\n\n\"Well, Hi, I'll have to go myself,\" and she laid down the corn-popper,\nbut the boy got up grumbling, lurched to the door and let in Lennox\nSanderson.\n\n\"'Tain't nobody at home, Mr. Sanderson,\" said Hi, inhospitably blocking\nthe way.  Anna had crouched over the fire, as if to obliterate herself.\n\n\"Here, Hi, you take this and go out and hold my horse; he's mettlesome\nas the deuce this cold weather.  I want to get warm before I go to\nPutnam's.\"\n\nHi put on his muffler, mits and cap--each with a favorite \"swear word,\"\nsuch as \"ding it,\" \"dum it,\" \"darn it.\"  Nevertheless he wisely\nconcluded to take the half dollar from him and save it for the spring\ncrop of circuses.\n\nAnna started to leave the room, but Sanderson's peremptory \"Stay here,\nI've got to talk to you,\" detained her.\n\nThey looked into each other's faces--these two, who but a few short\nmonths ago had been all in all to each other--and the dead fire was not\ncolder than their looks.\n\n\"Well, Anna,\" he said sneeringly, \"what's your game?  You've been\nhanging about here ever since I came to the neighborhood.  How much do\nyou want to go away?\"\n\n\"Nothing that you could give me, Lennox Sanderson.  My only wish is\nthat I might be spared the sight of you.\"\n\n\"Don't beat around the bush, Anna; is it money, or what?  You are not\nfoolish enough to try to compel me to marry you?\"\n\n\"Nothing could be further from my mind.  I did think once of compelling\nyou to right the wrong you have done me, but that is past.  It is\nburied in the grave with my child.\"\n\n\"Then the child is dead?\"  He came over to the fireplace where she\nstood, but she drew away from him.\n\n\"You have nothing to fear from me, Lennox Sanderson.  The love I felt\nonce is dead, and I have no feeling for you now but contempt.\"\n\n\"You need not rub it in like that, Anna.  I was perfectly willing to do\nthe square thing by you always, but you flared up, went away, and\nHeaven only knew what became of you.  It's bad enough to have things\nmade unpleasant for me in Boston on your account without having you\nqueering my plans here.\"\n\n\"Boston--I never told anyone in Boston.\"\n\n\"No, but that row got into the papers about Langdon and the Tremonts\ncut me.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Anna, as a spasm of pain crossed her face: \"I never wish\nyou to refer to my past life again.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Anna, I am only too anxious to do the right thing by you, even\nnow.  If you will go away, I will give you what you want, if you don't\nintend to interfere between Kate and me.\"\n\n\"Are you sure that Kate is in earnest?  You know that the Squire\nintends her to marry Dave.\"\n\n\"I shall have no difficulty in preventing that if you don't interfere.\"\n\nShe did not answer.  She was again considering the same old question\nthat she had thrashed out a thousand times--should she tell Kate?  How\nwould she take it?  Would the tragedy of her life be regarded as a\nlittle wild-oat sowing on the part of Sanderson and her own eternal\ndisgrace?\n\nThe man was in no humor for her silence.  He grasped her roughly by the\narm, and his voice was raised loud in angry protest.  \"Tell me--do you,\nor do you not intend to interfere?\"\n\nIn the excitement of the moment neither heard the outer door open, and\nneither heard David enter.  He stood in his quiet way, looking from one\nto the other.  Sanderson's angry question died away in some foolish\ncommonplace, but David had heard and Anna and Sanderson knew it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nDAVID CONFESSES HIS LOVE.\n\n\n  \"Come live with me and be my love;\n  And we will all the pleasures prove\n  That hills and valleys, dales and fields,\n  Woods, or steep mountains, yield.\"--_Marlowe_.\n\n\nSanderson, recovering his self-possession almost immediately, drawled\nout:\n\n\"Glad to see you, Dave.  Came over thinking I might be in time to go\nover to Putnam's with your people.  They had gone, so I stopped long\nenough to get warm.  I must be going now.  Good-night, Miss--Miss\"--(he\nseemed, to have great difficulty in recalling the name) \"Moore.\"\n\nDavid paid no attention to him; his eyes were riveted on Anna, who had\nchanged color and was now like ivory flushing into life.  She trembled\nand fell to her knees, making a pretense of gathering up her knitting\nthat had fallen.\n\n\"What brought Sanderson here, Anna?  Is he anything to you--are you\nanything to him?\"\n\nShe tried to assume a playful lightness, but it failed dismally.  It\nwas all her pallid lips could do to frame the words: \"Why, Mr. David,\nwhat a curious question!  What possible interest could the 'catch' of\nthe neighborhood have in your father's servant?\"\n\nThe suggestion of flippancy that her words contained irritated the\ngrave, quiet man as few things could have done.  He turned from her and\nwould have left the room, but she detained him.\n\n\"I am sorry I wounded you, Mr. David, but, indeed, you have no right to\nask.\"\n\n\"I know it, Anna, and you won't give me the right; but how dared that\ncub Sanderson speak to you in that way?\"  He caught her hand, and\nunconsciously wrung it till she cried out in pain.  \"Forgive me, dear,\nI would not hurt you for the world; but that man's manner toward you\nmakes me wild.\"\n\nShe looked up at him from beneath her long, dark lashes; he thought her\neyes were like the glow of forest fires burning through brushwood.  \"We\nwill never think of him again, Mr. David.  I assure you that I am no\nmore to Mr. Sanderson than he is to me, and that is--nothing.\"\n\n\"Thank you for those words, Anna.  I cannot tell you how happy they\nmake me.  But I do not understand you at all.  Even a countryman like\nme can see that you have never been used to our rough way of living;\nyou were never born to this kind of thing, and yet when that man\nSanderson looks at you or talks to you, there is always an undertone of\ncontempt in his look, his words.\"\n\nShe sank wearily into an armchair.  It seemed to her that her limit of\nendurance had been reached, but he, taking her silence for\nacquiescence, lost no time in following up what he fondly hoped might\nbe an advantage.  \"I did not go to the Putnams to-night, Anna, because\nyou were not going, and there is no enjoyment for me when you are not\nthere.\"\n\n\"Mr. David, if you continue to talk to me like this I shall have to\nleave this house.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Anna,\" he said so gravely that the woman beside him knew that\nlife and death were balanced with her words: \"tell me, when you said\nthat day last autumn by the well that you never intended to marry, was\nit just a girl's coquetry or was there some deeper reason for your\nsaying so?\"\n\nShe could not face the love in those honest eyes and answer as her\nconscience prompted.  She was tired, so tired of the struggle, what\nwould she not have given to rest here in the shelter of this perfect\nlove and trust, but it was not for her.\n\n\"Mr. David,\" she said, looking straight before her with wide, unseeing\neyes; \"I can be no man's wife.\"\n\nHe knew from the lines of suffering written deep on the pale young\nface, that maiden coquetry had not inspired her to speak thus; but word\nfor word, it had been wrung from out of the depths of a troubled soul.\n\n\"Anna!\" cried David, in mingled astonishment and pain.  But Anna only\nturned mutely toward him with an imploring look.  She stretched out her\nhands to him, as if trying to tell him more.  But words failed her.\nHer tears overcame her and she fled, sobbing, to her room.  All the way\nup the winding night of stairs, David could hear her anguished moans.\nHe would have followed her, but Hi burst into the room, stamping the\nsnow from his boots.  He shoved in the front door as if he had been an\ninvading army.  He unwound his muffler and cast it from him as if he\nhad a grudge against it, as he proceeded to deliver himself of his\nwrongs.\n\n\"If there's any more visitors coming to the house to-night that wants\ntheir horses held, they can do it themselves, for I am going to have my\nsupper.\"  David made no reply, but went to his own room to brood over\nthe day's events.  And so Anna was spared any further talk with David\nthat night; a circumstance for which she was devoutly thankful.\n\nThe next day the snow was deeper by a foot, but this did not deter the\nSquire from making his proposed trip to Belden.  He started immediately\nafter breakfast, prepared to sift matters to the bottom.\n\nAn air of tension and anxiety pervaded the household all that long,\nmiserable day.  Anna was tortured with doubts.  Should she slip away\nquietly without telling, or should she make her humiliating confession\nto Kate?  Mrs. Bartlett, who knew the object of her husband's errand,\ncould not control her nerves.  She knew intuitively \"that something was\ngoing to happen,\" as the good soul put it to herself.\n\nAltogether it was one of those nerve-wracking days that come from time\nto time in the best regulated households, apparently for no other\npurpose but to prove the fact that a solitary existence is not\nnecessarily the most unhappy.\n\nMrs. Bartlett, for the first time in her life, was worried about Dave.\nHe was moody and morose, even to her, his sworn friend and ally, with\nwhom he had never had a word's difference.  He had gone off that\nmorning shortly after the Squire left the house; and his mother,\nwatching him carefully at breakfast, noticed that he had shoved away\nhis plate with the food untasted.\n\nA fatal symptom to the ever-watchful maternal eye.\n\nKate felt sulky because her aunt and uncle had been urging her to marry\nDave, and apparently Dave had no affection for her beyond that of a\ncousin, the situation irritating her in the extreme.\n\n\"Aunt Louisa, what is the matter with every one?\" she said, flouncing\ninto the kitchen.  \"Something seems to have jarred the family nerves.\nHere is uncle off on some mysterious business, Dave goes off in the\nsnow in a tantrum, and you look as if you had just buried your last\nfriend.\"  And the young lady left the room as suddenly as she entered\nit.\n\n\"It does feel as if trouble was brewing,\" Mrs. Bartlett admitted to\nAnna, with a gloomy shake of the head.  \"I'm getting that worried about\nDave, he's been away all day, and it's not usual for him to stay away\nlike this.\"  Her voice broke a little, and she left the room hurriedly.\n\nHe came in almost immediately, stamping the snow from his boots and\nlooking twice as savage as when he went away.\n\n\"Mrs. Bartlett had been worrying about you all day, Mr. David,\" Anna\nsaid as she turned from the dresser with her arms full of plates.\n\n\"And did you care, Anna, that I was not here?\"  He gave her the\nappealing glance of a great mastiff who hopes for a friendly pat on the\nhead.\n\n\"My feelings on the subject can be of no interest to you,\" she answered\nwith chilling decision.\n\n\"All right,\" and he went to the hat-rack to get his muffler and cap,\npreparatory to again facing the storm.\n\nThe snow had been falling steadily all day.  Drifting almost to the\nheight of the kitchen window, it whirled about the house and beat\nagainst the window panes with a muffled sound that was inexpressibly\ndreary to the girl, who felt herself the center of all this pitiful\nhuman contention.\n\n\"David, David; where have you been all day, and where are you going\nnow?\"  His mother looked at his gray, haggard face and tried to guess\nhis hidden trouble, the first he had ever kept from her.\n\n\"Mother, I am not a child, and you can't expect me to hang about the\nstove like a cat, all my life.\"  It was his first harsh word to her and\nshe shrank before it as if it had been a blow.  David, her boy, to\nspeak to her like that!  She turned quickly away to hide the tears, the\nfirst she had ever shed on his account.\n\n\"Here, Anna,\" she said, struggling to recover her composure, \"take this\nbucket and get it filled for me, please.\"\n\nThe girl reached for her cloak that hung on a peg near the door.\n\n\"No, Anna, you shall not go out for water a night like this; it's not\nthe work for you to do.\"  David had sprung forward and caught the\nbucket from her hand and plunged with it into the storm.  Kate's quick\neyes caught the expression of David's face--while Mrs. Bartlett only\nheard his words.  She gave Anna a searching look as she said: \"So it is\nyou whom David loves.\"  At last Kate understood the secret of Anna's\ndistracted face--and at last the mother understood the secret of her\nboy's moodiness--he loved Anna.  And her heart was filled with\nbitterness and anger at the very thought; she had taken her boy, this\nstranger, with whom the tongue of scandal was busy.  The kindly,\ngentle, old face lost all its sweetness; jealous anger filled it with\nugly lines.  Turning to Anna she said:\n\n\"It would have been better for all of us if we had not taken you in\nthat day to break up our home with your mischief.\"\n\nAnna was cut to the quick.  \"Oh, Mrs. Bartlett, please do not say that;\nI will go away as soon as you like, but it is not with my consent that\nDavid has these foolish fancies about me.\"\n\n\"And do you mean to say that you have never encouraged him,\"\nindignantly demanded the irate mother, who with true feminine\ninconsistency would not have her boy's affections go begging, even\nwhile she scorned the object of it.\n\n\"Encouraged him?  I have begged, entreated him to let me alone; I do\nnot want his love.\"\n\nAn angry sparrow defending her brood could not have been more\nindignantly demonstrative than this gentle old lady.\n\n\"And isn't he good enough for you, Miss?\" she asked in a voice that\nshook with wrath.\n\n\"Dear Mrs. Bartlett, would you have me take his love and return it?\"\n\n\"No, no; that would never do!\" and the inconsistent old soul rocked\nherself to and fro in an agony of despair.\n\nAnna did not resent Mrs. Bartlett's indignation, unjust though it was;\nshe knew how blind good mothers could be when the happiness of their\nchildren is at stake.  She felt only pity for her and remembered only\nher kindness.  So slipping down on her knees beside the old lady's\nchair, she took the toil-worn old hands in her own and said:\n\n\"Do not think hardly of me, Mrs. Bartlett.  You have been so good--and\nwhen I am gone, I want you to think of me with affection.  I will go\naway, and all this trouble will straighten itself out, and you will\nforget that I ever caused you a moment's pain.\"\n\nDave came in with the bucket of water that had caused the little squall\nand prevented his mother from replying, but the hard lines had relaxed\nin the good old face.  She was again \"mother\" whom they all knew and\nloved.  Sanderson followed close after David; he had just come from\nBoston, he said, and inquired for Kate with a simple directness that\nleft no doubt as to whom he had come to see.\n\nIt is an indisputable law of the eternal feminine for all women to\nflaunt a conquest in the face of the man who had declined their\naffection.  Kate was not in love with her cousin David, but she was\ndevoutly thankful to Providence that there was a Lennox Sanderson to\nflaunt before him in the capacity of tame cat, and prove that he \"was\nnot the only man in the world,\" as she put it to herself.\n\nTherefore when Lennox Sanderson handed her a magnificent bunch of\nJacqueminot roses that he had brought her from Boston, Kate was not at\nall backward in rewarding Sanderson with her graciousness.\n\n\"How beautiful they are, Mr. Sanderson; it was so good of you.\"\n\n\"You make me very happy by taking them,\" he answered with a wealth of\nmeaning.\n\nAnna, who had gone to the storeroom for some apples, after her\nreconciliation with Mrs. Bartlett, returned to find Sanderson talking\nearnestly to Kate by the window.  Kate held up the roses for Anna to\nsmell.  \"Aren't they lovely, Anna?  There is nothing like roses for\ntaking the edge off a snowstorm.\"\n\nAnna was forced to go through the farce of admiring them, while\nSanderson looked on with nicely concealed amusement.\n\n\"Well, what do you think of them, Anna?\" said Kate, disappointed that\nshe made no comment.\n\n\"The best thing about roses, speaking generally, Miss Kate, is that\nthey fade quickly and do not embarrass one by outliving the little\naffairs in which they have played a part.\"  She returned Sanderson's\nlanguid glance in a way that made him quail.\n\n\"That is quite true,\" said Kate, being in the humor for a little\ncynicism.  \"What a pity that love letters can't be constructed on the\nsame principle.\"\n\nSanderson did not feel particularly at ease while these two young women\nserved and returned cynicism; he was accordingly much relieved when\nMrs. Bartlett and Anna both left the room, intent on the solemn\nceremony of opening a new supply of preserved peaches.\n\n\"Kate, did you mean what you just said to that girl?\" Sanderson asked\nwhen they were alone.\n\n\"What did I say?  Oh, yes, about the love letters.  Well, what\ndifference does it make whether I meant it or not?\"\n\n\"It makes all the difference in the world to me, Kate.\"  He read\nrefusal in the big blue eyes, and he made haste to plead his cause\nbefore she could say anything.\n\n\"Don't answer yet, Kate; don't give me my life-sentence,\" he said\nplayfully, taking her hand.  \"Think it over; take as long as you like.\nHope with you is better than certainty with any other woman.\"\n\n[Illustration: Lillian Gish and Burr McIntosh.]\n\nProfessor Sterling, who had been to a neighboring town on business for\nthe past two or three days, walked into the middle of this little\ntableau in time to hear the last sentence.  Kate and Sanderson had\nfailed to hear him, partly because he had neglected to remove his\novershoes, and partly because they were deeply engrossed with each\nother.\n\nThough his rival's declaration, which he had every reason to suppose\nwould be accepted, was the death blow to his hopes, yet he unselfishly\nstepped out into the snow, waited five minutes by his watch--a liberal\nallowance for an acceptance, he considered--and then rapped loud and\ntheatrically before entering a second time.  Could unselfishness go\nfurther?\n\nKate and Sanderson had no other opportunity for confidential talk that\nevening.\n\nThey were barely seated about the supper table, when there came a\ntremendous rapping at the door, and Marthy Perkins came in, half\nfrozen.  For once her voluble tongue was silenced.  She retailed no\ngossip while submitting to the friendly ministrations of Mrs. Bartlett\nand Anna, who chafed her hands, gave her hot tea and thawed her back to\nlife--and gossip.\n\n\"Is the Squire back yet?\" asked Marthy with returning warmth.  \"Land\nsakes, what can be keeping him?  Heard him say last night that he\nintended going away this morning, and thought he might have come back.\"\n\n\"With news?\" naively asked Sanderson.\n\n\"Why, yes.  I did think it was likely that he might have gathered up\nsomething interesting, away a whole day.\"  Every one laughed but Mrs.\nBartlett.  She alone knew the object of her husband's quest.\n\n\"Your father's not likely to be back to-night--do you think so, Dave?\"\nshe asked her son, more by way of drawing him out than in the hope of\ngetting any real information.\n\n\"No, I do not think it is likely, mother,\" he answered.\n\n\"Good land! and I nearly froze to death getting here!\" Marthy said in\nan aside to Mrs. Bartlett.  \"I tell you, Looizy, there is nothing like\nsuspense for wearing you out.  I couldn't get a lick of sewing done\nto-day, waiting for Amasy to get in with the news.\"\n\n\"Hallo! hallo!  Let us in quick--here we are, me and the Squire--most\nfroze!  Hallo, hallo\"--The rest of Hi's remarks were a series of whoops.\n\nEvery one rose from the table, Mrs. Bartlett pale with apprehension.\nMarthy flushed with delight.  She was not to be balked of her prey.\nThe Squire was here with the news.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nALONE IN THE SNOW.\n\n\n  \"The cold winds swept the mountain-height,\n    And pathless was the dreary wild,\n  And mid the cheerless hours of night\n    A mother wandered with her child:\n  As through the drifting snows she pressed,\n    The babe was sleeping on her breast.\"--_Seba Smith_.\n\n\nThe head of the house was home from his mysterious errand, the real\nobject of which was unknown to all but Marthy and his wife.\n\nKate unwound his muffler and took his cap; his wife assured him that\nshe had been worried to death about him all day; the men inquired\nsolicitously about his journey--how had he stood the cold--and Anna\nmade ready his place at the table.  But neither this domestic adulation\nnor the atmosphere of warmth and affection awaiting him at his own\nfireside served for a moment to turn him from the wanton brutality that\nhe was pleased to dignify by the name of duty.\n\nAnna could not help feeling the \"snub,\" and David, whose eyes always\nfollowed Anna, saw it before the others.  \"Father,\" said he, \"what's\nthe matter, you don't speak to Anna.\"\n\n\"I don't want to speak to her.  I don't want to look at her.  I don't\nwant anything to do with her,\" replied the Squire.  Every one except\nMartha and Mrs. Bartlett was startled by this blunt, almost brutal\noutburst.\n\n\"I am glad you are all here, the more the better: Marthy, Professor,\nMr. Sanderson, glad to see you and all the home folks\"--he had a word,\na nod, a pat on the back for every one but Anna, and though she sought\nmore than one opportunity to speak to him, he deliberately avoided her.\n\nHis wife, who knew all the varying weathers of his temper was using all\nher small stock of diplomacy to get him to eat his supper.  \"When in\ndoubt about a man, feed him,\" had been Louisa Bartlett's unfailing rule\nfor the last thirty years.  \"Here, Amasy, sit down in your place that\nAnna has fixed for you.  You can talk after you've had your tea.  Anna,\nplease make the Squire some fresh tea.  I'm afraid this is a little\ncool.\"\n\n\"She need not make my tea, now, or on any future occasion--her days of\nservice in my family are done for.\"  And he hammered the table with his\nclenched fist.\n\nAnna closed her eyes; it had come at last; she had always known that it\nwas only a question of time.\n\nThe rest looked at the Squire dumbfounded.  Ah, that is, but Marthy.\nShe was licking her lips in delightful anticipation--with much the same\nexpression as a cat would regard an uncaged canary.\n\n\"Why, father, what do you mean?\" asked David in amazement.  He had\nheard no rumor of why his father had gone to Belden.\n\n\"Now, listen, all of you,\" and again he thundered on the table with his\nfist.  \"Last summer I was persuaded, against my will, to take a strange\nwoman into my house.  I found out to-day that my judgment then was\nright.  I have been imposed on--she is an imposter, an adventuress.\"\n\n\"Amasy, Amasy, don't be so hard on her,\" pleaded his wife.  But the\nSquire had the true huntsman's instinct--when he went out to hunt, he\nwent out to kill.\n\n\"The time has come,\" he continued, raising his voice and ignoring his\nwife's pleading, \"when this home is better without her.\"\n\nAnna had already begun her preparation to go.  She took her cloak down\nfrom its peg and wrapped it about her without a word.\n\n\"Father, if Anna goes, I go with her,\" and David rose to his feet, the\nvery incarnation of wrath, and strode over to where Anna stood apart\nfrom the rest.  He put his arm about her protectingly, and stood there\ndefiant of them all.\n\n\"David, you must be mad.  What, you, a son of mine, defy your father\nhere in the presence of your friends for that--adventuress?\"\n\n\"Father, take back that word about Anna.  A better woman never lived.\nYou--who call yourself a Christian--would you send away a friendless\ngirl a night like this?  And for what reason?  Because a few old cats\nhave been gossiping about her.  It is unworthy of you, father; I would\nnot have believed it.\"\n\n\"So you have appointed yourself her champion, sir.  No doubt she has\nbeen trying her arts on you.  Don't be a fool, David; stand aside, if\nshe wants to go, let her; women like her can look out for themselves;\nlet her go.\"\n\n\"Don't make me forget, sir, that you are my father.  I refuse\nabsolutely to hear the woman I love spoken of in this way.\"\n\nThe rest looked on in painful silence; they seemed to be deprived of\nthe power of speech or action by the Squire's vehemence; the wind\nhowled about the house fitfully, and was still, then resumed its\nwailing grief.\n\n\"And you stand there and defy me for that woman in the presence of\nKate, to whom you are as good as betrothed?\"\n\n\"No, no; there is no question of an engagement between David and me,\nand there never can be,\" said Kate, not knowing in the least what to\nmake of the turn that things had taken.\n\nDavid continued to stand with his arm about Anna.  He had heard the\nBelden gossip--a wealthy young man from Boston had been attentive to\nher, then left the place; jilted her, some said; been refused by her,\nsaid others.  It did not make a bit of difference to David which\nversion was true; he was ready to stand by Anna in the face of a\nthousand gossips.  This was just his father's brutal way of upholding\nwhat he was pleased to term his authority.\n\n\"What do you know about her, David?\" reiterated the Squire.  \"I heard\nreports, but like you, I would not believe them till I had investigated\nthem fully.  Ask her if she has not been the mother of an illegitimate\nchild, who is now buried in the Episcopal cemetery at Belden--ask her\nif she was not known there under the name of Mrs. Lennox?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said the girl, raising her head, \"that I was known as\nMrs. Lennox.  It is true that I have a child buried in Belden----\"\n\nDavid's arm fell from her, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.\nAnna opened the door, a whirling gust flared the lamps and drove a\nskurrying cloud of snowflakes within, yet not one hand was raised to\ndetain her.  She swayed uncertain for a moment on the threshold, then\nturned to them: \"You have hunted me down, you have found out that I\nhave been a mother, that I am without the protection of a husband's\nname, and that was enough for you--your duty stopped at the scandal.\nWhy did you not find out that I was a young, inexperienced girl who was\nbetrayed by a mock marriage--that I thought myself an honorable\nwife--why should your duty stop in hunting down a defenseless girl\nwhile the man who ruined her life sits there, a welcome guest in your\nhouse to-night?\"\n\nShe was gone--David, who had been stunned by his father's words, ran\nafter her, but the whirling flakes had hidden every trace of her, and\nthe howling wind drove back his cry of \"Anna, Anna! come back!\"\n\nAnna did not feel the cold after closing the door between her and the\nSquire's family; the white flame of her wrath seemed to burn up the\nblood in her veins, as she plunged through the snowdrifts, unconscious\nof the cold and storm.  She had no words in which to formulate her fury\nat the indignity of her treatment.  Her native sweetness, for the\nmoment, had been extinguished and she was but the incarnation of\nwronged womanhood, crying aloud to high Heaven for justice.\n\nThe blood throbbed at her brain and the quickened circulation warmed\nher till she loosened the cloak at her throat and wondered, in a dazed\nsort of way, why she had put it on on such a stifling night.  Then she\nremembered the snow and eagerly uplifted her flushed cheeks that the\nfalling flakes might cool them.\n\nBut of the icy grip of the storm she was wholly unconscious.  There was\na mad exhilaration in facing the wild elements on such a night, the\nexertion of forcing through the storm chimed in with her mood; each\nsnowdrift through which she fought her way was so much cruel injustice\nbeaten down.  She felt that she had the strength and courage to walk to\nthe end of the earth and she went on and on, never thinking of the\nstorm, or her destination, or where she would rest that night.  Her\nhead felt light, as if she had been drinking wine, and more than once\nshe stopped to mop the perspiration from her forehead.  How absurd for\nthe snow to fall on such a sultry night, and foolish of those people\nwho had turned her out to die, thinking it was cold--the thermometer\nmust be 100.  She paused to get her breath; a blast of icy wind caught\nher cape, and almost succeeded in robbing her of it, and the chill\nwrestled with the fever that was consuming her, and she realized for\nthe first time that it was cold.\n\n\"Well, what next?\" she asked herself, throwing back her head and\nunconsciously assuming the attitude of a creature brought to bay but\nstill unconquered.\n\n\"What next?\" She repeated it with the dull despair of one who has\nnothing further to fear in the way of suffering.  The Fates had spent\nthemselves on her, she no longer had the power to respond.  Suppose she\nshould become lost in a snowdrift?  \"Well, what did it matter?\"\n\nThen came one of those unaccountable clearings of the mental vision\nthat nature seems to reserve for the final chapter.  Her quickened\nbrain grasped the tragedy of her life as it never had before.  She saw\nit with impersonal eyes.  Anna Moore was a stranger on whose case she\ncould sit with unbiased judgment.  Her mind swung back to the football\ngame in the golden autumn eighteen months ago, and she heard the cheers\nand saw the swarms of eager, upturned faces and the dots of blue and\ncrimson, like flowers, in a great waving field.  What a panorama of\nlife, and force, and struggle it had been!  How typical of life, and\nthe end--but no, the end was not yet; there must be some justice in\nlife, some law of compensation.  God must hear at last!\n\nThe wind came tearing down from, the pine forest, surging through the\nhills till it became a roar.  Ah, it had sounded like that at the game.\nThey had called \"Rah, Rah Sanderson\" till they were hoarse, \"Sanderson,\nRah!  Sander-son!  Rah!  Rah!\"  The crackling forest seemed to have\ngone mad with the echo of his name.  It had become the keynote of the\nwind.  Rah!  Rah!  Sanderson!\n\n\"You can't escape him even in death\" something seemed to whisper in her\near.  \"Ha-ha, Sanderson, San-der-son.\"  She put her hands to her ears\nto shut out the hateful sound, but she heard it, like the wail of a\nlost soul; this time faint and far off: Sander-son--San-der-son.  It\nwas above her in the groaning, creaking branches of the trees, in the\nfalling snow, in the whipping wind, the mockery would not be stilled.\n\nHa, ha, ha, ha, howled the wind, then sinking to a sigh,\nSan-der-son--San-der-son.\n\nThe cold had begun to strike into the marrow.  She moved as if her\nlimbs were weighted.  There was a mist gathering before her eyes, and\nshe put up her hand and tried to brush it away, but it remained.  She\nfelt as if she were carrying something heavy in her arms and as she\nwalked it grew heavier and heavier.  To her wandering mind it took a\npitifully familiar shape.  Ah, yes!  She knew what it was now; it was\nthe baby, and she must not let it get cold.  She must cover it with her\ncape and press it close to her bosom to keep it warm, but it was so\nfar, so far, and it was getting heavier every moment.\n\nAnd the wind continued to wail its dirge of \"San-der-son, San-der-son.\"\nShe went through the motion of covering up the baby's head; she did not\nwant it to waken and hear that awful cry.  She lifted up her empty arms\nand lowered her head to soothe the imaginary baby with a kiss, and was\nshocked to feel how cold its little cheek had grown.  She hurried on\nand on.  She would beg the Squire to let his wife take it in for just a\nminute, to warm it.  She would not ask to come in herself, but the\nbaby--no one would be so cruel as to refuse her that.  It would die out\nhere in the cold and the storm.  It was so cruel, so hard to be\nwandering about on a night like this with the baby.  Her eyes began to\nfill with tears, and her lower lip to quiver, but she plodded on,\nsometimes gaining a few steps and then retracing them, but always with\nthe same instinct that had spurred her on to efforts beyond her\nstrength, and this done, she had no further concern for herself.  Her\nbody especially, where the cape did not protect it against the blast,\nwas freezing, shivering, aching all over.  A latent consciousness began\nto dawn as the dread presence of death drew nearer; some intuitive\neffort of preservation asserted itself, and she kept repeating over and\nover: \"I must not give up.  I must not give up.\"\n\nPresently the scene began to change, and the white formless world about\nher began to assume definite shape.  She had seen it all before, the\nbare trees pointing their naked branches upward, the fringe of willows,\nthe smooth, glassy sheet of water that was partly frozen and partly\nundulating toward the southern shore.  The familiarity of it all began\nto haunt her.  Had she dreamed it--was she dreaming now?  Perhaps it\nwas only a dream after all!  Then, as if in a wave of clear thought,\nshe remembered it all.  It was the lake, and she had been there with\nthe Sunday school children last summer on their picnic.\n\nIt came to her like a solution of all her troubles; it was so placid,\nso still, so cold.  A moment and all would be forgotten.  She stood\nwith one foot on the creaking ice.  It was but to walk a dozen steps to\nthe place where the ice was but a crash of crystal and that would end\nit all.  She was so weary of the eternal strife of things, she was so\nglad to lay down the burden under which her back was bending to the\npoint of breaking.\n\nAnd yet, there was the primitive instinct of self-preservation\ncombating her inclination, urging her on to make one more final effort.\nBack and forth, through the snow about the lake she wandered; without\nbeing able to decide.  Her strength was fast ebbing.  Which--which,\nshould it be?  \"God have mercy!\" she cried, and fell unconscious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE NIGHT IN THE SNOWSTORM.\n\n\n  \"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,\n  Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,\n  Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air\n  Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven.\"--_Emerson_.\n\n\nAll through that long, wild night David searched and shouted, to find\nonly snow and silence.\n\nThrough the darkness and the falling flakes he could not see more than\na foot ahead, and when he would stumble over a stone or the fallen\ntrunk of a tree, he would stoop down and search through the drifts with\nhis bare hands, thinking perhaps that she might have fallen, and not\nfinding her, he would again take up his fruitless search, while cold\nfear gnawed at his heart.\n\nAt home in the warm farm house, sat the Squire who had done his duty.\nThe consciousness of having done it, however, did not fill him with\nthat cheerful glow of righteousness that is the reward of a good\nconscience--on the contrary, he felt small.  It might have been\nimagination, but he felt, somehow, as if his wife and Kate were\nshunning him.  Once he had tried to take his wife's hand as she stood\nwith her face pressed to the window trying to see if she could make out\nthe dim outline of David returning with Anna, but she withdrew her hand\nimpatiently as she had never done in the thirty years of their married\nlife.  Amasy's hardness was a thing no longer to be condoned.\n\nFurthermore, when the clock had struck eleven and then twelve, and yet\nno sign of David or Anna, the Squire had reached for his fur cap and\nannounced his intention of \"going to look for 'em.\"  But like the\nproverbial worm, the wife of his bosom had turned, and with all the\ndetermination of a white rabbit she announced:\n\n\"If I was you, Amasy, I'd stay to hum; seems as if you had made almost\nenough trouble for one day.\"  With the old habit of authority, strong\nas ever, he looked at the worm, but there was a light in its eyes that\nwarned him as a danger signal.\n\nThey were alone together, the Squire and his wife, and each was alone\nin sorrow, the yoke of severity she had bowed beneath for thirty years\nuncomplainingly galled to-night.  It had sent her boy out into the\nstorm--perhaps to his death.  There was little love in her heart for\nAmasy.\n\nHe tried to think that he had only done his duty, that David and Anna\nwould come back, and that, in the meantime, Louisa was less a comfort\nto him, in his trouble, than she had ever been before.  It was, of\ncourse, his trouble; it never occurred to him that Louisa's heart might\nhave been breaking on its own account.\n\nThe Squire found that duty was a cold comforter as the wretched hours\nwore on.\n\nSanderson had slunk from the house without a word immediately after\nAnna's departure.  In the general upheaval no one missed him, and when\nthey did it was too late for them to enjoy the comfort of shifting the\nblame to his guilty shoulders.\n\nThe professor followed Kate with the mute sympathy of a faithful dog;\nhe did not dare attempt to comfort her.  The sight of a woman in tears\nunnerved him; he would not have dared to intrude on her grief; he could\nonly wait patiently for some circumstance to arise in which he could be\nof assistance.  In the meantime he did the only practical thing within\nhis power--he went about from time to time, poked the fires and put on\ncoal.\n\nMarthy would have liked to discuss the iniquity of Lennox Sanderson\nwith any one--it was a subject on which she could have spent hours--but\nno one seemed inclined to divert Marthy conversationally.  In fact, her\npopularity was not greater that night in the household than that of the\nSquire.  She spent her time in running from room to room, exclaiming\nhysterically:\n\n\"Land sakes!  Ain't it dreadful?\"\n\nThe tension grew as time wore on without developments of any kind, the\nwaiting with the haunting fear of the worst grew harder to bear than\nabsolute calamity.\n\nToward five o'clock the Squire announced his intention of going out and\ncontinuing the search, and this time no one objected.  In fact, Mrs.\nBartlett, Kate and the professor insisted on accompanying him and\nMarthy decided to go, too, not only that she might be able to say she\nwas on hand in case of interesting developments, but because she was\nafraid to be left in the house alone.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\nToward morning, David, spent and haggard, wandered into a little\nmaple-sugar shed that belonged to one of the neighbors.  Smoke was\ncoming out of the chimney, and David entered, hoping that Anna might\nhave found here a refuge.\n\nHe was quickly undeceived, however, for Lennox Sanderson stood by the\nhearth warming his hands.  The men glared at each other with the\ninstinctive fierceness of panthers.  Not a word was spoken; each knew\nthat the language of fists could be the only medium of communication\nbetween them; and each was anxious to have his say out.\n\nThe men faced each other in silence, the flickering glare of the\nfirelight painting grotesque expressions on their set faces.  David's\ngreater bulk loomed unnaturally large in the uncertain light, while\nevery trained muscle of Sanderson's athletic body was on the alert.\n\nIt was the world old struggle between patrician and proletarian.\n\nSanderson was an all-round athlete and a boxer of no mean order.  This\nwas not his first battle.  His quick eye showed him from David's\nawkward attitude, that his opponent was in no way his equal from a\nscientific standpoint.  He looked for the easy victory that science,\nnine times out of ten, can wrest from unskilled brute force.\n\nFor, perhaps, half a minute the combatants stood thus.\n\nThen, with lowered head and outstretched arms, David rushed in.\n\nSanderson side-stepped, avoiding the on-set.  Before David could\nrecover himself, the other had sent his left fist crashing into the\ncountry-man's face.\n\nThe blow was delivered with all the trained force the athlete possessed\nand sent David reeling against the rough wall of the house.\n\nSuch a blow would have ended the fight then and there for an ordinary\nman; but it only served to rouse David's sluggish blood to white heat.\n\nAgain he rushed.\n\nThis time he was more successful.\n\nTrue, Sanderson partially succeeded in avoiding the sledge-hammer fist,\nthough it missed his head, it struck glancingly on the left shoulder.\nnumbing for the moment the whole arm.  Sanderson countered as the blow\nfell, by bringing his right arm up with all his force and striking\nDavid on the face.  He sank to his knees, like a wounded bull, but was\non his feet again before Sanderson could follow up his advantage.\n\nDavid, heedless of the pain and fast flowing blood, rushed a third\ntime, catching Sanderson in a corner of the room whence he could not\nescape.\n\nIn an instant, the two were locked in a death-like grip.\n\nTo and fro they reeled.  No sound could be heard save the snapping of\nbrands on the hearth, the shuffle of moving feet and the short gasps of\nstruggling men.\n\nIn that terrible grasp, Sanderson's strength was as a child's.\n\nHe could not call into play any of the wrestling tricks that were his,\nall he could do was to keep his feet and wait for the madman's strength\nto expend itself.\n\nThe iron grip about his body seemed to slacken for a moment.  He\nwriggled free, and caught the fatal underhold.\n\nBy this new grip, he forced David's body backward till the larger man's\nspine bade fair to snap.\n\nDavid felt himself caught in a trap.  Exerting all his giant strength\nhe forced one arm down between their close-locked bodies, and clasped\nhis other hand on Sanderson's face, pushing two fingers into his\neyeballs.\n\nNo man can endure this torture.  Sanderson loosed his hold.  David had\ncaught him by the right wrist and the left knee, stooping until his own\nshoulders were under the other's thigh.  Then, with this leverage, he\nwhirled Sanderson high in the air above his head and threw him with all\nhis force down upon the hearth.\n\nA shower of sparks arose and the strong smell of burning clothes, as\nSanderson, stunned and helpless, lay across the blazing fire-place.\n\nFor a moment, David thought to leave his vanquished foe to his own\nfate, then he turned back.  What was the use?  It could not right the\nwrong he had done to Anna.  He bent over Sanderson, extinguished the\nfire, pulled the unconscious man to the open door and left him.\n\nIt came to David like an inspiration that he had not thought of the\nlake; the ice was thin on the southern shore below where the river\nemptied.  Suppose she had gone there; suppose in her utter desolation\nshe had gone there to end it all?  Imagination, quickened by suspense\nand suffering, ran to meet calamity; already he was there and saw the\nbare trees, bearing their burden of snow, and the placid surface, half\nfrozen over, and on the southern shore, that faintly rippled under its\nskimming of ice, something dark floating.  He saw the floating black\nhair, and the dead eyes, open, as if in accusation of the grim\ninjustice of it all.\n\nHe hurried through the drifted snow, as fast as his spent strength\nwould permit, stumbling once or twice over some obstruction, and\ncovered the weary distance to the lake.\n\nAbout a hundred yards from the lake Dave saw something that made his\nheart knock against his ribs and his breath come short, as if he had\nbeen running.  It was Anna's gray cloak.  It lay spread out on the snow\nas if it had been discarded hastily; there were footprints of a woman's\nshoes near by; some of them leading toward the lake, others away from\nit, as if she might have come and her courage failed her at the last\nmoment.  The cape had not the faintest trace of snow on its upturned\nsurface.  It must, therefore, have been discarded lately, after the\nsnowstorm had ceased this morning.\n\nDave continued his search in an agony of apprehension.  The sun faintly\nstruggled with the mass of gray cloud, revealing a world of white.  He\nhad wandered in the direction of a clump of cedars, and remembered\npointing the place out to her in the autumn as the scene of some boyish\nadventure, which to commemorate he had cut his name on one of the\ntrees.  Association, more than any hope of finding her, led him to the\ncedars--and she was there.  She had fallen, apparently, from cold and\nexhaustion.  He bent down close to the white, still face that gave no\nsign of life.  He called her name, he kissed her, but there was no\nresponse--it was too late.\n\nDave looked at the little figure prostrate in the snow, and despair for\na time deprived him of all thought.  Then the lifelong habit of being\npractical asserted itself.  Unconsciousness from long exposure to cold,\nhe knew, resembled death, but warmth and care would often revive the\nfluttering spark.  If there was a chance in a thousand, Dave was\nprepared to fight the world for it.\n\nHe lifted Anna tenderly and started back for the shed where he had\nfought Sanderson.  Frail as she was, it seemed to him, as he plunged\nthrough the drifts, that his strength would never hold out till they\nreached their destination.  Inch by inch he struggled for every step of\nthe way, and the sweat dripped from him as if it had been August.  But\nhe was more than rewarded, for once.  She opened her eyes--she was not\ndead.\n\nHe found them all at the shed--the Squire, his mother, Kate, the\nprofessor and Marthy.  There was no time for questions or speeches.\nEvery one bent with a will toward the common object of restoring Anna.\nThe professor ran for the doctor, the women chafed the icy hands and\nfeet and the Squire built up a roaring fire.  Their efforts were\nfinally rewarded and the big brown eyes opened and turned inquiringly\nfrom one to another.\n\n\"What has happened?  Why are you all here?\" she asked faintly; then\nremembering, she wailed: \"Oh, why did you bring me back?  I went to the\nlake, but it was so cold I could not throw myself in; then I walked\nabout till almost sunrise, and I was so tired that I laid down by the\ncedars to sleep--why did you wake me?\"\n\n\"Anna,\" said the Squire, \"we want you to forgive us and come back as\nour daughter,\" and he slipped her cold little hand in David's.  \"This\nboy has been looking for you all night, Anna.  I thought maybe he had\nbeen taken from us to punish me for my hardness.  But, thank God, you\nare both safe.\"\n\n\"You will, Anna, won't you? and father will give us his blessing.\"  She\nsmiled her assent.\n\n\"I say, Squire, if you are giving out blessings, don't pass by Kate and\nme.\"\n\nIn the general kissing and congratulation that followed, Hi Holler\nappeared.  \"Here's the sleigh, I thought maybe you'd all be ready for\nbreakfast.  Hallo, Anna, so he found you!  The station agent told me\nthat Mr. Sanderson left on the first train for Boston this morning.\nSays he ain't never coming back.\"\n\n\"And a good thing he ain't,\" snapped Marthy Perkins--\"after all the\ntrouble he's made.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Way Down East, by Joseph R. Grismer\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "Droll Stories Vol. 1 by Honore de Balzac",
        "publication_date": 1837,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/1925",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Ian Hodgson, and Dagny\n\n\n\n\n                           DROLL STORIES\n\n               COLLECTED FROM THE ABBEYS OF TOURAINE\n\n                              VOLUME I\n                        THE FIRST TEN TALES\n\n                                 BY\n\n                          HONORE DE BALZAC\n\n\n\n\n                              CONTENTS\n\nTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE\n\nTHE FIRST TEN TALES\n\nPROLOGUE\nTHE FAIR IMPERIA\nTHE VENIAL SIN\n   HOW THE GOOD MAN BRUYN TOOK A WIFE\n   HOW THE SENESCHAL STRUGGLED WITH HIS WIFE'S MODESTY\n   THAT WHICH IS ONLY A VENIAL SIN\n   HOW AND BY WHOM THE SAID CHILD WAS PROCURED\n   HOW THE SAID LOVE-SIN WAS REPENTED OF AND LED TO GREAT MOURNING\nTHE KING'S SWEETHEART\nTHE DEVIL'S HEIR\nTHE MERRIE JESTS OF KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH\nTHE HIGH CONSTABLE'S WIFE\nTHE MAID OF THILOUSE\nTHE BROTHER-IN-ARMS\nTHE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU\nTHE REPROACH\nEPILOGUE\n\n\n\n                         TRANSLATORS PREFACE\n\nWhen, in March, 1832, the first volume of the now famous _Contes\nDrolatiques_ was published by Gosselin of Paris, Balzac, in a short\npreface, written in the publisher's name, replied to those attacks\nwhich he anticipated certain critics would make upon his hardy\nexperiment. He claimed for his book the protection of all those to\nwhom literature was dear, because it was a work of art--and a work of\nart, in the highest sense of the word, it undoubtedly is. Like\nBoccaccio, Rabelais, the Queen of Navarre, Ariosto, and Verville, the\ngreat author of _The Human Comedy_ has painted an epoch. In the fresh\nand wonderful language of the Merry Vicar Of Meudon, he has given us a\nmarvellous picture of French life and manners in the sixteenth\ncentury. The gallant knights and merry dames of that eventful period\nof French history stand out in bold relief upon his canvas. The\nbackground in these life-like figures is, as it were, \"sketched upon\nthe spot.\" After reading the _Contes Drolatiques_, one could almost find\none's way about the towns and villages of Touraine, unassisted by map\nor guide. Not only is this book a work of art from its historical\ninformation and topographical accuracy; its claims to that distinction\nrest upon a broader foundation. Written in the nineteenth century in\nimitation of the style of the sixteenth, it is a triumph of literary\narchaeology. It is a model of that which it professes to imitate; the\nproduction of a writer who, to accomplish it, must have been at once\nhistorian, linguist, philosopher, archaeologist, and anatomist, and\neach in no ordinary degree. In France, his work has long been regarded\nas a classic--as a faithful picture of the last days of the moyen age,\nwhen kings and princesses, brave gentlemen and haughty ladies laughed\nopenly at stories and jokes which are considered disgraceful by their\nmore fastidious descendants. In England the difficulties of the\nlanguage employed, and the quaintness and peculiarity of its style,\nhave placed it beyond the reach of all but those thoroughly acquainted\nwith the French of the sixteenth century. Taking into consideration\nthe vast amount of historical information enshrined in its pages, the\narchaeological value which it must always possess for the student, and\nthe dramatic interest of its stories, the translator has thought that\nan English edition of Balzac's chef-d'oeuvre would be acceptable to\nmany. It has, of course, been impossible to reproduce in all its\nvigour and freshness the language of the original. Many of the quips\nand cranks and puns have been lost in the process of Anglicising.\nThese unavoidable blemishes apart, the writer ventures to hope that he\nhas treated this great masterpiece in a reverent spirit, touched it\nwith no sacrilegious hand, but, on the contrary, given as close a\ntranslation as the dissimilarities of the two languages permit. With\nthis idea, no attempt had been made to polish or round many of the\nawkwardly constructed sentences which are characteristic of this\nvolume. Rough, and occasionally obscure, they are far more in keeping\nwith the spirit of the original than the polished periods of modern\nromance. Taking into consideration the many difficulties which he has\nhad to overcome, and which those best acquainted with the French\nedition will best appreciate, the translator claims the indulgence of\nthe critical reader for any shortcomings he may discover. The best\nplea that can be offered for such indulgence is the fact that,\nalthough _Les Contes Drolatiques_ was completed and published in 1837,\nthe present is the first English version ever brought before the\npublic.\n\nLondon, January, 1874\n\n\n\n\n                          FIRST TEN TALES\n\n\n\n                              PROLOGUE\n\nThis is a book of the highest flavour, full of right hearty merriment,\nspiced to the palate of the illustrious and very precious tosspots and\ndrinkers, to whom our worthy compatriot, Francois Rabelais, the\neternal honour of Touraine, addressed himself. Be it nevertheless\nunderstood, the author has no other desire than to be a good\nTouranian, and joyfully to chronicle the merry doings of the famous\npeople of this sweet and productive land, more fertile in cuckolds,\ndandies and witty wags than any other, and which has furnished a good\nshare of men of renown in France, as witness the departed Courier of\npiquant memory; Verville, author of _Moyen de Parvenir_, and others\nequally well known, among whom we will specially mention the Sieur\nDescartes, because he was a melancholy genius, and devoted himself\nmore to brown studies than to drinks and dainties, a man of whom all\nthe cooks and confectioners of Tours have a wise horror, whom they\ndespise, and will not hear spoken of, and say, \"Where does he live?\"\nif his name is mentioned. Now this work is the production of the\njoyous leisure of good old monks, of whom there are many vestiges\nscattered about the country, at Grenadiere-les-St.-Cyr, in the village\nof Sacche-les-Azay-le-Rideau, at Marmoustiers, Veretz, Roche-Cobon,\nand the certain storehouses of good stories, which storehouses are the\nupper stories of old canons and wise dames, who remember the good old\ndays when they could enjoy a hearty laugh without looking to see if\ntheir hilarity disturbed the sit of your ruffle, as do the young women\nof the present day, who wish to take their pleasure gravely--a custom\nwhich suits our Gay France as much as a water jug would the head of a\nqueen. Since laughter is a privilege granted to man alone, and he has\nsufficient causes for tears within his reach, without adding to them\nby books, I have considered it a thing most patriotic to publish a\ndrachm of merriment for these times, when weariness falls like a fine\nrain, wetting us, soaking into us, and dissolving those ancient\ncustoms which make the people to reap public amusement from the\nRepublic. But of those old pantagruelists who allowed God and the king\nto conduct their own affairs without putting of their finger in the\npie oftener than they could help, being content to look on and laugh,\nthere are very few left. They are dying out day by day in such manner\nthat I fear greatly to see these illustrious fragments of the ancient\nbreviary spat upon, staled upon, set at naught, dishonoured, and\nblamed, the which I should be loath to see, since I have and bear\ngreat respect for the refuse of our Gallic antiquities.\n\nBear in mind also, ye wild critics, you scrapers-up of words, harpies\nwho mangle the intentions and inventions of everyone, that as children\nonly do we laugh, and as we travel onward laughter sinks down and dies\nout, like the light of the oil-lit lamp. This signifies, that to laugh\nyou must be innocent, and pure of a heart, lacking which qualities you\npurse your lips, drop your jaws, and knit your brow, after the manner\nof men hiding vices and impurities. Take, then, this work as you would\ntake a group of statue, certain features of which an artist could\nomit, and he would be the biggest of all big fools if he puts leaves\nupon them, seeing that these said works are not, any more than is this\nbook, intended for nunneries. Nevertheless, I have taken care, much to\nmy vexation, to weed from the manuscripts the old words, which, in\nspite of their age, were still strong, and which would have shocked\nthe ears, astonished the eyes, reddened the cheeks and sullied the\nlips of trousered maidens, and Madame Virtue with three lovers; for\ncertain things must be done to suit the vices of the age, and a\nperiphrase is much more agreeable than the word. Indeed, we are old,\nand find long trifles, better than the short follies of our youth,\nbecause at that time our taste was better. Then spare me your\nslanders, and read this rather at night than in the daytime and give\nit not to young maidens, if there be any, because this book is\ninflammable. I will now rid you of myself. But I fear nothing from\nthis book, since it is extracted from a high and splendid source, from\nwhich all that has issued has had a great success, as is amply proved\nby the royal orders of the Golden Fleece, of the Holy Ghost, of the\nGarter, of the Bath, and by many notable things which have been taken\ntherefrom, under shelter of which I place myself.\n\n_Now make ye merry, my hearties, and gayly read with ease of body and\nrest of reins, and may a cancer carry you if you disown me after\nhaving read me._\n\nThese words are those of our good Master Rabelais, before whom we must\nalso stand, hat in hand, in token of reverence and honour to him,\nprince of all wisdom, and king of Comedy.\n\n\n\n                          THE FAIR IMPERIA\n\nThe Archbishop of Bordeaux had added to his suite when going to the\nCouncil at Constance quite a good-looking little priest of Touraine\nwhose ways and manner of speech was so charming that he passed for a\nson of La Soldee and the Governor. The Archbishop of Tours had\nwillingly given him to his confrere for his journey to that town,\nbecause it was usual for archbishops to make each other presents, they\nwell knowing how sharp are the itchings of theological palms. Thus\nthis young priest came to the Council and was lodged in the\nestablishment of his prelate, a man of good morals and great science.\n\nPhilippe de Mala, as he was called, resolved to behave well and\nworthily to serve his protector, but he saw in this mysterious Council\nmany men leading a dissolute life and yet not making less, nay\n--gaining more indulgences, gold crowns and benefices than all the\nother virtuous and well-behaved ones. Now during one night--dangerous\nto his virtue--the devil whispered into his ear that he should live\nmore luxuriously, since every one sucked the breasts of our Holy Mother\nChurch and yet they were not drained, a miracle which proved beyond\ndoubt the existence of God. And the priest of Touraine did not\ndisappoint the devil. He promised to feast himself, to eat his\nbellyful of roast meats and other German delicacies, when he could do\nso without paying for them as he was poor. As he remained quite\ncontinent (in which he followed the example of the poor old archbishop\nwho sinned no longer because he was unable to, and passed for a\nsaint,) he had to suffer from intolerable desires followed by fits of\nmelancholy, since there were so many sweet courtesans, well developed,\nbut cold to the poor people, who inhabited Constance, to enlighten the\nunderstanding of the Fathers of the Council. He was savage that he did\nnot know how to make up to these gallant sirens, who snubbed\ncardinals, abbots, councillors, legates, bishops, princes and\nmargraves just as if they have been penniless clerks. And in the\nevening, after prayers, he would practice speaking to them, teaching\nhimself the breviary of love. He taught himself to answer all possible\nquestions, but on the morrow if by chance he met one of the aforesaid\nprincesses dressed out, seated in a litter and escorted by her proud\nand well-armed pages, he remained open-mouthed, like a dog in the act\nof catching flies, at the sight of sweet countenance that so much\ninflamed him. The secretary of a Monseigneur, a gentleman of Perigord,\nhaving clearly explained to him that the Fathers, procureurs, and\nauditors of the Rota bought by certain presents, not relics or\nindulgences, but jewels and gold, the favour of being familiar with\nthe best of these pampered cats who lived under the protection of the\nlords of the Council; the poor Touranian, all simpleton and innocent\nas he was, treasured up under his mattress the money given him by the\ngood archbishop for writings and copying--hoping one day to have\nenough just to see a cardinal's lady-love, and trusting to God for the\nrest. He was hairless from top to toe and resembled a man about as\nmuch as a goat with a night-dress on resembles a young lady, but\nprompted by his desires he wandered in the evenings through the\nstreets of Constance, careless of his life, and, at the risk of having\nhis body halberded by the soldiers, he peeped at the cardinals\nentering the houses of their sweethearts. Then he saw the wax-candles\nlighted in the houses and suddenly the doors and the windows closed.\nThen he heard the blessed abbots or others jumping about, drinking,\nenjoying themselves, love-making, singing _Alleluia_ and applauding the\nmusic with which they were being regaled. The kitchen performed\nmiracles, the Offices said were fine rich pots-full, the Matins sweet\nlittle hams, the Vespers luscious mouthful, and the Lauhes delicate\nsweetmeats, and after their little carouses, these brave priests were\nsilent, their pages diced upon the stairs, their mules stamped\nrestively in the streets; everything went well--but faith and religion\nwas there. That is how it came to pass the good man Huss was burned.\nAnd the reason? He put his finger in the pie without being asked. Then\nwhy was he a Huguenot before the others?\n\nTo return, however to our sweet little Philippe, not unfrequently did\nhe receive many a thump and hard blow, but the devil sustained him,\ninciting him to believe that sooner or later it would come to his turn\nto play the cardinal to some lovely dame. This ardent desire gave him\nthe boldness of a stag in autumn, so much so that one evening he\nquietly tripped up the steps and into one of the first houses in\nConstance where often he had seen officers, seneschals, valets, and\npages waiting with torches for their masters, dukes, kings, cardinals\nand archbishops.\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, \"she must be very beautiful and amiable, this one.\"\n\nA soldier well armed allowed him to pass, believing him to belong to\nthe suite of the Elector of Bavaria, who had just left, and that he\nwas going to deliver a message on behalf of the above-mentioned\nnobleman. Philippe de Mala mounted the stairs as lightly as a\ngreyhound in love, and was guided by delectable odour of perfume to\ncertain chamber where, surrounded by her handmaidens, the lady of the\nhouse was divesting herself of her attire. He stood quite dumbfounded\nlike a thief surprised by sergeants. The lady was without petticoat or\nhead-dress. The chambermaid and the servants, busy taking off her\nstockings and undressing her, so quickly and dextrously had her\nstripped, that the priest, overcome, gave vent to a long Ah! which had\nthe flavour of love about it.\n\n\"What want _you_, little one?\" said the lady to him.\n\n\"To yield my soul to you,\" said he, flashing his eyes upon her.\n\n\"You can come again to-morrow,\" said she, in order to be rid of him.\n\nTo which Philippe replied, blushing, \"I will not fail.\"\n\nThen she burst out laughing. Philippe, struck motionless, stood quite\nat his ease, letting wander over her his eyes that glowed and sparkled\nwith the flame of love. What lovely thick hair hung upon her ivory\nwhite back, showing sweet white places, fair and shining between the\nmany tresses! She had upon her snow-white brow a ruby circlet, less\nfertile in rays of fire than her black eyes, still moist with tears\nfrom her hearty laugh. She even threw her slipper at a statue gilded\nlike a shrine, twisting herself about from very ribaldry and allowed\nher bare foot, smaller than a swan's bill, to be seen. This evening\nshe was in a good humour, otherwise she would have had the little\nshaven-crop put out by the window without more ado than her first\nbishop.\n\n\"He has fine eyes, Madame,\" said one of her handmaids.\n\n\"Where does he comes from?\" asked another.\n\n\"Poor child!\" cried Madame, \"his mother must be looking for him. Show\nhim his way home.\"\n\nThe Touranian, still sensible, gave a movement of delight at the sight\nof the brocaded bed where the sweet form was about to repose. This\nglance, full of amorous intelligence, awoke the lady's fantasy, who,\nhalf laughing and half smitten, repeated \"To-morrow,\" and dismissed\nhim with a gesture which the Pope Jehan himself would have obeyed,\nespecially as he was like a snail without a shell, since the Council\nhad just deprived him of the holy keys.\n\n\"Ah! Madame, there is another vow of chastity changed into an amorous\ndesire,\" said one of her women; and the chuckles commenced again thick\nas hail.\n\nPhilippe went his way, bumping his head against a wall like a hooded\nrook as he was. So giddy had he become at the sight of this creature,\neven more enticing than a siren rising from the water. He noticed the\nanimals carved over the door and returned to the house of the\narchbishop with his head full of diabolical longings and his entrails\nsophisticated.\n\nOnce in his little room he counted his coins all night long, but could\nmake no more than four of them; and as that was all his treasure, he\ncounted upon satisfying the fair one by giving her all he had in the\nworld.\n\n\"What is it ails you?\" said the good archbishop, uneasy at the groans\nand \"oh! ohs!\" of his clerk.\n\n\"Ah! my Lord,\" answered the poor priest, \"I am wondering how it is\nthat so light and sweet a woman can weigh so heavily upon my heart.\"\n\n\"Which one?\" said the archbishop, putting down his breviary which he\nwas reading for others--the good man.\n\n\"Oh! Mother of God! You will scold me, I know, my good master, my\nprotector, because I have seen the lady of a cardinal at the least,\nand I am weeping because I lack more than one crown to enable me to\nconvert her.\"\n\nThe archbishop, knitting the circumflex accent that he had above his\nnose, said not a word. Then the very humble priest trembled in his\nskin to have confessed so much to his superior. But the holy man\ndirectly said to him, \"She must be very dear then--\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, \"she has swallowed many a mitre and stolen many a\ncross.\"\n\n\"Well, Philippe, if thou will renounce her, I will present thee with\nthirty angels from the poor-box.\"\n\n\"Ah! my lord, I should be losing too much,\" replied the lad,\nemboldened by the treat he promised himself.\n\n\"Ah! Philippe,\" said the good prelate, \"thou wilt then go to the devil\nand displease God, like all our cardinals,\" and the master, with\nsorrow, began to pray St. Gatien, the patron saint of Innocents, to\nsave his servant. He made him kneel down beside him, telling him to\nrecommend himself also to St. Philippe, but the wretched priest\nimplored the saint beneath his breath to prevent him from failing if\non the morrow that the lady should receive him kindly and mercifully;\nand the good archbishop, observing the fervour of his servant, cried\nout him, \"Courage little one, and Heaven will exorcise thee.\"\n\nOn the morrow, while Monsieur was declaiming at the Council against\nthe shameless behaviour of the apostles of Christianity, Philippe de\nMala spent his angels--acquired with so much labour--in perfumes,\nbaths, fomentations, and other fooleries. He played the <DW2> so well,\none would have thought him the fancy cavalier of a gay lady. He\nwandered about the town in order to find the residence of his heart's\nqueen; and when he asked the passers-by to whom belonged the aforesaid\nhouse, they laughed in his face, saying--\n\n\"Whence comes this precious fellow that has not heard of La Belle\nImperia?\"\n\nHe was very much afraid he and his angels were gone to the devil when\nhe heard the name, and knew into what a nice mess he had voluntarily\nfallen.\n\nImperia was the most precious, the most fantastic girl in the world,\nalthough she passed for the most dazzling and the beautiful, and the\none who best understood the art of bamboozling cardinals and softening\nthe hardiest soldiers and oppressors of the people. She had brave\ncaptains, archers, and nobles, ready to serve her at every turn. She\nhad only to breathe a word, and the business of anyone who had\noffended her was settled. A free fight only brought a smile to her\nlips, and often the Sire de Baudricourt--one of the King's Captains\n--would ask her if there were any one he could kill for her that day\n--a little joke at the expense of the abbots. With the exception of the\npotentates among the high clergy with whom Madame Imperia managed to\naccommodate her little tempers, she ruled everyone with a high hand in\nvirtue of her pretty babble and enchanting ways, which enthralled the\nmost virtuous and the most unimpressionable. Thus she lived beloved\nand respected, quite as much as the real ladies and princesses, and\nwas called Madame, concerning which the good Emperor Sigismund replied\nto a lady who complained of it to him, \"That they, the good ladies,\nmight keep to their own proper way and holy virtues, and Madame\nImperia to the sweet naughtiness of the goddess Venus\"--Christian\nwords which shocked the good ladies, to their credit be it said.\n\nPhilippe, then thinking over it in his mind that which on the\npreceding evening he had seen with his eyes, doubted if more did not\nremain behind. Then was he sad, and without taking bite or sup,\nstrolled about the town waiting the appointed hour, although he was\nwell-favoured and gallant enough to find others less difficult to\novercome than was Madame Imperia.\n\nThe night came; the little Touranian, exalted with pride caparisoned\nwith desire, and spurred by his \"alacks\" and \"alases\" which nearly\nchoked him, glided like an eel into the domicile of the veritable\nQueen of the Council--for before her bowed humbly all the authority,\nscience, and wisdom of Christianity. The major domo did not know him,\nand was going to bundle him out again, when one of the chamber-women\ncalled him from the top of the stairs--\"Eh, M. Imbert, it is Madame's\nyoung fellow,\" and poor Philippe, blushing like a wedding night, ran\nup the stairs, shaking with happiness and delight. The servant took\nhim by the hand and led into the chamber where sat Madame, lightly\nattired like a brave woman who awaits her conqueror.\n\nThe dazzling Imperia was seated near a table covered with a shaggy\ncloth ornamented with gold, and with all the requisites for a dainty\ncarouse. Flagons of wine, various drinking glasses, bottles of the\nhippocras, flasks full of good wine of Cyprus, pretty boxes full of\nspices, roast peacocks, green sauces, little salt hams--all that would\ngladden the eyes of the gallant if he had not so madly loved Madame\nImperia.\n\nShe saw well that the eyes of the young priest were all for her.\nAlthough accustomed to the curl-paper devotion of the churchmen, she\nwas well satisfied that she had made a conquest of the young priest\nwho all day long had been in her head.\n\nThe windows had been closed; Madame was decked out in a manner fit to\ndo honours to a prince of the Empire. Then the rogue, beatified by the\nholy beauty of Imperia, knew that Emperor, burgraf, nay, even a\ncardinal about to be elected pope, would willingly for that night have\nchanged places with him, a little priest who, beneath his gown, had\nonly the devil and love.\n\nHe put on a lordly air, and saluted her with a courtesy by no means\nungraceful; and then the sweet lady said to him, regaling with a\npiercing glance--\n\n\"Come and sit close to me, that I may see if you have altered since\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said he.\n\n\"And how?\" said she.\n\n\"Yesterday,\" replied the artful fellow, \"I loved you; today, we love\neach other, and from a poor sinner I have become richer than a king.\"\n\n\"Oh, little one, little one!\" cried she, merrily; \"yes, you are indeed\nchanged, for from a young priest I see well you have turned into an\nold devil.\"\n\nAnd side by side they sat down before a large fire, which helped to\nspread their ecstasy around. They remained always ready to begin\neating, seeing that they only thought of gazing into each other's\neyes, and never touched a dish. Just as they were beginning to feel\ncomfortable and at their ease, there came a great noise at Madame's\ndoor, as if people were beating against it, and crying out.\n\n\"Madame,\" cried the little servant hastily, \"here's another of them.\"\n\n\"Who is it?\" cried she in a haughty manner, like a tyrant, savage at\nbeing interrupted.\n\n\"The Bishop of Coire wishes to speak with you.\"\n\n\"May the devil take him!\" said she, looking at Philippe gently.\n\n\"Madame he has seen the light through the chinks, and is making a\ngreat noise.\"\n\n\"Tell him I have the fever, and you will be telling him no lie, for I\nam ill of this little priest who is torturing my brain.\"\n\nBut just as she had finished speaking, and was pressing with devotion\nthe hand of Philippe who trembled in his skin, appeared the fat Bishop\nof Coire, indignant and angry. The officers followed him, bearing a\ntrout canonically dressed, fresh from the Rhine, and shining in a\ngolden platter, and spices contained in little ornamental boxes, and a\nthousand dainties, such as liqueurs and jams, made by the holy nuns at\nhis Abbey.\n\n\"Ah, ah!\" said he, with his deep voice, \"I haven't time to go to the\ndevil, but you must give me a touch of him in advance, eh! my little\none.\"\n\n\"Your belly will one day make a nice sheath for a sword,\" replied she,\nknitting her brows above her eyes, which from being soft and gentle\nhad become mischievous enough to make one tremble.\n\n\"And this little chorus singer is here to offer that?\" said the\nbishop, insolently turning his great rubicund face towards Philippe.\n\n\"Monseigneur, I'm here to confess Madame.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh, do you not know the canons? To confess the ladies at this\ntime of night is a right reserved to bishops, so take yourself off; go\nand herd with simple monks, and never come back here again under pain\nof excommunication.\"\n\n\"Do not move,\" cried the blushing Imperia, more lovely with passion\nthan she was with love, because now she was possessed both with\npassion and love. \"Stop, my friend. Here you are in your own house.\"\nThen he knew that he was really loved by her.\n\n\"It is it not in the breviary, and an evangelical regulation, that you\nshould be equal with God in the valley of Jehoshaphat?\" asked she of\nthe bishop.\n\n\"'Tis is an invention of the devil, who has adulterated the holy\nbook,\" replied the great numskull of a bishop in a hurry to fall to.\n\n\"Well then, be equal now before me, who am here below your goddess,\"\nreplied Imperia, \"otherwise one of these days I will have you\ndelicately strangled between the head and shoulders; I swear it by the\npower of my tonsure which is as good as the pope's.\" And wishing that\nthe trout should be added to the feast as well as the sweets and other\ndainties, she added, cunningly, \"Sit you down and drink with us.\" But\nthe artful minx, being up to a trick or two, gave the little one a\nwink which told him plainly not to mind the German, whom she would\nsoon find a means to be rid of.\n\nThe servant-maid seated the Bishop at the table, and tucked him up,\nwhile Philippe, wild with rage that closed his mouth, because he saw\nhis plans ending in smoke, gave the archbishop to more devils than\never were monks alive. Thus they got halfway through the repast, which\nthe young priest had not yet touched, hungering only for Imperia, near\nwhom he was already seated, but speaking that sweet language which the\nladies so well understand, that has neither stops, commas, accents,\nletters, figures, characters, notes, nor images. The fat bishop,\nsensual and careful enough of the sleek, ecclesiastical garment of\nskin for which he was indebted to his late mother, allowed himself to\nbe plentifully served with hippocras by the delicate hand of Madame,\nand it was just at his first hiccough that the sound of an approaching\ncavalcade was heard in the street. The number of horses, the \"Ho, ho!\"\nof the pages, showed plainly that some great prince hot with love, was\nabout to arrive. In fact, a moment afterwards the Cardinal of Ragusa,\nagainst whom the servants of Imperia had not dared to bar the door,\nentered the room. At this terrible sight the poor courtesan and her\nyoung lover became ashamed and embarrassed, like fresh cured lepers;\nfor it would be tempting the devil to try and oust the cardinal, the\nmore so as at that time it was not known who would be pope, three\naspirants having resigned their hoods for the benefit of Christianity.\nThe cardinal, who was a cunning Italian, long bearded, a great\nsophist, and the life and soul of the Council, guessed, by the\nfeeblest exercise of the faculties of his understanding, the alpha and\nomega of the adventure. He only had to weigh in his mind one little\nthought before he knew how to proceed in order to be able to\nhypothecate his manly vigour. He arrived with the appetite of a hungry\nmonk, and to obtain its satisfaction he was just the man to stab two\nmonks and sell his bit of the true cross, which were wrong.\n\n\"Hulloa! friend,\" said he to Philippe, calling him towards him. The\npoor Tourainian, more dead than alive, and expecting the devil was\nabout to interfere seriously with his arrangements, rose and said,\n\"What is it?\" to the redoubtable cardinal.\n\nHe taking him by the arm led him to the staircase, looked him in the\nwhite of the eye and said without any nonsense--\"Ventredieu! You are a\nnice little fellow, and I should not like to have to let your master\nknow the weight of your carcass. My revenge might cause me certain\npious expenses in my old age, so choose to espouse an abbey for the\nremainder of your days, or to marry Madame to-night and die tomorrow.\"\n\nThe poor little Tourainian in despair murmured, \"May I come back when\nyour passion is over?\"\n\nThe cardinal could scarcely keep his countenance, but he said sternly,\n\"Choose the gallows or a mitre.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the priest, maliciously; \"a good fat abbey.\"\n\nThereupon the cardinal went back into the room, opened an escritoire,\nand scribbled upon a piece of parchment an order to the envoy of\nFrance.\n\n\"Monseigneur,\" said the Tourainian to him while he was spelling out\nthe order, \"you will not get rid of the Bishop of Coire so easily as\nyou have got rid of me, for he has as many abbeys as the soldiers have\ndrinking shops in the town; besides, he is in the favour of his lord.\nNow I fancy to show you my gratitude for this so fine Abbey I owe you\ngood piece of advice. You know how fatal has been and how rapidly\nspread this terrible pestilence which has cruelly harassed Paris. Tell\nhim that you have just left the bedside of your old friend the\nArchbishop of Bordeaux; thus you will make him scutter away like straw\nbefore a whirl-wind.\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" cried the cardinal, \"thou meritest more than an abbey. Ah,\nVentredieu! my young friend, here are 100 golden crowns for thy\njourney to the Abbey of Turpenay, which I won yesterday at cards, and\nof which I make you a free gift.\"\n\nHearing these words, and seeing Philippe de Mala disappear without\ngiving her the amorous glances she expected, the beautiful Imperia,\npuffing like a dolphin, denounced all the cowardice of the priest. She\nwas not then a sufficiently good Catholic to pardon her lover\ndeceiving her, by not knowing how to die for her pleasure. Thus the\ndeath of Philippe was foreshadowed in the viper's glance she cast at\nhim to insult him, which glance pleased the cardinal much, for the\nwily Italian saw he would soon get his abbey back again. The\nTouranian, heeding not the brewing storm avoided it by walking out\nsilently with his ears down, like a wet dog being kicked out of a\nChurch. Madame drew a sigh from her heart. She must have had her own\nideas of humanity for the little value she held in it. The fire which\npossessed her had mounted to her head, and scintillated in rays about\nher, and there was good reason for it, for this was the first time\nthat she had been humbugged by priest. Then the cardinal smiled,\nbelieving it was all to his advantage: was not he a cunning fellow?\nYes, he was the possessor of a red hat.\n\n\"Ah, ah! my friend,\" said he to the Bishop, \"I congratulate myself on\nbeing in your company, and I am glad to have been able to get rid of\nthat little wretch unworthy of Madame, the more so as if you had gone\nnear him, my lovely and amiable creature, you would have perished\nmiserably through the deed of a simple priest.\"\n\n\"Ah! How?\"\n\n\"He is the secretary of the Archbishop of Bordeaux. The good man was\nseized this morning with the pestilence.\"\n\nThe bishop opened his mouth wide enough to swallow a Dutch cheese.\n\n\"How do you know that?\" asked he.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the cardinal, taking the good German's hand, \"I have just\nadministered to him, and consoled him; at this moment the holy man has\na fair wind to waft him to paradise.\"\n\nThe Bishop of Coire demonstrated immediately how light fat man are;\nfor when men are big-bellied, a merciful providence, in the\nconsideration of their works, often makes their internal tubes as\nelastic as balloons. The aforesaid bishop sprang backwards with one\nbound, burst into a perspiration and coughed like a cow who finds\nfeathers mixed with her hay. Then becoming suddenly pale, he rushed\ndown the stairs without even bidding Madame adieu. When the door had\nclosed upon the bishop, and he was fairly in the street, the Cardinal\nof Ragusa began laughing fit to split his sides.\n\n\"Ah! my fair one, am I not worthy to be Pope, and better than that,\nthy lover this evening?\"\n\nBut seeing Imperia thoughtful he approached her to take her in his\narms, and pet her after the usual fashion of cardinals, men who\nembrace better than all others, even the soldiers, because they are\nlazy, and do not spare their essential properties.\n\n\"Ha!\" said she, drawing back, \"you wish to cause my death, you\necclesiastical idiot. The principal thing for you is to enjoy\nyourself; my sweet carcass, a thing accessory. Your pleasure will be\nmy death, and then you'll canonise me perhaps? Ah, you have the\nplague, and you would give it to me. Go somewhere else, you brainless\npriest. Ah! touch me not,\" said she, seeing him about to advance, \"or\nI will stab you with this dagger.\"\n\nAnd the clever hussy drew from her armoire a little dagger, which she\nknew how to use with great skill when necessary.\n\n\"But my little paradise, my sweet one,\" said the other, laughing,\n\"don't you see the trick? Wasn't it necessary to be get rid of that\nold bullock of Coire?\"\n\n\"Well then, if you love me, show it\" replied she. \"I desire that you\nleave me instantly. If you are touched with the disease my death will\nnot worry you. I know you well enough to know at what price you will\nput a moment of pleasure at your last hour. You would drown the earth.\nAh, ah! you have boasted of it when drunk. I love only myself, my\ntreasures, and my health. Go, and if tomorrow your veins are not\nfrozen by the disease, you can come again. Today, I hate you, good\ncardinal,\" said she, smiling.\n\n\"Imperia!\" cried the cardinal on his knees, \"my blessed Imperia, do\nnot play with me thus.\"\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"I never play with blessed and sacred things.\"\n\n\"Ah! ribald woman, I will excommunicate thee tomorrow.\"\n\n\"And now you are out of your cardinal sense.\"\n\n\"Imperia, cursed daughter of Satan! Oh, my little beauty--my love--!\"\n\n\"Respect yourself more. Don't kneel to me, fie for shame!\"\n\n\"Wilt thou have a dispensation in articulo mortis? Wilt thou have my\nfortune--or better still, a bit of the veritable true Cross?--Wilt\nthou?\"\n\n\"This evening, all the wealth of heaven above and earth beneath would\nnot buy my heart,\" said she, laughing. \"I should be the blackest of\nsinners, unworthy to receive the Blessed Sacrament if I had not my\nlittle caprices.\"\n\n\"I'll burn the house down. Sorceress, you have bewitched me. You shall\nperish at the stake. Listen to me, my love,--my gentle Dove--I promise\nyou the best place in heaven. Eh? No. Death to you then--death to the\nsorceress.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh! I will kill you, Monseigneur.\"\n\nAnd the cardinal foamed with rage.\n\n\"You are making a fool of yourself,\" said she. \"Go away, you'll tire\nyourself.\"\n\n\"I shall be pope, and you shall pay for this!\"\n\n\"Then you are no longer disposed to obey me?\"\n\n\"What can I do this evening to please you?\"\n\n\"Get out.\"\n\nAnd she sprang lightly like a wagtail into her room, and locked\nherself in, leaving the cardinal to storm that he was obliged to go.\nWhen the fair Imperia found herself alone, seated before the fire, and\nwithout her little priest, she exclaimed, snapping angrily the gold\nlinks of her chain, \"By the double triple horn on the devil, if the\nlittle one has made me have this row with the Cardinal, and exposed me\nto the danger of being poisoned tomorrow, unless I pay him over to my\nheart's content, I will not die till I have seen him burned alive\nbefore my eyes. Ah!\" said she, weeping, this time real tears, \"I lead\na most unhappy life, and the little pleasure I have costs me the life\nof a dog, let alone my salvation.\"\n\nAs she finished this jeremiad, wailing like a calf that is being\nslaughtered, she beheld the blushing face of the young priest, who had\nhidden himself, peeping at her from behind her large Venetian mirror.\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"Thou art the most perfect monk that ever dwelt in\nthis blessed and amorous town of Constance. Ah, ah! Come my gentle\ncavalier, my dear boy, my little charm, my paradise of delectation,\nlet me drink thine eyes, eat thee, kill thee with my love. Oh! my\never-flourishing, ever-green, sempiternal god; from a little monk I\nwould make a king, emperor, pope, and happier than either. There, thou\ncanst put anything to fire and sword, I am thine, and thou shalt see\nit well; for thou shalt be all a cardinal, even when to redden thy\nhood I shed all my heart's blood.\" And with her trembling hands all\njoyously she filled with Greek wine the golden cup, brought by the\nBishop of Coire, and presented it to her sweetheart, whom she served\nupon her knee, she whose slipper princes found more to their taste\nthan that of the pope.\n\nBut he gazed at her in silence, with his eye so lustrous with love,\nthat she said to him, trembling with joy \"Ah! be quiet, little one.\nLet us have supper.\"\n\n\n\n                           THE VENIAL SIN\n\n\nHOW THE GOOD MAN BRUYN TOOK A WIFE.\n\nMessire Bruyn, he who completed the Castle of Roche-Corbon-les-Vouvray,\non the banks of the Loire, was a boisterous fellow in his\nyouth. When quite little, he squeezed young ladies, turned the house\nout of windows, and played the devil with everything, when he was\ncalled upon to put his Sire the Baron of Roche-Corbon some few feet\nunder the turf. Then he was his own master, free to lead a life of\nwild dissipation, and indeed he worked very hard to get a surfeit of\nenjoyment. Now by making his crowns sweat and his goods scarce,\ndraining his land, and a bleeding his hogsheads, and regaling frail\nbeauties, he found himself excommunicated from decent society, and had\nfor his friends only the plunderers of towns and the Lombardians. But\nthe usurers turned rough and bitter as chestnut husks, when he had no\nother security to give them than his said estate of Roche-Corbon,\nsince the Rupes Carbonis was held from our Lord the king. Then Bruyn\nfound himself just in the humour to give a blow here and there, to\nbreak a collar-bone or two, and quarrel with everyone about trifles.\nSeeing which, the Abbot of Marmoustiers, his neighbour, and a man\nliberal with his advice, told him that it was an evident sign of\nlordly perfection, that he was walking in the right road, but if he\nwould go and slaughter, to the great glory of God, the Mahommedans who\ndefiled the Holy Land, it would be better still, and that he would\nundoubtedly return full of wealth and indulgences into Touraine, or\ninto Paradise, whence all barons formerly came.\n\nThe said Bruyn, admiring the great sense of the prelate, left the\ncountry equipped by the monastery, and blessed by the abbot, to the\ngreat delight of his friends and neighbours. Then he put to the sack\nenough many towns of Asia and Africa, and fell upon the infidels\nwithout giving them warning, burning the Saracens, the Greeks, the\nEnglish, and others, caring little whether they were friends or\nenemies, or where they came from, since among his merits he had that\nof being in no way curious, and he never questioned them until after\nhe had killed them. At this business, agreeable to God, to the King\nand to himself, Bruyn gained renown as a good Christian and loyal\nknight, and enjoyed himself thoroughly in these lands beyond the seas,\nsince he more willingly gave a crown to the girls than to the poor,\nalthough he met many more poor people than perfect maids; but like a\ngood Touranian he made soup of anything. At length, when he was\nsatiated with the Turks, relics, and other blessings of the Holy Land,\nBruyn, to the great astonishment of the people of Vouvrillons,\nreturned from the Crusades laden with crowns and precious stones;\nrather differently from some who, rich when they set out, came back\nheavy with leprosy, but light with gold. On his return from Tunis, our\nLord, King Philippe, made him a Count, and appointed him his seneschal\nin our country and that of Poitou. There he was greatly beloved and\nproperly thought well of, since over and above his good qualities he\nfounded the Church of the Carmes-Deschaulx, in the parish of\nEgrignolles, as the peace-offering to Heaven for the follies of his\nyouth. Thus was he cardinally consigned to the good graces of the\nChurch and of God. From a wicked youth and reckless man, he became a\ngood, wise man, and discreet in his dissipations and pleasures; rarely\nwas in anger, unless someone blasphemed God before him, the which he\nwould not tolerate because he had blasphemed enough for every one in\nhis wild youth. In short, he never quarrelled, because, being\nseneschal, people gave up to him instantly. It is true that he at that\ntime beheld all his desires accomplished, the which would render even\nan imp of Satan calm and tranquil from his horns to his heels. And\nbesides this he possessed a castle all jagged at the corners, and\nshaped and pointed like a Spanish doublet, situated upon a bank from\nwhich it was reflected in the Loire. In the rooms were royal\ntapestries, furniture, Saracen pomps, vanities, and inventions which\nwere much admired by people of Tours, and even by the archbishop and\nclerks of St. Martin, to whom he sent as a free gift a banner fringed\nwith fine gold. In the neighbourhood of the said castle abounded fair\ndomains, wind-mills, and forests, yielding a harvest of rents of all\nkinds, so that he was one of the strongest knights-banneret of the\nprovince, and could easily have led to battle for our lord the king a\nthousand men. In his old days, if by chance his bailiff, a diligent\nman at hanging, brought before him a poor peasant suspected of some\noffence, he would say, smiling--\n\n\"Let this one go, Brediff, he will count against those I\ninconsiderately slaughtered across the seas\"; oftentimes, however, he\nwould let them bravely hang on a chestnut tree or swing on his\ngallows, but this was solely that justice might be done, and that the\ncustom should not lapse in his domain. Thus the people on his lands\nwere good and orderly, like fresh veiled nuns, and peaceful since he\nprotected them from the robbers and vagabonds whom he never spared,\nknowing by experience how much mischief is caused by these cursed\nbeasts of prey. For the rest, most devout, finishing everything\nquickly, his prayers as well as good wine, he managed the processes\nafter the Turkish fashion, having a thousand little jokes ready for\nthe losers, and dining with them to console them. He had all the\npeople who had been hanged buried in consecrated ground like godly\nones, some people thinking they had been sufficiently punished by\nhaving their breath stopped. He only persecuted the Jews now and then,\nand when they were glutted with usury and wealth. He let them gather\ntheir spoil as the bees do honey, saying that they were the best of\ntax-gatherers. And never did he despoil them save for the profit and\nuse of the churchmen, the king, the province, or himself.\n\nThis jovial way gained for him the affection and esteem of every one,\ngreat and small. If he came back smiling from his judicial throne, the\nAbbot of Marmoustiers, an old man like himself, would say, \"Ho, ha!\nmessire, there is some hanging on since you laugh thus!\" And when\ncoming from Roche-Corbon to Tours he passed on horseback along the\nFauborg St. Symphorien, the little girls would say, \"Ah! this is the\njustice day, there is the good man Bruyn,\" and without being afraid\nthey would look at him astride on a big white hack, that he had\nbrought back with him from the Levant. On the bridge the little boys\nwould stop playing with the ball, and would call out, \"Good day, Mr.\nSeneschal\" and he would reply, jokingly, \"Enjoy yourselves, my\nchildren, until you get whipped.\" \"Yes, Mr. Seneschal.\"\n\nAlso he made the country so contented and so free from robbers that\nduring the year of the great over-flowing of the Loire there were only\ntwenty-two malefactors hanged that winter, not counting a Jew burned\nin the Commune of Chateau-Neuf for having stolen a consecrated wafer,\nor bought it, some said, for he was very rich.\n\nOne day, in the following year about harvest time, or mowing time, as\nwe say in Touraine, there came Egyptians, Bohemians, and other\nwandering troupes who stole the holy things from the Church of St.\nMartin, and in the place and exact situation of Madam the Virgin, left\nby way of insult and mockery to our Holy Faith, an abandoned pretty\nlittle girl, about the age of an old dog, stark naked, an acrobat, and\nof Moorish descent like themselves. For this almost nameless crime it\nwas equally decided by the king, people, and the churchmen that the\nMooress, to pay for all, should be burned and cooked alive in the\nsquare near the fountain where the herb market is. Then the good man\nBruyn clearly and dextrously demonstrated to the others that it would\nbe a thing most profitable and pleasant to God to gain over this\nAfrican soul to the true religion, and if the devil were lodged in\nthis feminine body the <DW19>s would be useless to burn him, as said\nthe said order. To which the archbishop sagely thought most canonical\nand conformable to Christian charity and the gospel. The ladies of the\ntown and other persons of authority said loudly that they were cheated\nof a fine ceremony, since the Mooress was crying her eyes out in the\njail and would certainly be converted to God in order to live as long\nas a crow, if she were allowed to do so, to which the seneschal\nreplied that if the foreigner would wholly commit herself to the\nChristian religion there would be a gallant ceremony of another kind,\nand that he would undertake that it should be royally magnificent,\nbecause he would be her sponsor at the baptismal font, and that a\nvirgin should be his partner in the affair in order the better to\nplease the Almighty, while himself was reputed never to have lost the\nbloom or innocence, in fact to be a coquebin. In our country of\nTouraine thus are called the young virgin men, unmarried or so\nesteemed to distinguish them from the husbands and the widowers, but\nthe girls always pick them without the name, because they are more\nlight-hearted and merry than those seasoned in marriage.\n\nThe young Mooress did not hesitate between the flaming <DW19>s and the\nbaptismal water. She much preferred to be a Christian and live than be\nEgyptian and be burned; thus to escape a moment's baking, her heart\nwould burn unquenched through all her life, since for the greater\nsurety of her religion she was placed in the convent of nuns near\nChardonneret, where she took the vow of sanctity. The said ceremony\nwas concluded at the residence of the archbishop, where on this\noccasion, in honour of the Saviour or men, the lords and ladies of\nTouraine hopped, skipped and danced, for in this country the people\ndance, skip, eat, flirt, have more feasts and make merrier than any in\nthe whole world. The good old seneschal had taken for his associate\nthe daughter of the lord of Azay-le-Ridel, which afterwards became\nAzay-le-Brusle, the which lord being a Crusader was left before Acre,\na far distant town, in the hands of a Saracen who demanded a royal\nransom for him because the said lord was of high position.\n\nThe lady of Azay having given his estate as security to the Lombards\nand extortioners in order to raise the sum, remained, without a penny\nin the world, awaiting her lord in a poor lodging in the town,\nwithout a carpet to sit upon, but proud as the Queen of Sheba and\nbrave as a mastiff who defends the property of his master. Seeing this\ngreat distress the seneschal went delicately to request this lady's\ndaughter to be the godmother of the said Egyptian, in order that he\nmight have the right of assisting the Lady of Azay. And, in fact, he\nkept a heavy chain of gold which he had preserved since the\ncommencement of the taking of Cyprus, and the which he determined to\nclasp about the neck of his pretty associate, but he hung there at the\nsame time his domain, and his white hairs, his money and his horses;\nin short, he placed there everything he possessed, directly he had\nseen Blanche of Azay dancing a pavan among the ladies of Tours.\nAlthough the Moorish girl, making the most of her last day, had\nastonished the assembly by her twists, jumps, steps, springs, and\nelevations and artistic efforts, Blanche had the advantage of her, as\neveryone agreed, so virginally and delicately did she dance.\n\nNow Bruyn, admiring this gentle maiden whose toes seemed to fear the\nboards, and who amused herself so innocently for her seventeen years\n--like a grasshopper trying her first note--was seized with an old\nman's desire; a desire apoplectic and vigorous from weakness, which\nheated him from the sole of foot to the nape of his neck--for his head\nhad too much snow on the top of it to let love lodge there. Then the\ngood man perceived that he needed a wife in his manor, and it appeared\nmore lonely to him than it was. And what then was a castle without a\nchatelaine? As well have a clapper without its bell. In short, a wife\nwas the only thing that he had to desire, so he wished to have one\npromptly, seeing that if the Lady of Azay made him wait, he had just\ntime to pass out of this world into the other. But during the\nbaptismal entertainment, he thought little of his severe wounds, and\nstill less of the eighty years that had stripped his head; he found\nhis eyes clear enough to see distinctly his young companion, who,\nfollowing the injunctions of the Lady of Azay, regaled him well with\nglance and gesture, believing there could be no danger near so old a\nfellow, in such wise that Blanche--naive and nice as she was in\ncontradistinction to the girls of Touraine, who are as wide-awake as a\nspring morning--permitted the good man first to kiss her hand, and\nafterwards her neck, rather low-down; at least so said the archbishop\nwho married them the week after; and that was a beautiful bridal, and\na still more beautiful bride.\n\nThe said Blanche was slender and graceful as no other girl, and still\nbetter than that, more maidenly than ever maiden was; a maiden all\nignorant of love, who knew not why or what it was; a maiden who\nwondered why certain people lingered in their beds; a maiden who\nbelieved that children were found in parsley beds. Her mother had thus\nreared her in innocence, without even allowing her to consider, trifle\nas it was, how she sucked in her soup between her teeth. Thus she was\na sweet flower, and intact, joyous and innocent; an angel, who needed\nbut the wings to fly away to Paradise. When she left the poor lodging\nof her weeping mother to consummate her betrothal at the cathedral of\nSt. Gatien and St. Maurice, the country people came to a feast their\neyes upon the bride, and on the carpets which were laid down all along\nthe Rue de la Scellerie, and all said that never had tinier feet\npressed the ground of Touraine, prettier eyes gazed up to heaven, or a\nmore splendid festival adorned the streets with carpets and with\nflowers. The young girls of St. Martin and of the boroughs of\nChateau-Neuf, all envied the long brown tresses with which doubtless\nBlanche had fished for a count, but much more did they desire the gold\nembroidered dress, the foreign stones, the white diamonds, and the\nchains with which the little darling played, and which bound her for\never to the said seneschal. The old soldier was so merry by her side,\nthat his happiness showed itself in his wrinkles, his looks, and his\nmovements. Although he was hardly as straight as a billhook, he held\nhimself so by the side of Blanche, that one would have taken him for a\nsoldier on parade receiving his officer, and he placed his hand on his\ndiaphragm like a man whose pleasure stifles and troubles him.\nDelighted with the sound of the swinging bells, the procession, the\npomps, and the vanities of the said marriage, which was talked of long\nafter the episcopal rejoicings, the women desired a harvest of Moorish\ngirls, a deluge of old seneschals, and baskets full of Egyptian\nbaptisms. But this was the only one that ever happened in Touraine,\nseeing that the country is far from Egypt and from Bohemia. The Lady\nof Azay received a large sum of money after the ceremony, which\nenabled her to start immediately for Acre to go to her spouse,\naccompanied by the lieutenant and soldiers of the Count of\nRoche-Corbon, who furnished them with everything necessary. She set out\non the day of the wedding, after having placed her daughter in the hands\nof the seneschal, enjoining him to treat her well; and later on she\nreturned with the Sire d'Azay, who was leprous, and she cured him,\ntending him herself, running the risk of being contaminated, the which\nwas greatly admired.\n\nThe marriage ceremony finished and at an end--for it lasted three\ndays, to the great contentment of the people--Messire Bruyn with great\npomp led the little one to his castle, and, according to the custom of\nhusbands, had her put solemnly to bed in his couch, which was blessed\nby the Abbot of Marmoustiers; then came and placed himself beside her\nin the great feudal chamber of Roche-Corbon, which had been hung with\ngreen blockade and ribbon of golden wire. When old Bruyn, perfumed all\nover, found himself side by side with his pretty wife, he kissed her\nfirst upon the forehead, and then upon the little round, white breast,\non the same spot where she had allowed him to clasp the fastenings of\nthe chain, but that was all. The old fellow had too great confidence\nin himself in fancying himself able to accomplish more; so then he\nabstained from love in spite of the merry nuptial songs, the\nepithalamiums and jokes which were going on in the rooms beneath where\nthe dancing was still kept up. He refreshed himself with a drink of\nthe marriage beverage, which according to custom, had been blessed and\nplaced near them in a golden cup. The spices warned his stomach well\nenough, but not the heart of his dead ardour. Blanche was not at all\nastonished at the demeanour of her spouse, because she was a virgin in\nmind, and in marriage she saw only that which is visible to the eyes\nof young girls--namely dresses, banquets, horses, to be a lady and\nmistress, to have a country seat, to amuse oneself and give orders;\nso, like the child that she was, she played with the gold tassels on\nthe bed, and marvelled at the richness of the shrine in which her\ninnocence should be interred. Feeling, a little later in the day, his\nculpability, and relying on the future, which, however, would spoil a\nlittle every day that with which he pretended to regale his wife, the\nseneschal tried to substitute the word for the deed. So he entertained\nhis wife in various ways, promised her the keys of his sideboards, his\ngranaries and chests, the perfect government of his houses and domains\nwithout any control, hanging round her neck \"the other half of the\nloaf,\" which is the popular saying in Touraine. She became like a\nyoung charger full of hay, found her good man the most gallant fellow\nin the world, and raising herself upon her pillow began to smile, and\nbeheld with greater joy this beautiful green brocaded bed, where\nhenceforward she would be permitted, without any sin, to sleep every\nnight. Seeing she was getting playful, the cunning lord, who had not\nbeen used to maidens, but knew from experience the little tricks that\nwomen will practice, seeing that he had much associated with ladies of\nthe town, feared those handy tricks, little kisses, and minor\namusements of love which formerly he did not object to, but which at\nthe present time would have found him cold as the obit of a pope. Then\nhe drew back towards the end of the bed, afraid of his happiness, and\nsaid to his too delectable spouse, \"Well, darling, you are a\nseneschal's wife now, and very well seneschaled as well.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" said she.\n\n\"How no!\" replied he in great fear; \"are you not a wife?\"\n\n\"No!\" said she. \"Nor shall I be till I have had a child.\"\n\n\"Did you while coming here see the meadows?\" began again the old\nfellow.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she.\n\n\"Well, they are yours.\"\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" replied she laughing, \"I shall amuse myself much there\ncatching butterflies.\"\n\n\"That's a good girl,\" says her lord. \"And the woods?\"\n\n\"Ah! I should not like to be there alone, you will take me there.\nBut,\" said she, \"give me a little of that liquor which La Ponneuse has\ntaken such pains to prepare for us.\"\n\n\"And why, my darling? It would put fire in your body.\"\n\n\"Oh! That's what I should like,\" said she, biting her lip with\nvexation, \"because I desire to give you a child as soon as possible;\nand I'm sure that liquor is good for the purpose.\"\n\n\"Ah! my little one,\" said the seneschal, knowing by this that Blanche\nwas a virgin from head to foot, \"the goodwill of God is necessary for\nthis business, and women must be in a state of harvest.\"\n\n\"And when should I be in a state of harvest?\" asked she, smiling.\n\n\"When nature so wills it,\" said he, trying to laugh.\n\n\"What is it necessary to do for this?\" replied she.\n\n\"Ah! A cabalistical and alchemical operation which is very dangerous.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, with a dreamy look, \"that's the reason why my mother\ncried when thinking of the said metamorphosis; but Bertha de Breuilly,\nwho is so thankful for being made a wife, told me it was the easiest\nthing in the world.\"\n\n\"That's according to the age,\" replied the old lord. \"But did you see\nat the stable the beautiful white mare so much spoken of in Touraine?\"\n\n\"Yes, she is very gentle and nice.\"\n\n\"Well, I give her to you, and you can ride her as often as the fancy\ntakes you.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are very kind, and they did not lie when they told me so.\"\n\n\"Here,\" continued he, \"sweetheart; the butler, the chaplain, the\ntreasurer, the equerry, the farrier, the bailiff, even the Sire de\nMontsoreau, the young varlet whose name is Gauttier and bears my\nbanner, with his men at arms, captains, followers, and beasts--all are\nyours, and will instantly obey your orders under pain of being\nincommoded with a hempen collar.\"\n\n\"But,\" replied she, \"this mysterious operation--cannot it be performed\nimmediately?\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" replied the seneschal. \"Because it is necessary above all\nthings that both the one and the other of us should be in a state of\ngrace before God; otherwise we should have a bad child, full of sin;\nwhich is forbidden by the canons of the church. This is the reason\nthat there are so many incorrigible scapegraces in the world. Their\nparents have not wisely waited to have their souls pure, and have\ngiven wicked souls to their children. The beautiful and the virtuous\ncome of immaculate fathers; that is why we cause our beds to be\nblessed, as the Abbot of Marmoustiers has done this one. Have you not\ntransgressed the ordinances of the Church?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said she, quickly, \"I received before Mass absolution for all\nmy faults and have remained since without committing the slightest\nsin.\"\n\n\"You are very perfect,\" said the cunning lord, \"and I am delighted to\nhave you for a wife; but I have sworn like an infidel.\"\n\n\"Oh! and why?\"\n\n\"Because the dancing did not finish, and I could not have you to\nmyself to bring you here and kiss you.\"\n\nThereupon he gallantly took her hands and covered them with kisses,\nwhispering to her little endearments and superficial words of\naffection which made her quite pleased and contented.\n\nThen, fatigued with the dance and all the ceremonies, she settled down\nto her slumbers, saying to the seneschal--\n\n\"I will take care tomorrow that you shall not sin,\" and she left the\nold man quite smitten with her white beauty, amorous of her delicate\nnature, and as embarrassed to know how he should be able to keep her\nin her innocence as to explain why oxen chew their food twice over.\nAlthough he did not augur to himself any good therefrom, it inflamed\nhim so much to see the exquisite perfections of Blanche during her\ninnocent and gentle sleep, that he resolved to preserve and defend\nthis pretty jewel of love. With tears in his eyes he kissed her sweet\ngolden tresses, the beautiful eyelids, and her ripe red mouth, and he\ndid it softly for fear of waking her. There was all his fruition, the\ndumb delight which still inflamed his heart without in the least\naffecting Blanche. Then he deplored the snows of his leafless old age,\nthe poor old man, that he saw clearly that God had amused himself by\ngiving him nuts when his teeth were gone.\n\n\nHOW THE SENESCHAL STRUGGLED WITH HIS WIFE'S MODESTY.\n\nDuring the first days of his marriage the seneschal imprinted many\nfibs to tell his wife, whose so estimable innocence he abused.\nFirstly, he found in his judicial functions good excuses for leaving\nher at times alone; then he occupied himself with the peasants of the\nneighbourhood, and took them to dress the vines on his lands at\nVouvray, and at length pampered her up with a thousand absurd tales.\n\nAt one time he would say that lords did not behave like common people,\nthat the children were only planted at certain celestial conjunctions\nascertained by learned astrologers; at another that one should abstain\nfrom begetting children on feast days, because it was a great\nundertaking; and he observed the feasts like a man who wished to enter\ninto Paradise without consent. Sometimes he would pretend that if by\nchance the parents were not in a state of grace, the children\ncommenced on the date of St. Claire would be blind, of St. Gatien had\nthe gout, of St. Agnes were scaldheaded, of St. Roch had the plague;\nsometimes that those begotten in February were chilly; in March, too\nturbulent; in April, were worth nothing at all; and that handsome boys\nwere conceived in May. In short, he wished his child to be perfect, to\nhave his hair of two colours; and for this it was necessary that all\nthe required conditions should be observed. At other times he would\nsay to Blanche that the right of a man was to bestow a child upon his\nwife according to his sole and unique will, and that if she pretended\nto be a virtuous woman she should conform to the wishes of her\nhusband; in fact it was necessary to await the return of the Lady of\nAzay in order that she should assist at the confinement; from all of\nwhich Blanche concluded that the seneschal was annoyed by her\nrequests, and was perhaps right, since he was old and full of\nexperience; so she submitted herself and thought no more, except to\nherself, of this so much-desired child, that is to say, she was always\nthinking of it, like a woman who has a desire in her head, without\nsuspecting that she was behaving like a gay lady or a town-walker\nrunning after her enjoyment. One evening, by accident, Bruyn spoke of\nchildren, a discourse that he avoided as cats avoid water, but he was\ncomplaining of a boy condemned by him that morning for great misdeeds,\nsaying for certain he was the offspring of people laden with mortal\nsins.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Blanche, \"if you will give me one, although you have not\ngot absolution, I will correct so well that you will be pleased with\nhim.\"\n\nThen the count saw that his wife was bitten by a warm desire, and that\nit was time to dissipate her innocence in order to make himself master\nof it, to conquer it, to beat it, or to appease and extinguish it.\n\n\"What, my dear, you wish to be a mother?\" said he; \"you do not yet\nknow the business of a wife, you are not accustomed to being mistress\nof the house.\"\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" said she, \"to be a perfect countess, and have in my loins a\nlittle count, must I play the great lady? I will do it, and\nthoroughly.\"\n\nThen Blanche, in order to obtain issue, began to hunt the fawns and\nstags, leaping the ditches, galloping upon her mare over valleys and\nmountain, through the woods and the fields, taking great delight in\nwatching the falcons fly, in unhooding them and while hunting always\ncarried them gracefully upon her little wrist, which was what the\nseneschal had desired. But in this pursuit, Blanche gained an appetite\nof nun and prelate, that is to say, wished to procreate, had her\ndesires whetted, and could scarcely restrain her hunger, when on her\nreturn she gave play to her teeth. Now by reason of reading the\nlegends written by the way, and of separating by death the embraces of\nbirds and wild beasts, she discovered a mystery of natural alchemy,\nwhile colouring her complexion, and superagitating her feeble\nimagination, which did little to pacify her warlike nature, and\nstrongly tickled her desire which laughed, played, and frisked\nunmistakably. The seneschal thought to disarm the rebellious virtue of\nhis wife by making her scour the country; but his fraud turned out\nbadly, for the unknown lust that circulated in the veins of Blanche\nemerged from these assaults more hardy than before, inviting jousts\nand tourneys as the herald the armed knight.\n\nThe good lord saw then that he had grossly erred and that he was now\nupon the horns of a dilemma; also he no longer knew what course to\nadopt; the longer he left it the more it would resist. From this\ncombat, there must result one conquered and one contused--a diabolical\ncontusion which he wished to keep distant from his physiognomy by\nGod's help until after his death. The poor seneschal had already great\ntrouble to follow his lady to the chase, without being dismounted; he\nsweated under the weight of his trappings, and almost expired in that\npursuit wherein his frisky wife cheered her life and took great\npleasure. Many times in the evening she wished to dance. Now the good\nman, swathed in his heavy clothing, found himself quite worn out with\nthese exercises, in which he was constrained to participate either in\ngiving her his hand, when she performed the vaults of the Moorish\ngirl, or in holding the lighted fagot for her, when she had a fancy to\ndo the torchlight dance; and in spite of his sciaticas, accretions,\nand rheumatisms, he was obliged to smile and say to her some gentle\nwords and gallantries after all the evolutions, mummeries, and comic\npantomimes, which she indulged in to divert herself; for he loved her\nso madly that if she had asked him for an impossibility he would have\nsought one for her immediately.\n\nNevertheless, one fine day he recognised the fact that his frame was\nin a state of too great debility to struggle with the vigorous nature\nof his wife, and humiliating himself before his wife's virtue he\nresolved to let things take their course, relying a little upon the\nmodesty, religion, and bashfulness of Blanche, but he always slept\nwith one eye open, for he suspected that God had perhaps made\nvirginities to be taken like partridges, to be spitted and roasted.\nOne wet morning, when the weather was that in which the snails make\ntheir tracks, a melancholy time, and suitable to reverie, Blanche was\nin the house sitting in her chair in deep thought, because nothing\nproduces more lively concoctions of the substantive essences, and no\nreceipt, specific or philter is more penetrating, transpiercing or\ndoubly transpiercing and titillating than the subtle warmth which\nsimmers between the nap of the chair and a maiden sitting during\ncertain weather.\n\nNow without knowing it the Countess was incommoded by her innocence,\nwhich gave more trouble than it was worth to her brain, and gnawed her\nall over. Then the good man, seriously grieved to see her languishing,\nwished to drive away the thoughts which were ultra-conjugal principles\nof love.\n\n\"Whence comes your sadness, sweetheart?\" said he.\n\n\"From shame.\"\n\n\"What then affronts you?\"\n\n\"The not being a good woman; because I am without a child, and you\nwithout lineage! Is one a lady without progeny? Nay! Look! . . . All\nmy neighbours have it, and I was married to have it, as you to give it\nto me; the nobles of Touraine are all amply furnished with children,\nand their wives give them lapfuls, you alone have none, they laugh at\nyou there. What will become of your name and your fiefs and your\nseigniories? A child is our natural company; it is a delight to us to\nmake a fright of it, to fondle it, to swaddle it, to dress and undress\nit, to cuddle it, to sing it lullabies, to cradle it, to get it up, to\nput it to bed, and to nourish it, and I feel that if I had only the\nhalf of one, I would kiss it, swaddle it, and unharness it, and I\nwould make it jump and crow all day long, as the other ladies do.\"\n\n\"Were it not that in giving them birth women die, and that for this\nyou are still too delicate and too close in the bud, you would already\nbe a mother,\" replied the seneschal, made giddy with the flow of\nwords. \"But will you buy one ready-made?--that will cost you neither\npain nor labour.\"\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"I want the pain and labour, without which it will\nnot be ours. I know very well it should be the fruit of my body,\nbecause at church they say that Jesus was the fruit of the Virgin's\nwomb.\"\n\n\"Very well, then pray God that it may be so,\" cried the seneschal,\n\"and intercede with the Virgin of Egrignolles. Many a lady has\nconceived after the neuvaine; you must not fail to do one.\"\n\nThen the same day Blanche set out towards Notre-Dame de l'Egrignolles,\ndecked out like a queen riding her beautiful mare, having on her a\nrobe of green velvet, laced down with fine gold lace, open at the\nbreast, having sleeves of scarlet, little shoes and a high hat\nornamented with precious stones, and a gold waistband that showed off\nher little waist, as slim as a pole. She wished to give her dress to\nMadame the Virgin, and in fact promised it to her, for the day of her\nchurching. The Sire de Montsoreau galloped before her, his eye bright\nas that of a hawk, keeping the people back and guarding with his\nknights the security of the journey. Near Marmoustiers the seneschal,\nrendered sleepy by the heat, seeing it was the month of August,\nwaggled about in his saddle, like a diadem upon the head of a cow, and\nseeing so frolicsome and so pretty a lady by the side of so old a\nfellow, a peasant girl, who was squatting near the trunk of a tree and\ndrinking water out of her stone jug inquired of a toothless old hag,\nwho picked up a trifle by gleaning, if this princess was going to bury\nher dead.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the old woman, \"it is our lady of Roche-Corbon, wife of\nthe seneschal of Poitou and Touraine, in quest of a child.\"\n\n\"Ah! Ah!\" said the young girl, laughing like a fly just satisfied;\nthen pointing to the handsome knight who was at the head of the\nprocession--\"he who marches at the head would manage that; she would\nsave the wax-candles and the vow.\"\n\n\"Ha! my little one,\" replied the hag, \"I am rather surprised that she\nshould go to Notre-Dame de l'Egrignolles seeing that there are no\nhandsome priests there. She might very well stop for a short time\nbeneath the shadow the belfry of Marmoustiers; she would soon be\nfertile, those good fathers are so lively.\"\n\n\"By a nun's oath!\" said a tramp walking up, \"look; the Sire de\nMontsoreau is lively and delicate enough to open the lady's heart, the\nmore so as he is well formed to do so.\"\n\nAnd all commenced a laugh. The Sire de Montsoreau wished to go to them\nand hang them in lime-tree by the road as a punishment for their bad\nwords, but Blanche cried out quickly--\n\n\"Oh, sir, do not hang them yet. They have not said all they mean; and\nwe shall see them on our return.\"\n\nShe blushed, and the Sire de Montsoreau looked at her eagerly, as\nthough to shoot into her the mystic comprehensions of love, but the\nclearing out of her intelligence had already been commenced by the\nsayings of the peasants which were fructifying in her understanding\n--her innocence was like touchwood, there was only need for a word\nto inflame it.\n\nThus Blanche perceived now the notable and physical differences\nbetween the qualities of her old husband and perfections of the said\nGauttier, a gentleman who was not over affected with his twenty-three\nyears, but held himself upright as a ninepin in the saddle, and as\nwide-awake as the matin chimes, while in contrast to him, slept the\nseneschal; he had courage and dexterity there where his master failed.\nHe was one of those smart fellows whom the jades would sooner wear at\nnight than a leathern garment, because they then no longer fear the\nfleas; there are some who vituperate them, but no one should be\nblamed, because every one should sleep as he likes.\n\nSo much did the seneschal's lady think, and so imperially well, that\nby the time she arrived at the bridge of Tours, she loved Gauttier\nsecretly, as a maiden loves, without suspecting that it is love. From\nthat she became a proper woman, that is to say, she desired the good\nof others, the best that men have, she fell into a fit of\nlove-sickness, going at the first jump to the depth of her misery,\nseeing that all is flame between the first coveting and the last desire,\nand she knew not how she then learned that by the eyes can flow in a\nsubtle essence, causing such powerful corrosions in all the veins of\nthe body, recesses of the heart, nerves of the members, roots of the\nhair, perspiration of the substance, limbo of the brain, orifices of\nthe epidermis, windings of the pluck, tubes of the hypochondriac and\nother channels which in her was suddenly dilated, heated, tickled,\nenvenomed, clawed, harrowed, and disturbed, as if she had a basketful\nof needles in her inside. This was a maiden's desire, a\nwell-conditioned desire, which troubled her sight to such a degree that\nshe no longer saw her old spouse, but clearly the young Gauttier, whose\nnature was as ample as the glorious chin of an abbot. When the good\nman entered Tours the Ah! Ah! of the crowd woke him up, and he came\nwith great pomp with his suite to the Church of Notre-Dame de\nl'Egrignolles, formerly called la greigneur, as if you said that which\nhas the most merit. Blanche went into the chapel where children are\nasked to God and of the Virgin, and went there alone, as was the\ncustom, always however in the presence of the seneschal, of his\nvarlets and the loiterers who remained outside the grill. When the\ncountess saw the priest come who had charge of the masses said for\nchildren, and who received the said vows, she asked him if there were\nmany barren women. To which the good priest replied, that he must not\ncomplain, and that the children were good revenue to the Church.\n\n\"And do you often see,\" said Blanche, \"young women with such old\nhusbands as my lord?\"\n\n\"Rarely,\" said he.\n\n\"But have those obtained offspring?\"\n\n\"Always,\" replied the priest smiling.\n\n\"And the others whose companions are not so old?\"\n\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" said she, \"there is more certainty then with one like the\nseneschal?\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" said the priest.\n\n\"Why?\" said she.\n\n\"Madame,\" gravely replied priest, \"before that age God alone\ninterferes with the affair, after, it is the men.\"\n\nAt this time it was a true thing that all the wisdom had gone to the\nclergy. Blanch made her vow, which was a very profitable one, seeing\nthat her decorations were worth quite two thousand gold crowns.\n\n\"You are very joyful!\" said the old seneschal to her when on the home\njourney she made her mare prance, jump, and frisk.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" said she. \"There is no longer any doubt about my having a\nchild, because any one can help me, the priest said: I shall take\nGauttier.\"\n\nThe seneschal wished to go and slay the monk, but he thought that was\na crime which would cost him too much, and he resolved cunningly to\narrange his vengeance with the help of the archbishop; and before the\nhousetops of Roche-Corbon came in sight he had ordered the Sire de\nMontsoreau to seek a little retirement in his own country, which the\nyoung Gauttier did, knowing the ways of the lord. The seneschal put in\nthe place of the said Gauttier the son of the Sire de Jallanges, whose\nfief was held from Roche-Corbon. He was a young boy named Rene,\napproaching fourteen years, and he made him a page, awaiting the time\nwhen he should be old enough to be an equerry, and gave the command of\nhis men to an old <DW36>, with whom he had knocked about a great deal\nin Palestine and other places. Thus the good man believed he would\navoid the horned trappings of cuckoldom, and would still be able to\ngirth, bridle, and curb the factious innocence of his wife, which\nstruggled like a mule held by a rope.\n\n\nTHAT WHICH IS ONLY A VENIAL SIN.\n\nThe Sunday following the arrival of Rene at the manor of Roche-Corbon,\nBlanche went out hunting without her goodman, and when she was in the\nforest near Les Carneaux, saw a monk who appeared to be pushing a girl\nabout more than was necessary, and spurred on her horse, saying to her\npeople, \"Ho there! Don't let him kill her.\" But when the seneschal's\nlady arrived close to them, she turned her horse's head quickly and\nthe sight she beheld prevented her from hunting. She came back\npensive, and then the lantern of her intelligence opened, and received\na bright light, which made a thousand things clear, such as church and\nother pictures, fables, and lays of the troubadours, or the domestic\narrangements of birds; suddenly she discovered the sweet mystery of\nlove written in all languages, even in that of the Carps'. Is it not\nsilly thus to seal this science from maidens? Soon Blanche went to\nbed, and soon said she to the seneschal--\n\n\"Bruyn, you have deceived me, you ought to behave as the monk of the\nCarneaux behaved to the girl.\"\n\nOld Bruyn suspected the adventure, and saw well that his evil hour was\nat hand. He regarded Blanche with too much fire in his eyes for the\nsame ardour to be lower down, and answered her softly--\n\n\"Alas! sweetheart, in taking you for my wife I had more love than\nstrength, and I have taken advantage of your clemency and virtue. The\ngreat sorrow of my life is to feel all my capability in my heart only.\nThis sorrow hastens my death little by little, so that you will soon\nbe free. Wait for my departure from this world. That is the sole\nrequest that he makes of you, he who is your master, and who could\ncommand you, but who wishes only to be your prime minister and slave.\nDo not betray the honour of my white hairs! Under these circumstances\nthere have been lords who have slain their wives.\n\n\"Alas! you will not kill me?\" said she.\n\n\"No,\" replied the old man, \"I love thee too much, little one; why,\nthou art the flower of my old age, the joy of my soul. Thou art my\nwell-beloved daughter; the sight of thee does good to mine eyes, and\nfrom thee I could endure anything, be it a sorrow or a joy, provided\nthat thou does not curse too much the poor Bruyn who has made thee a\ngreat lady, rich and honoured. Wilt thou not be a lovely widow? And\nthy happiness will soften the pangs of death.\"\n\nAnd he found in his dried-up eyes still one tear which trickled quite\nwarm down his fir-cone <DW52> face, and fell upon the hand of\nBlanche, who, grieved to behold this great love of her old spouse who\nwould put himself under the ground to please her, said laughingly--\n\n\"There! there! don't cry, I will wait.\"\n\nThereupon the seneschal kissed her hands and regaled her with little\nendearments, saying with a voice quivering with emotion--\n\n\"If you knew, Blanche my darling, how I devour thee in thy sleep with\ncaresses, now here, now there!\" And the old ape patted her with his\ntwo hands, which were nothing but bones. And he continued, \"I dared\nnot waken the cat that would have strangled my happiness, since at\nthis occupation of love I only embraced with my heart.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" replied she, \"you can fondle me thus even when my eyes are open;\nthat has not the least effect upon me.\"\n\nAt these words the poor seneschal, taking the little dagger which was\non the table by the bed, gave it to her, saying with passion--\n\n\"My darling, kill me, or let me believe that you love me a little!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said she, quite frightened, \"I will try to love you much.\"\n\nBehold how this young maidenhood made itself master of this old man\nand subdued him, for in the name of the sweet face of Venus, Blanche,\nendowed with the natural artfulness of women, made her old Bruyn come\nand go like a miller's mule.\n\n\"My good Bruyn, I want this! Bruyn, I want that--go on Bruyn!\" Bruyn!\nBruyn! And always Bruyn in such a way that Bruyn was more worn-out by\nthe clemency of his wife than he would have been by her unkindness.\nShe turned his brain wishing that everything should be in scarlet,\nmaking him turn everything topsy-turvy at the least movement of her\neyebrow, and when she was sad the seneschal distracted, would say to\neverything from his judicial seat, \"Hang him!\" Another would have died\nlike a fly at this conflict with the maid's innocence, but Bruyn was\nof such an iron nature that it was difficult to finish him off. One\nevening that Blanche had turned the house upside-down, upset the men\nand the beasts, and would by her aggravating humour have made the\neternal father desperate--he who has such an infinite treasure of\npatience since he endures us--she said to the seneschal while getting\ninto bed, \"My good Bruyn, I have low down fancies, that bite and prick\nme; thence they rise into my heart, inflame my brain, incite me\ntherein to evil deeds, and in the night I dream of the monk of the\nCarneaux.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" replied the seneschal, \"these are devilries and temptations\nagainst which the monks and nuns know how to defend themselves. If you\nwill gain salvation, go and confess to the worthy Abbot of\nMarmoustiers, our neighbour; he will advise you well and will holily\ndirect you in the good way.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow I will go,\" said she.\n\nAnd indeed directly it was day, she trotted off to the monastery of\nthe good brethren, who marvelled to see among them so pretty a lady;\ncommitted more than one sin through her in the evening; and for the\npresent led her with great ceremony to their reverend abbot.\n\nBlanche found the said good man in a private garden near the high rock\nunder a flower arcade, and remained stricken with respect at the\ncountenance of the holy man, although she was accustomed not to think\nmuch of grey hairs.\n\n\"God preserve you, Madame; what can you have to seek of one so near\ndeath, you so young?\"\n\n\"Your precious advice,\" said she, saluting him with a courtesy; \"and\nif it will please you to guide so undutiful a sheep, I shall be well\ncontent to have so wise a confessor.\"\n\n\"My daughter,\" answered the monk, with whom old Bruyn had arranged\nthis hypocrisy and the part to play, \"if I had not the chills of a\nhundred winters upon this unthatched head, I should not dare to listen\nto your sins, but say on; if you enter paradise, it will be through\nme.\"\n\nThen the seneschal's wife set forth the small fry of her stock in\nhand, and when she was purged of her little iniquities, she came to\nthe postscript of her confession.\n\n\"Ah! my father!\" said she, \"I must confess to you that I am daily\nexercised by the desire to have a child. Is it wrong?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the abbot.\n\nBut she went on, \"It is by nature commanded to my husband not to draw\nfrom his wealth to bring about his poverty, as the old women say by\nthe way.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied the priest, \"you must live virtuously and abstain from\nall thoughts of this kind.\"\n\n\"But I have heard it professed by the Lady of Jallanges, that it was\nnot a sin when from it one derived neither profit nor pleasure.\"\n\n\"There always is pleasure,\" said the abbot, \"but don't count upon the\nchild as a profit. Now fix this in your understanding, that it will\nalways be a mortal sin before God and a crime before men to bring\nforth a child through the embraces of a man to whom one is not\necclesiastically married. Thus those women who offend against the holy\nlaws of marriage, suffer great penalties in the other world, are in\nthe power of horrible monsters with sharp and tearing claws, who\nthrust them into flaming furnaces in remembrance of the fact that here\nbelow they have warmed their hearts a little more than was lawful.\"\n\nThereupon Blanche scratched her ear, and having thought to herself for\na little while, she said to the priest, \"How then did the Virgin\nMary?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" replied abbot, \"that it is a mystery.\"\n\n\"And what is a mystery?\"\n\n\"A thing that cannot be explained, and which one ought to believe\nwithout enquiring into it.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said she, \"cannot I perform a mystery?\"\n\n\"This one,\" said the Abbot, \"only happened once, because it was the\nSon of God.\"\n\n\"Alas! my father, is it then the will of God that I should die, or\nthat from wise and sound comprehension my brain should be turned? Of\nthis there is a great danger. Now in me something moves and excites\nme, and I am no longer in my senses. I care for nothing, and to find a\nman I would leap the walls, dash over the fields without shame and\ntear my things into tatters, only to see that which so much excited\nthe monk of the Carneaux; and during these passions which work and\nprick my mind and body, there is neither God, devil, nor husband. I\nspring, I run, I smash up the wash-tubs, the pots, the farm\nimplements, a fowl-house, the household things, and everything, in a\nway that I cannot describe. But I dare not confess to you all my\nmisdeeds, because speaking of them makes my mouth water, and the thing\nwith which God curses me makes me itch dreadfully. If this folly bites\nand pricks me, and slays my virtue, will God, who has placed this\ngreat love in my body, condemn me to perdition?\"\n\nAt this question it was the priest who scratched his ear, quite\ndumbfounded by the lamentations, profound wisdom, controversies and\nintelligence that this virginity secreted.\n\n\"My daughter,\" said he, \"God has distinguished us from the beasts and\nmade us a paradise to gain, and for this given us reason, which is a\nrudder to steer us against tempests and our ambitious desires, and\nthere is a means of easing the imaginations of one's brain by fasting,\nexcessive labours, and other virtues; and instead of frisking and\nfretting like a child let loose from school, you should pray to the\nvirgin, sleep on a hard board, attend to your household duties, and\nnever be idle.\"\n\n\"Ah! my father, when I am at church in my seat, I see neither the\npriest nor the altar, only the infant Jesus, who brings the thing into\nmy head. But to finish, if my head is turned and my mind wanders, I am\nin the lime-twigs of love.\"\n\n\"If thus you were,\" said the abbot, imprudently, \"you would be in the\nposition of Saint Lidoire, who in a deep sleep one day, one leg here\nand one leg there, through the great heat and scantily attired, was\napproached by a young man full of mischief, who dexterously seduced\nher, and as of this trick the saint was thoroughly ignorant, and much\nsurprised at being brought to bed, thinking that her unusual size was\na serious malady, she did penance for it as a venial sin, as she had\nno pleasure in this wicked business, according to the statement of the\nwicked man, who said upon the scaffold where he was executed, that the\nsaint had in nowise stirred.\"\n\n\"Oh, my father,\" said she, \"be sure that I should not stir more than\nshe did!\"\n\nWith this statement she went away prettily and gracefully, smiling and\nthinking how she could commit a venial sin. On her return from the\ngreat monastery, she saw in the courtyard of her castle the little\nJallanges, who under the superintendence of an old groom was turning\nand wheeling about on a fine horse, bending with the movements of the\nanimal, dismounting and mounting again with vaults and leaps most\ngracefully, and with lissome thighs, so pretty, so dextrous, so\nupright as to be indescribable, so much so, that he would have made\nthe Queen Lucrece long for him, she who killed herself from having\nbeen contaminated against her will.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Blanche, \"if only this page were fifteen, I would go to\nsleep comfortably very near to him.\"\n\nThen, in spite of the too great youth of this charming servitor,\nduring the collation and supper, she eyed frequently the black hair,\nthe white skin, the grace of Rene, above all his eyes, where was an\nabundance of limpid warmth and a great fire of life, which he was\nafraid to shoot out--child that he was.\n\nNow in the evening, as the seneschal's wife sat thoughtfully in her\nchair in the corner of the fireplace, old Bruyn interrogated her as to\nher trouble.\n\n\"I am thinking.\" said she, \"that you must have fought the battles of\nlove very early, to be thus completely broken up.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" smiled he, smiling like all old men questioned upon their\namorous remembrances, \"at the age of thirteen and a half I had\novercome the scruples of my mother's waiting woman.\"\n\nBlanche wished to hear nothing more, but believed the page Rene should\nbe equally advanced, and she was quite joyous and practised little\nallurements on the good man, and wallowed silently in her desire, like\na cake which is being floured.\n\n\nHOW AND BY WHOM THE SAID CHILD WAS PROCURED.\n\nThe seneschal's wife did not think long over the best way quickly to\nawaken the love of the page, and had soon discovered the natural\nambuscade in the which the most wary are taken. This is how: at the\nwarmest hour of the day the good man took his siesta after the Saracen\nfashion, a habit in which he had never failed, since his return from\nthe Holy Land. During this time Blanche was alone in the grounds,\nwhere the women work at their minor occupations, such as broidering\nand stitching, and often remained in the rooms looking after the\nwashing, putting the clothes tidy, or running about at will. Then she\nappointed this quiet hour to complete the education of the page,\nmaking him read books and say his prayers. Now on the morrow, when at\nthe mid-day hour the seneschal slept, succumbing to the sun which\nwarms with its most luminous rays the <DW72>s of Roche-Corbon, so much\nso that one is obliged to sleep, unless annoyed, upset, and\ncontinually roused by a devil of a young woman. Blanche then\ngracefully perched herself in the great seignorial chair of her good\nman, which she did not find any too high, since she counted upon the\nchances of perspective. The cunning jade settled herself dextrously\ntherein, like a swallow in its nest, and leaned her head maliciously\nupon her arm like a child that sleeps; but in making her preparations\nshe opened fond eyes, that smiled and winked in advance of the little\nsecret thrills, sneezes, squints, and trances of the page who was\nabout to lie at her feet, separated from her by the jump of an old\nflea; and in fact she advanced so much and so near the square of\nvelvet where the poor child should kneel, whose life and soul she\ntrifled with, that had he been a saint of stone, his glance would have\nbeen constrained to follow the flexousities of the dress in order to\nadmire and re-admire the perfections and beauties of the shapely leg,\nwhich moulded the white stocking of the seneschal's lady. Thus it was\ncertain that a weak varlet would be taken in the snare, wherein the\nmost vigorous knight would willingly have succumbed. When she had\nturned, returned, placed and displaced her body, and found the\nsituation in which the page would be most comfortable, she cried,\ngently. \"Rene!\" Rene, whom she knew well was in the guard-room, did\nnot fail to run in and quickly thrust his brown head between the\ntapestries of the door.\n\n\"What do you please to wish?\" said the page. And he held with great\nrespect in his hand his shaggy scarlet cap, less red than his fresh\ndimpled cheeks.\n\n\"Come hither,\" replied she, under her breath, for the child attracted\nher so strongly that she was quite overcome.\n\nAnd forsooth there were no jewels so sparkling as the eyes of Rene, no\nvellum whiter than his skin, no woman more exquisite in shape--and so\nnear to her desire, she found him still more sweetly formed--and was\ncertain that the merry frolics of love would radiate well from this\nyouth, the warm sun, the silence, et cetera.\n\n\"Read me the litanies of Madame the Virgin,\" said she to him, pushing\nan open book him on her prieu-dieu. \"Let me see if you are well taught\nby your master.\"\n\n\"Do you not think the Virgin beautiful?\" asked she of him, smiling\nwhen he held the illuminated prayer-book in which glowed the silver\nand gold.\n\n\"It is a painting,\" replied he, timidly, and casting a little glance\nupon his so gracious mistress.\n\n\"Read! read!\"\n\nThen Rene began to recite the so sweet and so mystic litanies; but you\nmay imagine that the \"Ora pro nobis\" of Blanche became still fainter\nand fainter, like the sound of the horn in the woodlands, and when the\npage went on, \"Oh, Rose of mystery,\" the lady, who certainly heard\ndistinctly, replied by a gentle sigh. Thereupon Rene suspected that\nhis mistress slept. Then he commenced to cover her with his regard,\nadmiring her at his leisure, and had then no wish to utter any anthem\nsave the anthem of love. His happiness made his heart leap and bound\ninto his throat; thus, as was but natural, these two innocents burned\none against the other, but if they could have foreseen never would\nhave intermingled. Rene feasted his eyes, planning in his mind a\nthousand fruitions of love that brought the water into his mouth. In\nhis ecstasy he let his book fall, which made him feel as sheepish as a\nmonk surprised at a child's tricks; but also from that he knew that\nBlanche was sound asleep, for she did not stir, and the wily jade\nwould not have opened her eyes even at the greatest dangers, and\nreckoned on something else falling as well as the book of prayer.\n\nThere is no worse longing than the longing of a woman in certain\ncondition. Now, the page noticed his lady's foot, which was delicately\nslippered in a little shoe of a delicate blue colour. She had\nangularly placed it on a footstool, since she was too high in the\nseneschal's chair. This foot was of narrow proportions, delicately\ncurved, as broad as two fingers, and as long as a sparrow, tail\nincluded, small at the top--a true foot of delight, a virginal foot\nthat merited a kiss as a robber does the gallows; a roguish foot; a\nfoot wanton enough to damn an archangel; an ominous foot; a devilishly\nenticing foot, which gave one a desire to make two new ones just like\nit to perpetuate in this lower world the glorious works of God. The\npage was tempted to take the shoe from this persuasive foot. To\naccomplish this his eyes glowing with the fire of his age, went\nswiftly, like the clapper of a bell, from this said foot of\ndelectation to the sleeping countenance of his lady and mistress,\nlistening to her slumber, drinking in her respiration again and again,\nit did not know where it would be sweetest to plant a kiss--whether on\nthe ripe red lips of the seneschal's wife or on this speaking foot. At\nlength, from respect or fear, or perhaps from great love, he chose the\nfoot, and kissed it hastily, like a maiden who dares not. Then\nimmediately he took up his book, feeling his red cheeks redder still,\nand exercised with his pleasure, he cried like a blind man--\"_Janua\ncoeli,: gate of Heaven_.\" But Blanche did not move, making sure that\nthe page would go from foot to knee, and thence to \"_Janua coeli,: gate\nof Heaven_.\" She was greatly disappointed when the litanies finished\nwithout any other mischief, and Rene, believing he had had enough\nhappiness for one day, ran out of the room quite lively, richer from\nthis hardy kiss than a robber who has robbed the poor-box.\n\nWhen the seneschal's lady was alone, she thought to herself that this\npage would be rather a long time at his task if he amused himself with\nthe singing of the Magnificat at matins. Then she determined on the\nmorrow to raise her foot a little, and then to bring to light those\nhidden beauties that are called perfect in Touraine, because they take\nno hurt in the open air, and are always fresh. You can imagine that\nthe page, burned by his desire and his imagination, heated by the day\nbefore, awaited impatiently the hour to read in this breviary of\ngallantry, and was called; and the conspiracy of the litanies\ncommenced again, and Blanche did not fail to fall asleep. This time\nthe said Rene fondled with his hand the pretty limb, and even ventured\nso far as to verify if the polished knee and its surroundings were\nsatin. At this sight the poor child, armed against his desire, so\ngreat was his fear, dared only to make brief devotion and curt\ncaresses, and although he kissed softly this fair surface, he remained\nbashful, the which, feeling by the senses of her soul and the\nintelligence of her body, the seneschal's lady who took great care not\nto move, called out to him--\"Ah, Rene, I am asleep.\"\n\nHearing what he believed to be a stern reproach, the page frightened\nran away, leaving the books, the task, and all. Thereupon, the\nseneschal's better half added this prayer to the litany--\"Holy Virgin,\nhow difficult children are to make.\"\n\nAt dinner her page perspired all down his back while waiting on his\nlady and her lord; but he was very much surprised when he received\nfrom Blanche the most shameless of all glances that ever woman cast,\nand very pleasant and powerful it was, seeing that it changed this\nchild into a man of courage. Now, the same evening Bruyn staying a\nlittle longer than was his custom in his own apartment, the page went\nin search of Blanche, and found her asleep, and made her dream a\nbeautiful dream.\n\nHe knocked off the chains that weighed so heavily upon her, and so\nplentifully bestowed upon her the sweets of love, that the surplus\nwould have sufficed to render to others blessed with the joys of\nmaternity. So then the minx, seizing the page by the head and\nsqueezing him to her, cried out--\"Oh, Rene! Thou hast awakened me!\"\n\nAnd in fact there was no sleep could stand against it, and it is\ncertain that saints must sleep very soundly. From this business,\nwithout any other mystery, and by a benign faculty which is the\nassisting principle of spouses, the sweet and graceful plumage,\nsuitable to cuckolds, was placed upon the head of the good husband\nwithout his experiencing the slightest shock.\n\nAfter this sweet repast, the seneschal's lady took kindly to her\nsiesta after the French fashion, while Bruyn took his according to the\nSaracen. But by the said siesta she learned how the good youth of the\npage had a better taste than that of the old seneschal, and at night\nshe buried herself in the sheets far away from her husband, whom she\nfound strong and stale. And from sleeping and waking up in the day,\nfrom taking siestas and saying litanies, the seneschal's wife felt\ngrowing within her that treasure for which she had so often and so\nardently sighed; but now she liked more the commencement than the\nfructifying of it.\n\nYou may be sure that Rene knew how to read, not only in books, but in\nthe eyes of his sweet lady, for whom he would have leaped into a\nflaming pile, had it been her wish he should do so. When well and\namply, more than a hundred times, the train had been laid by them, the\nlittle lady became anxious about her soul and the future of her friend\nthe page. Now one rainy day, as they were playing at touch-tag, like\ntwo children, innocent from head to foot, Blanche, who was always\ncaught, said to him--\n\n\"Come here, Rene; do you know that while I have only committed venial\nsins because I was asleep, you have committed mortal ones?\"\n\n\"Ah, Madame!\" said he, \"where then will God stow away all the damned\nif that is to sin!\"\n\nBlanche burst out laughing, and kissed his forehead.\n\n\"Be quiet, you naughty boy; it is a question of paradise, and we must\nlive there together if you wish always to be with me.\"\n\n\"Oh, my paradise is here.\"\n\n\"Leave off,\" said she. \"You are a little wretch--a scapegrace who does\nnot think of that which I love--yourself! You do not know that I am\nwith child, and that in a little while I shall be no more able to\nconceal it than my nose. Now, what will the abbot say? What will my\nlord say? He will kill you if he puts himself in a passion. My advice\nis little one, that you go to the abbot of Marmoustiers, confess your\nsins to him, asking him to see what had better be done concerning my\nseneschal.\n\n\"Alas,\" said the artful page, \"if I tell the secret of our joys, he\nwill put his interdict upon our love.\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" said she; \"but thy happiness in the other world is a\nthing so precious to me.\"\n\n\"Do you wish it my darling?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied she rather faintly.\n\n\"Well, I will go, but sleep again that I may bid you adieu.\"\n\nAnd the couple recited the litany of Farewells as if they had both\nforeseen that their love must finish in its April. And on the morrow,\nmore to save his dear lady than to save himself, and also to obey her,\nRene de Jallanges set out towards the great monastery.\n\n\nHOW THE SAID LOVE-SIN WAS REPENTED OF AND LED TO GREAT MOURNING.\n\n\"Good God!\" cried the abbot, when the page had chanted the Kyrie\neleison of his sweet sins, \"thou art the accomplice of a great felony,\nand thou has betrayed thy lord. Dost thou know page of darkness, that\nfor this thou wilt burn through all eternity? and dost thou know what\nit is to lose forever the heaven above for a perishable and changeful\nmoment here below? Unhappy wretch! I see thee precipitated for ever in\nthe gulfs of hell unless thou payest to God in this world that which\nthou owest him for such offence.\"\n\nThereupon the good old abbot, who was of that flesh of which saints\nare made, and who had great authority in the country of Touraine,\nterrified the young man by a heap of representations, Christian\ndiscourses, remembrances of the commandments of the Church, and a\nthousand eloquent things--as many as a devil could say in six weeks to\nseduce a maiden--but so many that Rene, who was in the loyal fervour\nof innocence, made his submission to the good abbot. The said abbot,\nwishing to make forever a good and virtuous man of this child, now in\na fair way to be a wicked one, commanded him first to go and prostrate\nhimself before his lord, to confess his conduct to him, and then if he\nescaped from this confession, to depart instantly for the Crusades,\nand go straight to the Holy Land, where he should remain fifteen years\nof the time appointed to give battle to the Infidels.\n\n\"Alas, my reverend father,\" said he, quite unmoved, \"will fifteen\nyears be enough to acquit me of so much pleasure? Ah! If you knew, I\nhave had joy enough for a thousand years.\"\n\n\"God will be generous. Go,\" replied the old abbot, \"and sin no more.\nOn this account, _ego te absolvo_.\"\n\nPoor Rene returned thereupon with great contrition to the castle of\nRoche-Corbon and the first person he met was the seneschal, who was\npolishing up his arms, helmets, gauntlets, and other things. He was\nsitting on a great marble bench in the open air, and was amusing\nhimself by making shine again the splendid trappings which brought\nback to him the merry pranks in the Holy Land, the good jokes, and the\nwenches, et cetera. When Rene fell upon his knees before him, the good\nlord was much astonished.\n\n\"What is it?\" said he.\n\n\"My lord,\" replied Rene, \"order these people to retire.\"\n\nWhich the servants having done, the page confessed his fault,\nrecounting how he had assailed his lady in her sleep, and that for\ncertain he had made her a mother in imitation of the man and the\nsaint, and came by order of the confessor to put himself at the\ndisposition of the offended person. Having said which, Rene de\nJallanges cast down his lovely eyes, which had produced all the\nmischief, and remained abashed, prostrate without fear, his arms\nhanging down, his head bare, awaiting his punishment, and humbling\nhimself to God. The seneschal was not so white that he could not\nbecome whiter, and now he blanched like linen newly dried, remaining\ndumb with passion. And this old man who had not in his veins the vital\nforce to procreate a child, found in this moment of fury more vigour\nthan was necessary to undo a man. He seized with his hairy right hand\nhis heavy club, lifted it, brandished it and adjusted it so easily you\ncould have thought it a bowl at a game of skittles, to bring it down\nupon the pale forehead of the said Rene, who knowing that he was\ngreatly in fault towards his lord, remained placid, and stretching his\nneck, thought that he was about to expiate his sin for his sweetheart\nin this world and in the other.\n\nBut his fair youth, and all the natural seductions of this sweet\ncrime, found grace before the tribunal of the heart of this old man,\nalthough Bruyn was still severe, and throwing his club away on to a\ndog who was catching beetles, he cried out, \"May a thousand million\nclaws, tear during all eternity, all the entrails of him, who made\nhim, who planted the oak, that made the chair, on which thou hast\nantlered me--and the same to those who engendered thee, cursed page of\nmisfortune! Get thee to the devil, whence thou camest--go out from\nbefore me, from the castle, from the country, and stay not here one\nmoment more than is necessary, otherwise I will surely prepare for\nthee a death by slow fire that shall make thee curse twenty times an\nhour thy villainous and ribald partner!\"\n\nHearing the commencement of these little speeches of the seneschal,\nwhose youth came back in his oaths, the page ran away, escaping the\nrest: and he did well. Bruyn, burning with a fierce rage, gained the\ngardens speedily, reviling everything by the way, striking and\nswearing; he even knocked over three large pans held by one of his\nservants, was carrying the mess to the dogs, and he was so beside\nhimself that he would have killed a labourer for a \"thank you.\" He\nsoon perceived his unmaidenly maiden, who was looking towards the road\nto the monastery, waiting for the page, and unaware that she would\nnever see him again.\n\n\"Ah, my lady! By the devil's red three-pronged fork, am I a swallower\nof tarradiddles and a child, to believe that you are so fashioned that\na page can behave in this manner and you not know it? By the death! By\nthe head! By the blood!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" she replied, seeing that the mine was sprung, \"I knew it well\nenough, but as you had not instructed me in these matters I thought\nthat I was dreaming!\"\n\nThe great ire of the seneschal melted like snow in the sun, for the\ndirest anger of God himself would have vanished at a smile from\nBlanche.\n\n\"May a thousand millions of devils carry off this alien child! I swear\nthat--\"\n\n\"There! there! do not swear,\" said she. \"If it is not yours, it is\nmine; and the other night did you not tell me you loved everything\nthat came from me?\"\n\nThereupon she ran on with such a lot of arguments, hard words,\ncomplaints, quarrels, tears, and other paternosters of women; such as\n--firstly the estates would not have to be returned to the king; that\nnever had a child been brought more innocently into the world, that\nthis, that that, a thousand things; until the good cuckold relented,\nand Blanche, seizing a propitious interruption said--\n\n\"And where it is the page?\"\n\n\"Gone to the devil!\"\n\n\"What, have you killed him?\" said she. She turned pale and tottered.\n\nBruyn did not know what would become of him when he saw thus fall all\nthe happiness of his old age, and he would to save her have shown her\nthis page. He ordered him to be sought, but Rene had run off at full\nspeed, fearing he should be killed; and departed for the lands beyond\nthe seas, in order to accomplish his vow of religion. When Blanche had\nlearned from the above-mentioned abbot the penitence imposed upon her\nwell beloved, she fell into a state of great melancholy, saying at\ntimes, \"Where is he, the poor unfortunate, who is in the middle of\ngreat dangers for love of me?\"\n\nAnd always kept on asking, like a child who gives its mother no rest\nuntil its request be granted it. At these lamentations the poor\nseneschal, feeling himself to blame, endeavoured to do a thousand\nthings, putting one out of the question, in order to make Blanche\nhappy; but nothing was equal to the sweet caresses of the page.\nHowever, she had one day the child so much desired. You may be sure\nthat was a fine festival for the good cuckold, for the resemblance to\nthe father was distinctly engraved upon the face of this sweet fruit\nof love. Blanche consoled herself greatly, and picked up again a\nlittle of her old gaiety and flower of innocence, which rejoiced the\naged hours of the seneschal. From constantly seeing the little one run\nabout, watching its laughs answer those of the countess, he finished\nby loving it, and would have been in a great rage with anyone who had\nnot believed him its father.\n\nNow as the adventure of Blanche and her page had not been carried\nbeyond the castle, it was related throughout Touraine that Messire\nBruyn had still found himself sufficiently in funds to afford a child.\nIntact remained the virtue of Blanche, and by the quintessence of\ninstruction drawn by her from the natural reservoir of women, she\nrecognised how necessary it was to be silent concerning the venial sin\nwith which her child was covered. So she became modest and good, and\nwas cited as a virtuous person. And then to make use of him she\nexperimented on the goodness of her good man, and without giving him\nleave to go further than her chin, since she looked upon herself as\nbelonging to Rene, Blanche, in return for the flowers of age which\nBruyn offered her, coddled him, smiled upon him, kept him merry, and\nfondled him with pretty ways and tricks, which good wives bestow upon\nthe husbands they deceive; and all so well, that the seneschal did not\nwish to die, squatted comfortably in his chair, and the more he lived\nthe more he became partial to life. But to be brief, one night he died\nwithout knowing where he was going, for he said to Blanche, \"Ho! ho!\nMy dear, I see thee no longer! Is it night?\"\n\nIt was the death of the just, and he had well merited it as a reward\nfor his labours in the Holy Land.\n\nBlanche held for his death a great and true mourning, weeping for him\nas one weeps for one's father. She remained melancholy, without\nwishing to lend her ear to the music of a second wedding, for which\nshe was praised by all good people, who knew not that she had a\nhusband in her heart, a life in hope; but she was the greater part of\nher time a widow in fact and widow in heart, because hearing no news\nof her lover at the Crusades, the poor Countess reputed him dead, and\nduring certain nights seeing him wounded and lying at full length, she\nwould wake up in tears. She lived thus for fourteen years in the\nremembrance of one day of happiness. Finally, one day when she had\nwith her certain ladies of Touraine, and they were talking together\nafter dinner, behold her little boy, who was at that time about\nthirteen and a half, and resembled Rene more than it is allowable for\na child to resemble his father, and had nothing of the Sire Bruyn\nabout him but his name--behold the little one, a madcap and pretty\nlike his mother, who came in from the garden, running, perspiring,\npanting, jumping, scattering all things in his way, after the uses and\ncustoms of infancy, and who ran straight to his well-beloved mother,\njumping into her lap, and interrupting the conversation, cried out--\n\n\"Oh, mother I want to speak to you, I have seen in the courtyard a\npilgrim, who squeezed me very tight.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the chatelaine, hurrying towards one of the servants who\nhad charge of the young count and watched over his precious days, \"I\nhave forbidden you ever to leave my son in the hands of strangers, not\neven in those of the holiest man in the world. You quit my service.\"\n\n\"Alas! my lady,\" replied the old equerry, quite overcome, \"this one\nwished him no harm for he wept while kissing him passionately.\"\n\n\"He wept?\" said she; \"ah! it's the father.\"\n\nHaving said which, she leaned her head of upon the chair in which she\nwas sitting, and which you may be sure was the chair in which she has\nsinned.\n\nHearing these strange words the ladies was so surprised that at first\nthey did not perceive that the seneschal's widow was dead, without its\never been known if her sudden death was caused by her sorrow at the\ndeparture of her lover, who, faithful to his vow, did not wish to see\nher, or from great joy at his return and the hope of getting the\ninterdict removed which the Abbot of Marmoustiers had placed upon\ntheir loves. And there was a great mourning for her, for the Sire de\nJallanges lost his spirits when he saw his lady laid in the ground,\nand became a monk of Marmoustiers, which at that time was called by\nsome Maimoustier, as much as to say Maius Monasterium, the largest\nmonastery, and it was indeed the finest in all France.\n\n\n\nTHE KING'S SWEETHEART\n\nThere lived at this time at the forges of the Pont-aux-Change, a\ngoldsmith whose daughter was talked about in Paris on account of her\ngreat beauty, and renowned above all things for her exceeding\ngracefulness. There were those who sought her favours by the usual\ntricks of love and, but others offered large sums of money to the\nfather to give them his daughter in lawful wedlock, the which pleased\nhim not a little.\n\nOne of his neighbours, a parliamentary advocate, who by selling his\ncunning devices to the public had acquired as many lands as a dog has\nfleas, took it into his head to offer the said father a domain in\nconsideration of his consent to this marriage, which he ardently\ndesired to undertake. To this arrangement our goldsmith was nothing\nloth. He bargained away his daughter, without taking into\nconsideration the fact that her patched-up old suitor had the features\nof an ape and had scarcely a tooth in his jaws. The smell which\nemanated from his mouth did not however disturb his own nostrils,\nalthough he was filthy and high flavoured, as are all those who pass\ntheir lives amid the smoke of chimneys, yellow parchment, and other\nblack proceedings. Immediately this sweet girl saw him she exclaimed,\n\"Great Heaven! I would rather not have him.\"\n\n\"That concerns me not,\" said the father, who had taken a violent fancy\nto the proffered domain. \"I give him to you for a husband. You must\nget on as well as you can together. That is his business now, and his\nduty is to make himself agreeable to you.\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" said she. \"Well then, before I obey your orders I'll let\nhim know what he may expect.\"\n\nAnd the same evening, after supper, when the love-sick man of law was\npleading his cause, telling her he was mad for her, and promising her\na life of ease and luxury, she taking him up, quickly remarked--\n\n\"My father had sold me to you, but if you take me, you will make a bad\nbargain, seeing that I would rather offer myself to the passers-by\nthan to you. I promise you a disloyalty that will only finish with\ndeath--yours or mine.\"\n\nThen she began to weep, like all young maidens will before they become\nexperienced, for afterwards they never cry with their eyes. The good\nadvocate took this strange behaviour for one of those artifices by\nwhich the women seek to fan the flames of love and turn the devotion\nof their admirers into the more tender caress and more daring\nosculation that speaks a husband's right. So that the knave took\nlittle notice of it, but laughing at the complaints of the charming\ncreature, asked her to fix the day.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" replied she, \"for the sooner this odious marriage takes\nplace, the sooner I shall be free to have gallants and to lead the gay\nlife of those who love where it pleases them.\"\n\nThereupon the foolish fellow--as firmly fixed as a fly in a glue pot\n--went away, made his preparations, spoke at the Palace, ran to the\nHigh Court, bought dispensations, and conducted his purchase more\nquickly than he ever done one before, thinking only of the lovely girl.\nMeanwhile the king, who had just returned from a journey, heard\nnothing spoken of at court but the marvellous beauty of the jeweller's\ndaughter who had refused a thousand crowns from this one, snubbed that\none; in fact, would yield to no one, but turned up her nose at the\nfinest young men of the city, gentlemen who would have forfeited their\nseat in paradise only to possess one day, this little dragon of\nvirtue.\n\nThe good king, was a judge of such game, strolled into the town, past\nthe forges, and entered the goldsmith's shop, for the purpose of\nbuying jewels for the lady of his heart, but at the same time to\nbargain for the most precious jewel in the shop. The king not taking a\nfancy to the jewels, or they not being to his taste, the good man\nlooked in a secret drawer for a big white diamond.\n\n\"Sweetheart,\" said he, to the daughter, while her father's nose was\nburied in the drawer, \"sweetheart, you were not made to sell precious\nstones, but to receive them, and if you were to give me all the little\nrings in the place to choose from, I know one that many here are mad\nfor; that pleases me; to which I should ever be subject and servant;\nand whose price the whole kingdom of France could never pay.\"\n\n\"Ah! sire!\" replied the maid, \"I shall be married to-morrow, but if\nyou will lend me the dagger that is in your belt, I will defend my\nhonour, and you shall take it, that the gospel made be observed\nwherein it says, '_Render unto Caesar the things which be\nCaesar's' . . ._\"\n\nImmediately the king gave her the little dagger, and her brave reply\nrendered him so amorous that he lost his appetite. He had an apartment\nprepared, intending to lodge his new lady-love in the Rue a\nl'Hirundelle, in one of his palaces.\n\nAnd now behold my advocate, in a great hurry to get married, to the\ndisgust of his rivals, the leading his bride to the altar to the clang\nof bells and the sound of music, so timed as to provoke the qualms of\ndiarrhoea. In the evening, after the ball, comes he into the nuptial\nchamber, where should be reposing his lovely bride. No longer is she a\nlovely bride--but a fury--a wild she-devil, who, seated in an\narmchair, refuses her share of her lord's couch, and sits defiantly\nbefore the fire warming at the same time her ire and her calves. The\ngood husband, quite astonished, kneels down gently before her,\ninviting her to the first passage of arms in that charming battle\nwhich heralds a first night of love; but she utters not a word, and\nwhen he tries to raise her garment, only just to glance at the charms\nthat have cost him so dear, she gives him a slap that makes his bones\nrattle, and refuses to utter a syllable.\n\nThis amusement, however, by no means displeased our friend the\nadvocate, who saw at the end of his troubles that which you can as\nwell imagine as he did; so played he his share of the game manfully,\ntaking cheerfully the punishment bestowed upon him. By so much\nhustling about, scuffling, and struggling he managed at last to tear\naway a sleeve, to slit a petticoat, until he was able to place his\nhand upon his own property. This bold endeavour brought Madame to her\nfeet and drawing the king's dagger, \"What would you with me?\" she\ncried.\n\n\"Everything,\" answered he.\n\n\"Ha! I should be a great fool to give myself against my inclination!\nIf you fancied you would find my virtue unarmed you made a great\nerror. Behold the poniard of the king, with which I will kill you if\nyou make the semblance of a step towards me.\"\n\nSo saying, she took a cinder, and having still her eyes upon her lord\nshe drew a circle on the floor, adding, \"These are the confines of the\nking's domain. Beware how you pass them.\"\n\nThe advocate, with whose ideas of love-making the dagger sadly\ninterfered, stood quite discomfited, but at the same time he heard the\ncruel speech of his tormentor he caught sight through the slits and\ntears in her robe of a sweet sample of a plump white thigh, and such\nvoluptuous specimens of hidden mysteries, et cetera, that death seemed\nsweet to him if he could only taste of them a little. So that he\nrushed within the domain of the king, saying, \"I mind not death.\" In\nfact he came with such force that his charmer fell backwards onto the\nbed, but keeping her presence of mind she defended herself so\ngallantly that the advocate enjoyed no further advantage than a knock\nat the door that would not admit him, and he gained as well a little\nstab from the poniard which did not wound him deeply, so that it did\nnot cost him very dearly, his attack upon the realm of his sovereign.\nBut maddened with this slight advantage, he cried, \"I cannot live\nwithout the possession of that lovely body, and those marvels of love.\nKill me then!\" And again he attacked the royal preserves. The young\nbeauty, whose head was full of the king, was not even touched by this\ngreat love, said gravely, \"If you menace me further, it is not you but\nmyself I will kill.\" She glared at him so savagely that the poor man\nwas quite terrified, and commenced to deplore the evil hour in which\nhe had taken her to wife, and thus the night which should have been so\njoyous, was passed in tears, lamentations, prayers, and ejaculations.\nIn vain he tempted her with promises; she should eat out of gold, she\nshould be a great lady, he would buy houses and lands for her. Oh! if\nshe would only let him break one lance with her in the sweet conflict\nof love, he would leave her for ever and pass the remainder of his\nlife according to her fantasy. But she, still unyielding, said she\nwould permit him to die, and that was the only thing he could do to\nplease her.\n\n\"I have not deceived you,\" said she. \"Agreeable to my promise, I shall\ngive myself to the king, making you a present of the peddler, chance\npassers, and street loungers with whom I threatened you.\"\n\nWhen the day broke she put on her wedding garments and waited\npatiently till the poor husband had to depart to his office client's\nbusiness, and then ran out into the town to seek the king. But she had\nnot gone a bow-shot from the house before one of the king's servants\nwho had watched the house from dawn, stopped her with the question--\n\n\"Do you seek the king?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said she.\n\n\"Good; then allow me to be your good friend,\" said the subtle\ncourtier. \"I ask your aid and protection, as now I give you mine.\"\n\nWith that he told her what sort of a man the king was, which was his\nweak side, that he was passionate one day and silent the next, that\nshe would luxuriously lodged and well kept, but that she must keep the\nking well in hand; in short, he chatted so pleasantly that the time\npassed quickly until she found herself in the Hotel de l'Hirundelle\nwhere afterwards lived Madame d'Estampes. The poor husband shed\nscalding tears, when he found his little bird had flown, and became\nmelancholy and pensive. His friends and neighbours edified his ears\nwith as many taunts and jeers as Saint Jacques had the honour of\nreceiving in Compostella, but the poor fellow took it so to heart,\nthat at last they tried rather to assuage his grief. These artful\ncompeers by a species of legal chicanery, decreed that the good man\nwas not a cuckold, seeing that his wife had refused a consummation,\nand if the planter of horns had been anyone but the king, the said\nmarriage might have been dissolved; but the amorous spouse was\nwretched unto death at my lady's trick. However, he left her to the\nking, determining one day to have her to himself, and thinking that a\nlife-long shame would not be too dear a payment for a night with her.\nOne must love well to love like that, eh? and there are many worldly\nones, who mock at such affection. But he, still thinking of her,\nneglected his cases and his clients, his robberies and everything. He\nwent to the palace like a miser searching for a lost sixpence, bowed\ndown, melancholy, and absent-minded, so much so, that one day he\nrelieved himself against the robe of a counsellor, believing all the\nwhile he stood against a wall. Meanwhile the beautiful girl was loved\nnight and day by the king, who could not tear himself from her\nembraces, because in amorous play she was so excellent, knowing as\nwell how to fan the flame of love as to extinguish it--to-day snubbing\nhim, to-morrow petting him, never the same, and with it a thousand\nlittle tricks to charm the ardent lover.\n\nA lord of Bridore killed himself through her, because she would not\nreceive his embraces, although he offered her his land, Bridore in\nTouraine. Of these gallants of Touraine, who gave an estate for one\ntilt with love's lance, there are none left. This death made the fair\none sad, and since her confessor laid the blame of it upon her, she\ndetermined for the future to accept all domains and secretly ease\ntheir owner's amorous pains for the better saving of their souls from\nperdition. 'Twas thus she commenced to build up that great fortune\nwhich made her a person of consideration in the town. By this means\nshe prevented many gallant gentlemen from perishing, playing her game\nso well, and inventing such fine stories, that his Majesty little\nguessed how much she aided him in securing the happiness of his\nsubjects. The fact is, she has such a hold over him that she could\nhave made him believe the floor was the ceiling, which was perhaps\neasier for him to think than anyone else seeing that at the Rue\nd'Hirundelle my lord king passed the greater portion of his time\nembracing her always as though he would see if such a lovely article\nwould wear away: but he wore himself out first, poor man, seeing that\nhe eventually died from excess of love. Although she took care to\ngrant her favours only to the best and noblest in the court, and that\nsuch occasions were rare as miracles, there were not wanting those\namong her enemies and rivals who declared that for 10,000 crowns a\nsimple gentleman might taste the pleasures of his sovereign, which was\nfalse above all falseness, for when her lord taxed her with it, did\nshe not reply, \"Abominable wretches! Curse the devils who put this\nidea in your head! I never yet did have man who spent less than 30,000\ncrowns upon me.\"\n\nThe king, although vexed could not repress a smile, and kept her on a\nmonth to silence scandal. And last, la demoiselle de Pisseleu, anxious\nto obtain her place, brought about her ruin. Many would have liked to\nbe ruined in the same way, seeing she was taken by a young lord, was\nhappy with him, the fires of love in her being still unquenched. But\nto take up the thread again. One day that the king's sweetheart was\npassing through the town in her litter to buy laces, furs, velvets,\nbroideries, and other ammunition, and so charmingly attired, and\nlooking so lovely, that anyone, especially the clerks, would have\nbelieved the heavens were open above them, behold, her good man, who\ncomes upon her near the old cross. She, at that time lazily swinging\nher charming little foot over the side of the litter, drew in her head\nas though she had seen an adder. She was a good wife, for I know some\nwho would have proudly passed their husbands, to their shame and to\nthe great disrespect of conjugal rights.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked one M. de Lannoy, who humbly accompanied\nher.\n\n\"Nothing,\" she whispered; \"but that person is my husband. Poor man,\nhow changed he looks. Formerly he was the picture of a monkey; today\nhe is the very image of a Job.\"\n\nThe poor advocate stood opened-mouthed. His heart beat rapidly at the\nsight of that little foot--of that wife so wildly loved.\n\nObserving which, the Sire de Lannoy said to him, with courtly\ninnocence--\n\n\"If you are her husband, is that any reason you should stop her\npassage?\"\n\nAt this she burst out laughing, and the good husband instead of\nkilling her bravely, shed scalding tears at that laugh which pierced\nhis heart, his soul, his everything, so much that he nearly tumbled\nover an old citizen whom the sight of the king's sweetheart had driven\nagainst the wall. The aspect of this weak flower, which had been his\nin the bud, but far from him had spread its lovely leaves; of the\nfairy figure, the voluptuous bust--all this made the poor advocate\nmore wretched and more mad for her than it is possible to express in\nwords. You must have been madly in love with a woman who refuses your\nadvances thoroughly to understand the agony of this unhappy man. Rare\nindeed is it to be so infatuated as he was. He swore that life,\nfortune, honour--all might go, but that for once at least he would be\nflesh-to-flesh with her, and make so grand a repast off her dainty\nbody as would suffice him all his life. He passed the night saying,\n\"oh yes; ah! I'll have her!\" and \"Curses am I not her husband?\" and\n\"Devil take me,\" striking himself on the forehead and tossing about.\nThere are chances and occasions which occur so opportunely in this\nworld that little-minded men refuse them credence, saying they are\nsupernatural, but men of high intellect know them to be true because\nthey could not be invented. One of the chances came to the poor\nadvocate, even the day after that terrible one which had been so sore\na trial to him. One of his clients, a man of good renown, who had his\naudiences with the king, came one morning to the advocate, saying that\nhe required immediately a large sum of money, about 12,000 crowns. To\nwhich the artful fellow replied, 12,000 crowns were not so often met\nat the corner of a street as that which often is seen at the corner of\nthe street; that besides the sureties and guarantees of interest, it\nwas necessary to find a man who had about him 12,000 crowns, and that\nthose gentlemen were not numerous in Paris, big city as it was, and\nvarious other things of a like character the man of cunning remarked.\n\n\"Is it true, my lord, the you have a hungry and relentless creditor?\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied the other, \"it concerns the mistress of the king.\nDon't breathe a syllable; but this evening, in consideration of 20,000\ncrowns and my domain of Brie, I shall take her measure.\"\n\nUpon this the advocate blanched, and the courtier perceived he touched\na tender point. As he had only lately returned from the wars, he did\nnot know that the lovely woman adored by the king had a husband.\n\n\"You appear ill,\" he said.\n\n\"I have a fever,\" replied the knave. \"But is it to her that you give\nthe contract and the money?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who then manages the bargain? Is it she also?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the noble; \"her little arrangements are concluded through a\nservant of hers, the cleverest little ladies'-maid that ever was.\nShe's sharper than mustard, and these nights stolen from the king have\nlined her pockets well.\"\n\n\"I know a Lombard who would accommodate you. But nothing can be done;\nof the 12,000 crowns you shall not have a brass farthing if this same\nladies'-maid does not come here to take the price of the article that\nis so great an alchemist that turns blood into gold, by Heaven!\"\n\n\"It will be a good trick to make her sign the receipt,\" replied the\nlord, laughing.\n\nThe servant came faithfully to the rendezvous with the advocate, who\nhad begged the lord to bring her. The ducats looked bright and\nbeautiful. There they lay all in a row, like nuns going to vespers.\nSpread out upon the table they would have made a donkey smile, even if\nhe were being gutted alive; so lovely, so splendid, were those brave\nnoble young piles. The good advocate, however, had prepared this view\nfor no ass, for the little handmaiden look longingly at the golden\nheap, and muttered a prayer at the sight of them. Seeing which, the\nhusband whispered in her ear his golden words, \"These are for you.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she; \"I have never been so well paid.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" replied the dear man, \"you shall have them without being\ntroubled with me;\" and turning her round, \"Your client has not told\nyou who I am, eh? No? Learn then, I am the husband of the lady whom\nthe king has debauched, and whom you serve. Carry her these crowns,\nand come back here. I will hand over yours to you on a condition which\nwill be to your taste.\"\n\nThe servant did as she was bidden, and being very curious to know how\nshe could get 12,000 crowns without sleeping with the advocate, was\nvery soon back again.\n\n\"Now, my little one,\" said he, \"here are 12,000 crowns. With this sum\nI could buy lands, men, women, and the conscience of three priests at\nleast; so that I believe if I give it to you I can have you, body,\nsoul, and toe nails. And I shall have faith in you like an advocate, I\nexpect that you will go to the lord who expects to pass the night with\nmy wife, and you will deceive him, by telling him that the king is\ncoming to supper with her, and that to-night he must seek his little\namusements elsewhere. By so doing I shall be able to take his place\nand the king's.\"\n\n\"But how?\" said she.\n\n\"Oh!\" replied he; \"I have bought you, you and your tricks. You won't\nhave to look at these crowns twice without finding me a way to have my\nwife. In bringing this conjunction about you commit no sin. It is a\nwork of piety to bring together two people whose hands only been put\none in to the other, and that by the priest.\"\n\n\"By my faith, come,\" said she; \"after supper the lights will be put\nout, and you can enjoy Madame if you remain silent. Luckily, on these\njoyful occasions she cries more than she speaks, and asks questions\nwith her hands alone, for she is very modest, and does not like loose\njokes, like the ladies of the Court.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried the advocate, \"look, take the 12,000 crowns, and I promise\nyou twice as much more if I get by fraud that which belongs to me by\nright.\"\n\nThen he arranged the hour, the door, the signal, and all; and the\nservant went away, bearing with her on the back of the mules the\ngolden treasure wrung by fraud and trickery from the widow and the\norphan, and they were all going to that place where everything\ngoes--save our lives, which come from it. Now behold my advocate, who\nshaves himself, scents himself, goes without onions for dinner that\nhis breath may be sweet, and does everything to make himself as\npresentable as a gallant signor. He gives himself the airs of a young\ndandy, tries to be lithe and frisky and to disguise his ugly face; he\nmight try all he knew, he always smelt of the musty lawyer. He was not\nso clever as the pretty washerwoman of Portillon who one day wishing\nto appear at her best before one of her lovers, got rid of a\ndisagreeable odour in a manner well known to young women of an\ninventive turn of mind. But our crafty fellow fancied himself the\nnicest man in the world, although in spite of his drugs and perfumes\nhe was really the nastiest. He dressed himself in his thinnest clothes\nalthough the cold pinched him like a rope collar and sallied forth,\nquickly gaining the Rue d'Hirundelle. There he had to wait some time.\nBut just as he was beginning to think he had been made a fool of, and\njust as it was quite dark, the maid came down and opened alike the\ndoor to him and good husband slipped gleefully into the king's\napartment. The girl locked him carefully in a cupboard that was close\nto his wife's bed, and through a crack he feasted his eyes upon her\nbeauty, for she undressed herself before the fire, and put on a thin\nnightgown, through which her charms were plainly visible. Believing\nherself alone with her maid she made those little jokes that women\nwill when undressing. \"Am I not worth 20,000 crowns to-night? Is that\noverpaid with a castle in Brie?\"\n\nAnd saying this she gently raised two white supports, firm as rocks,\nwhich had well sustained many assaults, seeing they had been furiously\nattacked and had not softened. \"My shoulders alone are worth a\nkingdom; no king could make their equal. But I am tired of this life.\nThat which is hard work is no pleasure.\" The little maid smiled, and\nher lovely mistress said to her, \"I should like to see you in my\nplace.\" Then the maid laughed, saying--\n\n\"Be quiet, Madame, he is there.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Your husband.\"\n\n\"Which?\"\n\n\"The real one.\"\n\n\"Chut!\" said Madame.\n\nAnd her maid told her the whole story, wishing to keep her favour and\nthe 12,000 crowns as well.\n\n\"Oh well, he shall have his money's worth. I'll give his desires time\nto cool. If he tastes me may I lose my beauty and become as ugly as a\nmonkey's baby. You get into bed in my place and thus gain the 12,000\ncrowns. Go and tell him that he must take himself off early in the\nmorning in order that I may not find out your trick upon me, and just\nbefore dawn I will get in by his side.\"\n\nThe poor husband was freezing and his teeth were chattering, and the\nchambermaid coming to the cupboard on pretence of getting some linen,\nsaid to him, \"Your hour of bliss approaches. Madame to-night has made\ngrand preparations and you will be well served. But work without\nwhistling, otherwise I shall be lost.\"\n\nAt last, when the good husband was on the point of perishing with\ncold, the lights were put out. The maid cried softly in the curtains\nto the king's sweetheart, that his lordship was there, and jumped into\nbed, while her mistress went out as if she had been the chambermaid.\nThe advocate, released from his cold hiding-place, rolled rapturously\ninto the warm sheets, thinking to himself, \"Oh! this is good!\" To tell\nthe truth, the maid gave him his money's worth--and the good man\nthought of the difference between the profusion of the royal houses\nand the niggardly ways of the citizens' wives. The servant laughing,\nplayed her part marvellously well, regaling the knave with gentle\ncries, shiverings, convulsions and tossings about, like a newly-caught\nfish on the grass, giving little Ah! Ahs! in default of other words;\nand as often as the request was made by her, so often was it complied\nwith by the advocate, who dropped of to sleep at last, like an empty\npocket. But before finishing, the lover who wished to preserve a\nsouvenir of this sweet night of love, by a dextrous turn, plucked out\none of his wife's hairs, where from I know not, seeing I was not\nthere, and kept in his hand this precious gauge of the warm virtue of\nthat lovely creature. Towards the morning, when the cock crew, the\nwife slipped in beside her husband, and pretended to sleep. Then the\nmaid tapped gently on the happy man's forehead, whispering in his ear,\n\"It is time, get into your clothes and off you go--it's daylight.\" The\ngood man grieved to lose his treasure, and wished to see the source of\nhis vanished happiness.\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" said he, proceeding to compare certain things, \"I've got\nlight hair, and this is dark.\"\n\n\"What have you done?\" said the servant; \"Madame will see she has been\nduped.\"\n\n\"But look.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, with an air of disdain, \"do you not know, you who\nknows everything, that that which is plucked dies and discolours?\" and\nthereupon roaring with laughter at the good joke, she pushed him out\nof doors. This became known. The poor advocate, named Feron, died of\nshame, seeing that he was the only one who had not his own wife while\nshe, who was from this was called La Belle Feroniere, married, after\nleaving the king, a young lord, Count of Buzancois. And in her old\ndays she would relate the story, laughingly adding, that she had never\nscented the knave's flavour.\n\nThis teaches us not to attach ourselves more than we can help to wives\nwho refuse to support our yoke.\n\n\n\n                          THE DEVIL'S HEIR\n\nThere once was a good old canon of Notre Dame de Paris, who lived in a\nfine house of his own, near St. Pierre-aux-Boeufs, in the Parvis. This\ncanon had come a simple priest to Paris, naked as a dagger without its\nsheath. But since he was found to be a handsome man, well furnished\nwith everything, and so well constituted, that if necessary he was\nable to do the work of many, without doing himself much harm, he gave\nhimself up earnestly to the confessing of ladies, giving to the\nmelancholy a gentle absolution, to the sick a drachm of his balm, to\nall some little dainty. He was so well known for his discretion, his\nbenevolence, and other ecclesiastical qualities, that he had customers\nat Court. Then in order not to awaken the jealousy of the officials,\nthat of the husbands and others, in short, to endow with sanctity\nthese good and profitable practices, the Lady Desquerdes gave him a\nbone of St. Victor, by virtue of which all the miracles were\nperformed. And to the curious it was said, \"He has a bone which will\ncure everything;\" and to this, no one found anything to reply, because\nit was not seemly to suspect relics. Beneath the shade of his cassock,\nthe good priest had the best of reputations, that of a man valiant\nunder arms. So he lived like a king. He made money with holy water;\nsprinkled it and transmitted the holy water into good wine. More than\nthat, his name lay snugly in all the et ceteras of the notaries, in\nwills or in caudicils, which certain people have falsely written\n_codicil_, seeing that the word is derived from cauda, as if to say the\ntail of the legacy. In fact, the good old Long Skirts would have been\nmade an archbishop if he had only said in joke, \"I should like to put\non a mitre for a handkerchief in order to have my head warmer.\" Of all\nthe benefices offered to him, he chose only a simple canon's stall to\nkeep the good profits of the confessional. But one day the courageous\ncanon found himself weak in the back, seeing that he was all\nsixty-eight years old, and had held many confessionals. Then thinking\nover all his good works, he thought it about time to cease his\napostolic labours, the more so, as he possessed about one hundred\nthousand crowns earned by the sweat of his body. From that day he only\nconfessed ladies of high lineage, and did it very well. So that it was\nsaid at Court that in spite of the efforts of the best young clerks\nthere was still no one but the Canon of St. Pierre-aux-Boeufs to\nproperly bleach the soul of a lady of condition. Then at length the\ncanon became by force of nature a fine nonagenarian, snowy about the\nhead, with trembling hands, but square as a tower, having spat so much\nwithout coughing, that he coughed now without being able to spit; no\nlonger rising from his chair, he who had so often risen for humanity;\nbut drinking dry, eating heartily, saying nothing, but having all the\nappearance of a living Canon of Notre Dame. Seeing the immobility of\nthe aforesaid canon; seeing the stories of his evil life which for\nsome time had circulated among the common people, always ignorant;\nseeing his dumb seclusion, his flourishing health, his young old age,\nand other things too numerous to mention--there were certain people\nwho to do the marvellous and injure our holy religion, went about\nsaying that the true canon was long since dead, and that for more than\nfifty years the devil had taken possession of the old priest's body.\nIn fact, it seemed to his former customers that the devil could only\nby his great heat have furnished these hermetic distillations, that\nthey remembered to have obtained on demand from this good confessor,\nwho always had le diable au corps. But as this devil had been\nundoubtedly cooked and ruined by them, and that for a queen of twenty\nyears he would not have moved, well-disposed people and those not\nwanting in sense, or the citizens who argued about everything, people\nwho found lice in bald heads, demanded why the devil rested under the\nform of a canon, went to the Church of Notre Dame at the hours when\nthe canons usually go, and ventured so far as to sniff the perfume of\nthe incense, taste the holy water, and a thousand other things. To\nthese heretical propositions some said that doubtless the devil wished\nto convert himself, and others that he remained in the shape of the\ncanon to mock at the three nephews and heirs of this said brave\nconfessor and make them wait until the day of their own death for the\nample succession of this uncle, to whom they paid great attention\nevery day, going to look if the good man had his eyes open, and in\nfact found him always with his eye clear, bright, and piercing as the\neye of a basilisk, which pleased them greatly, since they loved their\nuncle very much--in words. On this subject an old woman related that\nfor certain the canon was the devil, because his two nephews, the\nprocureur and the captain, conducting their uncle at night, without a\nlamp, or lantern, returning from a supper at the penitentiary's, had\ncaused him by accident to tumble over a heap of stones gathered\ntogether to raise the statue of St. Christopher. At first the old man\nhad struck fire in falling, but was, amid the cries of his dear\nnephews and by the light of the torches they came to seek at her house\nfound standing up as straight as a skittle and as gay as a weaving\nwhirl, exclaiming that the good wine of the penitentiary had given him\nthe courage to sustain this shock and that his bones were exceedingly\nhard and had sustained rude assaults. The good nephews believing him\ndead, were much astonished, and perceived that the day that was to\ndispatch their uncle was a long way off, seeing that at the business\nstones were of no use. So that they did not falsely call him their\ngood uncle, seeing that he was of good quality. Certain scandalmongers\nsaid that the canon found so many stones in his path that he stayed at\nhome not to be ill with the stone, and the fear of worse was the cause\nof his seclusion.\n\nOf all these sayings and rumours, it remains that the old canon, devil\nor not, kept his house, and refused to die, and had three heirs with\nwhom he lived as with his sciaticas, lumbagos, and other appendage of\nhuman life. Of the said three heirs, one was the wickedest soldier\never born of a woman, and he must have considerably hurt her in\nbreaking his egg, since he was born with teeth and bristles. So that\nhe ate, two-fold, for the present and the future, keeping wenches\nwhose cost he paid; inheriting from his uncle the continuance,\nstrength, and good use of that which is often of service. In great\nbattles, he endeavoured always to give blows without receiving them,\nwhich is, and always will be, the only problem to solve in war, but he\nnever spared himself there, and, in fact, as he had no other virtue\nexcept his bravery, he was captain of a company of lancers, and much\nesteemed by the Duke of Burgoyne, who never troubled what his soldiers\ndid elsewhere. This nephew of the devil was named Captain Cochegrue;\nand his creditors, the blockheads, citizens, and others, whose pockets\nhe slit, called him the Mau-cinge, since he was as mischievous as\nstrong; but he had moreover his back spoilt by the natural infirmity\nof a hump, and it would have been unwise to attempt to mount thereon\nto get a good view, for he would incontestably have run you through.\n\nThe second had studied the laws, and through the favour of his uncle\nhad become a procureur, and practised at the palace, where he did the\nbusiness of the ladies, whom formerly the canon had the best\nconfessed. This one was called Pille-grue, to banter him upon his real\nname, which was Cochegrue, like that of his brother the captain.\nPille-grue had a lean body, seemed to throw off very cold water, was\npale of face, and possessed a physiognomy like a polecat.\n\nThis notwithstanding, he was worth many a penny more than the captain,\nand had for his uncle a little affection, but since about two years\nhis heart had cracked a little, and drop by drop his gratitude had run\nout, in such a way that from time to time, when the air was damp, he\nliked to put his feet into his uncle's hose, and press in advance the\njuice of this good inheritance. He and his brother, the soldier found\ntheir share very small, since loyally, in law, in fact, in justice, in\nnature, and in reality, it was necessary to give the third part of\neverything to a poor cousin, son of another sister of the canon, the\nwhich heir, but little loved by the good man, remained in the country,\nwhere he was a shepherd, near Nanterre.\n\nThe guardian of beasts, an ordinary peasant, came to town by the\nadvice of his two cousins, who placed him in their uncle's house, in\nthe hope that, as much by his silly tricks and his clumsiness, his\nwant of brain, and his ignorance, he would be displeasing to the\ncanon, who would kick him out of his will. Now this poor Chiquon, as\nthe shepherd was named, had lived about a month alone with his old\nuncle, and finding more profit or more amusement in minding an abbot\nthan looking after sheep, made himself the canon's dog, his servant,\nthe staff of his old age, saying, \"God keep you,\" when he passed wind,\n\"God save you,\" when he sneezed, and \"God guard you,\" when he belched;\ngoing to see if it rained, where the cat was, remaining silent,\nlistening, speaking, receiving the coughs of the old man in his face,\nadmiring him as the finest canon there ever was in the world, all\nheartily and in good faith, knowing that he was licking him after the\nmanner of animals who clean their young ones; and the uncle, who stood\nin no need of learning which side the bread was buttered, repulsed\npoor Chiquon, making him turn about like a die, always calling him\nChiquon, and always saying to his other nephews that this Chiquon was\nhelping to kill him, such a numskull was he. Thereupon, hearing this,\nChiquon determined to do well by his uncle, and puzzled his\nunderstanding to appear better; but as he had a behind shaped like a\npair of pumpkins, was broad shouldered, large limbed, and far from\nsharp, he more resembled old Silenus than a gentle Zephyr. In fact,\nthe poor shepherd, a simple man, could not reform himself, so he\nremained big and fat, awaiting his inheritance to make himself thin.\n\nOne evening the canon began discoursing concerning the devil and\nthe grave agonies, penances, tortures, etc., which God will get warm\nfor the accursed, and the good Chiquon hearing it, began to open his\neyes as wide as the door of an oven, at the statement, without\nbelieving a word of it.\n\n\"What,\" said the canon, \"are you not a Christian?\"\n\n\"In that, yes,\" answered Chiquon.\n\n\"Well, there is a paradise for the good; is it not necessary to have a\nhell for the wicked?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Canon; but the devil's of no use. If you had here a wicked\nman who turned everything upside down; would you not kick him out of\ndoors?\"\n\n\"Yes, Chiquon.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, mine uncle; God would be very stupid to leave in the this\nworld, which he has so curiously constructed, an abominable devil\nwhose special business it is to spoil everything for him. Pish! I\nrecognise no devil if there be a good God; you may depend upon that. I\nshould very much like to see the devil. Ha, ha! I am not afraid of his\nclaws!\"\n\n\"And if I were of your opinion I should have no care of my very\nyouthful years in which I held confessions at least ten times a day.\"\n\n\"Confess again, Mr. Canon. I assure you that will be a precious merit\non high.\"\n\n\"There, there! Do you mean it?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Canon.\"\n\n\"Thou dost not tremble, Chiquon, to deny the devil?\"\n\n\"I trouble no more about it than a sheaf of corn.\"\n\n\"The doctrine will bring misfortune upon you.\"\n\n\"By no means. God will defend me from the devil because I believe him\nmore learned and less stupid than the savans make him out.\"\n\nThereupon the two other nephews entered, and perceiving from the voice\nof the canon that he did not dislike Chiquon very much, and that the\njeremiads which he had made concerning him were simple tricks to\ndisguise the affection which he bore him, looked at each other in\ngreat astonishment.\n\nThen, seeing their uncle laughing, they said to him--\n\n\"If you will make a will, to whom will you leave the house?\n\n\"To Chiquon.\"\n\n\"And the quit rent of the Rue St. Denys?\"\n\n\"To Chiquon.\"\n\n\"And the fief of Ville Parisis?\"\n\n\"To Chiquon.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the captain, with his big voice, \"everything then will be\nChiquon's.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the canon, smiling, \"because I shall have made my will\nin proper form, the inheritance will be to the sharpest of you three;\nI am so near to the future, that I can therein see clearly your\ndestinies.\"\n\nAnd the wily canon cast upon Chiquon a glance full of malice, like a\ndecoy bird would have thrown upon a little one to draw him into her\nnet. The fire of his flaming eye enlightened the shepherd, who from\nthat moment had his understanding and his ears all unfogged, and his\nbrain open, like that of a maiden the day after her marriage. The\nprocureur and the captain, taking these sayings for gospel prophecies,\nmade their bow and went out from the house, quite perplexed at the\nabsurd designs of the canon.\n\n\"What do you think of Chiquon?\" said Pille-grue to Mau-cinge.\n\n\"I think, I think,\" said the soldier, growling, \"that I think of\nhiding myself in the Rue d'Hierusalem, to put his head below his feet;\nhe can pick it up again if he likes.\"\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" said the procureur, \"you have a way of wounding that is\neasily recognised, and people would say 'It's Cochegrue.' As for me, I\nthought to invite him to dinner, after which, we would play at putting\nourselves in a sack in order to see, as they do at Court, who could\nwalk best thus attired. Then having sewn him up, we could throw him\ninto the Seine, at the same time begging him to swim.\"\n\n\"This must be well matured,\" replied the soldier.\n\n\"Oh! it's quite ripe,\" said the advocate. \"The cousin gone to the\ndevil, the heritage would then be between us two.\"\n\n\"I'm quite agreeable,\" said the fighter, \"but we must stick as close\ntogether as the two legs of the same body, for if you are fine as\nsilk, I as strong as steel, and daggers are always as good as traps\n--you hear that, my good brother.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the advocate, \"the cause is heard--now shall it be the\nthread or the iron?\"\n\n\"Eh? ventre de Dieu! is it then a king that we are going to settle?\nFor a simple numskull of a shepherd are so many words necessary? Come!\n20,000 francs out of the Heritage to the one of us who shall first cut\nhim off: I'll say to him in good faith, 'Pick up your head.'\"\n\n\"And I, 'Swim my friend,'\" cried the advocate, laughing like the gap\nof a pourpoint.\n\nAnd then they went to supper, the captain to his wench, and the\nadvocate to the house of a jeweller's wife, of whom he was the lover.\n\nWho was astonished? Chiquon! The poor shepherd heard the planning of\nhis death, although the two cousins had walked in the parvis, and\ntalked to each other as every one speaks at church when praying to\nGod. So that Chiquon was much coupled to know if the words had come up\nor if his ears had gone down.\n\n\"Do you hear, Mister Canon?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I hear the wood crackling in the fire.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" replied Chiquon, \"if I don't believe in the devil, I believe\nin St. Michael, my guardian angel; I go there where he calls me.\"\n\n\"Go, my child,\" said the canon, \"and take care not to wet yourself,\nnor to get your head knocked off, for I think I hear more rain, and\nthe beggars in the street are not always the most dangerous beggars.\"\n\nAt these words Chiquon was much astonished, and stared at the canon;\nfound his manner gay, his eye sharp, and his feet crooked; but as he\nhad to arrange matters concerning the death which menaced him, he\nthought to himself that he would always have leisure to admire the\ncanon, or to cut his nails, and he trotted off quickly through the\ntown, as a little woman trots towards her pleasure.\n\nHis two cousins having no presumption of the divinatory science, of\nwhich shepherds have had many passing attacks, had often talked before\nhim of their secret goings on, counting him as nothing.\n\nNow one evening, to amuse the canon, Pille-grue had recounted to him\nhow had fallen in love with him a wife of a jeweller on whose head he\nhad adjusted certain carved, burnished, sculptured, historical horns,\nfit for the brow of a prince. The good lady was to hear him, a right\nmerry wench, quick at opportunities, giving an embrace while her\nhusband was mounting the stairs, devouring the commodity as if she was\nswallowing a a strawberry, only thinking of love-making, always\ntrifling and frisky, gay as an honest woman who lacks nothing,\ncontenting her husband, who cherished her so much as he loved his own\ngullet; subtle as a perfume, so much so, that for five years she\nmanaged so well with his household affairs, and her own love affairs,\nthat she had the reputation of a prudent woman, the confidence of her\nhusband, the keys of the house, the purse, and all.\n\n\"And when do you play upon this gentle flute?\" said the canon.\n\n\"Every evening and sometimes I stay all the night.\"\n\n\"But how?\" said the canon, astonished.\n\n\"This is how. There is a room close to, a chest into which I get. When\nthe good husband returns from his friend the draper's, where he goes\nto supper every evening, because often he helps the draper's wife in\nher work, my mistress pleads a slight illness, lets him go to bed\nalone, and comes to doctor her malady in the room where the chest is.\nOn the morrow, when my jeweller is at his forge, I depart, and as the\nhouse has one exit on to the bridge, and another into the street, I\nalways come to the door when the husband is not, on the pretext of\nspeaking to him of his suits, which commence joyfully and heartily,\nand I never let them come to an end. It is an income from cuckoldom,\nseeing that in the minor expenses and loyal costs of the proceedings,\nhe spends as much as on the horses in his stable. He loves me well, as\nall good cuckolds should love the man who aids them, to plant,\ncultivate, water and dig the natural garden of Venus, and he does\nnothing without me.\"\n\nNow these practices came back again to the memory of the shepherd, who\nwas illuminated by the light issuing from his danger, and counselled\nby the intelligence of those measures of self-preservation, of which\nevery animal possesses a sufficient dose to go to the end of his ball\nof life. So Chiquon gained with hasty feet the Rue de la Calandre,\nwhere the jeweller should be supping with his companion, and after\nhaving knocked at the door, replied to question put to him through the\nlittle grill, that he was a messenger on state secrets, and was\nadmitted to the draper's house. Now coming straight to the fact, he\nmade the happy jeweller get up from his table, led him to a corner,\nand said to him: \"If one of your neighbours had planted a horn on your\nforehead and he was delivered to you, bound hand and foot, would you\nthrow him into the river?\"\n\n\"Rather,\" said the jeweller, \"but if you are mocking me I'll give you\na good drubbing.\"\n\n\"There, there!\" replied Chiquon, \"I am one of your friends and come to\nwarn you that as many times as you have conversed with the draper's\nwife here, as often has your own wife been served the same way by the\nadvocate Pille-grue, and if you will come back to your forge, you will\nfind a good fire there. On your arrival, he who looks after your\nyou-know-what, to keep it in good order, gets into the big clothes\nchest. Now make a pretence that I have bought the said chest of you,\nand I will be upon the bridge with a cart, waiting your orders.\"\n\nThe said jeweller took his cloak and his hat, and parted company with\nhis crony without saying a word, and ran to his hole like a poisoned\nrat. He arrives and knocks, the door is opened, he runs hastily up the\nstairs, finds two covers laid, sees his wife coming out of the chamber\nof love, and then says to her, \"My dear, here are two covers laid.\"\n\n\"Well, my darling are we not two?\"\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"we are three.\"\n\n\"Is your friend coming?\" said she, looking towards the stairs with\nperfect innocence.\n\n\"No, I speak of the friend who is in the chest.\"\n\n\"What chest?\" said she. \"Are you in your sound senses? Where do you\nsee a chest? Is the usual to put friends in chests? Am I a woman to\nkeep chests full of friends? How long have friends been kept in\nchests? Are you come home mad to mix up your friends with your chests?\nI know no other friend then Master Cornille the draper, and no other\nchest than the one with our clothes in.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the jeweller, \"my good woman, there is a bad young man,\nwho has come to warn me that you allow yourself to be embraced by our\nadvocate, and that he is in the chest.\"\n\n\"I!\" said she, \"I would not put up with his knavery, he does\neverything the wrong way.\"\n\n\"There, there, my dear,\" replied the jeweller, \"I know you to be a\ngood woman, and won't have a squabble with you about this paltry\nchest. The giver of the warning is a box-maker, to whom I am about to\nsell this cursed chest that I wish never again to see in my house, and\nfor this one he will sell me two pretty little ones, in which there\nwill not be space enough even for a child; thus the scandal and the\nbabble of those envious of your virtue will be extinguished for want\nof nourishment.\"\n\n\"You give me great pleasure,\" said she; \"I don't attach any value to\nmy chest, and by chance there is nothing in it. Our linen is at the\nwash. It will be easy to have the mischievous chest taken away\ntomorrow morning. Will you sup?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said he, \"I shall sup with a better appetite without the\nchest.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said she, \"that you won't easily get the chest out of your\nhead.\"\n\n\"Halloa, there!\" said the jeweller to his smiths and apprentices;\n\"come down!\"\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye his people were before him. Then he, their\nmaster, having briefly ordered the handling of the said chest, this\npiece of furniture dedicated to love was tumbled across the room, but\nin passing the advocate, finding his feet in the air to the which he\nwas not accustomed, tumbled over a little.\n\n\"Go on,\" said the wife, \"go on, it's the lid shaking.\"\n\n\"No, my dear, it's the bolt.\"\n\nAnd without any other opposition the chest slid gently down the\nstairs.\n\n\"Ho there, carrier!\" said the jeweller, and Chiquon came whistling his\nmules, and the good apprentices lifted the litigious chest into the\ncart.\n\n\"Hi, hi!\" said the advocate.\n\n\"Master, the chest is speaking,\" said an apprentice.\n\n\"In what language?\" said the jeweller, giving him a good kick between\ntwo features that luckily were not made of glass. The apprentice\ntumbled over on to a stair in a way that induced him to discontinue\nhis studies in the language of chests. The shepherd, accompanied by\nthe good jeweller, carried all the baggage to the water-side without\nlistening to the high eloquence of the speaking wood, and having tied\nseveral stones to it, the jeweller threw it into the Seine.\n\n\"Swim, my friend,\" cried the shepherd, in a voice sufficiently jeering\nat the moment when the chest turned over, giving a pretty little\nplunge like a duck.\n\nThen Chiquon continued to proceed along the quay, as far as the\nRue-du-port, St. Laudry, near the cloisters of Notre Dame. There he\nnoticed a house, recognised the door, and knocked loudly.\n\n\"Open,\" said he, \"open by order of the king.\"\n\nHearing this an old man who was no other than the famous Lombard,\nVersoris, ran to the door.\n\n\"What is it?\" said he.\n\n\"I am sent by the provost to warn you to keep good watch tonight,\"\nreplied Chiquon, \"as for his own part he will keep his archers ready.\nThe hunchback who has robbed you has come back again. Keep under arms,\nfor he is quite capable of easing you of the rest.\"\n\nHaving said this, the good shepherd took to his heels and ran to the\nRue des Marmouzets, to the house where Captain Cochegrue was feasting\nwith La Pasquerette, the prettiest of town-girls, and the most\ncharming in perversity that ever was; according to all the gay ladies,\nher glance was sharp and piercing as the stab of a dagger. Her\nappearance was so tickling to the sight, that it would have put all\nParadise to rout. Besides which she was as bold as a woman who has no\nother virtue than her insolence. Poor Chiquon was greatly embarrassed\nwhile going to the quarter of the Marmouzets. He was greatly afraid\nthat he would be unable to find the house of La Pasquerette, or find\nthe two pigeons gone to roost, but a good angel arranged there\nspeedily to his satisfaction. This is how. On entering the Rue des\nMarmouzets he saw several lights at the windows and night-capped heads\nthrust out, and good wenches, gay girls, housewives, husbands, and\nyoung ladies, all of them are just out of bed, looking at each other\nas if a robber were being led to execution by torchlight.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said the shepherd to a citizen who in great haste\nhad rushed to the door with a chamber utensil in his hand.\n\n\"Oh! it's nothing,\" replied the good man. \"We thought it was the\nArmagnacs descending upon the town, but it's only Mau-cinge beating La\nPasquerette.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked the shepherd.\n\n\"Below there, at that fine house where the pillars have the mouths of\nflying frogs delicately carved upon them. Do you hear the varlets and\nthe serving maids?\"\n\nAnd in fact there was nothing but cries of \"Murder! Help! Come some\none!\" and in the house blows raining down and the Mau-cinge said with\nhis gruff voice:\n\n\"Death to the wench! Ah, you sing out now, do you? Ah, you want your\nmoney now, do you? Take that--\"\n\nAnd La Pasquerette was groaning, \"Oh! oh! I die! Help! Help! Oh! oh!\"\nThen came the blow of a sword and the heavy fall of a light body of\nthe fair girl sounded, and was followed by a great silence, after\nwhich the lights were put out, servants, waiting women, roysterers,\nand others went in again, and the shepherd who had come opportunely\nmounted the stairs in company with them, but on beholding in the room\nabove broken glasses, slit carpets, and the cloth on the floor with\nthe dishes, everyone remained at a distance.\n\nThe shepherd, bold as a man with but one end in view, opened the door\nof the handsome chamber where slept La Pasquerette, and found her\nquite exhausted, her hair dishevelled, and her neck twisted, lying\nupon a bloody carpet, and Mau-cinge frightened, with his tone\nconsiderably lower, and not knowing upon what note to sing the\nremainder of his anthem.\n\n\"Come, my little Pasquerette, don't pretend to be dead. Come, let me\nput you tidy. Ah! little minx, dead or alive, you look so pretty in\nyour blood I'm going to kiss you.\" Having said which the cunning\nsoldier took her and threw her upon the bed, but she fell there all of\na heap, and stiff as the body of a man that had been hanged. Seeing\nwhich her companion found it was time for his hump to retire from the\ngame; however, the artful fellow before slinking away said, \"Poor\nPasquerette, how could I murder so good of girl, and one I loved so\nmuch? But, yes, I have killed her, the thing is clear, for in her life\nnever did her sweet breast hang down like that. Good God, one would\nsay it was a crown at the bottom of a wallet. Thereupon Pasquerette\nopened her eyes and then bent her head slightly to look at her flesh,\nwhich was white and firm, and she brought herself to life by a box on\nthe ears, administered to the captain.\n\n\"That will teach you to beware of the dead,\" said she, smiling.\n\n\"And why did he kill you, my cousin?\" asked the shepherd.\n\n\"Why? Tomorrow the bailiffs seize everything that's here, and he who\nhas no more money than virtue, reproached me because I wished to be\nagreeable to a handsome gentlemen, who would save me from the hands of\njustice.\n\n\"Pasquerette, I'll break every bone in your skin.\"\n\n\"There, there!\" said Chiquon, whom the Mau-cinge had just recognised,\n\"is that all? Oh, well, my good friend, I bring you a large sum.\"\n\n\"Where from?\" asked the captain, astonished.\n\n\"Come here, and let me whisper in your ear--if 30,000 crowns were\nwalking about at night under the shadow of a pear-tree, would you not\nstoop down to pluck them, to prevent them spoiling?\"\n\n\"Chiquon, I'll kill you like a dog if you are making game of me, or I\nwill kiss you there where you like it, if you will put me opposite\n30,000 crowns, even when it shall be necessary to kill three citizens\nat the corner of the Quay.\"\n\n\"You will not even kill one. This is how the matter stands. I have for\na sweetheart in all loyalty, the servant of the Lombard who is in the\ncity near the house of our good uncle. Now I have just learned on\nsound information that this dear man has departed this morning into\nthe country after having hidden under a pear-tree in his garden a good\nbushel of gold, believing himself to be seen only by the angels. But\nthe girl who had by chance a bad toothache, and was taking the air at\nher garret window, spied the old crookshanks, without wishing to do\nso, and chattered of it to me in fondness. If you will swear to give\nme a good share I will lend you my shoulders in order that you may\nclimb on to the top of the wall and from there throw yourself into the\npear-tree, which is against the wall. There, now do you say that I am\na blockhead, an animal?\"\n\n\"No, you are a right loyal cousin, an honest man, and if you have ever\nto put an enemy out off the way, I am there, ready to kill even one of\nmy own friends for you. I am no longer your cousin, but your brother.\nHo there! sweetheart,\" cried Mau-cinge to La Pasquerette, \"put the\ntables straight, wipe up your blood, it belongs to me, and I'll pay\nyou for it by giving you a hundred times as much of mine as I have\ntaken of thine. Make the best of it, shake the black dog, off your\nback, adjust your petticoats, laugh, I wish it, look to the stew, and\nlet us recommence our evening prayer where we left it off. Tomorrow\nI'll make thee braver than a queen. This is my cousin whom I wish to\nentertain, even when to do so it were necessary to turn the house out\nof windows. We shall get back everything tomorrow in the cellars.\nCome, fall to!\"\n\nThus, and in less time than it takes a priest to say his Dominus\nvobiscum, the whole rookery passed from tears to laughter as it had\npreviously from laughter to tears. It is only in these houses of\nill-fame that love is made with the blow of a dagger, and where\ntempests of joy rage between four walls. But these are things ladies\nof the high-neck dress do not understand.\n\nThe said captain Cochegrue was gay as a hundred schoolboys at the\nbreaking up of class, and made his good cousin drink deeply, who\nspilled everything country fashion, and pretended to be drunk,\nspluttering out a hundred stupidities, as, that \"tomorrow he would buy\nParis, would lend a hundred thousand crowns to the king, that he would\nbe able to roll in gold;\" in fact, talked so much nonsense that the\ncaptain, fearing some compromising avowal and thinking his brain quite\nmuddled enough, led him outside with the good intention, instead of\nsharing with him, of ripping Chiquon open to see if he had not a\nsponge in his stomach, because he had just soaked in a big quart of\nthe good wine of Suresne. They went along, disputing about a thousand\ntheological subjects which got very much mixed up, and finished by\nrolling quietly up against the garden where were the crowns of the\nLombard. Then Cochegrue, making a ladder of Chiquon's broad shoulders,\njumped on to the pear-tree like a man expert in attacks upon towns,\nbut Versoris, who was watching him, made a blow at his neck, and\nrepeated it so vigorously that with three blows fell the upper portion\nof the said Cochegrue, but not until he had heard the clear voice of\nthe shepherd, who cried to him, \"Pick up your head, my friend.\"\nThereupon the generous Chiquon, in whom virtue received its\nrecompense, thought it would be wise to return to the house of the\ngood canon, whose heritage was by the grace of God considerably\nsimplified. Thus he gained the Rue St. Pierre-Aux-Boeufs with all\nspeed, and soon slept like a new-born baby, no longer knowing the\nmeaning of the word \"cousin-german.\" Now, on the morrow he rose\naccording to the habit of shepherds, with the sun, and came into his\nuncle's room to inquire if he spat white, if he coughed, if he had\nslept well; but the old servant told him that the canon, hearing the\nbells of St Maurice, the first patron of Notre Dame, ring for matins,\nhe had gone out of reverence to the cathedral, where all the Chapter\nwere to breakfast with the Bishop of Paris; upon which Chiquon\nreplied: \"Is his reverence the canon out of his senses thus to disport\nhimself, to catch a cold, to get rheumatism? Does he wish to die? I'll\nlight a big fire to warm him when he returns;\" and the good shepherd\nran into the room where the canon generally sat, and to his great\nastonishment beheld him seated in his chair.\n\n\"Ah, ah! What did she mean, that fool of a Bruyette? I knew you were\ntoo well advised to be shivering at this hour in your stall.\"\n\nThe canon said not a word. The shepherd who was like all thinkers, a\nman of hidden sense, was quite aware that sometimes old men have\nstrange crotchets, converse with the essence of occult things, and\nmumble to themselves discourses concerning matters not under\nconsideration; so that, from reverence and great respect for the\nsecret meditations of the canon, he went and sat down at a distance,\nand waited the termination of these dreams; noticing, silently the\nlength of the good man's nails, which looked like cobbler's awls, and\nlooking attentively at the feet of his uncle, he was astonished to see\nthe flesh of his legs so crimson, that it reddened his breeches and\nseemed all on fire through his hose.\n\nHe is dead, thought Chiquon. At this moment the door of the room\nopened, and he still saw the canon, who, his nose frozen, came back\nfrom church.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" said Chiquon, \"my dear Uncle, are you out of your senses?\nKindly take notice that you ought not to be at the door, because you\nare already seated in your chair in the chimney corner, and that it is\nimpossible for there to be two canons like you in the world.\"\n\n\"Ah! Chiquon, there was a time when I could have wished to be in two\nplaces at once, but such is not the fate of a man, he would be too\nhappy. Are you getting dim-sighted? I am alone here.\"\n\nThen Chiquon turned his head towards the chair, and found it empty;\nand much astonished, as you will easily believe, he approached it, and\nfound on the seat a little pat of cinders, from which ascended a\nstrong odour of sulphur.\n\n\"Ah!\" said he merrily, \"I perceive that the devil has behaved well\ntowards me--I will pray God for him.\"\n\nAnd thereupon he related naively to the canon how the devil had amused\nhimself by playing at providence, and had loyally aided him to get rid\nof his wicked cousins, the which the canon admired much, and thought\nvery good, seeing that he had plenty of good sense left, and often had\nobserved things which were to the devil's advantage. So the good old\npriest remarked that 'as much good was always met with in evil as evil\nin good, and that therefore one should not trouble too much after the\nother world, the which was a grave heresy, which many councils have\nput right'.\n\nAnd this was how the Chiquons became rich, and were able in these\ntimes, by the fortunes of their ancestors, to help to build the bridge\nof St. Michael, where the devil cuts a very good figure under the\nangel, in memory of this adventure now consigned to these veracious\nhistories.\n\n\n\n            THE MERRIE JESTS OF KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH\n\nKing Louis The Eleventh was a merry fellow, loving a good joke, and\n--the interests of his position as king, and those of the church on\none side--he lived jovially, giving chase to soiled doves as often as\nto hares, and other royal game. Therefore, the sorry scribblers who\nhave made him out a hypocrite, showed plainly that they knew him not,\nsince he was a good friend, good at repartee, and a jollier fellow\nthan any of them.\n\nIt was he who said when he was in a merry mood, that four things are\nexcellent and opportune in life--to keep warm, to drink cool, to stand\nup hard, and to swallow soft. Certain persons have accused him of\ntaking up with a dirty trollops; this is a notorious falsehood, since\nall his mistresses, of whom one was legitimised, came of good houses\nand had notable establishments. He did not go in for waste and\nextravagance, always put his hand upon the solid, and because certain\ndevourers of the people found no crumbs at his table, they have all\nmaligned him. But the real collector of facts know that the said king\nwas a capital fellow in private life, and even very agreeable; and\nbefore cutting off the heads of his friends, or punishing them--for he\ndid not spare them--it was necessary that they should have greatly\noffended him, and his vengeance was always justice; I have only seen\nin our friend Verville that this worthy sovereign ever made a mistake;\nbut one does not make a habit, and even for this his boon companion\nTristan was more to blame than he, the king. This is the circumstance\nrelated by the said Verville, and I suspect he was cracking a joke. I\nreproduce it because certain people are not familiar with the\nexquisite work of my perfect compatriot. I abridge it and only give\nthe substance, the details being more ample, of which facts the savans\nare not ignorant.\n\nLouis XI. had given the Abbey of Turpenay (mentioned in 'Imperia') to\na gentleman who, enjoying the revenue, had called himself Monsieur de\nTurpenay. It happened that the king being at Plessis-les-Tours, the\nreal abbot, who was a monk, came and presented himself before the\nking, and presented also a petition, remonstrating with him that,\ncanonically and a monastically, he was entitled to the abbey and that\nthe usurping gentleman wronged of his right, and therefore he called\nupon his majesty to have justice done to him. Nodding his peruke, the\nking promised to render him contented. This monk, importunate as are\nall hooded animals, came often at the end of the king's meals, who,\nbored with the holy water of the convent, called friend Tristan and\nsaid to him: \"Old fellow, there is here a Turpenay who angers me, rid\nthe world of him for me.\" Tristan, taking a frock for a monk, or a\nmonk for a frock, came to this gentleman, whom all the court called\nMonsieur de Turpenay, and having accosted him managed to lead him to\none side, and taking him by the button-hole gave him to understand\nthat the king desired he should die. He tried to resist, supplicating\nand supplicating to escape, but in no way could he obtain a hearing.\nHe was delicately strangled between the head and shoulders, so that he\nexpired; and, three hours afterwards, Tristan told the king that he\nwas discharged. It happened five days afterwards, which is the space\nin which souls come back again, that the monk came into the room where\nthe king was, and when he saw him he was much astonished. Tristan was\npresent: the king called him, and whispered into his ear--\n\n\"You have not done that which I told you to.\"\n\n\"Saving your Grace I have done it. Turpenay is dead.\"\n\n\"Eh? I meant this monk.\"\n\n\"I understood the gentleman!\"\n\n\"What, is it done then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sire,\"\n\n\"Very well then\"--turning towards the monk--\"come here, monk.\" The\nmonk approached. The king said to him, \"Kneel down!\" The poor monk\nbegan to shiver in his shoes. But the king said to him, \"Thank God\nthat he has not willed that you should be killed as I had ordered. He\nwho took your estates has been instead. God has done you justice. Go\nand pray God for me, and don't stir out of your convent.\"\n\nThe proves the good-heartedness of Louis XI. He might very well have\nhanged the monk, the cause of the error. As for the said gentleman, he\ndied in the king's service.\n\nIn the early days of his sojourn at Plessis-les-Tours king Louis, not\nwishing to hold his drinking-bouts and give vent to his rakish\npropensities in his chateau, out of respect to her Majesty (a kingly\ndelicacy which his successors have not possessed) became enamoured of\na lady named Nicole Beaupertuys, who was, to tell the truth, wife of a\ncitizen of the town. The husband he sent into Ponent, and put the said\nNicole in a house near Chardonneret, in that part which is the Rue\nQuincangrogne, because it was a lonely place, far from other\nhabitations. The husband and the wife were thus both in his service,\nand he had by La Beaupertuys a daughter, who died a nun. This Nicole\nhad a tongue as sharp as a popinjay's, was of stately proportions,\nfurnished with large beautiful cushions of nature, firm to the touch,\nwhite as the wings of an angel, and known for the rest to be fertile\nin peripatetic ways, which brought it to pass that never with her was\nthe same thing encountered twice in love, so deeply had she studied\nthe sweet solutions of the science, the manners of accommodating the\nolives of Poissy, the expansions of the nerves, and hidden doctrines\nof the breviary, the which much delighted the king. She was as gay as\na lark, always laughing and singing, and never made anyone miserable,\nwhich is the characteristic of women of this open and free nature, who\nhave always an occupation--an equivocal one if you like. The king\noften went with the hail-fellows his friends to the lady's house, and\nin order not to be seen always went at night-time, and without his\nsuite. But being always distrustful, and fearing some snare, he gave\nto Nicole all the most savage dogs he had in his kennels, beggars that\nwould eat a man without saying \"By your leave,\" the which royal dogs\nknew only Nicole and the king. When the Sire came Nicole let them\nloose in the garden, and the door of the house being sufficiently\nbarred and closely shut, the king put the keys in his pocket, and in\nperfect security gave himself up, with his satellites, to every kind\nof pleasure, fearing no betrayal, jumping about at will, playing\ntricks, and getting up good games. Upon these occasions friend Tristan\nwatched the neighbourhood, and anyone who had taken a walk on the Mall\nof Chardonneret would be rather quickly placed in a position in which\nit would have been easy to give the passers-by a benediction with his\nfeet, unless he had the king's pass, since often would Louis send out\nin search of lasses for his friends, or people to entertain him with\nthe amusements suggested by Nicole or the guests. People of Tours were\nthere for these little amusements, to whom he gently recommended\nsilence, so that no one knew of these pastimes until after his death.\nThe farce of \"_Baisez mon cul_\" was, it is said, invented by the said\nSire. I will relate it, although it is not the subject of this tale,\nbecause it shows the natural comicality and humour of this merry\nmonarch. They were at Tours three well known misers: the first was\nMaster Cornelius, who is sufficiently well known; the second was\ncalled Peccard, and sold the gilt-work,  papers, and jewels\nused in churches; the third was hight Marchandeau, and was a very\nwealthy vine-grower. These two men of Touraine were the founders of\ngood families, notwithstanding their sordidness. One evening that the\nking was with Beaupertuys, in a good humour, having drunk heartily,\njoked heartily, and offered early in the evening his prayer in\nMadame's oratory, he said to Le Daim his crony, to the Cardinal, La\nBalue, and to old Dunois, who were still soaking, \"Let us have a good\nlaugh! I think it will be a good joke to see misers before a bag of\ngold without being able to touch it. Hi, there!\"\n\nHearing which, appeared one of his varlets.\n\n\"Go,\" said he, \"seek my treasurer, and let him bring hither six\nthousand gold crowns--and at once! And you will go and seize the\nbodies of my friend Cornelius, of the jeweller of the Rue de Cygnes,\nand of old Marchandeau, and bring them here, by order of the king.\"\n\nThen he began to drink again, and to judiciously wrangle as to which\nwas the better, a woman with a gamy odour or a woman who soaped\nherself well all over; a thin one or a stout one; and as the company\ncomprised the flower of wisdom it was decided that the best was the\none a man had all to himself like a plate of warm mussels, at that\nprecise moment when God sent him a good idea to communicate to her.\nThe cardinal asked which was the most precious thing to a lady; the\nfirst or the last kiss? To which La Beaupertuys replied: \"that it was\nthe last, seeing that she knew then what she was losing, while at the\nfirst she did not know what she would gain.\" During these sayings, and\nothers which have most unfortunately been lost, came the six thousand\ngold crowns, which were worth all three hundred thousand francs of\nto-day, so much do we go on decreasing in value every day. The king\nordered the crowns to be arranged upon a table, and well lighted up,\nso that they shone like the eyes of the company which lit up\ninvoluntarily, and made them laugh in spite of themselves. They did\nnot wait long for the three misers, whom the varlet led in, pale and\npanting, except Cornelius, who knew the king's strange freaks.\n\n\"Now then, my friends,\" said Louis to them, \"have a good look at the\ncrowns on the table.\"\n\nAnd the three townsmen nibbled at them with their eyes. You may reckon\nthat the diamond of La Beaupertuys sparkled less than their little\nminnow eyes.\n\n\"These are yours,\" added the king.\n\nThereupon they ceased to admire the crowns to look at each other; and\nthe guests knew well that old knaves are more expert in grimaces than\nany others, because of their physiognomies becoming tolerably curious,\nlike those of cats lapping up milk, or girls titillated with marriage.\n\n\"There,\" said the king, \"all that shall be his who shall say three\ntimes to the two others, '_Baisez mon cul_', thrusting his hand into the\ngold; but if he be not as serious as a fly who had violated his\nlady-love, if he smile while repeating the jest, he will pay ten crowns\nto Madame. Nevertheless he can essay three times.\"\n\n\"That will soon be earned,\" said Cornelius, who, being a Dutchman, had\nhis lips as often compressed and serious as Madame's mouth was often\nopen and laughing. Then he bravely put his hands on the crowns to see\nif they were good, and clutched them bravely, but as he looked at the\nothers to say civilly to them, \"_Baisez mon cul_,\" the two misers,\ndistrustful of his Dutch gravity, replied, \"Certainly, sir,\" as if he\nhad sneezed. The which caused all the company to laugh, and even\nCornelius himself. When the vine-grower went to take the crowns he\nfelt such a commotion in his cheeks that his old scummer face let\nlittle laughs exude from its pores like smoke pouring out of a\nchimney, and he could say nothing. Then it was the turn of the\njeweller, who was a little bit of a bantering fellow, and whose lips\nwere as tightly squeezed as the neck of a hanged man. He seized a\nhandful of the crowns, looked at the others, even the king, and said,\nwith a jeering air, \"_Baisez mon cul_.\"\n\n\"Is it dirty?\" asked the vine-dresser.\n\n\"Look and see,\" replied the jeweller, gravely.\n\nThereupon the king began to tremble for these crowns, since the said\nPeccard began again, without laughing, and for the third time was\nabout to utter the sacramental word, when La Beaupertuys made a sign\nof consent to his modest request, which caused him to lose his\ncountenance, and his mouth broke up into dimples.\n\n\"How did you do it?\" asked Dunois, \"to keep a grave face before six\nthousand crowns?\"\n\n\"Oh, my lord, I thought first of one of my cases which is tried\ntomorrow, and secondly, of my wife who is a sorry plague.\"\n\nThe desire to gain this good round sum made them try again, and the\nking amused himself for about an hour at the expression of these\nfaces, the preparations, jokes, grimaces, and other monkey's\npaternosters that they performed; but they were bailing their boats\nwith a sieve, and for men who preferred closing their fists to opening\nthem it was a bitter sorrow to have to count out, each one, a hundred\ncrown to Madame.\n\nWhen they were gone, and Nicole said boldly to the king, \"Sire will\nyou let me try?\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin!\" replied Louis; \"no! I can kiss you for less money.\"\n\nThat was said like a thrifty man, which indeed he always was.\n\nOne evening the fat Cardinal La Balue carried on gallantly with words\nand actions, a little farther than the canons of the Church permitted\nhim, with this Beaupertuys, who luckily for herself, was a clever\nhussy, not to be asked with impunity how many holes there were in her\nmother's chemise.\n\n\"Look you here, Sir Cardinal!\" said she; \"the thing which the king\nlikes is not to receive the holy oils.\"\n\nThen came Oliver le Daim, whom she would not listen to either, and to\nwhose nonsense she replied, that she would ask the king if he wished\nher to be shaved.\n\nNow as the said shaver did not supplicate her to keep his proposals\nsecret, she suspected that these little plots were ruses practised by\nthe king, whose suspicions had perhaps been aroused by her friends.\nNow, for being able to revenge herself upon Louis, she at least\ndetermined to pay out the said lords, to make fools of them, and amuse\nthe king with the tricks she would play upon them. One evening that\nthey had come to supper, she had a lady of the city with her, who\nwished to speak with the king. This lady was a lady of position, who\nwished asked the king pardon for her husband, the which, in\nconsequence of this adventure, she obtained. Nicole Beaupertuys having\nled the king aside for a moment into an antechamber, told him to make\ntheir guests drink hard and eat to repletion; that he was to make\nmerry and joke with them; but when the cloth was removed, he was to\npick quarrels with them about trifles, dispute their words, and be\nsharp with them; and that she would then divert him by turning them\ninside out before him. But above all things, he was to be friendly to\nthe said lady, and it was to appear as genuine, as if she enjoyed the\nperfume of his favour, because she had gallantly lent herself to this\ngood joke.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said the king, re-entering the room, \"let us fall\nto; we have had a good day's sport.\"\n\nAnd the surgeon, the cardinal, a fat bishop, the captain of the Scotch\nGuard, a parliamentary envoy, and a judge loved of the king, followed\nthe two ladies into the room where one rubs the rust off one's jaw\nbones. And there they lined the mold of their doublets. What is that?\nIt is to pave the stomach, to practice the chemistry of nature, to\nregister the various dishes, to regale your tripes, to dig your grave\nwith your teeth, play with the sword of Cain, to inter sauces, to\nsupport a cuckold. But more philosophically it is to make ordure with\none's teeth. Now, do you understand? How many words does it require to\nburst open the lid of your understanding?\n\nThe king did not fail to distill into his guests this splendid and\nfirst-class supper. He stuffed them with green peas, returning to the\nhotch-potch, praising the plums, commending the fish, saying to one,\n\"Why do you not eat?\" to another, \"Drink to Madame\"; to all of them,\n\"Gentlemen, taste these lobsters; put this bottle to death! You do not\nknow the flavour of this forcemeat. And these lampreys--ah! what do\nyou say to them? And by the Lord! The finest barbel ever drawn from\nthe Loire! Just stick your teeth into this pastry. This game is my own\nhunting; he who takes it not offends me.\" And again, \"Drink, the\nking's eyes are the other way. Just give your opinion of these\npreserves, they are Madame's own. Have some of these grapes, they are\nmy own growing. Have some medlars.\" And while inducing them to swell\nout their abdominal protuberances, the good monarch laughed with them,\nand they joked and disputed, and spat, and blew their noses, and\nkicked up just as though the king had not been with them. Then so much\nvictuals had been taken on board, so many flagons drained and stews\nspoiled, that the faces of the guests were the colour of cardinals\ngowns, and their doublets appeared ready to burst, since they were\ncrammed with meat like Troyes sausages from the top to the bottom of\ntheir paunches. Going into the saloon again, they broke into a profuse\nsweat, began to blow, and to curse their gluttony. The king sat\nquietly apart; each of them was the more willing to be silent because\nall their forces were required for the intestinal digestion of the\nhuge platefuls confined in their stomachs, which began to wabble and\nrumble violently. One said to himself, \"I was stupid to eat of that\nsauce.\" Another scolded himself for having indulged in a plate of eels\ncooked with capers. Another thought to himself, \"Oh! oh! The forcemeat\nis serving me out.\" The cardinal, who was the biggest bellied man of\nthe lot, snorted through his nostrils like a frightened horse. It was\nhe who was first compelled to give vent to a loud sounding belch, and\nthen he soon wished himself in Germany, where this is a form of\nsalutation, for the king hearing this gastric language looked at the\ncardinal with knitted brows.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" said he, \"am I a simple clerk?\"\n\nThis was heard with terror, because usually the king made much of a\ngood belch well off the stomach. The other guests determined to get\nrid in another way of the vapours which were dodging about in their\npancreatic retorts; and at first they endeavoured to hold them for a\nlittle while in the pleats of their mesenteries. It was then that some\nof them puffed and swelled like tax-gatherers. Beaupertuys took the\ngood king aside and said to him--\n\n\"Know now that I have had made by the Church jeweller Peccard, two\nlarge dolls, exactly resembling this lady and myself. Now when\nhard-pressed by the drugs which I have put in their goblets, they\ndesire to mount the throne to which we are now about to pretend to go,\nthey will always find the place taken; by this means you will enjoy\ntheir writhings.\"\n\nThus having said, La Beaupertuys disappeared with the lady to go and\nturn the wheel, after the custom of women, and of which I will tell\nyou the origin in another place. And after an honest lapse of water,\nBeaupertuys came back alone, leaving it to be believed that she had\nleft the lady at the little laboratory of natural alchemy. Thereupon\nthe king, singling out the cardinal, made him get up, and talked with\nhim seriously of his affairs, holding him by the tassel of his amice.\nTo all that the king said, La Balue replied, \"Yes, sir,\" to be\ndelivered from this favour, and slip out of the room, since the water\nwas in his cellars, and he was about to lose the key of his back-door.\nAll the guests were in a state of not knowing how to arrest the\nprogress of the fecal matter to which nature has given, even more than\nto water, the property of finding a certain level. Their substances\nmodified themselves and glided working downward, like those insects\nwho demand to be let out of their cocoons, raging, tormenting, and\nungrateful to the higher powers; for nothing is so ignorant, so\ninsolent as those cursed objects, and they are importunate like all\nthings detained to whom one owes liberty. So they slipped at every\nturn like eels out of a net, and each one had need of great efforts\nand science not to disgrace himself before the king. Louis took great\npleasure in interrogating his guests, and was much amused with the\nvicissitudes of their physiognomies, on which were reflected the dirty\ngrimaces of their writhings. The counsellor of justice said to Oliver,\n\"I would give my office to be behind a hedge for half a dozen\nseconds.\"\n\n\"Oh, there is no enjoyment to equal a good stool; and now I am no\nlonger astonished at sempiternal droppings of a fly,\" replied the\nsurgeon.\n\nThe cardinal believing that the lady had obtained her receipt from the\nbank of deposit, left the tassels of his girdle in the king's hand,\nmaking a start as if he had forgotten to say his prayers, and made his\nway towards the door.\n\n\"What is the matter with you, Monsieur le Cardinal?\" said the king.\n\n\"By my halidame, what is the matter with me? It appears that all your\naffairs are very extensive, sire!\"\n\nThe cardinal had slipped out, leaving the others astonished at his\ncunning. He proceeded gloriously towards the lower room, loosening a\nlittle the strings of his purse; but when he opened the blessed little\ndoor he found the lady at her functions upon the throne, like a pope\nabout to be consecrated. Then restraining his impatience, he descended\nthe stairs to go into the garden. However, on the last steps the\nbarking of the dogs put him in great fear of being bitten in one of\nhis precious hemispheres; and not knowing where to deliver himself of\nhis chemical produce he came back into the room, shivering like a man\nwho has been in the open air! The others seeing the cardinal return,\nimagined that he had emptied his natural reservoirs, unburdened his\necclesiastical bowels, and believed him happy. Then the surgeon rose\nquickly, as if to take note of the tapestries and count the rafters,\nbut gained the door before anyone else, and relaxing his sphincter in\nadvance, he hummed a tune on his way to the retreat; arrived there he\nwas compelled, like La Balue, to murmur words of excuse to this\nstudent of perpetual motion, shutting the door with as promptitude as\nhe opened it; and he came back burdened with an accumulation which\nseriously impeded his private channels. And in the same way went to\nguests one after the other, without being able to unburden themselves\nof their sauces, as soon again found themselves all in the presence of\nLouis the Eleventh, as much distressed as before, looking at each\nother slyly, understanding each other better with their tails than\nthey ever understood with their mouths, for there is never any\nequivoque in the transactions of the parts of nature, and everything\ntherein is rational and of easy comprehension, seeing that it is a\nscience which we learn at our birth.\n\n\"I believe,\" said the cardinal to the surgeon, \"that lady will go on\nuntil to-morrow. What was La Beaupertuys about to ask such a case of\ndiarrhoea here?\"\n\n\"She's been an hour working at what I could get done in a minute. May\nthe fever seize her\" cried Oliver le Daim.\n\nAll the courtiers seized with colic were walking up and down to make\ntheir importunate matters patient, when the said lady reappeared in\nthe room. You can believe they found her beautiful and graceful, and\nwould willingly have kissed her, there where they so longed to go; and\nnever did they salute the day with more favour than this lady, the\nliberator of the poor unfortunate bodies. La Balue rose; the others,\nfrom honour, esteem, and reverence of the church, gave way to the\nclergy, and, biding their time, they continued to make grimaces, at\nwhich the king laughed to himself with Nicole, who aided him to stop\nthe respiration of these loose-bowelled gentlemen. The good Scotch\ncaptain, who more than all the others had eaten of a dish in which the\ncook had put an aperient powder, became the victim of misplaced\nconfidence. He went ashamed into a corner, hoping that before the\nking, his mishap might escape detection. At this moment the cardinal\nreturned horribly upset, because he had found La Beaupertuys on the\nepiscopal seat. Now, in his torments, not knowing if she were in the\nroom, he came back and gave vent to a diabolical \"Oh!\" on beholding\nher near his master.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" exclaimed the king, looking at the priest in a way\nto give him the fever.\n\n\"Sire,\" said La Balue, insolently, \"the affairs of purgatory are in my\nministry, and I am bound to inform you that there is sorcery going on\nin this house.\"\n\n\"Ah! little priest, you wish to make game of me!\" said the king.\n\nAt these words the company were in a terrible state.\n\n\"So you treat me with disrespect?\" said the king, which made them turn\npale. \"Ho, there! Tristan, my friend!\" cried Louis XI. from the\nwindow, which he threw up suddenly, \"come up here!\"\n\nThe grand provost of the hotel was not long before he appeared; and as\nthese gentlemen were all nobodies, raised to their present position by\nthe favour of the king, Louis, in a moment of anger, could crush them\nat will; so that with the exception of the cardinal who relied upon\nhis cassock, Tristan found them all rigid and aghast.\n\n\"Conduct these gentleman to the Pretorium, on the Mall, my friend,\nthey have disgraced themselves through over-eating.\"\n\n\"Am I not good at jokes?\" said Nicole to him.\n\n\"The farce is good, but it is fetid,\" replied he, laughing.\n\nThis royal answer showed the courtiers that this time the king did not\nintend to play with their heads, for which they thanked heaven. The\nmonarch was partial to these dirty tricks. He was not at all a bad\nfellow, as the guests remarked while relieving themselves against the\nside of the Mall with Tristan, who, like a good Frenchman, kept them\ncompany, and escorted them to their homes. This is why since that time\nthe citizens of Tours had never failed to defile the Mall of\nChardonneret, because the gentlemen of the court had been there.\n\nI will not leave this great king without committing to writing this\ngood joke which he played upon La Godegrand, who was an old maid, much\ndisgusted that she had not, during the forty years she had lived, been\nable to find a lid to her saucepan, enraged, in her yellow skin, that\nshe still was as virgin as a mule. This old maid had her apartments on\nthe other side of the house which belonged to La Beaupertuys, at the\ncorner of the Rue de Hierusalem, in such a position that, standing on\nthe balcony joining the wall, it was easy to see what she was doing,\nand hear what she was saying in the lower room where she lived; and\noften the king derived much amusement from the antics of the old girl,\nwho did not know that she was so much within the range of his\nmajesty's culverin. Now one market day it happened that the king had\ncaused to be hanged a young citizen of Tours, who had violated a noble\nlady of a certain age, believing that she was a young maiden. There\nwould have been no harm in this, and it would have been a thing\ngreatly to the credit of the said lady to have been taken for a\nvirgin; but on finding out his mistake, he had abominably insulted\nher, and suspecting her of trickery, had taken it into his head to rob\nher of a splendid silver goblet, in payment of the present he had just\nmade her. This young man had long hair, and was so handsome that the\nwhole town wished to see him hanged, both from regret and out of\ncuriosity. You may be sure that at this hanging there were more caps\nthan hats. Indeed, the said young man swung very well; and after the\nfashion and custom of persons hanged, he died gallantly with his lance\ncouched, which fact made a great noise in the town. Many ladies said\non this subject that it was a murder not to have preserved so fine a\nfellow from the scaffold.\n\n\"Suppose we were to put this handsome corpse in the bed of La\nGodegrand,\" said La Beaupertuys to the king.\n\n\"We should terrify her,\" replied Louis.\n\n\"Not at all, sire. Be sure that she will welcome even a dead man, so\nmadly does she long for a living one. Yesterday I saw her making love\nto a young man's cap placed on the top of a chair, and you would have\nlaughed heartily at her words and gestures.\"\n\nNow while this forty-year-old virgin was at vespers, the king sent to\nhave this young townsman, who had just finished the last scene of his\ntragic farce, taken down, and having dressed him in a white shirt, two\nofficers got over the walls of La Godegrand's garden, and put the\ncorpse into her bed, on the side nearest the street. Having done this\nthey went away, and the king remained in the room with the balcony to\nit, playing with Beaupertuys, and awaiting an hour at which the old\nmaid should go to bed. La Godegrand soon came back with a hop, skip,\nand jump, as the Tourainians say, from the church of St Martin, from\nwhich she was not far, since the Rue de Hierusalem touches the walls\nof the cloister. She entered her house, laid down her prayer-book,\nchaplet, and rosary, and other ammunition which these old girls carry,\nthen poked the fire, and blew it, warmed herself at it, settled\nherself in her chair, and played with her cat for want of something\nbetter; then she went to the larder, supping and sighing, and sighing\nand supping, eating alone, with her eyes cast down upon the carpet;\nand after having drunk, behaved in a manner forbidden in court\nsociety.\n\n\"Ah!\" the corpse said to her, \"'_God bless you_!'\"\n\nAt this joke of luck of La Beaupertuys, both laughed heartily in their\nsleeves. And with great attention this very Christian king watched the\nundressing of the old maid, who admired herself while removing her\nthings--pulling out a hair, or scratching a pimple which had\nmaliciously come upon her nose; picking her teeth, and doing a\nthousand little things which, alas! all ladies, virgins or not, are\nobliged to do, much to their annoyance; but without these little\nfaults of nature, they would be too proud, and one would not be able\nto enjoy their society. Having achieved her aquatic and musical\ndiscourse, the old maid got in between the sheets, and yelled forth a\nfine, great, ample, and curious cry, when she saw, when she smelt the\nfresh vigour of this hanged man and the sweet perfume of his manly\nyouth; then sprang away from him out of coquetry. But as she did not\nknow he was really dead, she came back again, believing he was mocking\nher, and counterfeiting death.\n\n\"Go away, you bad young man!\" said she.\n\nBut you can imagine that she proffered this requests in a most humble\nand gracious tone of voice. Then seeing that he did not move, she\nexamined him more closely, and was much astonished at this so fine\nhuman nature when she recognised the young fellow, upon whom the fancy\ntook her to perform some purely scientific experiments in the\ninterests of hanged persons.\n\n\"What is she doing?\" said La Beaupertuys to the king.\n\n\"She is trying to reanimate him. It is a work of Christian humanity.\"\n\nAnd the old girl rubbed and warmed this fine young man, supplicating\nholy Mary the Egyptian to aid her to renew the life of this husband\nwho had fallen so amorously from heaven, when, suddenly looking at the\ndead body she was so charitably rubbing, she thought she saw a slight\nmovement in the eyes; then she put her hand upon the man's heart, and\nfelt it beat feebly. At length, from the warmth of the bed and of\naffection, and by the temperature of old maids, which is by far more\nburning then the warm blasts of African deserts, she had the delight\nof bringing to life that fine handsome young fellow who by lucky\nchance had been very badly hanged.\n\n\"See how my executioners serve me!\" said Louis, laughing.\n\n\"Ah!\" said La Beaupertuys, \"you will not have him hanged again? he is\ntoo handsome.\"\n\n\"The decree does not say that he shall be hanged twice, but he shall\nmarry the old woman.\"\n\nIndeed, the good lady went in a great hurry to seek a master leech, a\ngood bleeder, who lived in the Abbey, and brought him back directly.\nHe immediately took his lancet, and bled the young man. And as no\nblood came out: \"Ah!\" said he, \"it is too late, the transshipment of\nblood in the lungs has taken place.\"\n\nBut suddenly this good young blood oozed out a little, and then came\nout in abundance, and the hempen apoplexy, which had only just begun,\nwas arrested in its course. The young man moved and came more to life;\nthen he fell, from natural causes, into a state of great weakness and\nprofound sadness, prostration of flesh and general flabbiness. Now the\nold maid, who was all eyes, and followed the great and notable changes\nwhich were taking place in the person of this badly hanged man, pulled\nthe surgeon by the sleeve, and pointing out to him, by a curious\nglance of the eye, the piteous cause, said to him--\n\n\"Will he for the future be always like that?\"\n\n\"Often,\" replied the veracious surgeon.\n\n\"Oh! he was much nicer hanged!\"\n\nAt this speech the king burst out laughing. Seeing him at the window,\nthe woman and the surgeon were much frightened, for this laugh seemed\nto them a second sentence of death for their poor victim. But the king\nkept his word, and married them. And in order to do justice he gave\nthe husband the name of the Sieur de Mortsauf in the place of the one\nhe had lost upon the scaffold. As La Godegrand had a very big basket\nof crowns, they founded a good family in Touraine, which still exists\nand is much respected, since M. de Mortsauf faithfully served Louis\nthe Eleventh on different occasions. Only he never liked to come\nacross gibbets or old women, and never again made amorous assignations\nin the night.\n\nThis teaches us to thoroughly verify and recognise women, and not to\ndeceive ourselves in the local difference which exists between the old\nand the young, for if we are not hanged for our errors of love, there\nare always great risks to run.\n\n\n\n                     THE HIGH CONSTABLE'S WIFE\n\nThe high constable of Armagnac espoused from the desire of a great\nfortune, the Countess Bonne, who was already considerably enamoured of\nlittle Savoisy, son of the chamberlain to his majesty King Charles the\nSixth.\n\nThe constable was a rough warrior, miserable in appearance, tough in\nskin, thickly bearded, always uttering angry words, always busy\nhanging people, always in the sweat of battles, or thinking of other\nstratagems than those of love. Thus the good soldier, caring little to\nflavour the marriage stew, used his charming wife after the fashion of\na man with more lofty ideas; of the which the ladies have a great\nhorror, since they like not the joists of the bed to be the sole\njudges of their fondling and vigorous conduct.\n\nNow the lovely Countess, as soon as she was grafted on the constable,\nonly nibbled more eagerly at the love with which her heart was laden\nfor the aforesaid Savoisy, which that gentleman clearly perceived.\n\nWishing both to study the same music, they would soon harmonise their\nfancies, and decipher the hieroglyphic; and this was a thing clearly\ndemonstrated to the Queen Isabella, that Savoisy's horses were oftener\nstabled at the house of her cousin of Armagnac than in the Hotel St.\nPol, where the chamberlain lived, since the destruction of his\nresidence, ordered by the university, as everyone knows.\n\nThis discreet and wise princess, fearing in advance some unfortunate\nadventure for Bonne--the more so as the constable was as ready to\nbrandish his broadsword as a priest to bestow benedictions--the said\nqueen, as sharp as a dirk, said one day, while coming out from\nvespers, to her cousin, who was taking the holy water with Savoisy--\n\n\"My dear, don't you see some blood in that water?\"\n\n\"Bah!\" said Savoisy to the queen. \"Love likes blood, Madame.\"\n\nThis the Queen considered a good reply, and put it into writing, and\nlater on, into action, when her lord the king wounded one of her\nlovers, whose business you see settled in this narrative.\n\nYou know by constant experience, that in the early time of love each\nof two lovers is always in great fear of exposing the mystery of the\nheart, and as much from the flower of prudence as from the amusement\nyielded by the sweet tricks of gallantry they play at who can best\nconceal their thoughts, but one day of forgetfulness suffices to inter\nthe whole virtuous past. The poor woman is taken in her joy as in a\nlasso; her sweetheart proclaims his presence, or sometimes his\ndeparture, by some article of clothing--a scarf, a spur, left by some\nfatal chance, and there comes a stroke of the dagger that severs the\nweb so gallantly woven by their golden delights. But when one is full\nof days, he should not make a wry face at death, and the sword of a\nhusband is a pleasant death for a gallant, if there be pleasant\ndeaths. So may be will finish the merry amours of the constable's\nwife.\n\nOne morning Monsieur d'Armagnac having lots of leisure time in\nconsequence of the flight of the Duke of Burgundy, who was quitting\nLagny, thought he would go and wish his lady good day, and attempted\nto wake her up in a pleasant enough fashion, so that she should not be\nangry; but she sunk in the heavy slumbers of the morning, replied to\nthe action--\n\n\"Leave me alone, Charles!\"\n\n\"Oh, oh,\" said the constable, hearing the name of a saint who was not\none of his patrons, \"I have a Charles on my head!\"\n\nThen, without touching his wife, he jumped out of the bed, and ran\nupstairs with his face flaming and his sword drawn, to the place where\nslept the countess's maid-servant, convinced that the said servant had\na finger in the pie.\n\n\"Ah, ah, wench of hell!\" cried he, to commence the discharge of his\npassion, \"say thy prayers, for I intend to kill thee instantly,\nbecause of the secret practices of Charles who comes here.\"\n\n\"Ah, Monseigneur,\" replied the woman, \"who told you that?\"\n\n\"Stand steady, that I may rip thee at one blow if you do not confess\nto me every assignation given, and in what manner they have been\narranged. If thy tongue gets entangled, if thou falterest, I will\npierce thee with my dagger!\"\n\n\"Pierce me through!\" replied the girl; \"you will learn nothing.\"\n\nThe constable, having taken this excellent reply amiss, ran her\nthrough on the spot, so mad was he with rage; and came back into his\nwife's chamber and said to his groom, whom, awakened by the shrieks of\nthe girl, he met upon the stairs, \"Go upstairs; I've corrected\nBillette rather severely.\"\n\nBefore he reappeared in the presence of Bonne he went to fetch his\nson, who was sleeping like a child, and led him roughly into her room.\nThe mother opened her eyes pretty widely, you may imagine--at the\ncries of her little one; and was greatly terrified at seeing him in\nthe hands of her husband, who had his right hand all bloody, and cast\na fierce glance on the mother and son.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said she.\n\n\"Madame,\" asked the man of quick execution, \"this child, is he the\nfruit of my loins, or those of Savoisy, your lover?\"\n\nAt this question Bonne turned pale, and sprang upon her son like a\nfrightened frog leaping into the water.\n\n\"Ah, he is really ours,\" said she.\n\n\"If you do not wish to see his head roll at your feet confess yourself\nto me, and no prevarication. You have given me a lieutenant.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Who is he?\"\n\n\"It is not Savoisy, and I will never say the name of a man that I\ndon't know.\"\n\nThereupon the constable rose, took his wife by the arm to cut her\nspeech with a blow of the sword, but she, casting upon him an imperial\nglance, cried--\n\n\"Kill me if you will, but touch me not.\"\n\n\"You shall live,\" replied the husband, \"because I reserve you for a\nchastisement more ample then death.\"\n\nAnd doubting the inventions, snares, arguments, and artifices familiar\nto women in these desperate situations, of which they study night and\nday the variations, by themselves, or between themselves, he departed\nwith this rude and bitter speech. He went instantly to interrogate his\nservants, presenting to them a face divinely terrible; so all of them\nreplied to him as they would to God the Father on the Judgment Day,\nwhen each of us will be called to his account.\n\nNone of them knew the serious mischief which was at the bottom of\nthese summary interrogations and crafty interlocutions; but from all\nthat they said, the constable came to the conclusion that no male in\nhis house was in the business, except one of his dogs, whom he found\ndumb, and to whom he had given the post of watching the gardens; so\ntaking him in his hands, he strangled him with rage. This fact incited\nhim by induction to suppose that the other constable came into his\nhouse by the garden, of which the only entrance was a postern opening\non to the water side.\n\nIt is necessary to explain to those who are ignorant of it, the\nlocality of the Hotel d'Armagnac, which had a notable situation near\nto the royal houses of St. Pol. On this site has since been built the\nhotel of Longueville. Then as at the present time, the residence of\nd'Armagnac had a porch of fine stone in Rue St. Antoine, was fortified\nat all points, and the high walls by the river side, in face of the\nIle du Vaches, in the part where now stands the port of La Greve, were\nfurnished with little towers. The design of these has for a long time\nbeen shown at the house of Cardinal Duprat, the king's Chancellor. The\nconstable ransacked his brains, and at the bottom, from his finest\nstratagems, drew the best, and fitted it so well to the present case,\nthat the gallant would be certain to be taken like a hare in the trap.\n\"'Sdeath,\" said he, \"my planter of horns is taken, and I have the time\nnow to think how I shall finish him off.\"\n\nNow this is the order of battle which this grand hairy captain who\nwaged such glorious war against Duke Jean-sans-Peur commanded for the\nassault of his secret enemy. He took a goodly number of his most loyal\nand adroit archers, and placed them on the quay tower, ordering them\nunder the heaviest penalties to draw without distinction of persons,\nexcept his wife, on those of his household who should attempt to leave\nthe gardens, and to admit therein, either by night or by day, the\nfavoured gentleman. The same was done on the porch side, in the Rue St\nAntoine.\n\nThe retainers, even the chaplain, were ordered not to leave the house\nunder pain of death. Then the guard of the two sides of the hotel\nhaving been committed to the soldiers of a company of ordnance, who\nwere ordered to keep a sharp lookout in the side streets, it was\ncertain that the unknown lover to whom the constable was indebted for\nhis pair of horns, would be taken warm, when, knowing nothing, he\nshould come at the accustomed hour of love to insolently plant his\nstandard in the heart of the legitimate appurtenances of the said lord\ncount.\n\nIt was a trap into which the most expert man would fall unless he was\nseriously protected by the fates, as was the good St. Peter by the\nSaviour when he prevented him going to the bottom of the sea the day\nwhen they had a fancy to try if the sea were as solid as terra firma.\n\nThe constable had business with the inhabitants of Poissy, and was\nobliged to be in the saddle after dinner, so that, knowing his\nintention, the poor Countess Bonne determined at night to invite her\nyoung gallant to that charming duel in which she was always the\nstronger.\n\nWhile the constable was making round his hotel a girdle of spies and\nof death, and hiding his people near the postern to seize the gallant\nas he came out, not knowing where he would spring from, his wife was\nnot amusing herself by threading peas nor seeking black cows in the\nembers. First, the maid-servant who had been stuck, unstuck herself\nand dragged herself to her mistress; she told her that her outraged\nlord knew nothing, and that before giving up the ghost she would\ncomfort her dear mistress by assuring her that she could have perfect\nconfidence in her sister, who was laundress in the hotel, and was\nwilling to let herself be chopped up as small as sausage-meat to\nplease Madame. That she was the most adroit and roguish woman in the\nneighbourhood, and renowned from the council chamber to the Trahoir\ncross among the common people, and fertile in invention for the\ndesperate cases of love.\n\nThen, while weeping for the decease of her good chamber woman, the\ncountess sent for the laundress, made her leave her tubs and join her\nin rummaging the bag of good tricks, wishing to save Savoisy, even at\nthe price of her future salvation.\n\nFirst of all the two women determined to let him know their lord and\nmaster's suspicion, and beg him to be careful.\n\nNow behold the good washerwoman who, carrying her tub like a mule,\nattempts to leave the hotel. But at the porch she found a man-at-arms\nwho turned a deaf ear to all the blandishments of the wash-tub. Then\nshe resolved, from her great devotion, to take the soldier on his weak\nside, and she tickled him so with her fondling that he romped very\nwell with her, although he was armour-plated ready for battle; but\nwhen the game was over he still refused to let her go into the street\nand although she tried to get herself a passport sealed by some of the\nhandsomest, believing them more gallant: neither the archers,\nmen-at-arms, nor others, dared open for her the smallest entrance of\nthe house. \"You are wicked and ungrateful wretches,\" said she, \"not to\nrender me a like service.\"\n\nLuckily at this employment she learned everything, and came back in\ngreat haste to her mistress, to whom she recounted the strange\nmachinations of the count. The two women held a fresh council and had\nnot considered, the time it takes to sing _Alleluia_, twice, these\nwarlike appearances, watches, defences, and equivocal, specious, and\ndiabolical orders and dispositions before they recognised by the sixth\nsense with which all females are furnished, the special danger which\nthreatened the poor lover.\n\nMadame having learned that she alone had leave to quit the house,\nventured quickly to profit by her right, but she did not go the length\nof a bow-shot, since the constable had ordered four of his pages to be\nalways on duty ready to accompany the countess, and two of the ensigns\nof his company not to leave her. Then the poor lady returned to her\nchamber, weeping as much as all the Magdalens one sees in the church\npictures, could weep together.\n\n\"Alas!\" said she, \"my lover must then be killed, and I shall never see\nhim again! . . . he whose words were so sweet, whose manners were so\ngraceful, that lovely head that had so often rested on my knees, will\nnow be bruised . . . What! Can I not throw to my husband an empty and\nvalueless head in place of the one full of charms and worth . . . a\nrank head for a sweet-smelling one; a hated head for a head of love.\"\n\n\"Ah, Madame!\" cried the washerwoman, \"suppose we dress up in the\ngarments of a nobleman, the steward's son who is mad for me, and\nwearies me much, and having thus accoutered him, we push him out\nthrough the postern.\"\n\nThereupon the two women looked at each other with assassinating eyes.\n\n\"This marplot,\" said she, \"once slain, all those soldiers will fly\naway like geese.\"\n\n\"Yes, but will not the count recognise the wretch?\"\n\nAnd the countess, striking her breast, exclaimed, shaking her head,\n\"No, no, my dear, here it is noble blood that must be spilt without\nstint.\"\n\nThen she thought a little, and jumping with joy, suddenly kissed the\nlaundress, saying, \"Because I have saved my lover's life by your\ncounsel, I will pay you for his life until death.\"\n\nThereupon the countess dried her tears, put on the face of a bride,\ntook her little bag and a prayer-book, and went towards the Church of\nSt. Pol whose bells she heard ringing, seeing that the last Mass was\nabout to be said. In this sweet devotion the countess never failed,\nbeing a showy woman, like all the ladies of the court. Now this was\ncalled the full-dress Mass, because none but <DW2>s, fashionables, young\ngentlemen and ladies puffed out and highly scented, were to be met\nthere. In fact no dresses was seen there without armorial bearings,\nand no spurs that were not gilt.\n\nSo the Countess of Bonne departed, leaving at the hotel the laundress\nmuch astonished, and charged to keep her eyes about her, and came with\ngreat pomp to the church, accompanied by her pages, the two ensigns\nand men-at-arms. It is here necessary to say that among the band of\ngallant knights who frisked round the ladies in church, the countess\nhad more than one whose joy she was, and who had given his heart to\nher, after the fashion of youths who put down enough and to spare upon\ntheir tablets, only in order to make a conquest of at least one out of\na great number.\n\nAmong these birds of fine prey who with open beaks looked oftener\nbetween the benches and the paternosters than towards the altar and\nthe priests, there was one upon whom the countess sometimes bestowed\nthe charity of a glance, because he was less trifling and more deeply\nsmitten than all the others.\n\nThis one remained bashful, always stuck against the same pillar, never\nmoving from it, but readily ravished with the sight alone of this lady\nwhom he had chosen as his. His pale face was softly melancholy. His\nphysiognomy gave proof of fine heart, one of those which nourish\nardent passions and plunge delightedly into the despairs of love\nwithout hope. Of these people there are few, because ordinarily one\nlikes more a certain thing than the unknown felicities lying and\nflourishing at the bottommost depths of the soul.\n\nThis said gentleman, although his garments were well made, and clean\nand neat, having even a certain amount of taste shown in the\narrangement, seemed to the constable's wife to be a poor knight\nseeking fortune, and come from afar, with his nobility for his\nportion. Now partly from a suspicion of his secret poverty, partly\nbecause she was well beloved by him and a little because he had a good\ncountenance, fine black hair, and a good figure, and remained humble\nand submissive in all, the constable's wife desired for him the favour\nof women and of fortune, not to let his gallantry stand idle, and from\na good housewifely idea, she fired his imagination according to her\nfantasies, by certain small favours and little looks which serpented\ntowards him like biting adders, trifling with the happiness of this\nyoung life, like a princess accustomed to play with objects more\nprecious than a simple knight. In fact, her husband risked the whole\nkingdom as you would a penny at piquet. Finally it was only three days\nsince, at the conclusion of vespers, that the constable's wife pointed\nout to the queen this follower of love, said laughingly--\n\n\"There's a man of quality.\"\n\nThis sentence remained in the fashionable language. Later it became a\ncustom so to designate the people of the court. It was to the wife of\nthe constable d'Armagnac, and to no other source, that the French\nlanguage is indebted for this charming expression.\n\nBy a lucky chance the countess had surmised correctly concerning this\ngentleman. He was a bannerless knight, named Julien de Boys-Bourredon,\nwho not having inherited on his estate enough to make a toothpick, and\nknowing no other wealth than the rich nature with which his dead\nmother had opportunely furnished him, conceived the idea of deriving\ntherefrom both rent and profit at court, knowing how fond ladies are\nof those good revenues, and value them high and dear, when they can\nstand being looked at between two suns. There are many like him who\nhave thus taken the narrow road of women to make their way; but he,\nfar from arranging his love in measured qualities, spend funds and\nall, as soon as he came to the full-dress Mass, he saw the triumphant\nbeauty of the Countess Bonne. Then he fell really in love, which was a\ngrand thing for his crowns, because he lost both thirst and appetite.\nThis love is of the worst kind, because it incites you to the love of\ndiet, during the diet of love; a double malady, of which one is\nsufficient to extinguish a man.\n\nSuch was the young gentlemen of whom the good lady had thought, and\ntowards whom she came quickly to invite him to his death.\n\nOn entering she saw the poor chevalier, who faithful to his pleasure,\nawaited her, his back against a pillar, as a sick man longs for the\nsun, the spring-time, and the dawn. Then she turned away her eyes, and\nwished to go to the queen and request her assistance in this desperate\ncase, for she took pity on her lover, but one of the captains said to\nher, with great appearance of respect, \"Madame, we have orders not to\nallow you to speak with man or woman, even though it should be the\nqueen or your confessor. And remember that the lives of all of us are\nat stake.\"\n\n\"Is it not your business to die?\" said she.\n\n\"And also to obey,\" replied the soldier.\n\nThen the countess knelt down in her accustomed place, and again\nregarding her faithful slave, found his face thinner and more deeply\nlined than ever it had been.\n\n\"Bah!\" said she, \"I shall have less remorse for his death; he is half\ndead as it is.\"\n\nWith this paraphrase of her idea, she cast upon the said gentleman one\nof those warm ogles that are only allowable to princesses and harlots,\nand the false love which her lovely eyes bore witness to, gave a\npleasant pang to the gallant of the pillar. Who does not love the warm\nattack of life when it flows thus round the heart and engulfs\neverything?\n\nMadame recognised with a pleasure, always fresh in the minds of women,\nthe omnipotence of her magnificent regard by the answer which, without\nsaying a word, the chevalier made to it. And in fact, the blushes\nwhich empurpled his cheeks spoke better than the best speeches of the\nGreek and Latin orators, and were well understood. At this sweet\nsight, the countess, to make sure that it was not a freak of nature,\ntook pleasure in experimentalising how far the virtue of her eyes\nwould go, and after having heated her slave more than thirty times,\nshe was confirmed in her belief that he would bravely die for her.\nThis idea so touched her, that from three repetitions between her\norisons she was tickled with the desire to put into a lump all the\njoys of man, and to dissolve them for him in one single glance of\nlove, in order that she should not one day be reproached with having\nnot only dissipated the life, but also the happiness of this\ngentleman. When the officiating priest turned round to sing the _Off\nyou go_ to this fine gilded flock, the constable's wife went out by the\nside of the pillar where her courtier was, passed in front of him and\nendeavoured to insinuate into his understanding by a speaking glance\nthat he was to follow her, and to make positive the intelligence and\nsignificant interpretation of this gentle appeal, the artful jade\nturned round again a little after passing him to again request his\ncompany. She saw that he had moved a little from his place, and dared\nnot advance, so modest was he, but upon this last sign, the gentleman,\nsure of not being over-credulous, mixed with the crowd with little and\nnoiseless steps, like an innocent who is afraid of venturing into one\nof those good places people call bad ones. And whether he walked\nbehind or in front, to the right or to the left, my lady bestowed upon\nhim a glistening glance to allure him the more and the better to draw\nhim to her, like a fisher who gently jerks the lines in order to hook\nthe gudgeon. To be brief: the countess practiced so well the\nprofession of the daughters of pleasure when they work to bring grist\ninto their mills, that one would have said nothing resembled a harlot\nso much as a woman of high birth. And indeed, on arriving at the porch\nof her hotel the countess hesitated to enter therein, and again turned\nher face towards the poor chevalier to invite him to accompany her,\ndischarging at him so diabolical a glance, that he ran to the queen of\nhis heart, believing himself to be called by her. Thereupon, she\noffered him her hand, and both boiling and trembling from the contrary\ncauses found themselves inside the house. At this wretched hour,\nMadame d'Armagnac was ashamed of having done all these harlotries to\nthe profit of death, and of betraying Savoisy the better to save him;\nbut this slight remorse was lame as the greater, and came tardily.\nSeeing everything ready, the countess leaned heavily upon her vassal's\narm, and said to him--\n\n\"Come quickly to my room; it is necessary that I should speak with\nyou.\"\n\nAnd he, not knowing that his life was in peril, found no voice\nwherewith to reply, so much did the hope of approaching happiness\nchoke him.\n\nWhen the laundress saw this handsome gentleman so quickly hooked,\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"these ladies of the court are best at such work.\"\nThen she honoured this courtier with a profound salutation, in which\nwas depicted the ironical respect due to those who have the great\ncourage to die for so little.\n\n\"Picard,\" said the constable's lady, drawing the laundress to her by\nthe skirt, \"I have not the courage to confess to him the reward with\nwhich I am about to pay his silent love and his charming belief in the\nloyalty of women.\"\n\n\"Bah! Madame: why tell him? Send him away well contented by the\npostern. So many men die in war for nothing, cannot this one die for\nsomething? I'll produce another like him if that will console you.\"\n\n\"Come along,\" cried the countess, \"I will confess all to him. That\nwill be the punishment for my sins.\"\n\nThinking that this lady was arranging with her servant certain\ntrifling provisions and secret things in order not to be disturbed in\nthe interview she had promised him, the unknown lover kept at a\ndiscreet distance, looking at the flies. Nevertheless, he thought that\nthe countess was very bold, but also, as even a hunchback would have\ndone, he found a thousand reasons to justify her, and thought himself\nquite worthy to inspire such recklessness. He was lost in those good\nthoughts when the constable's wife opened the door of her chamber, and\ninvited the chevalier to follow her in. There his noble lady cast\naside all the apparel of her lofty fortune, and falling at the feet of\nthis gentleman, became a simple woman.\n\n\"Alas, sweet sir!\" said she, \"I have acted vilely towards you. Listen.\nOn your departure from this house, you will meet your death. The love\nwhich I feel for another has bewildered me, and without being able to\nhold his place here, you will have to take it before his murderers.\nThis is the joy to which I have bidden you.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" Replied Boys-Bourredon, interring in the depths of his heart a\ndark despair, \"I am grateful to you for having made use of me as of\nsomething which belonged to you. . . . Yes, I love you so much that\nevery day you I have dreamed of offering you in imitation of the\nladies, a thing that can be given but once. Take, then, my life!\"\n\nAnd the poor chevalier, in saying this, gave her one glance to suffice\nfor all the time he would have been able to look at her through the\nlong days. Hearing these brave and loving words, Bonne rose suddenly.\n\n\"Ah! were it not for Savoisy, how I would love thee!\" said she.\n\n\"Alas! my fate is then accomplished,\" replied Boys-Bourredon. \"My\nhoroscope predicted that I should die by the love of a great lady. Ah,\nGod!\" said he, clutching his good sword, \"I will sell my life dearly,\nbut I shall die content in thinking that my decease ensures the\nhappiness of her I love. I should live better in her memory than in\nreality.\" At the sight of the gesture and the beaming face of this\ncourageous man, the constable's wife was pierced to the heart. But\nsoon she was wounded to the quick because he seemed to wish to leave\nher without even asking of her the smallest favour.\n\n\"Come, that I may arm you,\" said she to him, making an attempt to kiss\nhim.\n\n\"Ha! my lady-love,\" replied he, moistening with a gentle tear the fire\nof his eyes, \"would you render my death impossible by attaching too\ngreat a value to my life?\"\n\n\"Come,\" cried she, overcome by this intense love, \"I do not know what\nthe end of all this will be, but come--afterwards we will go and\nperish together at the postern.\"\n\nThe same flame leaped in their hearts, the same harmony had struck for\nboth, they embraced each other with a rapture in the delicious excess\nof that mad fever which you know well I hope; they fell into a\nprofound forgetfulness of the dangers of Savoisy, of themselves, of\nthe constable, of death, of life, of everything.\n\nMeanwhile the watchman at the porch had gone to inform the constable\nof the arrival of the gallant, and to tell him how the infatuated\ngentleman had taken no notice of the winks which, during Mass and on\nthe road, the countess had given him in order to prevent his\ndestruction. They met their master arriving in great haste at the\npostern, because on their side the archers of the quay had whistled to\nhim afar off, saying to him--\n\n\"The Sire de Savoisy has passed in.\"\n\nAnd indeed Savoisy had come at the appointed hour, and like all the\nlovers, thinking only of his lady, he had not seen the count's spies\nand had slipped in at the postern. This collision of lovers was the\ncause of the constable's cutting short the words of those who came\nfrom the Rue St. Antoine, saying to them with a gesture of authority,\nthat they did not think wise to disregard--\n\n\"I know that the animal is taken.\"\n\nThereupon all rushed with a great noise through this said postern,\ncrying, \"Death to him! death to him!\" and men-at-arms, archers, the\nconstable, and the captains, all rushed full tilt upon Charles\nSavoisy, the king's nephew, who they attacked under the countess's\nwindow, where by a strange chance, the groans of the poor young man\nwere dolorously exhaled, mingled with the yells of the soldiers, at\nthe same time as passionate sighs and cries were given forth by the\ntwo lovers, who hastened up in great fear.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the countess, turning pale from terror, \"Savoisy is dying\nfor me!\"\n\n\"But I will live for you,\" replied Boys-Bourredon, \"and shall esteem\nit a joy to pay the same price for my happiness as he has done.\"\n\n\"Hide yourself in the clothes chest,\" cried the countess; \"I hear the\nconstable's footsteps.\"\n\nAnd indeed M. d'Armagnac appeared very soon with a head in his hand,\nand putting it all bloody on the mantleshelf, \"Behold, Madame,\" said\nhe, \"a picture which will enlighten you concerning the duties of a\nwife towards her husband.\"\n\n\"You have killed an innocent man,\" replied the countess, without\nchanging colour. \"Savoisy was not my lover.\"\n\nAnd with the this speech she looked proudly at the constable with a\nface marked by so much dissimulation and feminine audacity, that the\nhusband stood looking as foolish as a girl who has allowed a note to\nescape her below, before a numerous company, and he was afraid of\nhaving made a mistake.\n\n\"Of whom were you thinking this morning?\" asked he.\n\n\"I was dreaming of the king,\" said she.\n\n\"Then, my dear, why not have told me so?\"\n\n\"Would you have believed me in the bestial passion you were in?\"\n\nThe constable scratched his ear and replied--\n\n\"But how came Savoisy with the key of the postern?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, curtly, \"if you will have the goodness to\nbelieve what I have said to you.\"\n\nAnd his wife turned lightly on her heel like a weather-cock turned by\nthe wind, pretending to go and look after the household affairs. You\ncan imagine that D'Armagnac was greatly embarrassed with the head of\npoor Savoisy, and that for his part Boys-Bourredon had no desire to\ncough while listening to the count, who was growling to himself all\nsorts of words. At length the constable struck two heavy blows over\nthe table and said, \"I'll go and attack the inhabitants of Poissy.\"\nThen he departed, and when the night was come Boys-Bourredon escaped\nfrom the house in some disguise or other.\n\nPoor Savoisy was sorely lamented by his lady, who had done all that a\nwoman could do to save her lover, and later he was more than wept, he\nwas regretted; for the countess having related this adventure to Queen\nIsabella, her majesty seduced Boys-Bourredon from the service of her\ncousin and put him to her own, so much was she touched with the\nqualities and firm courage of this gentleman.\n\nBoys-Bourredon was a man whom danger had well recommended to the\nladies. In fact he comported himself so proudly in everything in the\nlofty fortune, which the queen had made for him, that having badly\ntreated King Charles one day when the poor man was in his proper\nsenses, the courtiers, jealous of favour, informed the king of his\ncuckoldom. Boys-Bourredon was in a moment sewn in a sack and thrown\ninto the Seine, near the ferry at Charenton, as everyone knows. I have\nno need add, that since the day when the constable took it into his\nhead to play thoughtlessly with knives, his good wife utilised so well\nthe two deaths he had caused and threw them so often in his face, that\nshe made him as soft as a cat's paw and put him in the straight road\nof marriage; and he proclaimed her a modest and virtuous constable's\nlady, as indeed she was. As this book should, according to the maxims\nof great ancient authors, join certain useful things to the good\nlaughs which you will find therein and contain precepts of high taste,\nI beg to inform you that the quintessence of the story is this: That\nwomen need never lose their heads in serious cases, because the God of\nLove never abandons them, especially when they are beautiful, young,\nand of good family; and that gallants when going to keep an amorous\nassignation should never go there like giddy young men, but carefully,\nand keep a sharp look-out near the burrow, to avoid falling into\ncertain traps and to preserve themselves; for after a good woman the\nmost precious thing is, certes, a pretty gentleman.\n\n\n\n                        THE MAID OF THILOUSE\n\nThe lord of Valennes, a pleasant place, of which the castle is not far\nfrom the town of Thilouse, had taken a mean wife, who by reason of\ntaste or antipathy, pleasure or displeasure, health or sickness,\nallowed her good husband to abstain from those pleasures stipulated\nfor in all contracts of marriage. In order to be just, it should be\nstated that the above-mentioned lord was a dirty and ill-favoured\nperson, always hunting wild animals and not the more entertaining than\nis a room full of smoke. And what is more, the said sportsman was all\nsixty years of age, on which subject, however, he was a silent as a\nhempen widow on the subject of rope. But nature, which the crooked,\nthe bandy-legged, the blind, and the ugly abuse so unmercifully here\nbelow, and have no more esteem for her than the well-favoured,--since,\nlike workers of tapestry, they know not what they do,--gives the same\nappetite to all and to all the same mouth for pudding. So every beast\nfinds a mate, and from the same fact comes the proverb, \"There is no\npot, however ugly, that does not one day find a cover.\" Now the lord\nof Valennes searched everywhere for nice little pots to cover, and\noften in addition to wild, he hunted tame animals; but this kind of\ngame was scarce in the land, and it was an expensive affair to\ndiscover a maid. At length however by reason of much ferreting about\nand much enquiry, it happened that the lord of Valennes was informed\nthat in Thilouse was the widow of a weaver who had a real treasure in\nthe person of a little damsel of sixteen years, whom she had never\nallowed to leave her apronstrings, and whom, with great maternal\nforethought, she always accompanied when the calls of nature demanded\nher obedience; she had her to sleep with her in her own bed, watched\nover her, got her up in the morning, and put her to such a work that\nbetween the twain they gained about eight pennies a day. On fete days\nshe took her to the church, scarcely giving her a spare moment to\nexchange a merry word with the young people; above all was she strict\nin keeping hands off the maiden.\n\nBut the times were just then so hard that the widow and her daughter\nhad only bread enough to save them from dying of hunger, and as they\nlodged with one of their poor relations, they often wanted wood in\nwinter and clothes in summer, owing enough rent to frighten sergeants\nof justice, men who are not easily frightened at the debts of others;\nin short, while the daughter was increasing in beauty, the mother was\nincreasing in poverty, and ran into debt on account of her daughter's\nvirginity, as an alchemist will for the crucible in which his all is\ncast. As soon as his plans were arranged and perfect, one rainy day\nthe said lord of Valennes by a mere chance came into the hovel of the\ntwo spinners, and in order to dry himself sent for some fagots to\nPlessis, close by. While waiting for them, he sat on a stool between\nthe two poor women. By means of the grey shadows and half light of the\ncabin, he saw the sweet countenance of the maid of Thilouse; her arms\nwere red and firm, her breasts hard as bastions, which kept the cold\nfrom her heart, her waist round as a young oak and all fresh and clean\nand pretty, like the first frost, green and tender as an April bud; in\nfact, she resembled all that is prettiest in the world. She had eyes\nof a modest and virtuous blue, with a look more coy than that of the\nVirgin, for she was less forward, never having had a child.\n\nHad any one said to her, \"Come, let us make love,\" she would have\nsaid, \"Love! What is that?\" she was so innocent and so little open to\nthe comprehensions of the thing.\n\nThe good old lord twisted about upon his stool, eyeing the maid and\nstretching his neck like a monkey trying to catch nuts, which the\nmother noticed, but said not a word, being in fear of the lord to whom\nthe whole of the country belonged. When the fagot was put into the\ngrate and flared up, the good hunter said to the old woman, \"Ah, ah!\nthat warms one almost as much as your daughter's eyes.\"\n\n\"But alas, my lord,\" said she, \"we have nothing to cook on that fire.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" replied he.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Ah, my good woman, lend your daughter to my wife, who has need of a\ngood handmaiden: we will give you two fagots every day.\"\n\n\"Oh, my lord, what could I cook at such a good fire?\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied the old rascal, \"good broth, for I will give you a\nmeasure of corn in season.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied the old hag, \"where shall I put it?\"\n\n\"In your dish,\" answered the purchaser of innocence.\n\n\"But I have neither dish nor flower-bin, nor anything.\"\n\n\"Well I will give you dishes and flower-bins, saucepans, flagons, a\ngood bed with curtains, and everything.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the good widow, \"but the rain would spoil them, I have\nno house.\"\n\n\"You can see from here,\" replied the lord, \"the house of La\nTourbelliere, where lived my poor huntsmen Pillegrain, who was ripped\nup by a boar?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old woman.\n\n\"Well, you can make yourself at home there for the rest of your days.\"\n\n\"By my faith;\" cried the mother, letting fall her distaff, \"do you\nmean what you say?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then, what will you give my daughter?\"\n\n\"All that she is willing to gain in my service.\"\n\n\"Oh! my lord, you are a joking.\"\n\n\"No,\" said he.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she.\n\n\"By St. Gatien, St. Eleuther, and by the thousand million saints who\nare in heaven, I swear that--\"\n\n\"Ah! Well; if you are not jesting I should like those fagots to pass\nthrough the hands of the notary.\"\n\n\"By the blood of Christ and the charms of your daughter am I not a\ngentleman? Is not my word good enough?\"\n\n\"Ah! well I don't say that it is not; but as true as I am a poor\nspinner I love my child too much to leave her; she is too young and\nweak at present, she will break down in service. Yesterday, in his\nsermon, the vicar said that we should have to answer to God for our\nchildren.\"\n\n\"There! There!\" said the lord, \"go and find the notary.\"\n\nAn old woodcutter ran to the scrivener, who came and drew up a\ncontract, to which the lord of Valennes then put his cross, not\nknowing how to write, and when all was signed and sealed--\n\n\"Well, old lady,\" said he, \"now you are no longer answerable to God\nfor the virtue of your child.\"\n\n\"Ah! my lord, the vicar said until the age of reason, and my child is\nquite reasonable.\" Then turning towards her, she added, \"Marie Fiquet,\nthat which is dearest to you is your honour, and there where you are\ngoing everyone, without counting my lord, will try to rob you of it,\nbut you see well what it is worth; for that reason do not lose it save\nwillingly and in proper manner. Now in order not to contaminate your\nvirtue before God and before man, except for a legitimate motive, take\nheed that your chance of marriage be not damaged beforehand, otherwise\nyou will go to the bad.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear mother,\" replied the maid.\n\nAnd thereupon she left the poor abode of her relation, and came to the\nchateau of Valennes, there to serve my lady, who found her both pretty\nand to her taste.\n\nWhen the people of Valennes, Sache, Villaines, and other places,\nlearned the high price given for the maid of Thilouse, the good\nhousewives recognising the fact that nothing is more profitable than\nvirtue, endeavoured to nourish and bring up their daughters virtuous,\nbut the business was as risky as that of rearing silkworms, which are\nliable to perish, since innocence is like a medlar, and ripens quickly\non the straw. There were, however, some girls noted for it in\nTouraine, who passed for virgins in the convents of the religious, but\nI cannot vouch for these, not having proceeded to verify them in the\nmanner laid down by Verville, in order to make sure of the perfect\nvirtue of women. However, Marie Fiquet followed the wise counsel of\nher mother, and would take no notice of the soft requests, honied\nwords, or apish tricks of her master, unless they were flavoured with\na promise of marriage.\n\nWhen the old lord tried to kiss her, she would put her back up like a\ncat at the approach of a dog, crying out \"I will tell Madame!\" In\nshort at the end of six months he had not even recovered the price of\na single fagot. From her labour Marie Fiquet became harder and firmer.\nSometimes she would reply to the gentle request of her master, \"When\nyou have taken it from me will you give it me back again?\"\n\nAnother time she would say, \"If I were as full of holes as a sieve not\none should be for you, so ugly do I think you.\"\n\nThe good old man took these village sayings for flowers of innocence,\nand ceased not make little signs to her, long harangues and a hundred\nvows and sermons, for by reason of seeing the fine breasts of the\nmaid, her plump hips, which at certain movements came into prominent\nrelief, and by reason of admiring other things capable of inflaming\nthe mind of a saint, this dear men became enamoured of her with an old\nman's passion, which augments in geometrical proportions as opposed to\nthe passions of young men, because the old men love with their\nweakness which grows greater, and the young with their strength which\ngrows less. In order to leave this headstrong girl no loophole for\nrefusal, the old lord took into his confidence the steward, whose age\nwas seventy odd years, and made him understand that he ought to marry\nin order to keep his body warm, and that Marie Fiquet was the very\ngirl to suit him. The old steward, who had gained three hundred pounds\nby different services about the house, desired to live quietly without\nopening the front door again; but his good master begged him to marry\nto please him, assuring him that he need not trouble about his wife.\nSo the good steward wandered out of sheer good nature into this\nmarriage. The day of the wedding, bereft of all her reasons, and not\nable to find objections to her pursuer, she made him give her a fat\nsettlement and dowry as the price of her conquest, and then gave the\nold knave leave to wink at her as often as he could, promising him as\nmany embraces as he had given grains of wheat to her mother. But at\nhis age a bushel was sufficient.\n\nThe festivities over, the lord did not fail, as soon as his wife had\nretired, to wend his way towards the well-glazed, well-carpeted, and\npretty room where he had lodged his lass, his money, his fagots, his\nhouse, his wheat, and his steward. To be brief, know that he found the\nmaid of Thilouse the sweetest girl in the world, as pretty as\nanything, by the soft light of the fire which was gleaming in the\nchimney, snug between the sheets, and with a sweet odour about her, as\na young maiden should have, and in fact he had no regret for the great\nprice of this jewel. Not being able to restrain himself from hurrying\nover the first mouthfuls of this royal morsel, the lord treated her\nmore as a past master than a young beginner. So the happy man by too\nmuch gluttony, managed badly, and in fact knew nothing of the sweet\nbusiness of love. Finding which, the good wench said, after a minute\nor two, to her old cavalier, \"My lord, if you are there, as I think\nyou are, give a little more swing to your bells.\"\n\nFrom this saying, which became spread about, I know not how, Marie\nFiquet became famous, and it is still said in our country, \"She is a\nmaid of Thilouse,\" in mockery of a bride, and to signify a\n\"fricquenelle.\"\n\n\"Fricquenelle\" is said of a girl I do not wish you to find in your\narms on your wedding night, unless you have been brought up in the\nphilosophy of Zeno, which puts up with anything, and there are many\npeople obliged to be Stoics in this funny situation, which is often\nmet with, for Nature turns, but changes not, and there are always good\nmaids of Thilouse to be found in Touraine, and elsewhere. Now if you\nasked me in what consists, or where comes in, the moral of this tale?\nI am at liberty to reply to the ladies; that the Cent Contes\nDrolatiques are made more to teach the moral of pleasure than to\nprocure the pleasure of pointing a moral. But if it were a used up old\nrascal who asked me, I should say to him with all the respect due to\nhis yellow or grey locks; that God wishes to punish the lord of\nValennes, for trying to purchase a jewel made to be given.\n\n\n\n                        THE BROTHERS-IN-ARMS\n\nAt the commencement of the reign of King Henry, second of the name,\nwho loved so well the fair Diana, there existed still a ceremony of\nwhich the usage has since become much weakened, and which has\naltogether disappeared, like an infinity of the good things of the\nolden times. This fine and noble custom was the choice which all\nknights made of a brother-in-arms. After having recognised each other\nas two loyal and brave men, each one of this pretty couple was married\nfor life to the other; both became brothers, the one had to defend the\nother in battling against the enemies who threatened him, and at Court\nagainst the friends who slandered him. In the absence of his companion\nthe other was expected to say to one who should have accused his good\nbrother of any disloyalty, wickedness or dark felony, \"You have lied\nby your throat,\" and so go into the field instantly, so sure was the\none of the honour of the other. There is no need to add, that the one\nwas always the second of the other in all affairs, good or evil, and\nthat they shared all good or evil fortune. They were better than the\nbrothers who are only united by the hazard of nature, since they were\nfraternised by the bonds of an especial sentiment, involuntary and\nmutual, and thus the fraternity of arms has produced splendid\ncharacters, as brave as those of the ancient Greeks, Romans, or\nothers. . . . But this is not my subject; the history of these things\nhas been written by the historians of our country, and everyone knows\nthem.\n\nNow at this time two young gentlemen of Touraine, of whom one was the\nCadet of Maille, and the other Sieur de Lavalliere, became\nbrothers-in-arms on the day they gained their spurs. They were leaving\nthe house of Monsieur de Montmorency, where they had been nourished with\nthe good doctrines of this great Captain, and had shown how contagious\nis valour in such good company, for at the battle of Ravenna they\nmerited the praises of the oldest knights. It was in the thick of this\nfierce fight that Maille, saved by the said Lavalliere, with whom he\nhad had a quarrel or two, perceived that this gentleman had a noble\nheart. As they had each received slashes in the doublets, they\nbaptised their fraternity with their blood, and were ministered to\ntogether in one and the same bed under the tent of Monsieur de\nMontmorency their master. It is necessary to inform you that, contrary\nto the custom of his family, which was always to have a pretty face,\nthe Cadet of Maille was not of a pleasing physiognomy, and had\nscarcely any beauty but that of the devil. For the rest he was lithe\nas a greyhound, broad shouldered and strongly built as King Pepin, who\nwas a terrible antagonist. On the other hand, the Sieur de Lavalliere\nwas a dainty fellow, for whom seemed to have been invented rich laces,\nsilken hose, and cancellated shoes. His long dark locks were pretty as\na lady's ringlets, and he was, to be brief, a child with whom all the\nwomen would be glad to play. One day the Dauphine, niece of the Pope,\nsaid laughingly to the Queen of Navarre, who did not dislike these\nlittle jokes, \"that this page was a plaster to cure every ache,\" which\ncaused the pretty little Tourainian to blush, because, being only\nsixteen, he took this gallantry as a reproach.\n\nNow on his return from Italy the Cadet of Maille found the slipper of\nmarriage ready for his foot, which his mother had obtained for him in\nthe person of Mademoiselle d'Annebaut, who was a graceful maiden of\ngood appearance, and well furnished with everything, having a splendid\nhotel in the Rue Barbette, with handsome furniture and Italian\npaintings and many considerable lands to inherit. Some days after the\ndeath of King Francis--a circumstance which planted terror in the\nheart of everyone, because his said Majesty had died in consequence of\nan attack of the Neapolitan sickness, and that for the future there\nwould be no security even with princesses of the highest birth--the\nabove-named Maille was compelled to quit the Court in order to go and\narrange certain affairs of great importance in Piedmont. You may be\nsure that he was very loath to leave his good wife, so young, so\ndelicate, so sprightly, in the midst of the dangers, temptations,\nsnares and pitfalls of this gallant assemblage, which comprised so\nmany handsome fellows, bold as eagles, proud of mein, and as fond of\nwomen as the people are partial to Paschal hams. In this state of\nintense jealousy everything made him ill at ease; but by dint of much\nthinking, it occurred to him to make sure of his wife in the manner\nabout to be related. He invited his good brother-in-arms to come at\ndaybreak on the morning of his departure. Now directly he heard\nLavalliere's horse in the courtyard, he leaped out of bed, leaving his\nsweet and fair better-half sleeping that gentle, dreamy, dozing sleep\nso beloved by dainty ladies and lazy people. Lavalliere came to him,\nand the two companions, hidden in the embrasure of the window, greeted\neach other with a loyal clasp of the hand, and immediately Lavalliere\nsaid to Maille--\n\n\"I should have been here last night in answer to thy summons, but I\nhad a love suit on with my lady, who had given me an assignation; I\ncould in no way fail to keep it, but I quitted her at dawn. Shall I\naccompany thee? I have told her of thy departure, she has promised me\nto remain without any amour; we have made a compact. If she deceives\nme--well a friend is worth more than a mistress!\"\n\n\"Oh! my good brother\" replied the Maille, quite overcome with these\nwords, \"I wish to demand of thee a still higher proof of thy brave\nheart. Wilt thou take charge of my wife, defend her against all, be\nher guide, keep her in check and answer to me for the integrity of my\nhead? Thou canst stay here during my absence, in the green-room, and\nbe my wife's cavalier.\"\n\nLavalliere knitted his brow and said--\n\n\"It is neither thee nor thy wife that I fear, but evil-minded people,\nwho will take advantage of this to entangle us like skeins of silk.\"\n\n\"Do not be afraid of me,\" replied Maille, clasping Lavalliere to his\nbreast. \"If it be the divine will of the Almighty that I should have\nthe misfortune to be a cuckold, I should be less grieved if it were to\nyour advantage. But by my faith I should die of grief, for my life is\nbound up in my good, young, virtuous wife.\"\n\nSaying which, he turned away his head, in order that Lavalliere should\nnot perceive the tears in his eyes; but the fine courtier saw this\nflow of water, and taking the hand of Maille--\n\n\"Brother,\" said he to him, \"I swear to thee on my honour as a man,\nthat before anyone lays a finger on thy wife, he shall have felt my\ndagger in the depth of his veins! And unless I should die, thou shalt\nfind her on thy return, intact in body if not in heart, because\nthought is beyond the control of gentlemen.\"\n\n\"It is then decreed above,\" exclaimed Maille, \"that I shall always be\nthy servant and thy debtor!\"\n\nThereupon the comrade departed, in order not to be inundated with the\ntears, exclamations, and other expressions of grief which ladies make\nuse of when saying \"Farewell.\" Lavalliere having conducted him to the\ngate of the town, came back to the hotel, waited until Marie\nd'Annebaut was out of bed, informed her of the departure of her good\nhusband, and offered to place himself at her orders, in such a\ngraceful manner, that the most virtuous woman would have been tickled\nwith a desire to keep such a knight to herself. But there was no need\nof this fine paternoster to indoctrinate the lady, seeing that she had\nlistened to the discourse of the two friends, and was greatly offended\nat her husband's doubt. Alas! God alone is perfect! In all the ideas\nof men there is always a bad side, and it is therefore a great science\nin life, but an impossible science, to take hold of everything, even a\nstick by the right end. The cause of the great difficulty there is in\npleasing the ladies is, that there is it in them a thing which is more\nwoman than they are, and but for the respect which is due to them, I\nwould use another word. Now we should never awaken the phantasy of\nthis malevolent thing. The perfect government of woman is a task to\nrend a man's heart, and we are compelled to remain in perfect\nsubmission to them; that is, I imagine, the best manner in which to\nsolve the most agonising enigma of marriage.\n\nNow Marie d'Annebaut was delighted with the bearing and offers of this\ngallant; but there was something in her smile which indicated a\nmalicious idea, and, to speak plainly, the intention of putting her\nyoung guardian between honour and pleasure; to regale him so with\nlove, to surround him with so many little attentions, to pursue him\nwith such warm glances, that he would be faithless to friendship, to\nthe advantage of gallantry.\n\nEverything was in perfect trim for the carrying out of her design,\nbecause of the companionship which the Sire de Lavalliere would be\nobliged to have with her during his stay in the hotel, and as there is\nnothing in the world can turn a woman from her whim, at every turn the\nartful jade was ready to catch him in a trap.\n\nAt times she would make him remain seated near her by the fire, until\ntwelve o'clock at night, singing soft refrains, and at every\nopportunity showed her fair shoulders, and the white temptations of\nwhich her corset was full, and casting upon him a thousand piercing\nglances, all without showing in her face the thoughts that surged in\nher brain.\n\nAt times she would walk with him in the morning, in the gardens of the\nhotel, leaning heavily upon his arm, pressing it, sighing, and making\nhim tie the laces of her little shoes, which were always coming undone\nin that particular place. Then it would be those soft words and things\nwhich the ladies understand so well, little attentions paid to a\nguest, such as coming in to see if he were comfortable, if his bed\nwere well made, the room clean, if the ventilation were good, if he\nfelt any draughts in the night, if the sun came in during the day, and\nasking him to forgo none of his usual fancies and habits, saying--\n\n\"Are you accustomed to take anything in the morning in bed, such as\nhoney, milk, or spice? Do the meal times suit you? I will conform mine\nto yours: tell me. You are afraid to ask me. Come--\"\n\nShe accompanied these coddling little attentions with a hundred\naffected speeches; for instance, on coming into the room she would\nsay--\n\n\"I am intruding, send me away. You want to be left alone--I will go.\"\nAnd always was she graciously invited to remain.\n\nAnd the cunning Madame always came lightly attired, showing samples of\nher beauty, which would have made a patriarch neigh, even were he as\nmuch battered by time as must have been Mr. Methusaleh, with his nine\nhundred and sixty years.\n\nThat good knight being as sharp as a needle, let the lady go on with\nher tricks, much pleased to see her occupy herself with him, since it\nwas so much gained; but like a loyal brother, he always called her\nabsent husband to the lady's mind.\n\nNow one evening--the day had been very warm--Lavalliere suspecting the\nlady's games, told her that Maille loved her dearly, that she had in\nhim a man of honour, a gentleman who doted on her, and was ticklish on\nthe score of his crown.\n\n\"Why then, if he is so ticklish in this manner, has he placed you\nhere?\"\n\n\"Was it not a most prudent thing?\" replied he. \"Was it not necessary\nto confide you to some defender of your virtue? Not that it needs one\nsave to protect you from wicked men.\"\n\n\"Then you are my guardian?\" said she.\n\n\"I am proud of it!\" exclaimed Lavalliere.\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"he has made a very bad choice.\"\n\nThis remark was accompanied by a little look, so lewdly lascivious\nthat the good brother-in-arms put on, by way of reproach, a severe\ncountenance, and left the fair lady alone, much piqued at this refusal\nto commence love's conflict.\n\nShe remained in deep meditation, and began to search for the real\nobstacle that she had encountered, for it was impossible that it\nshould enter the mind of any lady, that a gentleman could despise that\nbagatelle which is of such great price and so high value. Now these\nthoughts knitted and joined together so well, one fitting into the\nother, that out of little pieces she constructed a perfect whole, and\nfound herself desperately in love; which should teach the ladies never\nto play with a man's weapons, seeing that like glue, they always stick\nto the fingers.\n\nBy this means Marie d'Annebaut came to a conclusion which she should\nhave known at the commencement--viz., that to keep clear of her\nsnares, the good knight must be smitten with some other lady, and\nlooking round her, to see where her young guest could have found a\nneedle-case to his taste, she thought of the fair Limeuil, one of\nQueen Catherine's maids, of Mesdames de Nevers, d'Estree, and de Giac,\nall of whom were declared friends of Lavalliere, and of the lot he\nmust love one to distraction.\n\nFrom this belief, she added the motive of jealousy to the others which\ntempted her to seduce her Argus, whom she did not wish to wound, but\nto perfume, kiss his head, and treat kindly.\n\nShe was certainly more beautiful, young, and more appetising and\ngentle than her rivals; at least, that was the melodious decree of her\nimaginations. So, urged on by the chords and springs of conscience,\nand physical causes which affect women, she returned to the charge, to\ncommence a fresh assault upon the heart of the chevalier, for the\nladies like that which is well fortified.\n\nThen she played the pussy-cat, and nestled up close to him, became so\nsweetly sociable, and wheedled so gently, that one evening when she\nwas in a desponding state, although merry enough in her inmost soul,\nthe guardian-brother asked her--\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\"\n\nTo which she replied to him dreamily, being listened to by him as the\nsweetest music--\n\nThat she had married Maille against her heart's will, and that she was\nvery unhappy; that she knew not the sweets of love; that her husband\ndid not understand her, and that her life was full of tears. In fact,\nthat she was a maiden in heart and all, since she confessed in\nmarriage she had experienced nothing but the reverse of pleasure. And\nshe added, that surely this holy state should be full of sweetmeats\nand dainties of love, because all the ladies hurried into it, and\nhated and were jealous of those who out-bid them, for it cost certain\npeople pretty dear; that she was so curious about it that for one good\nday or night of love, she would give her life, and always be obedient\nto her lover without a murmur; but that he with whom she would sooner\nthan all others try the experiment would not listen to her; that,\nnevertheless, the secret of their love might be kept eternally, so\ngreat was her husband's confidence in him, and that finally if he\nstill refused it would kill her.\n\nAnd all these paraphrases of the common canticle known to the ladies\nat their birth were ejaculated between a thousand pauses, interrupted\nwith sighs torn from the heart, ornamented with quiverings, appeals to\nheaven, upturned eyes, sudden blushings and clutchings at her hair. In\nfact, no ingredient of temptation was lacking in the dish, and at the\nbottom of all these words there was a nipping desire which embellished\neven its blemishes. The good knight fell at the lady's feet, and\nweeping took them and kissed them, and you may be sure the good woman\nwas quite delighted to let him kiss them, and even without looking too\ncarefully to see what she was going to do, she abandoned her dress to\nhim, knowing well that to keep it from sweeping the ground it must be\ntaken at the bottom to raise it; but it was written that for that\nevening she should be good, for the handsome Lavalliere said to her\nwith despair--\n\n\"Ah, madame, I am an unfortunate man and a wretch.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said she.\n\n\"Alas, the joy of loving you is denied to me.\"\n\n\"How?\" said she.\n\n\"I dare not confess my situation to you!\"\n\n\"Is it then very bad?\"\n\n\"Ah, you will be ashamed of me!\"\n\n\"Speak, I will hide my face in my hands,\" and the cunning madame hid\nher face is such a way that she could look at her well-beloved between\nher fingers.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he, \"the other evening when you addressed me in such\ngracious words, I was so treacherously inflamed, that not knowing my\nhappiness to be so near, and not daring to confess my flame to you, I\nran to a Bordel where all the gentleman go, and there for love of you,\nand to save the honour of my brother whose head I should blush to\ndishonour, I was so badly infected that I am in great danger of dying\nof the Italian sickness.\"\n\nThe lady, seized with terror, gave vent to the cry of a woman in\nlabour, and with great emotion, repulsed him with a gentle little\ngesture. Poor Lavalliere, finding himself in so pitiable state, went\nout of the room, but he had not even reached the tapestries of the\ndoor, when Marie d'Annebaut again contemplated him, saying to herself,\n\"Ah! what a pity!\" Then she fell into a state of great melancholy,\npitying in herself the gentleman, and became the more in love with him\nbecause he was fruit three times forbidden.\n\n\"But for Maille,\" said she to him, one evening that she thought him\nhandsomer than unusual, \"I would willingly take your disease. Together\nwe should then have the same terrors.\"\n\n\"I love you too well,\" said the brother, \"not to be good.\"\n\nAnd he left her to go to his beautiful Limeuil. You can imagine that\nbeing unable to refuse to receive the burning glances of the lady,\nduring meal times, and the evenings, there was a fire nourished that\nwarmed them both, but she was compelled to live without touching her\ncavalier, otherwise than with her eyes. Thus occupied, Marie\nd'Annebaut was fortified at every point against the gallants of the\nCourt, for there are no bounds so impassable as those of love, and no\nbetter guardian; it is like the devil, he whom it has in its clutches\nit surrounds with flames. One evening, Lavalliere having escorted his\nfriend's wife to a dance given by Queen Catherine, he danced with the\nfair Limeuil, with whom he was madly in love. At that time the knights\ncarried on their amours bravely two by two, and even in troops. Now\nall the ladies were jealous of La Limeuil, who at that time was\nthinking of yielding to the handsome Lavalliere. Before taking their\nplaces in the quadrille, she had given him the sweetest of\nassignations for the morrow, during the hunt. Our great Queen\nCatherine, who from political motives fermented these loves and\nstirred them up, like pastrycooks make the oven fires burn by poking,\nglanced at all the pretty couples interwoven in the quadrille, and\nsaid to her husband--\n\n\"When they combat here, can they conspire against you, eh?\"\n\n\"Ah! but the Protestants?\"\n\n\"Bah! have them here as well,\" said she, laughing. \"Why, look at\nLavalliere, who is suspected to be a Huguenot; he is converted by my\ndear little Limeuil, who does not play her cards badly for a young\nlady of sixteen. He will soon have her name down in his list.\"\n\n\"Ah, Madame! do not believe it,\" said Marie d'Annebaut, \"he is ruined\nthrough that same sickness of Naples which made you queen.\"\n\nAt this artless confession, Catherine, the fair Diana, and the king,\nwho were sitting together, burst out laughing, and the thing ran round\nthe room. This brought endless shame and mockery upon Lavalliere. The\npoor gentleman, pointed at by everyone, soon wished somebody else in\nhis shoes, for La Limeuil, who his rivals had not been slow laughingly\nto warn of her danger, appeared to shrink from her lover, so rapid was\nthe spread, and so violent the apprehensions of this nasty disease.\nThus Lavalliere found himself abandoned by everyone like a leper. The\nking made an offensive remark, and the good knight quitted the\nball-room, followed by poor Marie in despair at the speech. She had in\nevery way ruined the man she loved: she had destroyed his honour, and\nmarred his life, since the physicians and master surgeons advance as a\nfact, incapable of contradiction, that persons Italianised by this\nlove sickness, lost through it their greatest attractions, as well as\ntheir generative powers, and their bones went black.\n\nThus no woman would bind herself in legitimate marriage with the\nfinest gentlemen in the kingdom if he were only suspected of being one\nof those whom Master Frances Rabelais named \"his very precious scabby\nones. . . . .\"\n\nAs the handsome knight was very silent and melancholy, his companion\nsaid to him on the road home from Hercules House, where the fete had\nbeen held--\n\n\"My dear lord, I have done you a great mischief.\"\n\n\"Ah, madame!\" replied Lavalliere, \"my hurt is curable; but into what a\npredicament have you fallen? You should not have been aware of the\ndanger of my love.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"I am sure now always to have you to myself; in\nexchange for this great obloquy and dishonour, I will be forever your\nfriend, your hostess, and your lady-love--more than that, your\nservant. My determination is to devote myself to you and efface the\ntraces of this shame; to cure you by a watch and ward; and if the\nlearned in these matters declare that the disease has such a hold of\nyou that it will kill you like our defunct sovereign, I must still\nhave your company in order to die gloriously in dying of your\ncomplaint. Even then,\" said she, weeping, \"that will not be penance\nenough to atone for the wrong I have done you.\"\n\nThese words were accompanied with big tears; her virtuous heart waxed\nfaint, she fell to the ground exhausted. Lavalliere, terrified, caught\nher and placed his hand upon her heart, below a breast of matchless\nbeauty. The lady revived at the warmth of this beloved hand,\nexperiencing such exquisite delights as nearly to make her again\nunconscious.\n\n\"Alas!\" said she, \"this sly and superficial caress will be for the\nfuture the only pleasure of our love. It will still be a hundred times\nbetter than the joys which poor Maille fancies he is bestowing on me.\n. . . Leave your hand there,\" said she; \"verily it is upon my soul,\nand touches it.\"\n\nAt these words the knight was in a pitiful plight, and innocently\nconfessed to the Lady that he experienced so much pleasure at this\ntouch that the pains of his malady increased, and that death was\npreferable to this martyrdom.\n\n\"Let us die then,\" said she.\n\nBut the litter was in the courtyard of the hotel, and as the means of\ndeath was not handy, each one slept far from the other, heavily\nweighed down with love, Lavalliere having lost his fair Limeuil, and\nMarie d'Annebaut having gained pleasures without parallel.\n\nFrom this affair, which was quite unforeseen, Lavalliere found himself\nunder the ban of love and marriage and dared no longer appear in\npublic, and he found how much it costs to guard the virtue of a woman;\nbut the more honour and virtue he displayed the more pleasure did he\nexperience in these great sacrifices offered at the shrine of\nbrotherhood. Nevertheless, his duty was very bitter, very ticklish,\nand intolerable to perform, towards the last days of his guard. And in\nthis way.\n\nThe confession of her love, which she believed was returned, the wrong\ndone by her to her cavalier, and the experience of an unknown\npleasure, emboldened the fair Marie, who fell into a platonic love,\ngently tempered with those little indulgences in which there is no\ndanger. From this cause sprang the diabolical pleasures of the game\ninvented by the ladies, who since the death of Francis the First\nfeared the contagion, but wished to gratify their lovers. To these\ncruel delights, in order to properly play his part, Lavalliere could\nnot refuse his sanction. Thus every evening the mournful Marie would\nattach her guest to her petticoats, holding his hand, kissing him with\nburning glances, her cheek placed gently against his, and during this\nvirtuous embrace, in which the knight was held like the devil by a\nholy water brush, she told him of her great love, which was boundless\nsince it stretched through the infinite spaces of unsatisfied desire.\nAll the fire with which the ladies endow their substantial amours,\nwhen the night has no other lights than their eyes, she transferred\ninto the mystic motions of her head, the exultations of her soul, and\nthe ecstasies of her heart. Then, naturally, and with the delicious\njoy of two angels united by thought alone, they intoned together those\nsweet litanies repeated by the lovers of the period in honour of\nlove--anthems which the abbot of Theleme has paragraphically saved\nfrom oblivion by engraving them on the walls of his Abbey, situated,\naccording to master Alcofribas, in our land of Chinon, where I have\nseen them in Latin, and have translated them for the benefit of\nChristians.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Marie d'Annebaut, \"thou art my strength and my life, my\njoy and my treasure.\"\n\n\"And you,\" replied he \"you are a pearl, an angel.\"\n\n\"Thou art my seraphim.\"\n\n\"You my soul.\"\n\n\"Thou my God.\"\n\n\"You my evening star and morning star, my honour, my beauty, my\nuniverse.\"\n\n\"Thou my great my divine master.\"\n\n\"You my glory, my faith, my religion.\"\n\n\"Thou my gentle one, my handsome one, my courageous one, my dear one,\nmy cavalier, my defender, my king, my love.\"\n\n\"You my fairy, the flower of my days, the dream of my nights.\"\n\n\"Thou my thought at every moment.\"\n\n\"You the delights of my eyes.\"\n\n\"Thou the voice of my soul.\"\n\n\"You my light by day.\"\n\n\"Thou my glimmer in the night.\"\n\n\"You the best beloved among women.\"\n\n\"Thou the most adored of men.\"\n\n\"You my blood, a myself better than myself.\"\n\n\"Thou art my heart, my lustre.\"\n\n\"You my saint, my only joy.\"\n\n\"I yield thee the palm of love, and how great so'er mine be, I believe\nthou lovest me still more, for thou art the lord.\"\n\n\"No; the palm is yours, my goddess, my Virgin Marie.\"\n\n\"No; I am thy servant, thine handmaiden, a nothing thou canst crush to\natoms.\"\n\n\"No, no! it is I who am your slave, your faithful page, whom you see\nas a breath of air, upon whom you can walk as on a carpet. My heart is\nyour throne.\"\n\n\"No, dearest, for thy voice transfigures me.\"\n\n\"Your regard burns me.\"\n\n\"I see but thee.\"\n\n\"I love but you.\"\n\n\"Oh! put thine hand upon my heart--only thine hand--and thou will see\nme pale, when my blood shall have taken the heat of thine.\"\n\nThen during these struggles their eyes, already ardent, flamed still\nmore brightly, and the good knight was a little the accomplice of the\npleasure which Marie d'Annebaut took in feeling his hand upon her\nheart. Now, as in this light embrace all their strength was put forth,\nall their desires strained, all their ideas of the thing concentrated,\nit happened that the knight's transport reached a climax. Their eyes\nwept warm tears, they seized each other hard and fast as fire seizes\nhouses; but that was all. Lavalliere had promised to return safe and\nsound to his friend the body only, not the heart.\n\nWhen Maille announced his return, it was quite time, since no virtue\ncould avoid melting upon this gridiron; and the less licence the\nlovers had, the more pleasure they had in their fantasies.\n\nLeaving Marie d'Annebaut, the good companion in arms went as far as\nBondy to meet his friend, to help him to pass through the forest\nwithout accident, and the two brothers slept together, according to\nthe ancient custom, in the village of Bondy.\n\nThere, in their bed, they recounted to each other, one of the\nadventures of his journey, the other the gossip of the camp, stories\nof gallantry, and the rest. But Maille's first question was touching\nMarie d'Annebaut, whom Lavalliere swore to be intact in that precious\nplace where the honour of husbands is lodged; at which the amorous\nMaille was highly delighted.\n\nOn the morrow, they were all three re-united, to the great disgust of\nMarie, who, with the high jurisprudence of women, made a great fuss\nwith her good husband, but with her finger she indicated her heart in\nan artless manner to Lavalliere, as one who said, \"This is thine!\"\n\nAt supper Lavalliere announced his departure for the wars. Maille was\nmuch grieved at this resolution, and wished to accompany his brother;\nthat Lavalliere refused him point blank.\n\n\"Madame,\" said he to Marie d'Annebaut, \"I love you more than life, but\nnot more than honour.\"\n\nHe turned pale saying this, and Madame de Maille blanched hearing him,\nbecause never in their amorous dalliance had there been so much true\nlove as in this speech. Maille insisted on keeping his friend company\nas far as Meaux. When he came back he was talking over with his wife\nthe unknown reasons and secret causes of this departure, when Marie,\nwho suspected the grief of poor Lavalliere said, \"I know: he is\nashamed to stop here because he has the Neapolitan sickness.\"\n\n\"He!\" said Maille, quite astonished. \"I saw him when we were in bed\ntogether at Bondy the other evening, and yesterday at Meaux. There's\nnothing the matter with him; he is as sound as a bell.\"\n\nThe lady burst into tears, admiring this great loyalty, the sublime\nresignation to his oath, and the extreme sufferings of this internal\npassion. But as she still kept her love in the recesses of her heart,\nshe died when Lavalliere fell before Metz, as has been elsewhere\nrelated by Messire Bourdeilles de Brantome in his tittle-tattle.\n\n\n\n                    THE VICAR OF AZAY-LE-RIDEAU\n\nIn those days the priests no longer took any woman in legitimate\nmarriage, but kept good mistresses as pretty as they could get; which\ncustom has since been interdicted by the council, as everyone knows,\nbecause, indeed, it was not pleasant that the private confessions of\npeople should be retold to a wench who would laugh at them, besides\nthe other secret doctrines, ecclesiastical arrangements, and\nspeculations which are part and parcel of the politics of the Church\nof Rome. The last priest in our country who theologically kept a woman\nin his parsonage, regaling her with his scholastic love, was a certain\nvicar of Azay-le-Ridel, a place later on most aptly named as\nAzay-le-Brule, and now Azay-le-Rideau, whose castle is one of the\nmarvels of Touraine. Now this said period, when the women were not\naverse to the odour of the priesthood, is not so far distant as some\nmay think, Monsieur D'Orgemont, son of the preceding bishop, still\nheld the see of Paris, and the great quarrels of the Armagnacs had not\nfinished. To tell the truth, this vicar did well to have his vicarage\nin that age, since he was well shapen, of a high colour, stout, big,\nstrong, eating and drinking like a convalescent, and indeed, was\nalways rising from a little malady that attacked him at certain times;\nand, later on, he would have been his own executioner, had he\ndetermined to observe his canonical continence. Add to this that he\nwas a Tourainian, id est, dark, and had in his eyes flame to light,\nand water to quench all the domestic furnaces that required lighting\nor quenching; and never since at Azay has been such vicar seen! A\nhandsome vicar was he, square-shouldered, fresh , always\nblessing and chuckling, preferred weddings and christenings to\nfunerals, a good joker, pious in Church, and a man in everything.\nThere have been many vicars who have drunk well and eaten well; others\nwho have blessed abundantly and chuckled consumedly; but all of them\ntogether would hardly make up the sterling worth of this aforesaid\nvicar; and he alone has worthily filled his post with benedictions,\nhas held it with joy, and in it has consoled the afflicted, all so\nwell, that no one saw him come out of his house without wishing to be\nin his heart, so much was he beloved. It was he who first said in a\nsermon that the devil was not so black as he was painted, and who for\nMadame de Cande transformed partridges into fish saying that the perch\nof the Indre were partridges of the river, and, on the other hand,\npartridges perch in the air. He never played artful tricks under the\ncloak of morality, and often said, jokingly, he would rather be in a\ngood bed then in anybody's will, that he had plenty of everything, and\nwanted nothing. As for the poor and suffering, never did those who\ncame to ask for wool at the vicarage go away shorn, for his hand was\nalways in his pocket, and he melted (he who in all else was so firm)\nat the sight of all this misery and infirmity, and he endeavoured to\nheal all their wounds. There have been many good stories told\nconcerning this king of vicars. It was he who caused such hearty\nlaughter at the wedding of the lord of Valennes, near Sacche. The\nmother of the said lord had a good deal to do with the victuals, roast\nmeats and other delicacies, of which there was sufficient quantity to\nfeed a small town at least, and it is true, at the same time, that\npeople came to the wedding from Montbazon, from Tours, from Chinon,\nfrom Langeais, and from everywhere, and stopped eight days.\n\nNow the good vicar, as he was going into the room where the company\nwere enjoying themselves, met the little kitchen boy, who wished to\ninform Madame that all the elementary substances and fat rudiments,\nsyrups, and sauces, were in readiness for a pudding of great delicacy,\nthe secret compilation, mixing, and manipulation of which she wished\nherself to superintend, intending it as a special treat for her\ndaughter-in-law's relations. Our vicar gave the boy a tap on the\ncheek, telling him that he was too greasy and dirty to show himself to\npeople of high rank, and that he himself would deliver the said\nmessage. The merry fellow pushes open the door, shapes the fingers of\nhis left hand into the form of a sheath, and moves gently therein the\nmiddle finger of his right, at the same time looking at the lady of\nValennes, and saying to her, \"Come, all is ready.\" Those who did not\nunderstand the affair burst out laughing to see Madame get up and go\nto the vicar, because she knew he referred to the pudding, and not to\nthat which the others imagined.\n\nBut a true story is that concerning the manner in which this worthy\npastor lost his mistress, to whom the ecclesiastical authorities\nallowed no successor; but, as for that, the vicar did not want for\ndomestic utensils. In the parish everyone thought it an honour to lend\nhim theirs, the more readily because he was not the man to spoil\nanything, and was careful to clean them out thoroughly, the dear man.\nBut here are the facts. One evening the good man came home to supper\nwith a melancholy face, because he had just put into the ground a good\nfarmer, whose death came about in a strange manner, and is still\nfrequently talked about in Azay. Seeing that he only ate with the end\nof his teeth, and turned up his nose at a dish of tripe, which had\nbeen cooked in his own special manner, his good woman said to him--\n\n\"Have you passed before the Lombard (see _Master Cornelius, passim_), met\ntwo black crows, or seen the dead man turn in his grave, that you are\nso upset?\"\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\"\n\n\"Has anyone deceived you?\"\n\n\"Ha! Ha!\"\n\n\"Come, tell me!\"\n\n\"My dear, I am still quite overcome at the death of poor Cochegrue,\nand there is not at the present moment a good housewife's tongue or a\nvirtuous cuckold's lips that are not talking about it.\"\n\n\"And what was it?\"\n\n\"Listen! This poor Cochegrue was returning from market, having sold\nhis corn and two fat pigs. He was riding his pretty mare, who, near\nAzay, commenced to caper about without the slightest cause, and poor\nCochegrue trotted and ambled along counting his profits. At the corner\nof the old road of the Landes de Charlemagne, they came upon a\nstallion kept by the Sieur de la Carte, in a field, in order to have a\ngood breed of horses, because the said animal was fleet of foot, as\nhandsome as an abbot, and so high and mighty that the admiral who came\nto see it, said it was a beast of the first quality. This cursed horse\nscented the pretty mare; like a cunning beast, neither neighed nor\ngave vent to any equine ejaculation, but when she was close to the\nroad, leaped over forty rows of vines and galloped after her, pawing\nthe ground with his iron shoes, discharging the artillery of a lover\nwho longs for an embrace, giving forth sounds to set the strongest\nteeth on edge, and so loudly, that the people of Champy heard it and\nwere much terrified thereat.\n\n\"Cochegrue, suspecting the affair, makes for the moors, spurs his\namorous mare, relying upon her rapid pace, and indeed, the good mare\nunderstands, obeys, and flies--flies like a bird, but a bowshot off\nfollows the blessed horse, thundering along the road like a blacksmith\nbeating iron, and at full speed, his mane flying in the wind, replying\nto the sound of the mare's swift gallop with his terrible pat-a-pan!\npat-a-pan! Then the good farmer, feeling death following him in the\nlove of the beast, spurs anew his mare, and harder still she gallops,\nuntil at last, pale and half dead with fear, he reaches the outer yard\nof his farmhouse, but finding the door of the stable shut he cries,\n'Help here! Wife!' Then he turned round on his mare, thinking to avoid\nthe cursed beast whose love was burning, who was wild with passion,\nand growing more amorous every moment, to the great danger of the\nmare. His family, horrified at the danger, did not go to open the\nstable door, fearing the strange embrace and the kicks of the\niron-shod lover. At last, Cochegrue's wife went, but just as the good\nmare was half way through the door, the cursed stallion seized her,\nsqueezed her, gave her a wild greeting, with his two legs gripped her,\npinched her and held her tight, and at the same time so kneaded and\nknocked about Cochegrue that there was only found of him a shapeless\nmass, crushed like a nut after the oil has been distilled from it. It\nwas shocking to see him squashed alive and mingling his cries with the\nloud love-sighs of the horse.\"\n\n\"Oh! the mare!\" exclaimed the vicar's good wench.\n\n\"What!\" said the priest astonished.\n\n\"Certainly. You men wouldn't have cracked a plumstone for us.\"\n\n\"There,\" answered the vicar, \"you wrong me.\" The good man threw her so\nangrily upon the bed, attacked and treated her so violently that she\nsplit into pieces, and died immediately without either surgeons or\nphysicians being able to determine the manner in which the solution of\ncontinuity was arrived at, so violently disjointed were the hinges and\nmesial partitions. You can imagine that he was a proud man, and a\nsplendid vicar as has been previously stated.\n\nThe good people of the country, even the women, agreed that he was not\nto blame, but that his conduct was warranted by the circumstances.\n\nFrom this, perhaps, came the proverb so much in use at that time, Que\nl'aze le saille! The which proverb is really so much coarser in its\nactual wording, that out of respect for the ladies I will not mention\nit. But this was not the only clever thing that this great and noble\nvicar achieved, for before this misfortune he did such a stroke of\nbusiness that no robbers dare ask him how many angels he had in his\npocket, even had they been twenty strong and over to attack him. One\nevening when his good woman was still with him, after supper, during\nwhich he had enjoyed his goose, his wench, his wine, and everything,\nand was reclining in his chair thinking where he could build a new\nbarn for the tithes, a message came for him from the lord of Sacche,\nwho was giving up the ghost and wished to reconcile himself with God,\nreceive the sacrament, and go through the usual ceremonies. \"He is a\ngood man and loyal lord. I will go.\" said he. Thereupon he passed into\nthe church, took the silver box where the blessed bread is, rang the\nlittle bell himself in order not to wake the clerk, and went lightly\nand willingly along the roads. Near the Gue-droit, which is a valley\nleading to the Indre across the moors, our good vicar perceived a high\ntoby. And what is a high toby? It is a clerk of St. Nicholas. Well,\nwhat is that? That means a person who sees clearly on a dark night,\ninstructs himself by examining and turning over purses, and takes his\ndegrees on the high road. Do you understand now? Well then, the high\ntoby waited for the silver box, which he knew to be of great value.\n\n\"Oh! oh!\" said the priest, putting down the sacred vase on a stone at\nthe corner of the bridge, \"stop thou there without moving.\"\n\nThen he walked up to the robber, tipped him up, seized his loaded\nstick, and when the rascal got up to struggle with him, he gutted him\nwith a blow well planted in the middle of his stomach. Then he picked\nup the viaticum again, saying bravely to it: \"Ah! If I had relied upon\nthy providence, we should have been lost.\" Now to utter these impious\nwords on the road to Sacche was mere waste of breath, seeing that he\naddressed them not to God, but to the Archbishop of Tours, who have\nonce severely rebuked him, threatened him with suspension, and\nadmonished him before the Chapter for having publicly told certain\nlazy people that a good harvest was not due to the grace of God, but\nto skilled labour and hard work--a doctrine which smelt of the fagot.\nAnd indeed he was wrong, because the fruits of the earth have need\nboth of one and the other; but he died in this heresy, for he could\nnever understand how crops could come without digging, if God so\nwilled it--a doctrine that learned men have since proved to be true,\nby showing that formerly wheat grew very well without the aid of man.\nI cannot leave this splendid model of a pastor without giving here one\nof the acts of his life, which proves with what fervour he imitated\nthe saints in the division of their goods and mantles, which they gave\nformerly to the poor and the passers-by. One day, returning from\nTours, where he had been paying his respects to the official, mounted\non his mule, he was nearing Azay. On the way, just out side Ballan, he\nmet a pretty girl on foot, and was grieved to see a woman travelling\nlike a dog; the more so as she was visibly fatigued, and could\nscarcely raise one foot before the other. He whistled to her softly,\nand the pretty wench turned round and stopped. The good priest, who\nwas too good a sportsman to frighten the birds, especially the hooded\nones, begged her so gently to ride behind him on his mule, and in so\npolite a fashion, that the lass got up; not without making those\nlittle excuses and grimaces that they all make when one invites them\nto eat, or to take what they like. The sheep paired off with the\nshepherd, the mule jogged along after the fashion of mules, while the\ngirl slipped now this way now that, riding so uncomfortably that the\npriest pointed out to her, after leaving Ballan, that she had better\nhold on to him; and immediately my lady put her plump arms around the\nwaist of her cavalier, in a modest and timorous manner.\n\n\"There, you don't slip about now. Are you comfortable?\" said the\nvicar.\n\n\"Yes, I am comfortable. Are you?\"\n\n\"I?\" said the priest, \"I am better than that.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, he was quite at his ease, and was soon gently warmed in\nthe back by two projections which rubbed against it, and at last\nseemed as though they wished to imprint themselves between his\nshoulder blades, which would have been a pity, as that was not the\nplace for this white merchandise. By degrees the movement of mule\nbrought into conjunction the internal warmth of these two good riders,\nand their blood coursed more quickly through their veins, seeing that\nit felt the motion of the mule as well as their own; and thus the good\nwench and the vicar finished by knowing each other's thoughts, but not\nthose of the mule. When they were both acclimatised, he with her and\nshe with him, they felt an internal disturbance which resolved itself\ninto secret desires.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the vicar, turning round to his companion, \"here is a fine\ncluster of trees which has grown very thick.\"\n\n\"It is too near the road,\" replied the girl. \"Bad boys have cut the\nbranches, and the cows have eaten the young leaves.\"\n\n\"Are you not married?\" asked the vicar, trotting his animal again.\n\n\"No,\" said she.\n\n\"Not at all?\"\n\n\"I'faith! No!\"\n\n\"What a shame, at your age!\"\n\n\"You are right, sir; but you see, a poor girl who has had a child is a\nbad bargain.\"\n\nThen the good vicar taking pity on such ignorance, and knowing that\nthe canons say among other things that pastors should indoctrinate\ntheir flock and show them the duties and responsibilities of this\nlife, he thought he would only be discharging the functions of his\noffice by showing her the burden she would have one day to bear. Then\nhe begged her gently not be afraid, for if she would have faith in his\nloyalty no one should ever know of the marital experiment which he\nproposed then and there to perform with her; and as, since passing\nBallan the girl had thought of nothing else; as her desire had been\ncarefully sustained, and augmented by the warm movements of the\nanimal, she replied harshly to the vicar, \"if you talk thus I will get\ndown.\" Then the good vicar continued his gentle requests so well that\non reaching the wood of Azay the girl wished to get down, and the\npriest got down there too, for it was not across a horse that this\ndiscussion could be finished. Then the virtuous maiden ran into the\nthickest part of the wood to get away from the vicar, calling out,\n\"Oh, you wicked man, you shan't know where I am.\"\n\nThe mule arrived in a glade where the grass was good, the girl tumbled\ndown over a root and blushed. The good vicar came to her, and there as\nhe had rung the bell for mass he went through the service for her, and\nboth freely discounted the joys of paradise. The good priest had it in\nhis heart to thoroughly instruct her, and found his pupil very docile,\nas gentle in mind as soft in the flesh, a perfect jewel. Therefore was\nhe much aggrieved at having so much abridged the lessons by giving it\nat Azay, seeing that he would have been quite willing to recommence\nit, like all of precentors who say the same thing over and over again\nto their pupils.\n\n\"Ah! little one,\" cried the good man, \"why did you make so much fuss\nthat we only came to an understanding close to Azay?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"I belong to Bellan.\"\n\nTo be brief, I must tell you that when this good man died in his\nvicarage there was a great number of people, children and others, who\ncame, sorrowful, afflicted, weeping, and grieved, and all exclaimed,\n\"Ah! we have lost our father.\" And the girls, the widows, the wives\nand little girls looked at each other, regretting him more than a\nfriend, and said, \"He was more than a priest, he was a man!\" Of these\nvicars the seed is cast to the winds, and they will never be\nreproduced in spite of the seminaries.\n\nWhy, even the poor, to whom his savings were left, found themselves\nstill the losers, and an old <DW36> whom he had succoured hobbled\ninto the churchyard, crying \"I don't die! I don't!\" meaning to say,\n\"Why did not death take me in his place?\" This made some of the people\nlaugh, at which the shade of the good vicar would certainly not have\nbeen displeased.\n\n\n\n                            THE REPROACH\n\nThe fair laundress of Portillon-les-Tours, of whom a droll saying has\nalready been given in this book, was a girl blessed with as much\ncunning as if she had stolen that of six priests and three women at\nleast. She did not want for sweethearts, and had so many that one\nwould have compared them, seeing them around her, to bees swarming of\nan evening towards their hive. An old silk dyer, who lived in the Rue\nSt. Montfumier, and there possessed a house of scandalous\nmagnificence, coming from his place at La Grenadiere, situated on the\nfair borders of St. Cyr, passed on horseback through Portillon in\norder to gain the Bridge of Tours. By reason of the warmth of the\nevening, he was seized with a wild desire on seeing the pretty\nwasherwoman sitting upon her door-step. Now as for a very long time he\nhad dreamed of this pretty maid, his resolution was taken to make her\nhis wife, and in a short time she was transformed from a washerwoman\ninto a dyer's wife, a good townswoman, with laces, fine linen, and\nfurniture to spare, and was happy in spite of the dyer, seeing that\nshe knew very well how to manage him. The good dyer had for a crony a\nsilk machinery manufacturer who was small in stature, deformed for\nlife, and full of wickedness. So on the wedding-day he said to the\ndyer, \"You have done well to marry, my friend, we shall have a pretty\nwife!\"; and a thousand sly jokes, such as it is usual to address to a\nbridegroom.\n\nIn fact, this hunchback courted the dyer's wife, who from her nature,\ncaring little for badly built people, laughed to scorn the request of\nthe mechanician, and joked him about the springs, engines, and spools\nof which his shop was full. However, this great love of the hunchback\nwas rebuffed by nothing, and became so irksome to the dyer's wife that\nshe resolved to cure it by a thousand practical jokes. One evening,\nafter the sempiternal pursuit, she told her lover to come to the back\ndoor and towards midnight she would open everything to him. Now note,\nthis was on a winter's night; the Rue St. Montfumier is close to the\nLoire, and in this corner there continually blow in winter, winds\nsharp as a hundred needle-points. The good hunchback, well muffled up\nin his mantle, failed not to come, and trotted up and down to keep\nhimself warm while waiting for the appointed hour. Towards midnight he\nwas half frozen, as fidgety as thirty-two devils caught in a stole,\nand was about to give up his happiness, when a feeble light passed by\nthe cracks of the window and came down towards the little door.\n\n\"Ah, it is she!\" said he.\n\nAnd this hope warned him once more. Then he got close to the door, and\nheard a little voice--\n\n\"Are you there?\" said the dyer's wife to him.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Cough, that I may see.\"\n\nThe hunchback began to cough.\n\n\"It is not you.\"\n\nThen the hunchback said aloud--\n\n\"How do you mean, it is not I? Do you not recognise my voice? Open the\ndoor!\"\n\n\"Who's there?\" said the dyer, opening the window.\n\n\"There, you have awakened my husband, who returned from Amboise\nunexpectedly this evening.\"\n\nThereupon the dyer, seeing by the light of the moon a man at the door,\nthrew a big pot of cold water over him, and cried out, \"Thieves!\nthieves!\" in such a manner that the hunchback was forced to run away;\nbut in his fear he failed to clear the chain stretched across the\nbottom of the road and fell into the common sewer, which the sheriff\nhad not then replaced by a sluice to discharge the mud into the Loire.\nIn this bath the mechanician expected every moment to breathe his\nlast, and cursed the fair Tascherette, for her husband's name being\nTaschereau, she was so called by way of a little joke by the people of\nTours.\n\nCarandas--for so was named the manufacturer of machines to weave, to\nspin, to spool, and to wind the silk--was not sufficiently smitten to\nbelieve in the innocence of the dyer's wife, and swore a devilish hate\nagainst her. But some days afterwards, when he had recovered from his\nwetting in the dyer's drain he came up to sup with his old comrade.\nThen the dyer's wife reasoned with him so well, flavoured her words\nwith so much honey, and wheedled him with so many fair promises, that\nhe dismissed his suspicions.\n\nHe asked for a fresh assignation, and the fair Tascherette with the\nface of a woman whose mind is dwelling on a subject, said to him,\n\"Come tomorrow evening; my husband will be staying some days at\nChinonceaux. The queen wishes to have some of her old dresses dyed and\nwould settle the colours with him. It will take some time.\"\n\nCarandas put on his best clothes, failed not to keep the appointment,\nappeared at the time fixed, and found a good supper prepared,\nlampreys, wine of Vouvray, fine white napkins--for it was not\nnecessary to remonstrate with the dyer's wife on the colour of her\nlinen--and everything so well prepared that it was quite pleasant to\nhim to see the dishes of fresh eels, to smell the good odour of the\nmeats, and to admire a thousand little nameless things about the room,\nand La Tascherette fresh and appetising as an apple on a hot day. Now,\nthe mechanician, excited to excess by these warm preparations, was on\nthe point of attacking the charms of the dyer's wife, when Master\nTaschereau gave a loud knock at the street door.\n\n\"Ha!\" said madame, \"what has happened? Put yourself in the clothes\nchest, for I have been much abused respecting you; and if my husband\nfinds you, he may undo you; he is so violent in his temper.\"\n\nAnd immediately she thrust the hunchback into the chest, and went\nquickly to her good husband, whom she knew well would be back from\nChinonceaux to supper. Then the dyer was kissed warmly on both his\neyes and on both his ears and he caught his good wife to him and\nbestowed upon her two hearty smacks with his lips that sounded all\nover the room. Then the pair sat down to supper, talked together and\nfinished by going to bed; and the mechanician heard all, though\nobliged to remain crumpled up, and not to cough or to make a single\nmovement. He was in with the linen, crushed up as close as a sardine\nin a box, and had about as much air as he would have had at the bottom\nof a river; but he had, to divert him, the music of love, the sighs of\nthe dyer, and the little jokes of La Tascherette. At last, when he\nfancied his old comrade was asleep, he made an attempt to get out of\nthe chest.\n\n\"Who is there?\" said the dyer.\n\n\"What is the matter my little one?\" said his wife, lifting her nose\nabove the counterpane.\n\n\"I heard a scratching,\" said the good man.\n\n\"We shall have rain to-morrow; it's the cat,\" replied his wife.\n\nThe good husband put his head back upon the pillow after having been\ngently embraced by his spouse. \"There, my dear, you are a light\nsleeper. It's no good trying to make a proper husband of you. There,\nbe good. Oh! oh! my little papa, your nightcap is on one side. There,\nput it on the other way, for you must look pretty even when you are\nasleep. There! are you all right?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are you sleep?\" said she, giving him a kiss.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nIn the morning the dyer's wife came softly and let out the\nmechanician, who was whiter than a ghost.\n\n\"Give me air, give me air!\" said he.\n\nAnd away he ran cured of his love, but with as much hate in his heart\nas a pocket could hold of black wheat. The said hunchback left Tours\nand went to live in the town of Bruges, where certain merchants had\nsent for him to arrange the machinery for making hauberks.\n\nDuring his long absence, Carandas, who had Moorish blood in his veins,\nsince he was descended from an ancient Saracen left half dead after\nthe great battle which took place between the Moors and the French in\nthe commune of Bellan (which is mentioned in the preceding tale), in\nwhich place are the Landes of Charlemagne, where nothing grows because\nof the cursed wretches and infidels there interred, and where the\ngrass disagrees even with the cows--this Carandas never rose up or lay\ndown in a foreign land without thinking of how he could give strength\nto his desires of vengeance; and he was dreaming always of it, and\nwishing nothing less than the death of the fair washerwoman of\nPortillon and often would cry out \"I will eat her flesh! I will cook\none of her breasts, and swallow it without sauce!\" It was a tremendous\nhate of good constitution--a cardinal hate--a hate of a wasp or an old\nmaid. It was all known hates moulded into one single hate, which\nboiled itself, concocted itself, and resolved self into an elixir of\nwicked and diabolical sentiments, warmed at the fire of the most\nflaming furnaces of hell--it was, in fact, a master hate.\n\nNow one fine day, the said Carandas came back into Touraine with much\nwealth, that he brought from the country of Flanders, where he had\nsold his mechanical secrets. He bought a splendid house in Rue St.\nMontfumier, which is still to be seen, and is the astonishment of the\npassers-by, because it has certain very queer round humps fashioned\nupon the stones of the wall. Carandas, the hater, found many notable\nchanges at the house of his friend, the dyer, for the good man had two\nsweet children, who, by a curious chance, presented no resemblance\neither to the mother or to the father. But as it is necessary that\nchildren bear a resemblance to someone, there are certain people who\nlook for the features of their ancestors, when they are\ngood-looking--the flatters. So it was found by the good husband that\nhis two boys were like one of his uncles, formerly a priest at Notre\nDame de l'Egrignolles, but according to certain jokers, these two\nchildren were the living portraits of a good-looking shaven crown\nofficiating in the Church of Notre Dame la Riche, a celebrated parish\nsituated between Tours and Plessis. Now, believe one thing, and\ninculcate it upon your minds, and when in this book you shall only\nhave gleaned, gathered, extracted, and learned this one principle of\ntruth, look upon yourself as a lucky man--namely, that a man can never\ndispense with his nose, id est, that a man will always be snotty--that\nis to say, he will remain a man, and thus will continue throughout all\nfuture centuries to laugh and drink, to find himself in his shirt\nwithout feeling either better or worse there, and will have the same\noccupations. But these preparatory ideas are to better to fix in the\nunderstanding that this two-footed soul will always accept as true\nthose things which flatter his passions, caress his hates, or serve\nhis amours: from this comes logic. So it was that, the first day the\nabove-mentioned Carandas saw his old comrade's children, saw the\nhandsome priest, saw the beautiful wife of the dyer, saw La\nTaschereau, all seated at the table, and saw to his detriment the best\npiece of lamprey given with a certain air by La Tascherette to her\nfriend the priest, the mechanician said to himself, \"My old friend is\na cuckold, his wife intrigues with the little confessor, and the\nchildren have been begotten with his holy water. I'll show them that\nthe hunchbacks have something more than other men.\"\n\nAnd this was true--true as it is that Tours has always had its feet in\nthe Loire, like a pretty girl who bathes herself and plays with the\nwater, making a flick-flack, by beating the waves with her fair white\nhands; for the town is more smiling, merry, loving, fresh, flowery,\nand fragrant than all the other towns of the world, which are not\nworthy to comb her locks or to buckle her waistband. And be sure if\nyou go there you will find, in the centre of it, a sweet place, in\nwhich is a delicious street where everyone promenades, where there is\nalways a breeze, shade, sun, rain, and love. Ha! ha! laugh away, but\ngo there. It is a street always new, always royal, always imperial--a\npatriotic street, a street with two paths, a street open at both ends,\na wide street, a street so large that no one has ever cried, \"Out of\nthe way!\" there. A street which does not wear out, a street which\nleads to the abbey of Grand-mont, and to a trench, which works very\nwell with the bridge, and at the end of which is a finer fair ground.\nA street well paved, well built, well washed, as clean as a glass,\npopulous, silent at certain times, a coquette with a sweet nightcap on\nits pretty blue tiles--to be short, it is the street where I was born;\nit is the queen of streets, always between the earth and sky; a street\nwith a fountain; a street which lacks nothing to be celebrated among\nstreets; and, in fact, it is the real street, the only street of\nTours. If there are others, they are dark, muddy, narrow, and damp,\nand all come respectfully to salute this noble street, which commands\nthem. Where am I? For once in this street no one cares to come out of\nit, so pleasant it is. But I owed this filial homage, this descriptive\nhymn sung from the heart to my natal street, at the corners of which\nthere are wanting only the brave figures of my good master Rabelais,\nand of Monsieur Descartes, both unknown to the people of the country.\nTo resume: the said Carandas was, on his return from Flanders,\nentertained by his comrade, and by all those by whom he was liked for\nhis jokes, his drollery, and quaint remarks. The good hunchback\nappeared cured of his old love, embraced the children, and when he was\nalone with the dyer's wife, recalled the night in the clothes-chest,\nand the night in the sewer, to her memory, saying to her, \"Ha, ha!\nwhat games you used to have with me.\"\n\n\"It was your own fault,\" said she, laughing. \"If you had allowed\nyourself by reason of your great love to be ridiculed, made a fool of,\nand bantered a few more times, you might have made an impression on\nme, like the others.\" Thereupon Carandas commenced to laugh, though\ninwardly raging all the time. Seeing the chest where he had nearly\nbeen suffocated, his anger increased the more violently because the\nsweet creature had become still more beautiful, like all those who are\npermanently youthful from bathing in the water of youth, which waters\nare naught less than the sources of love. The mechanician studied the\nproceedings in the way of cuckoldom at his neighbour's house, in order\nto revenge himself, for as many houses as there are so many varieties\nof manner are there in this business; and although all amours resemble\neach other in the same manner that all men resemble each other, it is\nproved to the abstractors of true things, that for the happiness of\nwomen, each love has its especial physiognomy, and if there is nothing\nthat resembles a man so much as a man, there is also nothing differs\nfrom a man so much as a man. That it is, which confuses all things, or\nexplains the thousand fancies of women, who seek the best men with a\nthousand pains and a thousand pleasures, perhaps more the one than the\nother. But how can I blame them for their essays, changes, and\ncontradictory aims? Why, Nature frisks and wriggles, twists and turns\nabout, and you expect a woman to remain still! Do you know if ice is\nreally cold? No. Well then, neither do you know that cuckoldom is not\na lucky chance, the produce of brains well furnished and better made\nthan all the others. Seek something better than ventosity beneath the\nsky. This will help to spread the philosophic reputation of this\neccentric book. Oh yes; go on. He who cries \"vermin powder,\" is more\nadvanced than those who occupy themselves with Nature, seeing that she\nis a proud jade and a capricious one, and only allows herself to be\nseen at certain times. Do you understand? So in all languages does she\nbelong to the feminine gender, being a thing essentially changeable\nand fruitful and fertile in tricks.\n\nNow Carandas soon recognised the fact that among cuckoldoms the best\nunderstood and the most discreet is ecclesiastical cuckoldom. This is\nhow the good dyer's wife had laid her plans. She went always towards\nher cottage at Grenadiere-les-St.-Cyr on the eve of the Sabbath,\nleaving her good husband to finish his work, to count up and check his\nbooks, and to pay his workmen; then Taschereau would join her there on\nthe morrow, and always found a good breakfast ready and his good wife\ngay, and always brought the priest with him. The fact is, this\ndamnable priest crossed the Loire the night before in a small boat, in\norder to keep the dyer's wife warm, and to calm her fancies, in order\nthat she might sleep well during the night, a duty which young men\nunderstand very well. Then this fine curber of phantasies got back to\nhis house in the morning by the time Taschereau came to invite him to\nspend the day at La Grenadiere, and the cuckold always found the\npriest asleep in his bed. The boatman being well paid, no one knew\nanything of these goings on, for the lover journeyed the night before\nafter night fall, and on the Sunday in the early morning. As soon as\nCarandas had verified the arrangement and constant practice of these\ngallant diversions, he determined to wait for a day when the lovers\nwould meet, hungry one for the other, after some accidental\nabstinence. This meeting took place very soon, and the curious\nhunchback saw the boatman waiting below the square, at the Canal St.\nAntoine, for the young priest, who was handsome, blonde, slender, and\nwell-shaped, like the gallant and cowardly hero of love, so celebrated\nby Monsieur Ariosto. Then the mechanician went to find the old dyer,\nwho always loved his wife and always believed himself the only man who\nhad a finger in her pie.\n\n\"Ah! good evening, old friend,\" said Carandas to Taschereau; and\nTaschereau made him a bow.\n\nThen the mechanician relates to him all the secret festivals of love,\nvomits words of peculiar import, and pricks the dyer on all sides.\n\nAt length, seeing he was ready to kill both his wife and the priest,\nCarandas said to him, \"My good neighbour, I had brought back from\nFlanders a poisoned sword, which will instantly kill anyone, if it\nonly make a scratch upon him. Now, directly you shall have merely\ntouched your wench and her paramour, they will die.\"\n\n\"Let us go and fetch it,\" said the dyer.\n\nThen the two merchants went in great haste to the house of the\nhunchback, to get the sword and rush off to the country.\n\n\"But shall we find them in flagrante delicto?\" asked Taschereau.\n\n\"You will see,\" said the hunchback, jeering his friend. In fact, the\ncuckold had not long to wait to behold the joy of the two lovers.\n\nThe sweet wench and her well-beloved were busy trying to catch, in a\ncertain lake that you probably know, that little bird that sometimes\nmakes his nest there, and they were laughing and trying, and still\nlaughing.\n\n\"Ah, my darling!\" said she, clasping him, as though she wished to make\nan outline of him on her chest, \"I love thee so much I should like to\neat thee! Nay, more than that, to have you in my skin, so that you\nmight never quit me.\"\n\n\"I should like it too,\" replied the priest, \"but as you can't have me\naltogether, you must try a little bit at a time.\"\n\nIt was at this moment that the husband entered, he sword unsheathed\nand flourished above him. The beautiful Tascherette, who knew her\nlord's face well, saw what would be the fate of her well-beloved the\npriest. But suddenly she sprang towards the good man, half naked, her\nhair streaming over her, beautiful with shame, but more beautiful with\nlove, and cried to him, \"Stay, unhappy man! Wouldst thou kill the\nfather of thy children?\"\n\nThereupon the good dyer staggered by the paternal majesty of\ncuckoldom, and perhaps also by the fire of his wife's eyes, let the\nsword fall upon the foot of the hunchback, who had followed him, and\nthus killed him.\n\nThis teaches us not to be spiteful.\n\n\n\n                              EPILOGUE\n\nHere endeth the first series of these Tales, a roguish sample of the\nworks of that merry Muse, born ages ago, in our fair land of Touraine,\nthe which Muse is a good wench, and knows by heart that fine saying of\nher friend Verville, written in _Le Moyen de Parvenir_: It is only\nnecessary to be bold to obtain favours. Alas! mad little one, get thee\nto bed again, sleep; thou art panting from thy journey; perhaps thou\nhast been further than the present time. Now dry thy fair naked feet,\nstop thine ears, and return to love. If thou dreamest other poesy\ninterwoven with laughter to conclude these merry inventions, heed not\nthe foolish clamour and insults of those who, hearing the carol of a\njoyous lark of other days, exclaim: Ah, the horrid bird!\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Droll Stories, Volume 1, by Honore de Balzac\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer",
        "publication_date": 1483,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/2383",
        "text": "The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Canterbury Tales and Other Poems\nby Geoffrey Chaucer\n\nCopyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check\nthe copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!\n\nPlease take a look at the important information in this header.\nWe encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an\nelectronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.\n\n\n**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**\n\n**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**\n\n*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*\n\nInformation on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and\nfurther information is included below.  We need your donations.\n\n\nThe Canterbury Tales and Other Poems\n\nby Geoffrey Chaucer\n\nNovember, 2000  [Etext #2383]\n\n\n**The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Canterbury Tales and Other Poems\nby Geoffrey Chaucer**\n*****This file should be named 2383.txt or 2383.zip******\n\nThis Gutenberg Etext prepared by Donal O'Danachair\n<kodak_seaside@hotmail.com>\n\nProject Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,\nall of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a\ncopyright notice is included.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any\nof these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.\n\n\nWe are now trying to release all our books one month in advance\nof the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.\n\nPlease note:  neither this list nor its contents are final till\nmidnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.\nThe official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at\nMidnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A\npreliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment\nand editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have an\nup to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes\nin the first week of the next month.  Since our ftp program has\na bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a\nlook at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a\nnew copy has at least one byte more or less.\n\n\nInformation about Project Gutenberg (one page)\n\nWe produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The\ntime it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours\nto get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright\nsearched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  This\nprojected audience is one hundred million readers.  If our value\nper text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2\nmillion dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text\nfiles per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+\nIf these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the\ntotal should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year.\n\nThe Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext\nFiles by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]\nThis is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,\nwhich is only ~5% of the present number of computer users.\n\nAt our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third\nof that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we\nmanage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly\nfrom Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an\nassortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few\nmore years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we\ndon't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person.\n\nWe need your donations more than ever!\n\n\nAll donations should be made to \"Project Gutenberg\/CMU\": and are\ntax deductible to the extent allowable by law.  (CMU = Carnegie-\nMellon University).\n\nFor these and other matters, please mail to:\n\nProject Gutenberg\nP. O. Box  2782\nChampaign, IL 61825\n\nWhen all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director:\nMichael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>\nhart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org\nif your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if\nit bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .\n\nWe would prefer to send you this information by email.\n\n******\n\nTo access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser\nto view http:\/\/promo.net\/pg.  This site lists Etexts by\nauthor and by title, and includes information about how\nto get involved with Project Gutenberg.  You could also\ndownload our past Newsletters, or subscribe here.  This\nis one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com,\nfor a more complete list of our various sites.\n\nTo go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any\nWeb browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror\nsites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed\nat http:\/\/promo.net\/pg).\n\nMac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better.\n\nExample FTP session:\n\nftp sunsite.unc.edu\nlogin: anonymous\npassword: your@login\ncd pub\/docs\/books\/gutenberg\ncd etext90 through etext99\ndir [to see files]\nget or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]\nGET GUTINDEX.??  [to get a year's listing of books, e.g.,\nGUTINDEX.99]\nGET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]\n\n***\n\n**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**\n\n(Three Pages)\n\n\n***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***\nWhy is this \"Small Print!\" statement here?  You know: lawyers.\nThey tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with\nyour copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from\nsomeone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our\nfault.  So, among other things, this \"Small Print!\" statement\ndisclaims most of our liability to you.  It also tells you how\nyou can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.\n\n*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT\nBy using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm\netext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept\nthis \"Small Print!\" statement.  If you do not, you can receive\na refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by\nsending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person\nyou got it from.  If you received this etext on a physical\nmedium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.\n\nABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS\nThis PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-\ntm etexts, is a \"public domain\" work distributed by Professor\nMichael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at\nCarnegie-Mellon University (the \"Project\").  Among other\nthings, this means that no one owns a United States copyright\non or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and\ndistribute it in the United States without permission and\nwithout paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set forth\nbelow, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext\nunder the Project's \"PROJECT GUTENBERG\" trademark.\n\nTo create these etexts, the Project expends considerable\nefforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain\nworks.  Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any\nmedium they may be on may contain \"Defects\".  Among other\nthings, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or\ncorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other\nintellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged\ndisk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer\ncodes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.\n\nLIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES\nBut for the \"Right of Replacement or Refund\" described below,\n[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this\netext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all\nliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including\nlegal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR\nUNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,\nINCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE\nOR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE\nPOSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.\n\nIf you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of\nreceiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)\nyou paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that\ntime to the person you received it from.  If you received it\non a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and\nsuch person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement\ncopy.  If you received it electronically, such person may\nchoose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to\nreceive it electronically.\n\nTHIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU \"AS-IS\".  NO OTHER\nWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS\nTO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT\nLIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A\nPARTICULAR PURPOSE.\n\nSome states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or\nthe exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the\nabove disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you\nmay have other legal rights.\n\nINDEMNITY\nYou will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,\nofficers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost\nand expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or\nindirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:\n[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,\nor addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.\n\nDISTRIBUTION UNDER \"PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm\"\nYou may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by\ndisk, book or any other medium if you either delete this\n\"Small Print!\" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,\nor:\n\n[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this\n     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the\n     etext or this \"small print!\" statement.  You may however,\n     if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable\n     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,\n     including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-\n     cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as\n     *EITHER*:\n\n     [*]  The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and\n          does *not* contain characters other than those\n          intended by the author of the work, although tilde\n          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may\n          be used to convey punctuation intended by the\n          author, and additional characters may be used to\n          indicate hypertext links; OR\n\n     [*]  The etext may be readily converted by the reader at\n          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent\n          form by the program that displays the etext (as is\n          the case, for instance, with most word processors);\n          OR\n\n     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at\n          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the\n          etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC\n          or other equivalent proprietary form).\n\n[2]  Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this\n     \"Small Print!\" statement.\n\n[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the\n     net profits you derive calculated using the method you\n     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you\n     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are\n     payable to \"Project Gutenberg Association\/Carnegie-Mellon\n     University\" within the 60 days following each\n     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)\n     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.\n\nWHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?\nThe Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,\nscanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty\nfree copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution\nyou can think of.  Money should be paid to \"Project Gutenberg\nAssociation \/ Carnegie-Mellon University\".\n\n*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*\n\n\nThis e-text look best in a monospaced font, such as\nCourier or Arial. Maximum line length is 72 characters.\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nCredits: This e-text was scanned, re-formatted and edited with\nextra notes by Donal O' Danachair (kodak_seaside@hotmail.com).\nI would like to acknowledge the help of Edwin Duncan, Juris\nLidaka and Aniina Jokinnen in identifying some of the poems no\nLonger attributed to Chaucer.\nThis e-text, with its notes, is hereby placed in the public\ndomain.\n\nPreface: The preface is for a combined volume of poems by\nChaucer and Edmund Spenser.  The Spenser poems will shortly\nbe available as a separate E-text.\n\nSpelling and punctuation: These are the same as in the book as\nfar as possible.  Accents have been removed. Diereses (umlauts)\nhave been removed from English words and replaced by \"e\" in\nGerman ones. The AE and OE digraphs have been transcribed\nas two letters.  The British pound (currency) sign has been\nreplaced by a capital L. Greek words have been transliterated.\n\nFootnotes: The original book has an average of 30 footnotes\nper page.  These were of three types:\n(A) Glosses or explanations of obsolete words and phrases.\nThese have been treated as follows:\n1. In the poems, they have been moved up into the right-hand\nmargin. Some of them have been shortened or paraphrased in\norder to fit.\nExplanations of single words have a single asterisk at the\nend of the word and at the beginning of the explanation*.     *like this\nIf two words in the same line have explanations\nthe first* has one and the second**, two.          *like this **and this\nExplanations of phrases have an asterisk at the\nstart and end *of the phrase* and of the explanation         *like this*\nSometimes these glosses wrap onto the next line, still in the\nright margin. If you read this e-text using a monospaced font\n(like Courier in a word processor such as MS Word, or the\ndefault font in most text editors) then the marginal notes are\nright-justified.\n2. In the prose tales,  they have been imbedded into the text in\nsquare brackets after the word or phrase they refer to [like this].\n(B) Etymological explanations of these words.  These are\nindicted by a number in angle brackets in the marginal\ngloss.* The note will be found at the                     *like this <1>\nend of the poem or section.\n(C) Longer notes commenting on or explaining the text. These\nare indicated in the text by numbers in angle brackets thus: <1>.\nThe note will be found at the end of the poem or section.\n\nLatin: Despite his declared aim of editing the tales \"for popular\nperusal\", Purves has left nearly all Latin quotations\nuntranslated.  I have translated them as well as I could -- any\nerrors are my fault, not his.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE CANTERBURY TALES\n                         And other Poems\n                               of\n                        GEOFFREY CHAUCER\n\n                   Edited for Popular Perusal\n                               by\n                         D. Laing Purves\n\n\n\n                            CONTENTS\n\n\nPREFACE\nLIFE OF CHAUCER\nTHE CANTERBURY TALES\n     The General Prologue\n     The Knight's Tale\n     The Miller's tale\n     The Reeve's Tale\n     The Cook's Tale\n     The Man of Law's Tale\n     The Wife of Bath's Tale\n     The Friar's Tale\n     The Sompnour's Tale\n     The Clerk's Tale\n     The Merchant's Tale\n     The Squire's Tale\n     The Franklin's Tale\n     The Doctor's Tale\n     The Pardoner's Tale\n     The Shipman's Tale\n     The Prioress's Tale\n     Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas\n     Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus\n     The Monk's Tale\n     The Nun's Priest's Tale\n     The Second Nun's Tale\n     The Canon's Yeoman's Tale\n     The Manciple's Tale\n     The Parson's Tale\n     Preces de Chauceres\nTHE COURT OF LOVE <1>\nTHE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE <1>\nTHE ASSEMBLY OF FOWLS\nTHE FLOWER AND THE LEAF <1>\nTHE HOUSE OF FAME\nTROILUS AND CRESSIDA\nCHAUCER'S DREAM <1>\nTHE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN\nCHAUCER'S A.B.C.\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\n\n\nTranscriber's Note.\n\n1. Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of\nthese poems.\n\n\n\n                            PREFACE.\n\n\nTHE object of this volume is to place before the general reader\nour two early poetic masterpieces -- The Canterbury Tales and\nThe Faerie Queen; to do so in a way that will render their\n\"popular perusal\" easy in a time of little leisure and unbounded\ntemptations to intellectual languor; and, on the same conditions,\nto present a liberal and fairly representative selection from the\nless important and familiar poems of Chaucer and Spenser.\nThere is, it may be said at the outset, peculiar advantage and\npropriety in placing the two poets side by side in the manner\nnow attempted for the first time.  Although two centuries divide\nthem, yet Spenser is the direct and really the immediate\nsuccessor to the poetical inheritance of Chaucer.  Those two\nhundred years, eventful as they were, produced no poet at all\nworthy to take up the mantle that fell from Chaucer's shoulders;\nand Spenser does not need his affected archaisms, nor his\nfrequent and reverent appeals to \"Dan Geffrey,\" to vindicate for\nhimself a place very close to his great predecessor in the literary\nhistory of England. If Chaucer is the \"Well of English\nundefiled,\" Spenser is the broad and stately river that yet holds\nthe tenure of its very life from the fountain far away in other\nand ruder scenes.\n\nThe Canterbury Tales, so far as they are in verse, have been\nprinted without any abridgement or designed change in the\nsense.  But the two Tales in prose -- Chaucer's Tale of\nMeliboeus, and the Parson's long Sermon on Penitence -- have\nbeen contracted, so as to exclude thirty pages of unattractive\nprose, and to admit the same amount of interesting and\ncharacteristic poetry.  The gaps thus made in the prose Tales,\nhowever, are supplied by careful outlines of the omitted matter,\nso that the reader need be at no loss to comprehend the whole\nscope and sequence of the original.  With The Faerie Queen a\nbolder course has been pursued. The great obstacle to the\npopularity of Spencer's splendid work has lain less in its\nlanguage than in its length.  If we add together the three great\npoems of antiquity -- the twenty-four books of the Iliad, the\ntwenty-four books of the Odyssey, and the twelve books of the\nAeneid -- we get at the dimensions of only one-half of The\nFaerie Queen.  The six books, and the fragment of a seventh,\nwhich alone exist of the author's contemplated twelve, number\nabout 35,000 verses; the sixty books of Homer and Virgil\nnumber no more than 37,000. The mere bulk of the poem, then,\nhas opposed a formidable barrier to its popularity; to say\nnothing of the distracting effect produced by the numberless\nepisodes, the tedious narrations, and the constant repetitions,\nwhich have largely swelled that bulk.  In this volume the poem\nis compressed into two-thirds of its original space, through the\nexpedient of representing the less interesting and more\nmechanical passages by a condensed prose outline, in which it\nhas been sought as far as possible to preserve the very words of\nthe poet.  While deprecating a too critical judgement on the\nbare and constrained precis standing in such trying\njuxtaposition, it is hoped that the labour bestowed in saving the\nreader the trouble of wading through much that is not essential\nfor the enjoyment of Spencer's marvellous allegory, will not be\nunappreciated.\n\nAs regards the manner in which the text of the two great works,\nespecially of The Canterbury Tales, is presented, the Editor is\naware that some whose judgement is weighty will differ from\nhim.  This volume has been prepared \"for popular perusal;\" and\nits very raison d'etre would have failed, if the ancient\northography had been retained.  It has often been affirmed by\neditors of Chaucer in the old forms of the language, that a little\ntrouble at first would render the antiquated spelling and\nobsolete inflections a continual source, not of difficulty, but of\nactual delight, for the reader coming to the study of Chaucer\nwithout any preliminary acquaintance with the English of his\nday -- or of his copyists' days.  Despite this complacent\nassurance, the obvious fact is, that Chaucer in the old forms has\nnot become popular, in the true sense of the word; he is not\n\"understanded of the vulgar.\"  In this volume, therefore, the text\nof Chaucer has been presented in nineteenth-century garb.  But\nthere has been not the slightest attempt to \"modernise\"\nChaucer, in the wider meaning of the phrase; to replace his\nwords by words which he did not use; or, following the example\nof some operators, to translate him into English of the modern\nspirit as well as the modern forms.  So far from that, in every\ncase where the old spelling or form seemed essential to metre,\nto rhyme, or meaning, no change has been attempted.  But,\nwherever its preservation was not essential, the spelling of the\nmonkish transcribers -- for the most ardent purist must now\ndespair of getting at the spelling of Chaucer himself -- has been\ndiscarded for that of the reader's own day.  It is a poor\ncompliment to the Father of English Poetry, to say that by such\ntreatment the bouquet and individuality of his works must be\nlost.  If his masterpiece is valuable for one thing more than any\nother, it is the vivid distinctness with which English men and\nwomen of the fourteenth century are there painted, for the study\nof all the centuries to follow.  But we wantonly balk the artist's\nown purpose, and discredit his labour, when we keep before his\npicture the screen of dust and cobwebs which, for the English\npeople in these days, the crude forms of the infant language\nhave practically become.  Shakespeare has not suffered by\nsimilar changes; Spencer has not suffered; it would be surprising\nif Chaucer should suffer, when the loss of popular\ncomprehension and favour in his case are necessarily all the\ngreater for his remoteness from our day.  In a much smaller\ndegree -- since previous labours in the same direction had left\nfar less to do -- the same work has been performed for the\nspelling of Spenser; and the whole endeavour in this department\nof the Editor's task has been, to present a text plain and easily\nintelligible to the modern reader, without any injustice to the old\npoet.  It would be presumptuous to believe that in every case\nboth ends have been achieved together; but the laudatores\ntemporis acti - the students who may differ most from the plan\npursued in this volume -- will best appreciate the difficulty of\nthe enterprise, and most leniently regard any failure in the\ndetails of its accomplishment.\n\nWith all the works of Chaucer, outside The Canterbury Tales, it\nwould have been absolutely impossible to deal within the scope\nof this volume.  But nearly one hundred pages, have been\ndevoted to his minor poems; and, by dint of careful selection\nand judicious abridgement -- a connecting outline of the story in\nall such cases being given -- the Editor ventures to hope that he\nhas presented fair and acceptable specimens of Chaucer's\nworkmanship in all styles.  The preparation of this part of the\nvolume has been a laborious task; no similar attempt on the\nsame scale has been made; and, while here also the truth of the\ntext in matters essential has been in nowise sacrificed to mere\nease of perusal, the general reader will find opened up for him a\nnew view of Chaucer and his works.  Before a perusal of these\nhundred pages, will melt away for ever the lingering tradition or\nprejudice that Chaucer was only, or characteristically, a coarse\nbuffoon, who pandered to a base and licentious appetite by\npainting and exaggerating the lowest vices of his time.  In these\nselections -- made without a thought of taking only what is to\nthe poet's credit from a wide range of poems in which hardly a\nword is to his discredit -- we behold Chaucer as he was; a\ncourtier, a gallant, pure-hearted gentleman, a scholar, a\nphilosopher, a poet of gay and vivid fancy, playing around\nthemes of chivalric convention, of deep human interest, or\nbroad-sighted satire.  In The Canterbury Tales, we see, not\nChaucer, but Chaucer's times and neighbours; the artist has lost\nhimself in his work. To show him honestly and without disguise,\nas he lived his own life and sung his own songs at the brilliant\nCourt of Edward III, is to do his memory a moral justice far\nmore material than any wrong that can ever come out of\nspelling.  As to the minor poems of Spenser, which follow The\nFaerie Queen, the choice has been governed by the desire to\ngive at once the most interesting, and the most characteristic of\nthe poet's several styles; and, save in the case of the Sonnets,\nthe poems so selected are given entire. It is manifest that the\nendeavours to adapt this volume for popular use, have been\nalready noticed, would imperfectly succeed without the aid of\nnotes and glossary, to explain allusions that have become\nobsolete, or antiquated words which it was necessary to retain.\nAn endeavour has been made to render each page self-\nexplanatory, by placing on it all the glossarial and illustrative\nnotes required for its elucidation, or -- to avoid repetitions that\nwould have occupied space -- the references to the spot where\ninformation may be found.  The great advantage of such a plan\nto the reader, is the measure of its difficulty for the editor.  It\npermits much more flexibility in the choice of glossarial\nexplanations or equivalents; it saves the distracting and time-\nconsuming reference to the end or the beginning of the book;\nbut, at the same time, it largely enhances the liability to error.\nThe Editor is conscious that in the 12,000 or 13,000 notes, as\nwell as in the innumerable minute points of spelling,\naccentuation, and rhythm, he must now and again be found\ntripping; he can only ask any reader who may detect all that he\ncould himself point out as being amiss, to set off against\ninevitable mistakes and misjudgements, the conscientious labour\nbestowed on the book, and the broad consideration of its fitness\nfor the object contemplated.\n\n From books the Editor has derived valuable help; as from Mr\nCowden Clarke's revised modern text of The Canterbury Tales,\npublished in Mr Nimmo's Library Edition of the English Poets;\nfrom Mr Wright's scholarly edition of the same work; from the\nindispensable Tyrwhitt; from Mr Bell's edition of Chaucer's\nPoem; from Professor Craik's \"Spenser and his Poetry,\"\npublished twenty-five years ago by Charles Knight; and from\nmany others. In the abridgement of the Faerie Queen,  the plan\nmay at first sight seem to be modelled on the lines of Mr Craik's\npainstaking condensation; but the coincidences are either\ninevitable or involuntary.  Many of the notes, especially of those\nexplaining classical references and those attached to the minor\npoems of Chaucer, have been prepared specially for this edition.\nThe Editor leaves his task with the hope that his attempt to\nremove artificial obstacles to the popularity of  England's\nearliest poets, will not altogether miscarry.\n\nD. LAING PURVES.\n\n\n\n                    LIFE OF GEOFFREY CHAUCER.\n\n\nNOT in point of genius only, but even in point of time, Chaucer\nmay claim the proud designation of \"first\" English poet. He\nwrote \"The Court of Love\" in 1345, and \"The Romaunt of the\nRose,\" if not also \"Troilus and Cressida,\" probably within the\nnext decade: the dates usually assigned to the poems of\nLaurence Minot extend from 1335 to 1355, while \"The Vision\nof Piers Plowman\" mentions events that occurred in 1360 and\n1362 -- before which date Chaucer had certainly written \"The\nAssembly of Fowls\" and his \"Dream.\" But, though they were\nhis contemporaries, neither Minot nor Langland (if Langland\nwas the author of the Vision) at all approached Chaucer in the\nfinish, the force, or the universal interest of their works and the\npoems of earlier writer; as Layamon and the author of the\n\"Ormulum,\" are less English than Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-\nNorman. Those poems reflected the perplexed struggle for\nsupremacy between the two grand elements of our language,\nwhich marked the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; a struggle\nintimately associated with the political relations between the\nconquering Normans and the subjugated Anglo-Saxons.\nChaucer found two branches of the language; that spoken by\nthe people, Teutonic in its genius and its forms; that spoken by\nthe learned and the noble, based on the French  Yet each branch\nhad begun to borrow of the other -- just as nobles and people\nhad been taught to recognise that each needed the other in the\nwars and the social tasks of the time; and Chaucer, a scholar, a\ncourtier, a man conversant with all orders of society, but\naccustomed to speak, think, and write in the words of the\nhighest, by his comprehensive genius cast into the simmering\nmould a magical amalgamant which made the two half-hostile\nelements unite and interpenetrate each other. Before Chaucer\nwrote, there were two tongues in England, keeping alive the\nfeuds and resentments of cruel centuries; when he laid down his\npen, there was practically but one speech -- there was, and ever\nsince has been, but one people.\n\nGeoffrey Chaucer, according to the most trustworthy traditions-\nfor authentic testimonies on the subject are wanting -- was born\nin 1328; and London is generally believed to have been his\nbirth-place. It is true that Leland, the biographer of England's\nfirst great poet who lived nearest to his time, not merely speaks\nof Chaucer as having been  born many years later than the date\nnow assigned, but mentions Berkshire or Oxfordshire as the\nscene of his birth. So great uncertainty have some felt on the\nlatter score, that elaborate parallels have been drawn between\nChaucer, and Homer -- for whose birthplace several cities\ncontended, and whose descent was traced to the demigods.\nLeland may seem to have had fair opportunities of getting at the\ntruth about Chaucer's birth -- for Henry VIII had him, at the\nsuppression of the monasteries throughout England, to search\nfor records of public interest the archives of the religious\nhouses. But it may be questioned whether he was likely to find\nmany authentic particulars regarding the personal history of the\npoet in the quarters which he explored; and Leland's testimony\nseems to be set aside by Chaucer's own evidence as to his\nbirthplace, and by the contemporary references which make him\nout an aged man for years preceding the accepted date of his\ndeath. In one of his prose works, \"The Testament of Love,\" the\npoet speaks of himself in terms that strongly confirm the claim\nof London to the honour of giving him birth; for he there\nmentions \"the city of London, that is to me so dear and sweet,\nin which I was forth growen; and more kindly love,\" says he,\n\"have I to that place than to any other in earth; as every kindly\ncreature hath full appetite to that place of his kindly engendrure,\nand to will rest and peace in that place to abide.\" This tolerably\ndirect evidence is supported -- so far as it can be at such an\ninterval of time -- by the learned Camden; in his Annals of\nQueen Elizabeth, he describes Spencer, who was certainly born\nin London, as being a fellow-citizen of Chaucer's -- \"Edmundus\nSpenserus, patria Londinensis, Musis adeo arridentibus natus, ut\nomnes Anglicos superioris aevi poetas, ne Chaucero quidem\nconcive excepto, superaret.\" <1> The records of the time notice\nmore than one person of the name of Chaucer, who held\nhonourable positions about the Court; and though we cannot\ndistinctly trace the poet's relationship with any of these\nnamesakes or antecessors, we find excellent ground for belief\nthat his family or friends stood well at Court, in the ease with\nwhich Chaucer made his way there, and in his subsequent\ncareer.\n\nLike his great successor, Spencer, it was the fortune of Chaucer\nto live under a splendid, chivalrous, and high-spirited reign.\n1328 was the second year of Edward III; and, what with Scotch\nwars, French expeditions, and the strenuous and costly struggle\nto hold England in a worthy place among the States of Europe,\nthere was sufficient bustle, bold achievement, and high ambition\nin the period to inspire a poet who was prepared to catch the\nspirit of the day. It was an age of elaborate courtesy, of high-\npaced gallantry, of courageous venture, of noble disdain for\nmean tranquillity; and Chaucer, on the whole a man of peaceful\navocations, was penetrated to the depth of his consciousness\nwith the lofty and lovely civil side of that brilliant and restless\nmilitary period. No record of his youthful years, however,\nremains to us; if we believe that at the age of eighteen he was a\nstudent of Cambridge, it is only on the strength of a reference in\nhis \"Court of Love\", where the narrator is made to say that his\nname is Philogenet, \"of Cambridge clerk;\" while he had  already\ntold us that when he was stirred to seek the Court of Cupid he\nwas \"at eighteen year of age.\" According to Leland, however,\nhe was educated at Oxford, proceeding thence to France and\nthe Netherlands, to finish his studies; but there remains no\ncertain evidence of his having belonged to either University. At\nthe same time, it is not doubted that his family was of good\ncondition; and, whether or not we accept the assertion that his\nfather held the rank of knighthood -- rejecting the hypotheses\nthat make him a merchant, or a vintner \"at the corner of Kirton\nLane\" -- it is plain, from Chaucer's whole career, that he had\nintroductions to public life, and recommendations to courtly\nfavour, wholly independent of his genius. We have the clearest\ntestimony that his mental training was of wide range and\nthorough excellence, altogether rare for a mere courtier in those\ndays: his poems attest his intimate acquaintance with the\ndivinity, the philosophy, and the scholarship of his time, and\nshow him to have had the sciences, as then developed and\ntaught, \"at his fingers' ends.\" Another proof of Chaucer's good\nbirth and fortune would he found in the statement that, after his\nUniversity career was completed, he entered the Inner Temple -\n- the expenses of which could be borne only by men of noble\nand opulent families; but although there is a story that he was\nonce fined two shillings for thrashing a Franciscan friar in Fleet\nStreet, we have no direct authority for believing that the poet\ndevoted himself to the uncongenial study of the law. No special\ndisplay of knowledge on that subject appears in his works; yet\nin the sketch of the Manciple, in the Prologue to the Canterbury\nTales, may be found indications of his familiarity with the\ninternal economy of the Inns of Court; while numerous legal\nphrases and references hint that his comprehensive information\nwas not at fault on legal matters. Leland says that he quitted the\nUniversity \"a ready logician, a smooth rhetorician, a pleasant\npoet, a grave philosopher, an ingenious mathematician, and a\nholy divine;\" and by all accounts, when Geoffrey Chaucer\ncomes before us authentically for the first time, at the age of\nthirty-one, he was possessed of knowledge and\naccomplishments far beyond the common standard of his day.\n\nChaucer at this period possessed also other qualities fitted to\nrecommend him to favour in a Court like that of Edward III.\nUrry describes him, on the authority of a portrait, as being then\n\"of a fair beautiful complexion, his lips red and full, his size of a\njust medium, and his port and air graceful and majestic. So,\"\ncontinues the ardent biographer, -- \"so that every ornament that\ncould claim the approbation of the great and fair, his abilities to\nrecord the valour of the one, and celebrate the beauty of the\nother, and his wit and gentle behaviour to converse with both,\nconspired to make him a complete courtier.\"  If we believe that\nhis \"Court of Love\" had received such publicity as the literary\nmedia of the time allowed in the somewhat narrow and select\nliterary world -- not to speak of \"Troilus and Cressida,\" which,\nas Lydgate mentions it first among Chaucer's works, some have\nsupposed to be a youthful production -- we find a third and not\nless powerful recommendation to the favour of the great co-\noperating with his learning and his gallant bearing. Elsewhere\n<2> reasons have been shown for doubt whether \"Troilus and\nCressida\" should not be assigned to a later period of Chaucer's\nlife; but very little is positively known about the dates and\nsequence of his various works. In the year 1386, being called as\nwitness with regard to a contest on a point of heraldry between\nLord Scrope and Sir Robert Grosvenor, Chaucer deposed that\nhe entered on his military career in 1359. In that year Edward\nIII invaded France, for the third time, in pursuit of his claim to\nthe French crown; and we may fancy that, in describing the\nembarkation of the knights in \"Chaucer's Dream\", the poet\ngained some of the vividness and stir of his picture from his\nrecollections of the embarkation of the splendid and well-\nappointed royal host at Sandwich, on board the eleven hundred\ntransports provided for the enterprise. In this expedition the\nlaurels of Poitiers were flung on the ground; after vainly\nattempting Rheims and Paris, Edward was constrained, by cruel\nweather and lack of provisions, to retreat toward his ships; the\nfury of the elements made the retreat more disastrous than an\noverthrow in pitched battle; horses and men perished by\nthousands, or fell into the hands of the pursuing French.\nChaucer, who had been made prisoner at the siege of Retters,\nwas among the captives in the possession of France when the\ntreaty of Bretigny -- the \"great peace\" -- was concluded, in\nMay, 1360. Returning to England, as we may suppose, at the\npeace, the poet, ere long, fell into another and a pleasanter\ncaptivity; for his marriage is generally believed to have taken\nplace shortly after his release from foreign durance.  He had\nalready gained the personal friendship and favour of John of\nGaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the King's son; the Duke, while Earl\nof Richmond, had courted, and won to wife after a certain\ndelay, Blanche, daughter and co-heiress of Henry Duke of\nLancaster; and Chaucer is by some believed to have written\n\"The Assembly of Fowls\" to celebrate the wooing, as he wrote\n\"Chaucer's Dream\" to celebrate the wedding, of his patron. The\nmarriage took place in 1359, the year of Chaucer's expedition to\nFrance; and as, in \"The Assembly of Fowls,\" the formel or\nfemale eagle, who is supposed to represent the Lady Blanche,\nbegs that her choice of a mate may be deferred for a year, 1358\nand 1359 have been assigned as the respective dates of the two\npoems already mentioned.  In the \"Dream,\" Chaucer\nprominently introduces his own lady-love, to whom, after the\nhappy union of his patron with the Lady Blanche, he is wedded\namid great rejoicing; and various expressions in the same poem\nshow that not only was the poet high in favour with the\nillustrious pair, but that his future wife had also peculiar claims\non their regard.  She was the younger daughter of Sir Payne\nRoet, a native of Hainault, who had, like many of his\ncountrymen, been attracted to England by the example and\npatronage of Queen Philippa. The favourite attendant on the\nLady Blanche was her elder sister Katherine: subsequently\nmarried to Sir Hugh Swynford, a gentleman of Lincolnshire;\nand destined, after the death of Blanche, to be in succession\ngoverness of her children, mistress of John of Gaunt, and\nlawfully-wedded Duchess of Lancaster. It is quite sufficient\nproof that Chaucer's position at Court was of no mean\nconsequence, to find that his wife, the sister of the future\nDuchess of Lancaster, was one of the royal maids of honour,\nand even, as Sir Harris Nicolas conjectures, a god-daughter of\nthe Queen -- for her name also was Philippa.\n\nBetween 1359, when the poet himself testifies that he was made\nprisoner while bearing arms in France, and September 1366,\nwhen Queen Philippa granted to her former maid of honour, by\nthe name of Philippa Chaucer, a yearly pension of ten marks, or\nL6, 13s. 4d., we have no authentic mention of Chaucer, express\nor indirect. It is plain from this grant that the poet's marriage\nwith Sir Payne Roet's daughter was not celebrated later than\n1366; the probability is, that it closely followed his return from\nthe wars. In 1367, Edward III. settled upon Chaucer a life-\npension of twenty marks, \"for the good service which our\nbeloved Valet -- 'dilectus Valettus noster' -- Geoffrey Chaucer\nhas rendered, and will render in time to come.\" Camden\nexplains 'Valettus hospitii' to signify a Gentleman of the Privy\nChamber; Selden says that the designation was bestowed \"upon\nyoung heirs designed to he knighted, or young gentlemen of\ngreat descent and quality.\" Whatever the strict meaning of the\nword, it is plain that the poet's position was honourable and\nnear to the King's person, and also that his worldly\ncircumstances were easy, if not affluent -- for it need not be said\nthat twenty marks in those days represented twelve or twenty\ntimes the sum in these.  It is believed that he found powerful\npatronage, not merely from the Duke of Lancaster and his wife,\nbut from Margaret Countess of Pembroke, the King's daughter.\nTo her Chaucer is supposed to have addressed the \"Goodly\nBallad\", in which the lady is celebrated under the image of the\ndaisy; her he is by some understood to have represented under\nthe title of Queen Alcestis, in the \"Court of Love\" and the\nPrologue to \"The Legend of Good Women;\" and in her praise\nwe may read his charming descriptions and eulogies of the daisy\n-- French, \"Marguerite,\" the name of his Royal patroness. To\nthis period of Chaucer's career we may probably attribute the\nelegant and courtly, if somewhat conventional, poems of \"The\nFlower and the Leaf,\" \"The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,\" &c.\n\"The Lady Margaret,\" says Urry, \". . . would frequently\ncompliment him upon his poems. But this is not to be meant of\nhis Canterbury Tales, they being written in the latter part of his\nlife, when the courtier and the fine gentleman gave way to solid\nsense and plain descriptions. In his love-pieces he was obliged\nto have the strictest regard to modesty and decency; the ladies\nat that time insisting so much upon the nicest punctilios of\nhonour, that it was highly criminal to depreciate their sex, or do\nanything that might offend virtue.\" Chaucer, in their estimation,\nhad sinned against the dignity and honour of womankind by his\ntranslation of the French \"Roman de la Rose,\" and by his\n\"Troilus and Cressida\" -- assuming it to have been among his\nless mature works; and to atone for those offences the Lady\nMargaret (though other and older accounts say that it was the\nfirst Queen of Richard II., Anne of Bohemia), prescribed to him\nthe task of writing \"The Legend of Good Women\" (see\nintroductory note to that poem). About this period, too, we\nmay place the composition of Chaucer's A. B. C., or The Prayer\nof Our Lady, made at the request of the Duchess Blanche, a\nlady of great devoutness in her private life. She died in 1369;\nand Chaucer, as he had allegorised her wooing, celebrated her\nmarriage, and aided her devotions, now lamented her death, in a\npoem entitled \"The Book of the Duchess; or, the Death of\nBlanche.<3>\n\nIn 1370, Chaucer was employed on the King's service abroad;\nand in November 1372, by the title of \"Scutifer noster\" -- our\nEsquire or Shield-bearer -- he was associated with \"Jacobus\nPronan,\" and \"Johannes de Mari civis Januensis,\" in a royal\ncommission, bestowing full powers to treat with the Duke of\nGenoa, his Council, and State.  The object of the embassy was\nto negotiate upon the choice of an English port at which the\nGenoese might form a commercial establishment; and Chaucer,\nhaving quitted England in December, visited Genoa and\nFlorence, and returned to England before the end of November\n1373 -- for on that day he drew his pension from the Exchequer\nin person. The most interesting point connected with this Italian\nmission is the question, whether Chaucer visited Petrarch at\nPadua. That he did, is unhesitatingly affirmed by the old\nbiographers; but the authentic notices of Chaucer during the\nyears 1372-1373, as shown by the researches of Sir Harris\nNicolas, are confined to the facts already stated; and we are left\nto answer the question by the probabilities of the case, and by\nthe aid of what faint light the poet himself affords. We can\nscarcely fancy that Chaucer, visiting Italy for the first time, in a\ncapacity which opened for him easy access to the great and the\nfamous, did not embrace the chance of meeting a poet whose\nworks he evidently knew in their native tongue, and highly\nesteemed.  With Mr Wright, we are strongly disinclined to\nbelieve \"that Chaucer did not profit by the opportunity . . . of\nimproving his acquaintance with the poetry, if not the poets, of\nthe country he thus visited, whose influence was now being felt\non the literature of most countries of Western Europe.\" That\nChaucer was familiar with the Italian language appears not\nmerely from his repeated selection as Envoy to Italian States,\nbut by many passages in his poetry, from \"The Assembly of\nFowls\" to \"The Canterbury Tales.\" In the opening of the first\npoem  there is a striking parallel to Dante's inscription on the\ngate of Hell.  The first Song of Troilus, in \"Troilus and\nCressida\", is a nearly literal translation of Petrarch's 88th\nSonnet. In the Prologue to \"The Legend of Good Women\",\nthere is a reference to Dante which can hardly have reached the\npoet at second- hand. And in Chaucer's great work -- as in The\nWife of Bath's Tale, and The Monk's Tale  -- direct reference by\nname is made to Dante, \"the wise poet of Florence,\" \"the great\npoet of Italy,\" as the source whence the author has quoted.\nWhen we consider the poet's high place in literature and at\nCourt, which could not fail to make him free of the hospitalities\nof the brilliant little Lombard States; his familiarity with the\ntongue and the works of Italy's greatest bards, dead and living;\nthe reverential regard which he paid to the memory of great\npoets, of which we have examples in \"The House of Fame,\" and\nat the close of \"Troilus and Cressida\" <4>; along with his own\ntestimony in the Prologue to The Clerk's Tale, we cannot fail to\nconstrue that testimony as a declaration that the Tale was\nactually told to Chaucer by the lips of Petrarch, in 1373, the\nvery year in which Petrarch translated it into Latin, from\nBoccaccio's \"Decameron.\"<5>   Mr Bell notes the objection to\nthis interpretation, that the words are put into the mouth, not of\nthe poet, but of the Clerk; and meets it by the counter-\nobjection, that the Clerk, being a purely imaginary personage,\ncould not have learned the story at Padua from Petrarch -- and\ntherefore that Chaucer must have departed from the dramatic\nassumption maintained in the rest of the dialogue. Instances\ncould be adduced from Chaucer's writings to show that such a\nsudden \"departure from the dramatic assumption\" would not be\nunexampled: witness the \"aside\" in The Wife of Bath's\nPrologue, where, after the jolly Dame has asserted that \"half so\nboldly there can no man swear and lie as a woman can\", the\npoet hastens to interpose, in his own person, these two lines:\n\n\"I say not this by wives that be wise,\nBut if it be when they them misadvise.\"\n\nAnd again, in the Prologue to the \"Legend of Good Women,\"\nfrom a description of the daisy --\n\n\"She is the clearness and the very light,\nThat in this darke world me guides and leads,\"\n\nthe poet, in the very next lines, slides into an address to his lady:\n\n\"The heart within my sorrowful heart you dreads\nAnd loves so sore, that ye be, verily,\nThe mistress of my wit, and nothing I,\" &c.\n\nWhen, therefore, the Clerk of Oxford is made to say that he will\ntell a tale --\n\n                          \"The which that I\nLearn'd at Padova of a worthy clerk,\nAs proved by his wordes and his werk.\nHe is now dead, and nailed in his chest,\nI pray to God to give his soul good rest.\nFrancis Petrarc', the laureate poete,\nHighte this clerk, whose rhetoric so sweet\nIllumin'd all Itaile of poetry. . . .\nBut forth to tellen of this worthy man,\nThat taughte me this tale, as I began.\" . . .\n\nwe may without violent effort believe that Chaucer speaks in his\nown person, though dramatically the words are on the Clerk's\nlips.  And the belief is not impaired by the sorrowful way in\nwhich the Clerk lingers on Petrarch's death -- which would be\nless intelligible if the fictitious narrator had only read the story\nin the Latin translation, than if we suppose the news of\nPetrarch's death at Arqua in July 1374 to have closely followed\nChaucer to England, and to have cruelly and irresistibly mingled\nitself with our poet's personal recollections of his great Italian\ncontemporary.  Nor must we regard as without significance the\nmanner in which the Clerk is made to distinguish between the\n\"body\" of Petrarch's tale, and the fashion in which it was set\nforth in writing, with a proem that seemed \"a thing\nimpertinent\", save that the poet had chosen in that way to\n\"convey his matter\" -- told, or \"taught,\" so much more directly\nand simply by word of mouth. It is impossible to pronounce\npositively on the subject; the question whether Chaucer saw\nPetrarch in 1373 must remain a moot-point, so long as we have\nonly our present information; but fancy loves to dwell on the\nthought of the two poets conversing under the vines at Arqua;\nand we find in the history and the writings of Chaucer nothing\nto contradict, a good deal to countenance, the belief that such a\nmeeting occurred.\n\nThough we have no express record, we have indirect testimony,\nthat Chaucer's Genoese mission was discharged satisfactorily;\nfor on the 23d of April 1374, Edward III grants at Windsor to\nthe poet, by the title of \"our beloved squire\" -- dilecto Armigero\nnostro -- unum pycher. vini, \"one pitcher of wine\" daily, to be\n\"perceived\" in the port of London; a grant which, on the\nanalogy of more modern usage, might he held equivalent to\nChaucer's appointment as Poet Laureate. When we find that\nsoon afterwards the grant was commuted for a money payment\nof twenty marks per annum, we need not conclude that\nChaucer's circumstances were poor; for it may be easily\nsupposed that the daily \"perception\" of such an article of\nincome was attended with considerable prosaic inconvenience.\nA permanent provision for Chaucer was made on the 8th of\nJune 1374, when he was appointed Controller of the Customs in\nthe Port of London, for the lucrative imports of wools, skins or\n\"wool-fells,\" and tanned hides -- on condition that he should\nfulfil the duties of that office in person and not by deputy, and\nshould write out the accounts with his own hand.  We have\nwhat seems evidence of Chaucer's compliance with these terms\nin \"The House of Fame\", where, in the mouth of the eagle, the\npoet describes himself, when he has finished his labour and\nmade his reckonings, as not seeking rest and news in social\nintercourse, but going home to his own house, and there, \"all so\ndumb as any stone,\" sitting \"at another book,\" until his look is\ndazed; and again, in the record that in 1376 he received a grant\nof L731, 4s. 6d., the amount of a fine levied on one John Kent,\nwhom Chaucer's vigilance had frustrated in the attempt to ship a\nquantity of wool for Dordrecht without paying the duty. The\nseemingly derogatory condition, that the Controller should\nwrite out the accounts or rolls (\"rotulos\") of his office with his\nown hand, appears to have been designed, or treated, as merely\nformal; no records in Chaucer's handwriting are known to exist\n-- which could hardly be the case if, for the twelve years of his\nControllership (1374-1386), he had duly complied with the\ncondition; and during that period he was more than once\nemployed abroad, so that the condition was evidently regarded\nas a formality even by those who had imposed it.  Also in 1374,\nthe Duke of Lancaster, whose ambitious views may well have\nmade him anxious to retain the adhesion of a man so capable\nand accomplished as Chaucer, changed into a joint life-annuity\nremaining to the survivor, and charged on the revenues of the\nSavoy, a pension of L10 which two years before he settled on\nthe poet's wife -- whose sister was then the governess of the\nDuke's two daughters, Philippa and Elizabeth, and the Duke's\nown mistress.  Another proof of Chaucer's personal reputation\nand high Court favour at this time, is his selection (1375) as\nward to the son of Sir Edmond Staplegate of Bilsynton, in Kent;\na charge on the surrender of which the guardian received no\nless a sum than L104.\n\nWe find Chaucer in 1376 again employed on a foreign mission.\nIn 1377, the last year of Edward III., he was sent to Flanders\nwith Sir Thomas Percy, afterwards Earl of Worcester, for the\npurpose of obtaining a prolongation of the truce; and in January\n13738, he was associated with Sir Guichard d'Angle and other\nCommissioners, to pursue certain negotiations for a marriage\nbetween Princess Mary of France and the young King Richard\nII., which had been set on foot before the death of Edward III.\nThe negotiation, however, proved fruitless; and in May 1378,\nChaucer was selected to accompany Sir John Berkeley on a\nmission to the Court of Bernardo Visconti, Duke of Milan, with\nthe view, it is supposed, of concerting military plans against the\noutbreak of war with France.  The new King, meantime, had\nshown that he was not insensible to Chaucer's merit  -- or to the\ninfluence of his tutor and the poet's patron, the Duke of\nLancaster; for Richard II. confirmed to Chaucer his pension of\ntwenty marks, along with an equal annual sum, for which the\ndaily pitcher of wine granted in 1374 had been commuted.\nBefore his departure for Lombardy, Chaucer -- still holding his\npost in the Customs -- selected two representatives or trustees,\nto protect his estate against legal proceedings in his absence, or\nto sue in his name defaulters and offenders against the imposts\nwhich he was charged to enforce. One of these trustees was\ncalled Richard Forrester; the other was John Gower, the poet,\nthe most famous English contemporary of Chaucer, with whom\nhe had for many years been on terms of admiring friendship --\nalthough, from the strictures passed on certain productions of\nGower's in the Prologue to The Man of Law's Tale,<6> it has\nbeen supposed that in the later years of Chaucer's life the\nfriendship suffered some diminution. To the \"moral Gower\" and\n\"the philosophical Strode,\" Chaucer \"directed\" or dedicated his\n\"Troilus and Cressida;\" <7> while, in the \"Confessio Amantis,\"\nGower introduces a handsome compliment to his greater\ncontemporary, as the \"disciple and the poet\" of Venus, with\nwhose glad songs and ditties, made in her praise during the\nflowers of his youth, the land was filled everywhere.  Gower,\nhowever -- a monk and a Conservative -- held to the party of\nthe Duke of Gloucester, the rival of the Wycliffite and\ninnovating Duke of Lancaster, who was Chaucer's patron, and\nwhose cause was not a little aided by Chaucer's strictures on the\nclergy; and thus it is not impossible that political differences\nmay have weakened the old bonds of personal friendship and\npoetic esteem. Returning from Lombardy early in 1379,\nChaucer seems to have been again sent abroad; for the records\nexhibit no trace of him between May and December of that\nyear. Whether by proxy or in person, however, he received his\npensions regularly until 1382, when his income was increased\nby his appointment to the post of Controller of Petty Customs\nin the port of London.  In November 1384, he obtained a\nmonth's leave of absence on account of his private affairs, and a\ndeputy was appointed to fill his place; and in February of the\nnext year he was permitted to appoint a permanent deputy --\nthus at length gaining relief from that close attention to business\nwhich probably curtailed the poetic fruits of the poet's most\npowerful years. <8>\n\nChaucer is next found occupying a post which has not often\nbeen held by men gifted with his peculiar genius -- that of a\ncounty member. The contest between the Dukes of Gloucester\nand Lancaster, and their adherents, for the control of the\nGovernment, was coming to a crisis; and when the recluse and\nstudious Chaucer was induced to offer himself to the electors of\nKent as one of the knights of their shire -- where presumably he\nheld property -- we may suppose that it was with the view of\nsupporting his patron's cause in the impending conflict. The\nParliament in which the poet sat assembled at Westminster on\nthe 1st of October, and was dissolved on the 1st of November,\n1386. Lancaster was fighting and intriguing abroad, absorbed in\nthe affairs of his Castilian succession; Gloucester and his friends\nat home had everything their own way; the Earl of Suffolk was\ndismissed from the woolsack, and impeached by the Commons;\nand although Richard at first stood out courageously for the\nfriends of his uncle Lancaster, he was constrained, by the refusal\nof supplies, to consent to the proceedings of Gloucester. A\ncommission was wrung from him, under protest, appointing\nGloucester, Arundel, and twelve other Peers and prelates, a\npermanent council to inquire into the condition of all the public\ndepartments, the courts of law, and the royal household, with\nabsolute powers of redress and dismissal. We need not ascribe\nto Chaucer's Parliamentary exertions in his patron's behalf, nor\nto any malpractices in his official conduct, the fact that he was\namong the earliest victims of the commission.<9>  In December\n1386, he was dismissed from both his offices in the port of\nLondon; but he retained his pensions, and drew them regularly\ntwice a year at the Exchequer until 1388. In 1387, Chaucer's\npolitical reverses were aggravated by a severe domestic\ncalamity: his wife died, and with her died the pension which had\nbeen settled on her by Queen Philippa in 1366, and confirmed to\nher at Richard's accession in 1377.  The change made in\nChaucer's pecuniary position, by the loss of his offices and his\nwife's pension, must have been very great. It would appear that\nduring his prosperous times he had lived in a style quite equal to\nhis income, and had no ample resources against a season of\nreverse; for, on the 1st of May 1388, less than a year and a half\nafter being dismissed from the Customs, he was constrained to\nassign his pensions, by surrender in Chancery, to one John\nScalby.  In May 1389, Richard II., now of age, abruptly\nresumed the reins of government, which, for more than two\nyears, had been ably but cruelly managed by Gloucester. The\nfriends of Lancaster were once more supreme in the royal\ncouncils, and Chaucer speedily profited by the change. On the\n12th of July he was appointed Clerk of the King's Works at the\nPalace of Westminster, the Tower, the royal manors of\nKennington, Eltham, Clarendon, Sheen, Byfleet, Childern\nLangley, and Feckenham, the castle of Berkhamstead, the royal\nlodge of Hathenburgh in the New Forest, the lodges in the\nparks of Clarendon, Childern Langley, and Feckenham, and the\nmews for the King's falcons at Charing Cross; he received a\nsalary of two shillings per day, and was allowed to perform the\nduties by deputy. For some reason unknown, Chaucer held this\nlucrative office <10> little more than two years, quitting it\nbefore the 16th of September 1391, at which date it had passed\ninto the hands of one John Gedney. The next two years and a\nhalf are a blank, so far as authentic records are concerned;\nChaucer is supposed to have passed them in retirement,\nprobably devoting them principally to the composition of The\nCanterbury Tales. In February 1394, the King conferred upon\nhim a grant of L20 a year for life; but he seems to have had no\nother source of income, and to have become embarrassed by\ndebt, for frequent memoranda of small advances on his pension\nshow that his circumstances were, in comparison, greatly\nreduced.  Things appear to have grown worse and worse with\nthe poet; for in May 1398 he was compelled to obtain from the\nKing letters of protection against arrest, extending over a term\nof two years. Not for the first time, it is true -- for similar\ndocuments had been issued at the beginning of Richard's reign;\nbut at that time Chaucer's missions abroad, and his responsible\nduties in the port of London, may have furnished reasons for\nsecuring him against annoyance or frivolous prosecution, which\nwere wholly wanting at the later date.  In 1398, fortune began\nagain to smile upon him; he received a royal grant of a tun of\nwine annually, the value being about L4. Next year, Richard II\nhaving been deposed by the son of John of Gaunt <11>  --\nHenry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster -- the new King, four\ndays after hits accession, bestowed on Chaucer a grant of forty\nmarks (L26, 13s. 4d.) per annum, in addition to the pension of\nL20 conferred by Richard II. in 1394.  But the poet, now\nseventy-one years of age, and probably broken down by the\nreverses of the past few years, was not destined long to enjoy\nhis renewed prosperity.  On Christmas Eve of 1399, he entered\non the possession of a house in the garden of the Chapel of the\nBlessed Mary of Westminster -- near to the present site of\nHenry VII.'s Chapel -- having obtained a lease from Robert\nHermodesworth, a monk of the adjacent convent, for fifty-three\nyears, at the annual rent of four marks (L2, 13s. 4d.) Until the\n1st of March 1400, Chaucer drew his pensions in person; then\nthey were received for him by another hand; and on the 25th of\nOctober, in the same year, he died, at the age of seventy-two.\nThe only lights thrown by his poems on his closing days are\nfurnished in the little ballad called \"Good Counsel of Chaucer,\"\n-- which, though said to have been written when \"upon his\ndeath-bed lying in his great anguish, \"breathes the very spirit of\ncourage, resignation, and philosophic calm; and by the\n\"Retractation\" at the end of The Canterbury Tales, which, if it\nwas not foisted in by monkish transcribers, may be supposed the\neffect of Chaucer's regrets and self-reproaches on that solemn\nreview of his life-work which the close approach of death\ncompelled. The poet was buried in Westminster Abbey; <12>\nand not many years after his death a slab was  placed on a pillar\nnear his grave, bearing the lines, taken from an epitaph or\neulogy made by Stephanus Surigonus of Milan, at the request of\nCaxton:\n\n\"Galfridus Chaucer, vates, et fama poesis\nMaternae, hoc sacra sum tumulatus humo.\" <13>\n\nAbout 1555, Mr Nicholas Brigham, a gentleman of Oxford who\ngreatly admired the genius of Chaucer, erected the present\ntomb, as near to the spot where the poet lay, \"before the chapel\nof St Benet,\" as was then possible by reason of the \"cancelli,\"\n<14> which the Duke of Buckingham subsequently obtained\nleave to remove, that room might be made for the tomb of\nDryden.  On the structure of Mr Brigham, besides a full-length\nrepresentation of Chaucer, taken from a portrait drawn by his\n\"scholar\" Thomas Occleve, was -- or is, though now almost\nillegible -- the following inscription:--\n\n                              M. S.\n            QUI FUIT ANGLORUM VATES TER MAXIMUS OLIM,\n             GALFRIDUS CHAUCER CONDITUR HOC TUMULO;\n            ANNUM SI QUAERAS DOMINI, SI TEMPORA VITAE,\n           ECCE NOTAE SUBSUNT, QUE TIBI CUNCTA NOTANT.\n                        25 OCTOBRIS 1400.\n                    AERUMNARUM REQUIES MORS.\n           N. BRIGHAM HOS FECIT MUSARUM NOMINE SUMPTUS\n                              1556. <15>\n\nConcerning his personal appearance and habits, Chaucer has not\nbeen reticent in his poetry. Urry sums up the traits of his aspect\nand character fairly thus: \"He was of a middle stature, the latter\npart of his life inclinable to be fat and corpulent, as appears by\nthe Host's bantering him in the journey to Canterbury, and\ncomparing shapes with him.<16>  His face was fleshy, his\nfeatures just and regular, his complexion fair, and somewhat\npale, his hair of a dusky yellow, short and thin; the hair of his\nbeard in two forked tufts, of a wheat colour; his forehead broad\nand smooth; his eyes inclining usually to the ground, which is\nintimated by the Host's words; his whole face full of liveliness, a\ncalm, easy sweetness, and a studious Venerable aspect. . . . As\nto his temper, he had a mixture of the gay, the modest, and the\ngrave. The sprightliness of his humour was more distinguished\nby his writings than by his appearance; which gave occasion to\nMargaret Countess of Pembroke often to rally him upon his\nsilent modesty in company, telling him, that his absence was\nmore agreeable to her than his conversation, since the first was\nproductive of agreeable pieces of wit in his writings, <17> but\nthe latter was filled with a modest deference, and a too distant\nrespect.  We see nothing merry or jocose in his behaviour with\nhis pilgrims, but a silent attention to their mirth, rather than any\nmixture of his own. . .  When disengaged from public affairs, his\ntime was entirely spent in study and reading; so agreeable to\nhim was this exercise, that he says he preferred it to all other\nsports and diversions.<18>  He lived within himself, neither\ndesirous to hear nor busy to concern himself with the affairs of\nhis neighbours. His course of living was temperate and regular;\nhe went to rest with the sun, and rose before it; and by that\nmeans enjoyed the pleasures of the better part of the day, his\nmorning walk and fresh contemplations.  This gave him the\nadvantage of describing the morning in so lively a manner as he\ndoes everywhere in his works. The springing sun glows warm in\nhis lines, and the fragrant air blows cool in his descriptions; we\nsmell the sweets of the bloomy haws, and hear the music of the\nfeathered choir, whenever we take a forest walk with him. The\nhour of the day is not easier to be discovered from the reflection\nof the sun in Titian's paintings, than in Chaucer's morning\nlandscapes. . . . His reading was deep and extensive, his\njudgement sound and discerning. . . In one word, he was a great\nscholar, a pleasant wit, a candid critic, a sociable companion, a\nsteadfast friend, a grave philosopher, a temperate economist,\nand a pious Christian.\"\n\nChaucer's most important poems are \"Troilus and Cressida,\"\n\"The Romaunt of the Rose,\" and \"The Canterbury Tales.\"  Of\nthe first, containing 8246 lines, an abridgement, with a prose\nconnecting outline of the story, is given in this volume. With the\nsecond, consisting of 7699 octosyllabic verses, like those in\nwhich \"The House of Fame\" is written, it was found impossible\nto deal in the present edition. The poem is a curtailed translation\nfrom the French \"Roman de la Rose\" -- commenced by\nGuillaume de Lorris, who died in 1260, after contributing 4070\nverses, and completed, in the last quarter of the thirteenth\ncentury, by Jean de Meun, who added some 18,000 verses. It is\na satirical allegory, in which the vices of courts, the corruptions\nof the clergy, the disorders and inequalities of society in general,\nare unsparingly attacked, and the most revolutionary doctrines\nare advanced; and though, in making his translation, Chaucer\nsoftened or eliminated much of the satire of the poem, still it\nremained, in his verse, a caustic exposure of the abuses of the\ntime, especially those which discredited the Church.\n\nThe Canterbury Tales are presented in this edition with as near\nan approach to completeness as regard for the popular character\nof the volume permitted. The 17,385 verses, of which the\npoetical Tales consist, have been given without abridgement or\npurgation -- save in a single couplet; but, the main purpose of\nthe volume being to make the general reader acquainted with\nthe \"poems\" of Chaucer and Spenser, the Editor has ventured to\ncontract the two prose Tales -- Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus,\nand the Parson's Sermon or Treatise on Penitence -- so as to\nsave about thirty pages for the introduction of Chaucer's minor\npieces. At the same time, by giving prose outlines of the omitted\nparts, it has been sought to guard the reader against the fear\nthat he was losing anything essential, or even valuable. It is\nalmost needless to describe the plot, or point out the literary\nplace, of the Canterbury Tales. Perhaps in the entire range of\nancient and modern literature there is no work that so clearly\nand freshly paints for future times the picture of the past;\ncertainly no Englishman has ever approached Chaucer in the\npower of fixing for ever the fleeting traits of his own time.  The\nplan of the poem had been adopted before Chaucer chose it;\nnotably in the \"Decameron\" of Boccaccio -- although, there, the\ncircumstances under which the tales were told, with the terror\nof the plague hanging over the merry company, lend a grim\ngrotesqueness to the narrative, unless we can look at it\nabstracted from its setting.  Chaucer, on the other hand, strikes\na perpetual key-note of gaiety whenever he mentions the word\n\"pilgrimage;\" and at every stage of the connecting story we\nbless the happy thought which gives us incessant incident,\nmovement, variety, and unclouded but never monotonous\njoyousness.\n\nThe poet, the evening before he starts on a pilgrimage to the\nshrine of St Thomas at Canterbury, lies at the Tabard Inn, in\nSouthwark, curious to know in what companionship he is\ndestined to fare forward on the morrow. Chance sends him\n\"nine and twenty in a company,\" representing all orders of\nEnglish society, lay and clerical, from the Knight and the Abbot\ndown to the Ploughman and the Sompnour. The jolly Host of\nthe Tabard, after supper, when tongues are loosened and hearts\nare opened, declares that \"not this year\" has he seen such a\ncompany at once under his roof-tree, and proposes that, when\nthey set out next morning, he should ride with them and make\nthem sport. All agree, and Harry Bailly unfolds his scheme: each\npilgrim, including the poet, shall tell two tales on the road to\nCanterbury, and two on the way back to London; and he whom\nthe general voice pronounces to have told the best tale, shall be\ntreated to a supper at the common cost -- and, of course, to\nmine Host's profit -- when the cavalcade returns from the saint's\nshrine to the Southwark hostelry. All joyously assent; and early\non the morrow, in the gay spring sunshine, they ride forth,\nlistening to the heroic tale of the brave and gentle Knight, who\nhas been gracefully chosen by the Host to lead the spirited\ncompetition of story-telling.\n\nTo describe thus the nature of the plan, and to say that when\nChaucer conceived, or at least began to execute it, he was\nbetween sixty and seventy years of age, is to proclaim that The\nCanterbury Tales could never be more than a fragment. Thirty\npilgrims, each telling two tales on the way out, and two more\non the way back -- that makes 120 tales; to say nothing of the\nprologue, the description of the journey, the occurrences at\nCanterbury, \"and all the remnant of their pilgrimage,\" which\nChaucer also undertook. No more than twenty-three of the 120\nstories are told in the work as it comes down to us; that is, only\ntwenty-three of the thirty pilgrims tell the first of the two stories\non the road to Canterbury; while of the stories on the return\njourney we have not one, and nothing is said about the doings\nof the pilgrims at Canterbury -- which would, if treated like the\nscene at the Tabard, have given us a still livelier \"picture of the\nperiod.\" But the plan was too large; and although the poet had\nsome reserves, in stories which he had already composed in an\nindependent form, death cut short his labour ere he could even\ncomplete the arrangement and connection of more than a very\nfew of the Tales. Incomplete as it is, however, the magnum\nopus of Chaucer was in his own time received with immense\nfavour; manuscript copies are numerous even now -- no slight\nproof of its popularity; and when the invention of printing was\nintroduced into England by William Caxton, The Canterbury\nTales issued from his press in the year after the first English-\nprinted book, \"The Game of the Chesse,\" had been struck off.\nInnumerable editions have since been published; and it may\nfairly be affirmed, that few books have been so much in favour\nwith the reading public of every generation as this book, which\nthe lapse of every generation has been rendering more\nunreadable.\n\nApart from \"The Romaunt of the Rose,\" no really important\npoetical work of Chaucer's is omitted from or unrepresented in\nthe present edition. Of \"The Legend of Good Women,\" the\nPrologue only is given -- but it is the most genuinely Chaucerian\npart of the poem.  Of \"The Court of Love,\" three-fourths are\nhere presented; of \"The Assembly of Fowls,\" \"The Cuckoo and\nthe Nightingale,\" \"The Flower and the Leaf,\" all; of \"Chaucer's\nDream,\" one-fourth; of \"The House of Fame,\" two-thirds; and\nof the minor poems such a selection as may give an idea of\nChaucer's power in the \"occasional\" department of verse.\nNecessarily, no space whatever could be given to Chaucer's\nprose works -- his translation of Boethius' Treatise on the\nConsolation of Philosophy; his Treatise on the Astrolabe,\nwritten for the use of his son Lewis; and his \"Testament of\nLove,\" composed in his later years, and reflecting the troubles\nthat then beset the poet. If, after studying in a simplified form\nthe salient works of England's first great bard, the reader is\ntempted to regret that he was not introduced to a wider\nacquaintance with the author, the purpose of the Editor will\nhave been more than attained.\n\nThe plan of the volume does not demand an elaborate\nexamination into the state of our language when Chaucer wrote,\nor the nice questions of grammatical and metrical structure\nwhich conspire with the obsolete orthography to make his\npoems a sealed book for the masses. The most important\nelement in the proper reading of Chaucer's verses -- whether\nwritten in the decasyllabic or heroic metre, which he introduced\ninto our literature, or in the octosyllabic measure used with such\nanimated effect in \"The House of Fame,\" \"Chaucer's Dream,\"\n&c. -- is the sounding of the terminal \"e\" where it is now silent.\nThat letter is still valid in French poetry; and Chaucer's lines can\nbe scanned only by reading them as we would read Racine's or\nMoliere's. The terminal \"e\" played an important part in\ngrammar; in many cases it was the sign of the infinitive -- the\n\"n\" being dropped from the end; at other times it pointed the\ndistinction between singular and plural, between adjective and\nadverb. The pages that follow, however, being prepared from\nthe modern English point of view, necessarily no account is\ntaken of those distinctions; and the now silent \"e\" has been\nretained in the text of Chaucer only when required by the\nmodern spelling, or by the exigencies of metre.\n\nBefore a word beginning with a vowel, or with the letter \"h,\"\nthe final \"e\" was almost without exception mute; and in such\ncases, in the plural forms and infinitives of verbs, the terminal\n\"n\" is generally retained for the sake of euphony. No reader\nwho is acquainted with the French language will find it hard to\nfall into Chaucer's accentuation; while, for such as are not, a\nsimple perusal of the text according to the rules of modern\nverse, should remove every difficulty.\n\n\nNotes to Life of Geoffrey Chaucer\n\n\n1. \"Edmund Spenser, a native of London, was born with a Muse\nof such power, that he was superior to all English poets of\npreceding ages, not excepting his fellow-citizen Chaucer.\"\n\n2. See introduction to \"The Legend of Good Women\".\n\n3. Called in the editions before 1597 \"The Dream of Chaucer\".\nThe poem, which is not included in the present edition, does\nindeed, like many of Chaucer's smaller works, tell the story of a\ndream, in which a knight, representing John of Gaunt, is found\nby the poet mourning the loss of his lady; but the true \"Dream\nof Chaucer,\" in which he celebrates the marriage of his patron,\nwas published for the first time by Speght in 1597. John of\nGaunt, in the end of 1371, married his second wife, Constance,\ndaughter to Pedro the Cruel of Spain; so that \"The Book of the\nDuchess\" must have been written between 1369 and 1371.\n\n4. Where he bids his \"little book\"\n\"Subject be unto all poesy,\nAnd kiss the steps, where as thou seest space,\nOf Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.\"\n\n5. See note 1 to The Tale in The Clerk's Tale.\n\n6. See note 1 to The Man of Law's Tale.\n\n7. \"Written,\" says Mr Wright, \"in the sixteenth year of the reign\nof Richard II. (1392-1393);\" a powerful confirmation of the\nopinion that this poem was really produced in Chaucer's mature\nage. See the introductory notes to it and to the Legend of Good\nWomen.\n\n8. The old biographers of Chaucer, founding on what they took\nto be autobiographic allusions in \"The Testament of Love,\"\nassign to him between 1354 and 1389 a very different history\nfrom that here given on the strength of authentic records\nexplored and quoted by Sir H. Nicolas. Chaucer is made to\nespouse the cause of John of Northampton, the Wycliffite Lord\nMayor of London, whose re-election in 1384 was so\nvehemently opposed by the clergy, and who was imprisoned in\nthe sequel of the grave disorders that arose. The poet, it is said,\nfled to the Continent, taking with him a large sum of money,\nwhich he spent in supporting companions in exile; then,\nreturning by stealth to England in quest of funds, he was\ndetected and sent to the Tower, where he languished for three\nyears, being released only on the humiliating condition of\ninforming against his associates in the plot. The public records\nshow, however, that, all the time of his alleged exile and\ncaptivity, he was quietly living in London, regularly drawing his\npensions in person, sitting in Parliament, and discharging his\nduties in the Customs until his dismissal in 1386. It need not be\nsaid, further, that although Chaucer freely handled the errors,\nthe ignorance, and vices of the clergy, he did so rather as a man\nof sense and of conscience, than as a Wycliffite -- and there is\nno evidence that he espoused the opinions of the zealous\nReformer, far less played the part of an extreme and self-\nregardless partisan of his old friend and college-companion.\n\n9. \"The Commissioners appear to have commenced their\nlabours with examining the accounts of the officers employed in\nthe collection of the revenue; and the sequel affords a strong\npresumption that the royal administration [under Lancaster and\nhis friends] had been foully calumniated. We hear not of any\nfrauds discovered, or of defaulters punished, or of grievances\nredressed.\" Such is the testimony of Lingard (chap. iv., 1386),\nall the more valuable for his aversion from the Wycliffite\nleanings of John of Gaunt. Chaucer's department in the London\nCustoms was in those days one of the most important and\nlucrative in the kingdom; and if mercenary abuse of his post\ncould have been proved, we may be sure that his and his\npatron's enemies would not have been content with simple\ndismissal, but would have heavily amerced or imprisoned him.\n\n10. The salary was L36, 10s. per annum; the salary of the Chief\nJudges was L40, of the Puisne Judges about L27. Probably the\nJudges -- certainly the Clerk of the Works -- had fees or\nperquisites besides the stated payment.\n\n11. Chaucer's patron had died earlier in 1399, during the exile\nof his son (then Duke of Hereford) in France. The Duchess\nConstance had died in 1394; and the Duke had made reparation\nto Katherine Swynford -- who had already borne him four\nchildren -- by marrying her in 1396, with the approval of\nRichard II., who legitimated the children, and made the eldest\nson of the poet's sister-in-law Earl of Somerset. From this long-\nillicit union sprang the house of Beaufort -- that being the\nsurname of the Duke's children by Katherine, after the name of\nthe castle in Anjou (Belfort, or Beaufort) where they were born.\n\n12. Of Chaucer's two sons by Philippa Roet, his only wife, the\nyounger, Lewis, for whom he wrote the Treatise on the\nAstrolabe, died young.  The elder, Thomas, married Maud, the\nsecond daughter and co-heiress of Sir John Burghersh, brother\nof the Bishop of Lincoln, the Chancellor and Treasurer of\nEngland. By this marriage Thomas Chaucer acquired great\nestates in Oxfordshire and elsewhere; and he figured\nprominently in the second rank of courtiers for many years. He\nwas Chief Butler to Richard II.; under Henry IV. he was\nConstable of Wallingford Castle, Steward of the Honours of\nWallingford and St Valery, and of the Chiltern Hundreds; and\nthe queen of Henry IV. granted him the farm of several of her\nmanors, a grant subsequently confirmed to him for life by the\nKing, after the Queen's death. He sat in Parliament repeatedly\nfor Oxfordshire, was Speaker in 1414, and in the same year\nwent to France as commissioner to negotiate the marriage of\nHenry V. with the Princess Katherine. He held, before he died\nin 1434, various other posts of trust and distinction; but he left\nno heirs-male.  His only child, Alice Chaucer, married twice;\nfirst Sir John Philip; and afterwards the Duke of Suffolk --\nattainted and beheaded in 1450.  She had three children by the\nDuke; and her eldest son married the Princess Elizabeth, sister\nof Edward IV. The eldest son of this marriage, created Earl of\nLincoln, was declared by Richard III heir-apparent to the\nthrone, in case the Prince of Wales should die without issue; but\nthe death of Lincoln himself, at the battle of Stoke in 1487,\ndestroyed all prospect that the poet's descendants might\nsucceed to the crown of England; and his family is now believed\nto be extinct.\n\n13. \"Geoffrey Chaucer, bard, and famous mother of poetry, is\nburied in this sacred ground.\"\n\n14. Railings.\n\n15 Translation of the epitaph: This tomb was built for Geoffrey\nChaucer, who in his time was the greatest poet of the English. If\nyou ask the year of his death, behold the words beneath, which\ntell you all. Death gave him rest from his toil, 25th of October\n1400.  N Brigham bore the cost of these words in the name of\nthe Muses. 1556.\n\n16. See the Prologue to Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas.\n\n17. See the \"Goodly Ballad of Chaucer,\" seventh stanza.\n\n18. See the opening of the Prologue to \"The Legend of Good\nWomen,\" and the poet's account of his habits in \"The House of\nFame\".\n\n\n\n                      THE CANTERBURY TALES.\n\n\n                          THE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nWHEN that Aprilis, with his showers swoot*,                       *sweet\nThe drought of March hath pierced to the root,\nAnd bathed every vein in such licour,\nOf which virtue engender'd is the flower;\nWhen Zephyrus eke with his swoote breath\nInspired hath in every holt* and heath                    *grove, forest\nThe tender croppes* and the younge sun                    *twigs, boughs\nHath in the Ram <1> his halfe course y-run,\nAnd smalle fowles make melody,\nThat sleepen all the night with open eye,\n(So pricketh them nature in their corages*);       *hearts, inclinations\nThen longe folk to go on pilgrimages,\nAnd palmers <2> for to seeke strange strands,\nTo *ferne hallows couth*  in sundry lands;     *distant saints known*<3>\nAnd specially, from every shire's end\nOf Engleland, to Canterbury they wend,\nThe holy blissful Martyr for to seek,\nThat them hath holpen*, when that they were sick.                *helped\n\nBefell that, in that season on a day,\nIn Southwark at the Tabard <4> as I lay,\nReady to wenden on my pilgrimage\nTo Canterbury with devout corage,\nAt night was come into that hostelry\nWell nine and twenty in a company\nOf sundry folk, *by aventure y-fall            *who had by chance fallen\nIn fellowship*, and pilgrims were they all,           into company.* <5>\nThat toward Canterbury woulde ride.\nThe chamber, and the stables were wide,\nAnd *well we weren eased at the best.*            *we were well provided\nAnd shortly, when the sunne was to rest,                  with the best*\nSo had I spoken with them every one,\nThat I was of their fellowship anon,\nAnd made forword* early for to rise,                            *promise\nTo take our way there as I you devise*.                *describe, relate\n\nBut natheless, while I have time and space,\nEre that I farther in this tale pace,\nMe thinketh it accordant to reason,\nTo tell you alle the condition\nOf each of them, so as it seemed me,\nAnd which they weren, and of what degree;\nAnd eke in what array that they were in:\nAnd at a Knight then will I first begin.\n\nA KNIGHT there was, and that a worthy man,\nThat from the time that he first began\nTo riden out, he loved chivalry,\nTruth and honour, freedom and courtesy.\nFull worthy was he in his Lorde's war,\nAnd thereto had he ridden, no man farre*,                       *farther\nAs well in Christendom as in Heatheness,\nAnd ever honour'd for his worthiness\nAt Alisandre <6> he was when it was won.\nFull often time he had the board begun\nAbove alle nations in Prusse.<7>\nIn Lettowe had he reysed,* and in Russe,                      *journeyed\nNo Christian man so oft of his degree.\nIn Grenade at the siege eke had he be\nOf Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie. <8>\nAt Leyes was he, and at Satalie,\nWhen they were won; and in the Greate Sea\nAt many a noble army had he be.\nAt mortal battles had he been fifteen,\nAnd foughten for our faith at Tramissene.\nIn listes thries, and aye slain his foe.\nThis ilke* worthy knight had been also                         *same <9>\nSome time with the lord of Palatie,\nAgainst another heathen in Turkie:\nAnd evermore *he had a sovereign price*.            *He was held in very\nAnd though that he was worthy he was wise,                 high esteem.*\nAnd of his port as meek as is a maid.\nHe never yet no villainy ne said\nIn all his life, unto no manner wight.\nHe was a very perfect gentle knight.\nBut for to telle you of his array,\nHis horse was good, but yet he was not gay.\nOf fustian he weared a gipon*,                            *short doublet\nAlle *besmotter'd with his habergeon,*     *soiled by his coat of mail.*\nFor he was late y-come from his voyage,\nAnd wente for to do his pilgrimage.\n\nWith him there was his son, a younge SQUIRE,\nA lover, and a lusty bacheler,\nWith lockes crulle* as they were laid in press.                  *curled\nOf twenty year of age he was I guess.\nOf his stature he was of even length,\nAnd *wonderly deliver*, and great of strength.      *wonderfully nimble*\nAnd he had been some time in chevachie*,                  *cavalry raids\nIn Flanders, in Artois, and Picardie,\nAnd borne him well, *as of so little space*,      *in such a short time*\nIn hope to standen in his lady's grace.\nEmbroider'd was he, as it were a mead\nAll full of freshe flowers, white and red.\nSinging he was, or fluting all the day;\nHe was as fresh as is the month of May.\nShort was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.\nWell could he sit on horse, and faire ride.\nHe coulde songes make, and well indite,\nJoust, and eke dance, and well pourtray and write.\nSo hot he loved, that by nightertale*                        *night-time\nHe slept no more than doth the nightingale.\nCourteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,\nAnd carv'd before his father at the table.<10>\n\nA YEOMAN had he, and servants no mo'\nAt that time, for *him list ride so*         *it pleased him so to ride*\nAnd he was clad in coat and hood of green.\nA sheaf of peacock arrows<11> bright and keen\nUnder his belt he bare full thriftily.\nWell could he dress his tackle yeomanly:\nHis arrows drooped not with feathers low;\nAnd in his hand he bare a mighty bow.\nA nut-head <12> had he, with a brown visiage:\nOf wood-craft coud* he well all the usage:                         *knew\nUpon his arm he bare a gay bracer*,                        *small shield\nAnd by his side a sword and a buckler,\nAnd on that other side a gay daggere,\nHarnessed well, and sharp as point of spear:\nA Christopher on his breast of silver sheen.\nAn horn he bare, the baldric was of green:\nA forester was he soothly* as I guess.                        *certainly\n\nThere was also a Nun, a PRIORESS,\nThat of her smiling was full simple and coy;\nHer greatest oathe was but by Saint Loy;\nAnd she was cleped*  Madame Eglentine.                           *called\nFull well she sang the service divine,\nEntuned in her nose full seemly;\nAnd French she spake full fair and fetisly*                    *properly\nAfter the school of Stratford atte Bow,\nFor French of Paris was to her unknow.\nAt meate was she well y-taught withal;\nShe let no morsel from her lippes fall,\nNor wet her fingers in her sauce deep.\nWell could she carry a morsel, and well keep,\nThat no droppe ne fell upon her breast.\nIn courtesy was set full much her lest*.                       *pleasure\nHer over-lippe wiped she so clean,\nThat in her cup there was no farthing* seen                       *speck\nOf grease, when she drunken had her draught;\nFull seemely after her meat she raught*:           *reached out her hand\nAnd *sickerly she was of great disport*,     *surely she was of a lively\nAnd full pleasant, and amiable of port,                     disposition*\nAnd *pained her to counterfeite cheer              *took pains to assume\nOf court,* and be estately of mannere,            a courtly disposition*\nAnd to be holden digne* of reverence.                            *worthy\nBut for to speaken of her conscience,\nShe was so charitable and so pitous,*                      *full of pity\nShe woulde weep if that she saw a mouse\nCaught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.\nOf smalle houndes had she, that she fed\nWith roasted flesh, and milk, and *wastel bread.*   *finest white bread*\nBut sore she wept if one of them were dead,\nOr if men smote it with a yarde* smart:                           *staff\nAnd all was conscience and tender heart.\nFull seemly her wimple y-pinched was;\nHer nose tretis;* her eyen gray as glass;<13>               *well-formed\nHer mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;\nBut sickerly she had a fair forehead.\nIt was almost a spanne broad I trow;\nFor *hardily she was not undergrow*.       *certainly she was not small*\nFull fetis* was her cloak, as I was ware.                          *neat\nOf small coral about her arm she bare\nA pair of beades, gauded all with green;\nAnd thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,\nOn which was first y-written a crown'd A,\nAnd after, *Amor vincit omnia.*                      *love conquers all*\nAnother Nun also with her had she,\n[That was her chapelleine, and PRIESTES three.]\n\nA MONK there was, a fair *for the mast'ry*,       *above all others*<14>\nAn out-rider, that loved venery*;                               *hunting\nA manly man, to be an abbot able.\nFull many a dainty horse had he in stable:\nAnd when he rode, men might his bridle hear\nJingeling <15> in a whistling wind as clear,\nAnd eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell,\nThere as this lord was keeper of the cell.\nThe rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet, <16>\nBecause that it was old and somedeal strait\nThis ilke* monk let olde thinges pace,                             *same\nAnd held after the newe world the trace.\nHe *gave not of the text a pulled hen,*                *he cared nothing\nThat saith, that hunters be not holy men:                  for the text*\nNe that a monk, when he is cloisterless;\nIs like to a fish that is waterless;\nThis is to say, a monk out of his cloister.\nThis ilke text held he not worth an oyster;\nAnd I say his opinion was good.\nWhy should he study, and make himselfe wood*                   *mad <17>\nUpon a book in cloister always pore,\nOr swinken* with his handes, and labour,                           *toil\nAs Austin bid? how shall the world be served?\nLet Austin have his swink to him reserved.\nTherefore he was a prickasour* aright:                       *hard rider\nGreyhounds he had as swift as fowl of flight;\nOf pricking* and of hunting for the hare                         *riding\nWas all his lust,* for no cost would he spare.                 *pleasure\n I saw his sleeves *purfil'd at the hand       *worked at the end with a\nWith gris,* and that the finest of the land.          fur called \"gris\"*\nAnd for to fasten his hood under his chin,\nHe had of gold y-wrought a curious pin;\nA love-knot in the greater end there was.\nHis head was bald, and shone as any glass,\nAnd eke his face, as it had been anoint;\nHe was a lord full fat and in good point;\nHis eyen steep,* and rolling in his head,                      *deep-set\nThat steamed as a furnace of a lead.\nHis bootes supple, his horse in great estate,\nNow certainly he was a fair prelate;\nHe was not pale as a forpined* ghost;                            *wasted\nA fat swan lov'd he best of any roast.\nHis palfrey was as brown as is a berry.\n\nA FRIAR there was, a wanton and a merry,\nA limitour <18>, a full solemne man.\nIn all the orders four is none that can*                          *knows\nSo much of dalliance and fair language.\nHe had y-made full many a marriage\nOf younge women, at his owen cost.\nUnto his order he was a noble post;\nFull well belov'd, and familiar was he\nWith franklins *over all* in his country,                   *everywhere*\nAnd eke with worthy women of the town:\nFor he had power of confession,\nAs said himselfe, more than a curate,\nFor of his order he was licentiate.\nFull sweetely heard he confession,\nAnd pleasant was his absolution.\nHe was an easy man to give penance,\n*There as he wist to have a good pittance:*      *where he know he would\nFor unto a poor order for to give                      get good payment*\nIs signe that a man is well y-shrive.\nFor if he gave, he *durste make avant*,                 *dared to boast*\nHe wiste* that the man was repentant.                              *knew\nFor many a man so hard is of his heart,\nHe may not weep although him sore smart.\nTherefore instead of weeping and prayeres,\nMen must give silver to the poore freres.\nHis tippet was aye farsed* full of knives                       *stuffed\nAnd pinnes, for to give to faire wives;\nAnd certainly he had a merry note:\nWell could he sing and playen *on a rote*;                 *from memory*\nOf yeddings* he bare utterly the prize.                           *songs\nHis neck was white as is the fleur-de-lis.\nThereto he strong was as a champion,\nAnd knew well the taverns in every town.\nAnd every hosteler and gay tapstere,\nBetter than a lazar* or a beggere,                                *leper\nFor unto such a worthy man as he\nAccordeth not, as by his faculty,\nTo have with such lazars acquaintance.\nIt is not honest, it may not advance,\nAs for to deale with no such pouraille*,                  *offal, refuse\nBut all with rich, and sellers of vitaille*.                   *victuals\nAnd *ov'r all there as* profit should arise,      *in every place where&\nCourteous he was, and lowly of service;\nThere n'as no man nowhere so virtuous.\nHe was the beste beggar in all his house:\nAnd gave a certain farme for the grant, <19>\nNone of his bretheren came in his haunt.\nFor though a widow hadde but one shoe,\nSo pleasant was his In Principio,<20>\nYet would he have a farthing ere he went;\nHis purchase was well better than his rent.\nAnd rage he could and play as any whelp,\nIn lovedays <21>; there could he muchel* help.                  *greatly\nFor there was he not like a cloisterer,\nWith threadbare cope as is a poor scholer;\nBut he was like a master or a pope.\nOf double worsted was his semicope*,                        *short cloak\nThat rounded was as a bell out of press.\nSomewhat he lisped for his wantonness,\nTo make his English sweet upon his tongue;\nAnd in his harping, when that he had sung,\nHis eyen* twinkled in his head aright,                             *eyes\nAs do the starres in a frosty night.\nThis worthy limitour <18> was call'd Huberd.\n\nA MERCHANT was there with a forked beard,\nIn motley, and high on his horse he sat,\nUpon his head a Flandrish beaver hat.\nHis bootes clasped fair and fetisly*.                            *neatly\nHis reasons aye spake he full solemnly,\nSounding alway th' increase of his winning.\nHe would the sea were kept <22> for any thing\nBetwixte Middleburg and Orewell<23>\nWell could he in exchange shieldes* sell              *crown coins <24>\nThis worthy man full well his wit beset*;                      *employed\nThere wiste* no wight** that he was in debt,                 *knew **man\nSo *estately was he of governance*                  *so well he managed*\nWith his bargains, and with his chevisance*.          *business contract\nFor sooth he was a worthy man withal,\nBut sooth to say, I n'ot* how men him call.                    *know not\n\nA CLERK there was of Oxenford* also,                             *Oxford\nThat unto logic hadde long y-go*.                       *devoted himself\nAs leane was his horse as is a rake,\nAnd he was not right fat, I undertake;\nBut looked hollow*, and thereto soberly**.               *thin; **poorly\nFull threadbare was his *overest courtepy*,      *uppermost short cloak*\nFor he had gotten him yet no benefice,\nNe was not worldly, to have an office.\nFor him was lever* have at his bed's head                        *rather\nTwenty bookes, clothed in black or red,\nOf Aristotle, and his philosophy,\nThan robes rich, or fiddle, or psalt'ry.\nBut all be that he was a philosopher,\nYet hadde he but little gold in coffer,\nBut all that he might of his friendes hent*,                     *obtain\nOn bookes and on learning he it spent,\nAnd busily gan for the soules pray\nOf them that gave him <25> wherewith to scholay*                  *study\nOf study took he moste care and heed.\nNot one word spake he more than was need;\nAnd that was said in form and reverence,\nAnd short and quick, and full of high sentence.\nSounding in moral virtue was his speech,\nAnd gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.\n\nA SERGEANT OF THE LAW, wary and wise,\nThat often had y-been at the Parvis, <26>\nThere was also, full rich of excellence.\nDiscreet he was, and of great reverence:\nHe seemed such, his wordes were so wise,\nJustice he was full often in assize,\nBy patent, and by plein* commission;                               *full\nFor his science, and for his high renown,\nOf fees and robes had he many one.\nSo great a purchaser was nowhere none.\nAll was fee simple to him, in effect\nHis purchasing might not be in suspect*                       *suspicion\nNowhere so busy a man as he there was\nAnd yet he seemed busier than he was\nIn termes had he case' and doomes* all                       *judgements\nThat from the time of King Will. were fall.\nThereto he could indite, and make a thing\nThere coulde no wight *pinch at* his writing.          *find fault with*\nAnd every statute coud* he plain by rote                           *knew\nHe rode but homely in a medley* coat,                     *multicoloured\nGirt with a seint* of silk, with barres small;                     *sash\nOf his array tell I no longer tale.\n\nA FRANKELIN* was in this company;                        *Rich landowner\nWhite was his beard, as is the daisy.\nOf his complexion he was sanguine.\nWell lov'd he in the morn a sop in wine.\nTo liven in delight was ever his won*,                             *wont\nFor he was Epicurus' owen son,\nThat held opinion, that plein* delight                             *full\nWas verily felicity perfite.\nAn householder, and that a great, was he;\nSaint Julian<27> he was in his country.\nHis bread, his ale, was alway *after one*;              *pressed on one*\nA better envined* man was nowhere none;                *stored with wine\nWithoute bake-meat never was his house,\nOf fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,\nIt snowed in his house of meat and drink,\nOf alle dainties that men coulde think.\nAfter the sundry seasons of the year,\nSo changed he his meat and his soupere.\nFull many a fat partridge had he in mew*,                     *cage <28>\nAnd many a bream, and many a luce* in stew**<29>       *pike **fish-pond\nWoe was his cook, *but if* his sauce were                       *unless*\nPoignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.\nHis table dormant* in his hall alway                              *fixed\nStood ready cover'd all the longe day.\nAt sessions there was he lord and sire.\nFull often time he was *knight of the shire*      *Member of Parliament*\nAn anlace*, and a gipciere** all of silk,                *dagger **purse\nHung at his girdle, white as morning milk.\nA sheriff had he been, and a countour<30>\nWas nowhere such a worthy vavasour<31>.\n\n An HABERDASHER, and a CARPENTER,\nA WEBBE*, a DYER, and a TAPISER**,              *weaver **tapestry-maker\nWere with us eke, cloth'd in one livery,\nOf a solemn and great fraternity.\nFull fresh and new their gear y-picked* was.                     *spruce\nTheir knives were y-chaped* not with brass,                     *mounted\nBut all with silver wrought full clean and well,\nTheir girdles and their pouches *every deal*.            *in every part*\nWell seemed each of them a fair burgess,\nTo sitten in a guild-hall, on the dais. <32>\nEvereach, for the wisdom that he can*,                             *knew\nWas shapely* for to be an alderman.                              *fitted\nFor chattels hadde they enough and rent,\nAnd eke their wives would it well assent:\nAnd elles certain they had been to blame.\nIt is full fair to be y-clep'd madame,\nAnd for to go to vigils all before,\nAnd have a mantle royally y-bore.<33>\n\nA COOK they hadde with them for the nones*,                    *occasion\nTo boil the chickens and the marrow bones,\nAnd powder merchant tart and galingale.\nWell could he know a draught of London ale.\nHe could roast, and stew, and broil, and fry,\nMake mortrewes, and well bake a pie.\nBut great harm was it, as it thoughte me,\nThat, on his shin a mormal* hadde he.                             *ulcer\nFor blanc manger, that made he with the best <34>\n\nA SHIPMAN was there, *wonned far by West*:                *who dwelt far\nFor ought I wot, be was of Dartemouth.                      to the West*\nHe rode upon a rouncy*, as he couth,                               *hack\nAll in a gown of falding* to the knee.                     *coarse cloth\nA dagger hanging by a lace had he\nAbout his neck under his arm adown;\nThe hot summer had made his hue all brown;\nAnd certainly he was a good fellaw.\nFull many a draught of wine he had y-draw\nFrom Bourdeaux-ward, while that the chapmen sleep;\nOf nice conscience took he no keep.\nIf that he fought, and had the higher hand,\n*By water he sent them home to every land.*              *he drowned his\nBut of his craft to reckon well his tides,                    prisoners*\nHis streames and his strandes him besides,\nHis herberow*, his moon, and lodemanage**,                   *harbourage\nThere was none such, from Hull unto Carthage              **pilotage<35>\nHardy he was, and wise, I undertake:\nWith many a tempest had his beard been shake.\nHe knew well all the havens, as they were,\nFrom Scotland to the Cape of Finisterre,\nAnd every creek in Bretagne and in Spain:\nHis barge y-cleped was the Magdelain.\n\nWith us there was a DOCTOR OF PHYSIC;\nIn all this worlde was there none him like\nTo speak of physic, and of surgery:\nFor he was grounded in astronomy.\nHe kept his patient a full great deal\nIn houres by his magic natural.\nWell could he fortune* the ascendent                     *make fortunate\nOf his images for his patient,.\nHe knew the cause of every malady,\nWere it of cold, or hot, or moist, or dry,\nAnd where engender'd, and of what humour.\nHe was a very  perfect practisour\nThe cause y-know,* and of his harm the root,                      *known\nAnon he gave to the sick man his boot*                           *remedy\nFull ready had he his apothecaries,\nTo send his drugges and his lectuaries\nFor each of them made other for to win\nTheir friendship was not newe to begin\nWell knew he the old Esculapius,\nAnd Dioscorides, and eke Rufus;\nOld Hippocras, Hali, and Gallien;\nSerapion, Rasis, and Avicen;\nAverrois, Damascene, and Constantin;\nBernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertin. <36>\nOf his diet measurable was he,\nFor it was of no superfluity,\nBut of great nourishing, and digestible.\nHis study was but little on the Bible.\nIn sanguine* and in perse** he clad was all                  *red **blue\nLined with taffeta, and with sendall*.                        *fine silk\nAnd yet *he was but easy of dispense*:            *he spent very little*\nHe kept *that he won in the pestilence*.              *the money he made\nFor gold in physic is a cordial;                      during the plague*\nTherefore he loved gold in special.\n\nA good WIFE was there OF beside BATH,\nBut she was somedeal deaf, and that was scath*.            *damage; pity\nOf cloth-making she hadde such an haunt*,                         *skill\nShe passed them of Ypres, and of Gaunt. <37>\nIn all the parish wife was there none,\nThat to the off'ring* before her should gon,       *the offering at mass\nAnd if there did, certain so wroth was she,\nThat she was out of alle charity\nHer coverchiefs* were full fine of ground                  *head-dresses\nI durste swear, they weighede ten pound <38>\nThat on the Sunday were upon her head.\nHer hosen weren of fine scarlet red,\nFull strait y-tied, and shoes full moist* and new            *fresh <39>\nBold was her face, and fair and red of hue.\nShe was a worthy woman all her live,\nHusbands at the church door had she had five,\nWithouten other company in youth;\nBut thereof needeth not to speak as nouth*.                         *now\nAnd thrice had she been at Jerusalem;\nShe hadde passed many a strange stream\nAt Rome she had been, and at Bologne,\nIn Galice at Saint James, <40> and at Cologne;\nShe coude* much of wand'rng by the Way.                            *knew\nGat-toothed* was she, soothly for to say.              *Buck-toothed<41>\nUpon an ambler easily she sat,\nY-wimpled well, and on her head an hat\nAs broad as is a buckler or a targe.\nA foot-mantle about her hippes large,\nAnd on her feet a pair of spurres sharp.\nIn fellowship well could she laugh and carp*                 *jest, talk\nOf remedies of love she knew perchance\nFor of that art she coud* the olde dance.                          *knew\n\nA good man there was of religion,\nThat was a poore PARSON of a town:\nBut rich he was of holy thought and werk*.                         *work\nHe was also a learned man, a clerk,\nThat Christe's gospel truly woulde preach.\nHis parishens* devoutly would he teach.                    *parishioners\nBenign he was, and wonder diligent,\nAnd in adversity full patient:\nAnd such he was y-proved *often sithes*.                    *oftentimes*\nFull loth were him to curse for his tithes,\nBut rather would he given out of doubt,\nUnto his poore parishens about,\nOf his off'ring, and eke of his substance.\n*He could in little thing have suffisance*.       *he was satisfied with\nWide was his parish, and houses far asunder,                very little*\nBut he ne left not, for no rain nor thunder,\nIn sickness and in mischief to visit\nThe farthest in his parish, *much and lit*,            *great and small*\nUpon his feet, and in his hand a staff.\nThis noble ensample to his sheep he gaf*,                          *gave\nThat first he wrought, and afterward he taught.\nOut of the gospel he the wordes caught,\nAnd this figure he added yet thereto,\nThat if gold ruste, what should iron do?\nFor if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,\nNo wonder is a lewed* man to rust:                            *unlearned\nAnd shame it is, if that a priest take keep,\nTo see a shitten shepherd and clean sheep:\nWell ought a priest ensample for to give,\nBy his own cleanness, how his sheep should live.\nHe sette not his benefice to hire,\nAnd left his sheep eucumber'd in the mire,\nAnd ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's,\nTo seeke him a chantery<42> for souls,\nOr with a brotherhood to be withold:*                          *detained\nBut dwelt at home, and kepte well his fold,\nSo that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.\nHe was a shepherd, and no mercenary.\nAnd though he holy were, and virtuous,\nHe was to sinful men not dispitous*                              *severe\nNor of his speeche dangerous nor dign*                       *disdainful\nBut in his teaching discreet and benign.\nTo drawen folk to heaven, with fairness,\nBy good ensample, was his business:\n*But it were* any person obstinate,                     *but if it were*\nWhat so he were of high or low estate,\nHim would he snibbe* sharply for the nones**.  *reprove **nonce,occasion\nA better priest I trow that nowhere none is.\nHe waited after no pomp nor reverence,\nNor maked him a *spiced conscience*,             *artificial conscience*\nBut Christe's lore, and his apostles' twelve,\nHe taught, and first he follow'd it himselve.\n\nWith him there was a PLOUGHMAN, was his brother,\nThat had y-laid of dung full many a fother*.                        *ton\nA true swinker* and a good was he,                          *hard worker\nLiving in peace and perfect charity.\nGod loved he beste with all his heart\nAt alle times, were it gain or smart*,                       *pain, loss\nAnd then his neighebour right as himselve.\nHe woulde thresh, and thereto dike*, and delve,             *dig ditches\nFor Christe's sake, for every poore wight,\nWithouten hire, if it lay in his might.\nHis tithes payed he full fair and well,\nBoth of his *proper swink*, and his chattel**   *his own labour* **goods\nIn a tabard* he rode upon a mare.                     *sleeveless jerkin\n\nThere was also a Reeve, and a Millere,\nA Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,\nA Manciple, and myself, there were no mo'.\n\nThe MILLER was a stout carle for the nones,\nFull big he was of brawn, and eke of bones;\nThat proved well, for *ov'r all where* he came,            *wheresoever*\nAt wrestling he would bear away the ram.<43>\nHe was short-shouldered, broad, a thicke gnarr*,          *stump of wood\nThere was no door, that he n'old* heave off bar,              *could not\nOr break it at a running with his head.\nHis beard as any sow or fox was red,\nAnd thereto broad, as though it were a spade.\nUpon the cop* right of his nose he had                        *head <44>\nA wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs\nRed as the bristles of a sowe's ears.\nHis nose-thirles* blacke were and wide.                   *nostrils <45>\nA sword and buckler bare he by his side.\nHis mouth as wide was as a furnace.\nHe was a jangler, and a goliardais*,                       *buffoon <46>\nAnd that was most of sin and harlotries.\nWell could he steale corn, and tolle thrice\nAnd yet he had a thumb of gold, pardie.<47>\nA white coat and a blue hood weared he\nA baggepipe well could he blow and soun',\nAnd therewithal he brought us out of town.\n\nA gentle MANCIPLE <48> was there of a temple,\nOf which achatours* mighte take ensample                         *buyers\nFor to be wise in buying of vitaille*.                         *victuals\nFor whether that he paid, or took *by taile*,                 *on credit\nAlgate* he waited so in his achate**,                 *always **purchase\nThat he was aye before in good estate.\nNow is not that of God a full fair grace\nThat such a lewed* mannes wit shall pace**          *unlearned **surpass\nThe wisdom of an heap of learned men?\nOf masters had he more than thries ten,\nThat were of law expert and curious:\nOf which there was a dozen in that house,\nWorthy to be stewards of rent and land\nOf any lord that is in Engleland,\nTo make him live by his proper good,\nIn honour debtless, *but if he were wood*,          *unless he were mad*\nOr live as scarcely as him list desire;\nAnd able for to helpen all a shire\nIn any case that mighte fall or hap;\nAnd yet this Manciple *set their aller cap*         *outwitted them all*\n\nThe REEVE <49> was a slender choleric man\nHis beard was shav'd as nigh as ever he can.\nHis hair was by his eares round y-shorn;\nHis top was docked like a priest beforn\nFull longe were his legges, and full lean\nY-like a staff, there was no calf y-seen\nWell could he keep a garner* and a bin*           *storeplaces for grain\nThere was no auditor could on him win\nWell wist he by the drought, and by the rain,\nThe yielding of his seed and of his grain\nHis lorde's sheep, his neat*, and his dairy                      *cattle\nHis swine, his horse, his store, and his poultry,\nWere wholly in this Reeve's governing,\nAnd by his cov'nant gave he reckoning,\nSince that his lord was twenty year of age;\nThere could no man bring him in arrearage\nThere was no bailiff, herd, nor other hine*                     *servant\nThat he ne knew his *sleight and his covine*       *tricks and cheating*\nThey were adrad* of him, as of the death                       *in dread\nHis wonning* was full fair upon an heath                          *abode\nWith greene trees y-shadow'd was his place.\nHe coulde better than his lord purchase\nFull rich he was y-stored privily\nHis lord well could he please subtilly,\nTo give and lend him of his owen good,\nAnd have a thank, and yet* a coat and hood.                        *also\nIn youth he learned had a good mistere*                           *trade\nHe was a well good wright, a carpentere\nThis Reeve sate upon a right good stot*,                          *steed\nThat was all pomely* gray, and highte** Scot.          *dappled **called\nA long surcoat of perse* upon he had,                          *sky-blue\nAnd by his side he bare a rusty blade.\nOf Norfolk was this Reeve, of which I tell,\nBeside a town men clepen* Baldeswell,                              *call\nTucked he was, as is a friar, about,\nAnd ever rode the *hinderest of the rout*.       *hindmost of the group*\n\nA SOMPNOUR* was there with us in that place,              *summoner <50>\nThat had a fire-red cherubinnes face,\nFor sausefleme* he was, with eyen narrow.                 *red or pimply\nAs hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow,\nWith scalled browes black, and pilled* beard:                    *scanty\nOf his visage children were sore afeard.\nThere n'as quicksilver, litharge, nor brimstone,\nBoras, ceruse, nor oil of tartar none,\nNor ointement that woulde cleanse or bite,\nThat him might helpen of his whelkes* white,                   *pustules\nNor of the knobbes* sitting on his cheeks.                      *buttons\nWell lov'd he garlic, onions, and leeks,\nAnd for to drink strong wine as red as blood.\nThen would he speak, and cry as he were wood;\nAnd when that he well drunken had the wine,\nThen would he speake no word but Latin.\nA fewe termes knew he, two or three,\nThat he had learned out of some decree;\nNo wonder is, he heard it all the day.\nAnd eke ye knowen well, how that a jay\nCan clepen* \"Wat,\" as well as can the Pope.                        *call\nBut whoso would in other thing him grope*,                       *search\nThen had he spent all his philosophy,\nAye, Questio quid juris,<51> would he cry.\n\nHe was a gentle harlot* and a kind;                    *a low fellow<52>\nA better fellow should a man not find.\nHe woulde suffer, for a quart of wine,\nA good fellow to have his concubine\nA twelvemonth, and excuse him at the full.\nFull privily a *finch eke could he pull*.               *\"fleece\" a man*\nAnd if he found owhere* a good fellaw,                         *anywhere\nHe woulde teache him to have none awe\nIn such a case of the archdeacon's curse;\n*But if* a manne's soul were in his purse;                      *unless*\nFor in his purse he should y-punished be.\n\"Purse is the archedeacon's hell,\" said he.\nBut well I wot, he lied right indeed:\nOf cursing ought each guilty man to dread,\nFor curse will slay right as assoiling* saveth;               *absolving\nAnd also 'ware him of a significavit<53>.\nIn danger had he at his owen guise\nThe younge girles of the diocese, <54>\nAnd knew their counsel, and was of their rede*.                 *counsel\nA garland had he set upon his head,\nAs great as it were for an alestake*:      *The post of an alehouse sign\nA buckler had he made him of a cake.\n\nWith him there rode a gentle PARDONERE <55>\nOf Ronceval, his friend and his compere,\nThat straight was comen from the court of Rome.\nFull loud he sang, \"Come hither, love, to me\"\nThis Sompnour *bare to him a stiff burdoun*,             *sang the bass*\nWas never trump of half so great a soun'.\nThis Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,\nBut smooth it hung, as doth a strike* of flax:                    *strip\nBy ounces hung his lockes that he had,\nAnd therewith he his shoulders oversprad.\nFull thin it lay, by culpons* one and one,                *locks, shreds\nBut hood for jollity, he weared none,\nFor it was trussed up in his wallet.\nHim thought he rode all of the *newe get*,          *latest fashion*<56>\nDishevel, save his cap, he rode all bare.\nSuch glaring eyen had he, as an hare.\nA vernicle*  had he sew'd upon his cap.            *image of Christ <57>\nHis wallet lay before him in his lap,\nBretful* of pardon come from Rome all hot.                      *brimful\nA voice he had as small as hath a goat.\nNo beard had he, nor ever one should have.\nAs smooth it was as it were new y-shave;\nI trow he were a gelding or a mare.\nBut of his craft, from Berwick unto Ware,\nNe was there such another pardonere.\nFor in his mail* he had a pillowbere**,           *bag <58> **pillowcase\nWhich, as he saide, was our Lady's veil:\nHe said, he had a gobbet* of the sail                             *piece\nThat Sainte Peter had, when that he went\nUpon the sea, till Jesus Christ him hent*.                 *took hold of\nHe had a cross of latoun* full of stones,                        *copper\nAnd in a glass he hadde pigge's bones.\nBut with these relics, whenne that he fond\nA poore parson dwelling upon lond,\nUpon a day he got him more money\nThan that the parson got in moneths tway;\nAnd thus with feigned flattering and japes*,                      *jests\nHe made the parson and the people his apes.\nBut truely to tellen at the last,\nHe was in church a noble ecclesiast.\nWell could he read a lesson or a story,\nBut alderbest* he sang an offertory:                        *best of all\nFor well he wiste, when that song was sung,\nHe muste preach, and well afile* his tongue,                     *polish\nTo winne silver, as he right well could:\nTherefore he sang full merrily and loud.\n\nNow have I told you shortly in a clause\nTh' estate, th' array, the number, and eke the cause\nWhy that assembled was this company\nIn Southwark at this gentle hostelry,\nThat highte the Tabard, fast by the Bell.<59>\nBut now is time to you for to tell\n*How that we baren us that ilke night*,    *what we did that same night*\nWhen we were in that hostelry alight.\nAnd after will I tell of our voyage,\nAnd all the remnant of our pilgrimage.\nBut first I pray you of your courtesy,\nThat ye *arette it not my villainy*,       *count it not rudeness in me*\nThough that I plainly speak in this mattere.\nTo tellen you their wordes and their cheer;\nNot though I speak their wordes properly.\nFor this ye knowen all so well as I,\nWhoso shall tell a tale after a man,\nHe must rehearse, as nigh as ever he can,\nEvery word, if it be in his charge,\n*All speak he* ne'er so rudely and so large;             *let him speak*\nOr elles he must tell his tale untrue,\nOr feigne things, or finde wordes new.\nHe may not spare, although he were his brother;\nHe must as well say one word as another.\nChrist spake Himself full broad in Holy Writ,\nAnd well ye wot no villainy is it.\nEke Plato saith, whoso that can him read,\nThe wordes must be cousin to the deed.\nAlso I pray you to forgive it me,\n*All have I* not set folk in their degree,             *although I have*\nHere in this tale, as that they shoulden stand:\nMy wit is short, ye may well understand.\n\nGreat cheere made our Host us every one,\nAnd to the supper set he us anon:\nAnd served us with victual of the best.\nStrong was the wine, and well to drink us lest*.                *pleased\nA seemly man Our Hoste was withal\nFor to have been a marshal in an hall.\nA large man he was with eyen steep*,                          *deep-set.\nA fairer burgess is there none in Cheap<60>:\nBold of his speech, and wise and well y-taught,\nAnd of manhoode lacked him right naught.\nEke thereto was he right a merry man,\nAnd after supper playen he began,\nAnd spake of mirth amonges other things,\nWhen that we hadde made our reckonings;\nAnd saide thus; \"Now, lordinges, truly\nYe be to me welcome right heartily:\nFor by my troth, if that I shall not lie,\nI saw not this year such a company\nAt once in this herberow*, am is now.                          *inn <61>\nFain would I do you mirth, an* I wist* how.                  *if I knew*\nAnd of a mirth I am right now bethought.\nTo do you ease*, and it shall coste nought.                    *pleasure\nYe go to Canterbury; God you speed,\nThe blissful Martyr *quite you your meed*;               *grant you what\nAnd well I wot, as ye go by the way,                        you deserve*\nYe *shapen you* to talken and to play:                       *intend to*\nFor truely comfort nor mirth is none\nTo ride by the way as dumb as stone:\nAnd therefore would I make you disport,\nAs I said erst, and do you some comfort.\nAnd if you liketh all by one assent\nNow for to standen at my judgement,\nAnd for to worken as I shall you say\nTo-morrow, when ye riden on the way,\nNow by my father's soule that is dead,\n*But ye be merry, smiteth off* mine head.         *unless you are merry,\nHold up your hands withoute more speech.              smite off my head*\n\nOur counsel was not longe for to seech*:                           *seek\nUs thought it was not worth to *make it wise*,    *discuss it at length*\nAnd granted him withoute more avise*,                     *consideration\nAnd bade him say his verdict, as him lest.\nLordings (quoth he), now hearken for the best;\nBut take it not, I pray you, in disdain;\nThis is the point, to speak it plat* and plain.                    *flat\nThat each of you, to shorten with your way\nIn this voyage, shall tellen tales tway,\nTo Canterbury-ward, I mean it so,\nAnd homeward he shall tellen other two,\nOf aventures that whilom have befall.\nAnd which of you that bear'th him best of all,\nThat is to say, that telleth in this case\nTales of best sentence and most solace,\nShall have a supper *at your aller cost*        *at the cost of you all*\nHere in this place, sitting by this post,\nWhen that ye come again from Canterbury.\nAnd for to make you the more merry,\nI will myselfe gladly with you ride,\nRight at mine owen cost, and be your guide.\nAnd whoso will my judgement withsay,\nShall pay for all we spenden by the way.\nAnd if ye vouchesafe that it be so,\nTell me anon withoute wordes mo'*,                                 *more\nAnd I will early shape me therefore.\"\n\nThis thing was granted, and our oath we swore\nWith full glad heart, and prayed him also,\nThat he would vouchesafe for to do so,\nAnd that he woulde be our governour,\nAnd of our tales judge and reportour,\nAnd set a supper at a certain price;\nAnd we will ruled be at his device,\nIn high and low: and thus by one assent,\nWe be accorded to his judgement.\nAnd thereupon the wine was fet* anon.                          *fetched.\nWe drunken, and to reste went each one,\nWithouten any longer tarrying\nA-morrow, when the day began to spring,\nUp rose our host, and was *our aller cock*,    *the cock to wake us all*\nAnd gather'd us together in a flock,\nAnd forth we ridden all a little space,\nUnto the watering of Saint Thomas<62>:\nAnd there our host began his horse arrest,\nAnd saide; \"Lordes, hearken if you lest.\nYe *weet your forword,* and I it record.             *know your promise*\nIf even-song and morning-song accord,\nLet see now who shall telle the first tale.\nAs ever may I drinke wine or ale,\nWhoso is rebel to my judgement,\nShall pay for all that by the way is spent.\nNow draw ye cuts*, ere that ye farther twin**.                *lots **go\nHe which that hath the shortest shall begin.\"\n\n\"Sir Knight (quoth he), my master and my lord,\nNow draw the cut, for that is mine accord.\nCome near (quoth he), my Lady Prioress,\nAnd ye, Sir Clerk, let be your shamefastness,\nNor study not: lay hand to, every man.\"\nAnon to drawen every wight began,\nAnd shortly for to tellen as it was,\nWere it by a venture, or sort*, or cas**,                  *lot **chance\nThe sooth is this, the cut fell to the Knight,\nOf which full blithe and glad was every wight;\nAnd tell he must his tale as was reason,\nBy forword, and by composition,\nAs ye have heard; what needeth wordes mo'?\nAnd when this good man saw that it was so,\nAs he that wise was and obedient\nTo keep his forword by his free assent,\nHe said; \"Sithen* I shall begin this game,                        *since\nWhy, welcome be the cut in Godde's name.\nNow let us ride, and hearken what I say.\"\nAnd with that word we ridden forth our way;\nAnd he began with right a merry cheer\nHis tale anon, and said as ye shall hear.\n\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue\n\n\n1. Tyrwhitt points out that \"the Bull\" should be read  here, not\n\"the Ram,\" which would place the time of  the pilgrimage in the\nend of March; whereas, in the Prologue to the Man of Law's\nTale, the date is given as the \"eight and  twenty day of April,\nthat is messenger to May.\"\n\n2. Dante, in the \"Vita Nuova,\" distinguishes three classes of\npilgrims: palmieri - palmers who go beyond  sea to the East,\nand often bring back staves of palm-wood; peregrini, who go\nthe shrine of St Jago in Galicia; Romei, who go to Rome.   Sir\nWalter Scott, however, says that palmers were in the habit of\npassing from shrine to shrine, living on charity -- pilgrims on the\nother hand, made the journey to any shrine only once,\nimmediately returning to their ordinary avocations. Chaucer\nuses \"palmer\" of all pilgrims.\n\n3. \"Hallows\" survives, in the meaning here given, in All Hallows\n-- All-Saints -- day.  \"Couth,\" past participle of \"conne\" to\nknow, exists in \"uncouth.\"\n\n4. The Tabard -- the sign of the inn -- was a sleeveless coat,\nworn by heralds.  The name of the inn was, some three\ncenturies after Chaucer, changed to the Talbot.\n\n5. In y-fall,\" \"y\" is a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon \"ge\"\nprefixed to participles of verbs.  It is used by Chaucer merely to\nhelp the metre  In German,  \"y-fall,\" or  y-falle,\" would be\n\"gefallen\",  \"y-run,\" or \"y-ronne\", would be \"geronnen.\"\n\n6. Alisandre: Alexandria, in Egypt, captured by Pierre de\nLusignan, king of Cyprus, in 1365 but abandoned immediately\nafterwards.  Thirteen years before, the same Prince had taken\nSatalie, the ancient Attalia, in Anatolia, and in 1367 he won\nLayas, in Armenia, both places named just below.\n\n7. The knight had been placed at the head of the table, above\nknights of all nations, in Prussia, whither warriors from all\ncountries were wont to repair, to aid the Teutonic Order in their\ncontinual conflicts with their heathen neighbours in  \"Lettowe\"\nor Lithuania (German. \"Litthauen\"), Russia, &c.\n\n8. Algesiras was taken from the Moorish king of Grenada, in\n1344: the Earls of Derby and Salisbury took part in the siege.\nBelmarie is supposed to have been a Moorish state in Africa;\nbut \"Palmyrie\" has been suggested as the correct reading. The\nGreat Sea, or  the Greek sea, is the Eastern Mediterranean.\nTramissene, or Tremessen, is enumerated by Froissart among\nthe Moorish kingdoms in Africa. Palatie, or  Palathia, in\nAnatolia, was a fief held by the Christian  knights after the\nTurkish conquests -- the holders paying tribute to the infidel.\nOur knight had fought with one of those lords against a heathen\nneighbour.\n\n9. Ilke: same; compare the Scottish phrase \"of that ilk,\" --\nthat is, of the estate which bears the same name as its owner's\ntitle.\n\n10. It was the custom for squires of the highest degree to carve\nat their fathers' tables.\n\n11. Peacock Arrows: Large arrows, with peacocks' feathers.\n\n12. A nut-head: With nut-brown hair; or, round like a nut, the\nhair being cut short.\n\n13. Grey eyes appear to have been a mark of female beauty in\nChaucer's time.\n\n14. \"for the mastery\" was applied to medicines in the sense of\n\"sovereign\" as we now apply it to a remedy.\n\n15. It was fashionable to hang bells on horses' bridles.\n\n16. St. Benedict was the first founder of a spiritual order in the\nRoman church.  Maurus, abbot of Fulda from 822 to 842, did\nmuch to re-establish the discipline of the Benedictines on a true\nChristian basis.\n\n17. Wood: Mad, Scottish \"wud\".  Felix says to Paul, \"Too\nmuch learning hath made thee mad\".\n\n18. Limitour: A friar with licence or privilege to beg, or\nexercise other functions, within a certain district: as, \"the\nlimitour of Holderness\".\n\n19. Farme: rent; that is, he paid a premium for his licence to\nbeg.\n\n20. In principio:  the first words of Genesis and John, employed\nin some part of the mass.\n\n21. Lovedays: meetings appointed for friendly settlement of\ndifferences; the business was often followed by sports and\nfeasting.\n\n22. He would the sea were kept  for any thing: he would for\nanything that the sea were guarded. \"The old subsidy of\ntonnage and poundage,\" says Tyrwhitt, \"was given to the king\n'pour la saufgarde et custodie del mer.' --  for the safeguard and\nkeeping of the sea\" (12 E. IV. C.3).\n\n23. Middleburg, at the mouth of the Scheldt, in Holland;\nOrwell, a seaport in Essex.\n\n24. Shields: Crowns, so called from the shields stamped on\nthem; French, \"ecu;\" Italian, \"scudo.\"\n\n25. Poor scholars at the universities used then to go about\nbegging for money to maintain them and their studies.\n\n26. Parvis: The portico of St. Paul's, which lawyers frequented\nto meet their clients.\n\n27. St Julian: The patron saint of hospitality, celebrated for\nsupplying his votaries with good lodging and good cheer.\n\n28. Mew: cage. The place behind Whitehall, where the king's\nhawks were  caged was called the Mews.\n\n29. Many a luce in stew: many a pike in his fish-pond; in those\nCatholic days, when much fish was eaten, no gentleman's\nmansion was complete without a \"stew\".\n\n30. Countour:  Probably a steward or accountant in the county\ncourt.\n\n31. Vavasour: A landholder of consequence; holding of a duke,\nmarquis, or earl, and ranking below a baron.\n\n32. On the dais:  On the raised platform at the end of the hall,\nwhere sat at meat or in judgement those high in authority, rank\nor honour; in our days the worthy craftsmen might have been\ndescribed as \"good platform men\".\n\n33. To take precedence over all in going to the evening service\nof the Church, or to festival meetings, to which it was the\nfashion to carry rich cloaks or mantles against the home-\ncoming.\n\n34. The things the cook could make: \"marchand tart\",  some\nnow unknown ingredient used in cookery; \"galingale,\" sweet or\nlong rooted cyprus; \"mortrewes\", a rich soup made by stamping\nflesh in a mortar; \"Blanc manger\", not what is now called\nblancmange; one part of it was the brawn of a capon.\n\n35. Lodemanage: pilotage, from Anglo-Saxon \"ladman,\" a\nleader, guide, or pilot; hence \"lodestar,\" \"lodestone.\"\n\n36. The authors mentioned here were the chief medical text-\nbooks of the middle ages. The names of Galen and Hippocrates\nwere then usually spelt \"Gallien\" and \"Hypocras\" or \"Ypocras\".\n\n37. The west of England, especially around Bath, was the seat\nof the cloth-manufacture, as were Ypres and Ghent (Gaunt) in\nFlanders.\n\n38. Chaucer here satirises the fashion of the time, which piled\nbulky and heavy waddings on ladies' heads.\n\n39. Moist; here used in the sense of \"new\", as in Latin,\n\"mustum\" signifies new wine; and elsewhere Chaucer speaks of\n\"moisty ale\", as opposed to \"old\".\n\n40. In Galice at Saint James: at the shrine of St Jago of\nCompostella in Spain.\n\n41. Gat-toothed: Buck-toothed; goat-toothed, to signify her\nwantonness; or gap-toothed -- with gaps between her teeth.\n\n42. An endowment to sing masses for the soul of the donor.\n\n43. A ram was the usual prize at wrestling matches.\n\n44. Cop: Head; German, \"Kopf\".\n\n45. Nose-thirles: nostrils; from the Anglo-Saxon, \"thirlian,\" to\npierce; hence the word \"drill,\" to bore.\n\n46. Goliardais: a babbler and a buffoon; Golias was the founder\nof a jovial sect called by his name.\n\n47. The proverb says that every honest miller has a thumb of\ngold; probably Chaucer means that this one was as honest as his\nbrethren.\n\n48. A Manciple -- Latin, \"manceps,\" a purchaser or contractor -\n- was an officer charged with the purchase of victuals for inns\nof court or colleges.\n\n49. Reeve: A land-steward; still called \"grieve\" -- Anglo-Saxon,\n\"gerefa\"  in some parts of Scotland.\n\n50. Sompnour: summoner; an apparitor, who cited delinquents\nto appear in ecclesiastical courts.\n\n51. Questio quid juris: \"I ask which law (applies)\"; a cant law-\nLatin phrase.\n\n52 Harlot: a low, ribald fellow; the word was used of both\nsexes; it comes from the Anglo-Saxon verb to hire.\n\n53. Significavit: an ecclesiastical writ.\n\n54. Within his jurisdiction he had at his own pleasure the young\npeople (of both sexes) in the diocese.\n\n55. Pardoner: a seller of pardons or indulgences.\n\n56. Newe get:  new gait, or fashion; \"gait\" is still used in this\nsense in some parts of the country.\n\n57. Vernicle: an image of Christ; so called from St Veronica,\nwho gave the Saviour a napkin to wipe the sweat from  His face\nas He bore the Cross, and received it back with an impression\nof His countenance upon it.\n\n58. Mail: packet, baggage; French, \"malle,\" a trunk.\n\n59. The Bell:  apparently another Southwark tavern; Stowe\nmentions a \"Bull\" as being near the Tabard.\n\n60. Cheap: Cheapside, then inhabited by the richest and most\nprosperous citizens of London.\n\n61. Herberow: Lodging, inn; French, \"Herberge.\"\n\n62. The watering of Saint Thomas: At the second milestone on\nthe old Canterbury road.\n\n\n\n                     THE KNIGHT'S TALE <1>\n\n\nWHILOM*, as olde stories tellen us,                            *formerly\nThere was a duke that highte* Theseus.                   *was called <2>\nOf Athens he was lord and governor,\nAnd in his time such a conqueror\nThat greater was there none under the sun.\nFull many a riche country had he won.\nWhat with his wisdom and his chivalry,\nHe conquer'd all the regne of Feminie,<3>\nThat whilom was y-cleped Scythia;\nAnd weddede the Queen Hippolyta\nAnd brought her home with him to his country\nWith muchel* glory and great solemnity,                           *great\nAnd eke her younge sister Emily,\nAnd thus with vict'ry and with melody\nLet I this worthy Duke to Athens ride,\nAnd all his host, in armes him beside.\n\nAnd certes, if it n'ere* too long to hear,                     *were not\nI would have told you fully the mannere,\nHow wonnen* was the regne of Feminie, <4>                           *won\nBy Theseus, and by his chivalry;\nAnd of the greate battle for the nonce\nBetwixt Athenes and the Amazons;\nAnd how assieged was Hippolyta,\nThe faire hardy queen of Scythia;\nAnd of the feast that was at her wedding\nAnd of the tempest at her homecoming.\nBut all these things I must as now forbear.\nI have, God wot, a large field to ear*                       *plough<5>;\nAnd weake be the oxen in my plough;\nThe remnant of my tale is long enow.\nI will not *letten eke none of this rout*.                *hinder any of\nLet every fellow tell his tale about,                      this company*\nAnd let see now who shall the supper win.\nThere *as I left*, I will again begin.                *where I left off*\n\nThis Duke, of whom I make mentioun,\nWhen he was come almost unto the town,\nIn all his weal, and in his moste pride,\nHe was ware, as he cast his eye aside,\nWhere that there kneeled in the highe way\nA company of ladies, tway and tway,\nEach after other, clad in clothes black:\nBut such a cry and such a woe they make,\nThat in this world n'is creature living,\nThat hearde such another waimenting*                      *lamenting <6>\nAnd of this crying would they never stenten*,                    *desist\nTill they the reines of his bridle henten*.                       *seize\n\"What folk be ye that at mine homecoming\nPerturben so my feaste with crying?\"\nQuoth Theseus; \"Have ye so great envy\nOf mine honour, that thus complain and cry?\nOr who hath you misboden*, or offended?                         *wronged\nDo telle me, if it may be amended;\nAnd why that ye be clad thus all in black?\"\n\nThe oldest lady of them all then spake,\nWhen she had swooned, with a deadly cheer*,                 *countenance\nThat it was ruthe* for to see or hear.                             *pity\nShe saide; \"Lord, to whom fortune hath given\nVict'ry, and as a conqueror to liven,\nNought grieveth us your glory and your honour;\nBut we beseechen mercy and succour.\nHave mercy on our woe and our distress;\nSome drop of pity, through thy gentleness,\nUpon us wretched women let now fall.\nFor certes, lord, there is none of us all\nThat hath not been a duchess or a queen;\nNow be we caitives*, as it is well seen:                       *captives\nThanked be Fortune, and her false wheel,\nThat *none estate ensureth to be wele*.       *assures no continuance of\nAnd certes, lord, t'abiden your presence              prosperous estate*\nHere in this temple of the goddess Clemence\nWe have been waiting all this fortenight:\nNow help us, lord, since it lies in thy might.\n\n\"I, wretched wight, that weep and waile thus,\nWas whilom wife to king Capaneus,\nThat starf* at Thebes, cursed be that day:                     *died <7>\nAnd alle we that be in this array,\nAnd maken all this lamentatioun,\nWe losten all our husbands at that town,\nWhile that the siege thereabouten lay.\nAnd yet the olde Creon, wellaway!\nThat lord is now of Thebes the city,\nFulfilled of ire and of iniquity,\nHe for despite, and for his tyranny,\nTo do the deade bodies villainy*,                                *insult\nOf all our lorde's, which that been y-slaw,                       *slain\nHath all the bodies on an heap y-draw,\nAnd will not suffer them by none assent\nNeither to be y-buried, nor y-brent*,                             *burnt\nBut maketh houndes eat them in despite.\"\nAnd with that word, withoute more respite\nThey fallen groff,* and cryden piteously;                    *grovelling\n\"Have on us wretched women some mercy,\nAnd let our sorrow sinken in thine heart.\"\n\nThis gentle Duke down from his courser start\nWith hearte piteous, when he heard them speak.\nHim thoughte that his heart would all to-break,\nWhen he saw them so piteous and so mate*                         *abased\nThat whilom weren of so great estate.\nAnd in his armes he them all up hent*,                     *raised, took\nAnd them comforted in full good intent,\nAnd swore his oath, as he was true knight,\nHe woulde do *so farforthly his might*        *as far as his power went*\nUpon the tyrant Creon them to wreak*,                            *avenge\nThat all the people of Greece shoulde speak,\nHow Creon was of Theseus y-served,\nAs he that had his death full well deserved.\nAnd right anon withoute more abode*                               *delay\nHis banner he display'd, and forth he rode\nTo Thebes-ward, and all his, host beside:\nNo ner* Athenes would he go nor ride,                            *nearer\nNor take his ease fully half a day,\nBut onward on his way that night he lay:\nAnd sent anon Hippolyta the queen,\nAnd Emily her younge sister sheen*                       *bright, lovely\nUnto the town of Athens for to dwell:\nAnd forth he rit*; there is no more to tell.                       *rode\n\nThe red statue of Mars with spear and targe*                     *shield\nSo shineth in his white banner large\nThat all the fieldes glitter up and down:\nAnd by his banner borne is his pennon\nOf gold full rich, in which there was y-beat*                   *stamped\nThe Minotaur<8> which that he slew in Crete\nThus rit this Duke, thus rit this conqueror\nAnd in his host of chivalry the flower,\nTill that he came to Thebes, and alight\nFair in a field, there as he thought to fight.\nBut shortly for to speaken of this thing,\nWith Creon, which that was of Thebes king,\nHe fought, and slew him manly as a knight\nIn plain bataille, and put his folk to flight:\nAnd by assault he won the city after,\nAnd rent adown both wall, and spar, and rafter;\nAnd to the ladies he restored again\nThe bodies of their husbands that were slain,\nTo do obsequies, as was then the guise*.                         *custom\n\nBut it were all too long for to devise*                        *describe\nThe greate clamour, and the waimenting*,                      *lamenting\nWhich that the ladies made at the brenning*                     *burning\nOf the bodies, and the great honour\nThat Theseus the noble conqueror\nDid to the ladies, when they from him went:\nBut shortly for to tell is mine intent.\nWhen that this worthy Duke, this Theseus,\nHad Creon slain, and wonnen Thebes thus,\nStill in the field he took all night his rest,\nAnd did with all the country as him lest*.                      *pleased\nTo ransack in the tas* of bodies dead,                             *heap\nThem for to strip of *harness and of **weed,           *armour **clothes\nThe pillers* did their business and cure,                 *pillagers <9>\nAfter the battle and discomfiture.\nAnd so befell, that in the tas they found,\nThrough girt with many a grievous bloody wound,\nTwo younge knightes *ligging by and by*             *lying side by side*\nBoth in *one armes*, wrought full richely:             *the same armour*\nOf whiche two, Arcita hight that one,\nAnd he that other highte Palamon.\nNot fully quick*, nor fully dead they were,                       *alive\nBut by their coat-armour, and by their gear,\nThe heralds knew them well in special,\nAs those that weren of the blood royal\nOf Thebes, and *of sistren two y-born*.            *born of two sisters*\nOut of the tas the pillers have them torn,\nAnd have them carried soft unto the tent\nOf Theseus, and he full soon them sent\nTo Athens, for to dwellen in prison\nPerpetually, he *n'olde no ranson*.               *would take no ransom*\nAnd when this worthy Duke had thus y-done,\nHe took his host, and home he rit anon\nWith laurel crowned as a conquerour;\nAnd there he lived in joy and in honour\nTerm of his life; what needeth wordes mo'?\nAnd in a tower, in anguish and in woe,\nDwellen this Palamon, and eke Arcite,\nFor evermore, there may no gold them quite*                    *set free\n\nThus passed year by year, and day by day,\nTill it fell ones in a morn of May\nThat Emily, that fairer was to seen\nThan is the lily upon his stalke green,\nAnd fresher than the May with flowers new\n(For with the rose colour strove her hue;\nI n'ot* which was the finer of them two),                      *know not\nEre it was day, as she was wont to do,\nShe was arisen, and all ready dight*,                           *dressed\nFor May will have no sluggardy a-night;\nThe season pricketh every gentle heart,\nAnd maketh him out of his sleep to start,\nAnd saith, \"Arise, and do thine observance.\"\n\nThis maketh Emily have remembrance\nTo do honour to May, and for to rise.\nY-clothed was she fresh for to devise;\nHer yellow hair was braided in a tress,\nBehind her back, a yarde long I guess.\nAnd in the garden at *the sun uprist*                           *sunrise\nShe walketh up and down where as her list.\nShe gathereth flowers, party* white and red,                    *mingled\nTo make a sotel* garland for her head,            *subtle, well-arranged\nAnd as an angel heavenly she sung.\nThe greate tower, that was so thick and strong,\nWhich of the castle was the chief dungeon<10>\n(Where as these knightes weren in prison,\nOf which I tolde you, and telle shall),\nWas even joinant* to the garden wall,                         *adjoining\nThere as this Emily had her playing.\n\nBright was the sun, and clear that morrowning,\nAnd Palamon, this woful prisoner,\nAs was his wont, by leave of his gaoler,\nWas ris'n, and roamed in a chamber on high,\nIn which he all the noble city sigh*,                               *saw\nAnd eke the garden, full of branches green,\nThere as this fresh Emelia the sheen\nWas in her walk, and roamed up and down.\nThis sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon\nWent in his chamber roaming to and fro,\nAnd to himself complaining of his woe:\nThat he was born, full oft he said, Alas!\nAnd so befell, by aventure or cas*,                              *chance\nThat through a window thick of many a bar\nOf iron great, and square as any spar,\nHe cast his eyes upon Emelia,\nAnd therewithal he blent* and cried, Ah!                  *started aside\nAs though he stungen were unto the heart.\nAnd with that cry Arcite anon up start,\nAnd saide, \"Cousin mine, what aileth thee,\nThat art so pale and deadly for to see?\nWhy cried'st thou? who hath thee done offence?\nFor Godde's love, take all in patience\nOur prison*, for it may none other be.                     *imprisonment\nFortune hath giv'n us this adversity'.\nSome wick'* aspect or disposition                                *wicked\nOf Saturn<11>, by some constellation,\nHath giv'n us this, although we had it sworn,\nSo stood the heaven when that we were born,\nWe must endure; this is the short and plain.\n\nThis Palamon answer'd, and said again:\n\"Cousin, forsooth of this opinion\nThou hast a vain imagination.\nThis prison caused me not for to cry;\nBut I was hurt right now thorough mine eye\nInto mine heart; that will my bane*  be.                    *destruction\nThe fairness of the lady that I see\nYond in the garden roaming to and fro,\nIs cause of all my crying and my woe.\nI *n'ot wher* she be woman or goddess,                *know not whether*\nBut Venus is it, soothly* as I guess,                             *truly\nAnd therewithal on knees adown he fill,\nAnd saide: \"Venus, if it be your will\nYou in this garden thus to transfigure\nBefore me sorrowful wretched creature,\nOut of this prison help that we may scape.\nAnd if so be our destiny be shape\nBy etern word to dien in prison,\nOf our lineage have some compassion,\nThat is so low y-brought by tyranny.\"\n\nAnd with that word Arcita *gan espy*               *began to look forth*\nWhere as this lady roamed to and fro\nAnd with that sight her beauty hurt him so,\nThat if that Palamon was wounded sore,\nArcite is hurt as much as he, or more.\nAnd with a sigh he saide piteously:\n\"The freshe beauty slay'th me suddenly\nOf her that roameth yonder in the place.\nAnd but* I have her mercy and her grace,                         *unless\nThat I may see her at the leaste way,\nI am but dead; there is no more to say.\"\nThis Palamon, when he these wordes heard,\nDispiteously* he looked, and answer'd:                          *angrily\n\"Whether say'st thou this in earnest or in play?\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth Arcite, \"in earnest, by my fay*.                     *faith\nGod help me so, *me lust full ill to play*.\"          *I am in no humour\nThis Palamon gan knit his browes tway.                      for jesting*\n\"It were,\" quoth he, \"to thee no great honour\nFor to be false, nor for to be traitour\nTo me, that am thy cousin and thy brother\nY-sworn full deep, and each of us to other,\nThat never for to dien in the pain <12>,\nTill that the death departen shall us twain,\nNeither of us in love to hinder other,\nNor in none other case, my leve* brother;                          *dear\nBut that thou shouldest truly farther me\nIn every case, as I should farther thee.\nThis was thine oath, and mine also certain;\nI wot it well, thou dar'st it not withsayn*,                       *deny\nThus art thou of my counsel out of doubt,\nAnd now thou wouldest falsely be about\nTo love my lady, whom I love and serve,\nAnd ever shall, until mine hearte sterve*                           *die\nNow certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so\nI lov'd her first, and tolde thee my woe\nAs to my counsel, and my brother sworn\nTo farther me, as I have told beforn.\nFor which thou art y-bounden as a knight\nTo helpe me, if it lie in thy might,\nOr elles art thou false, I dare well sayn,\"\n\nThis Arcita full proudly spake again:\n\"Thou shalt,\" quoth he, \"be rather* false than I,                *sooner\nAnd thou art false, I tell thee utterly;\nFor par amour I lov'd her first ere thou.\nWhat wilt thou say? *thou wist it not right now*          *even now thou\nWhether she be a woman or goddess.                          knowest not*\nThine is affection of holiness,\nAnd mine is love, as to a creature:\nFor which I tolde thee mine aventure\nAs to my cousin, and my brother sworn\nI pose*, that thou loved'st her beforn:                         *suppose\nWost* thou not well the olde clerke's saw<13>,                  *know'st\nThat who shall give a lover any law?\nLove is a greater lawe, by my pan,\nThan may be giv'n to any earthly man:\nTherefore positive law, and such decree,\nIs broke alway for love in each degree\nA man must needes love, maugre his head.\nHe may not flee it, though he should be dead,\n*All be she* maid, or widow, or else wife.              *whether she be*\nAnd eke it is not likely all thy life\nTo standen in her grace, no more than I\nFor well thou wost thyselfe verily,\nThat thou and I be damned to prison\nPerpetual, us gaineth no ranson.\nWe strive, as did the houndes for the bone;\nThey fought all day, and yet their part was none.\nThere came a kite, while that they were so wroth,\nAnd bare away the bone betwixt them both.\nAnd therefore at the kinge's court, my brother,\nEach man for himselfe, there is no  other.\nLove if thee list; for I love and aye shall\nAnd soothly, leve brother, this is all.\nHere in this prison musten we endure,\nAnd each of us take his Aventure.\"\n\nGreat was the strife and long between these tway,\nIf that I hadde leisure for to say;\nBut to the effect: it happen'd on a day\n(To tell it you as shortly as I may),\nA worthy duke that hight Perithous<14>\nThat fellow was to the Duke Theseus\nSince thilke* day that they were children lite**          *that **little\nWas come to Athens, his fellow to visite,\nAnd for to play, as he was wont to do;\nFor in this world he loved no man so;\nAnd he lov'd him as tenderly again.\nSo well they lov'd, as olde bookes sayn,\nThat when that one was dead, soothly to sayn,\nHis fellow went and sought him down in hell:\nBut of that story list me not to write.\nDuke Perithous loved well Arcite,\nAnd had him known at Thebes year by year:\nAnd finally at request and prayere\nOf Perithous, withoute ranson\nDuke Theseus him let out of prison,\nFreely to go, where him list over all,\nIn such a guise, as I you tellen shall\nThis was the forword*, plainly to indite,                       *promise\nBetwixte Theseus and him Arcite:\nThat if so were, that Arcite were y-found\nEver in his life, by day or night, one stound*               *moment<15>\nIn any country of this Theseus,\nAnd he were caught, it was accorded thus,\nThat with a sword he shoulde lose his head;\nThere was none other remedy nor rede*.                          *counsel\nBut took his leave, and homeward he him sped;\nLet him beware, his necke lieth *to wed*.                    *in pledge*\n\nHow great a sorrow suff'reth now Arcite!\nThe death he feeleth through his hearte smite;\nHe weepeth, waileth, crieth piteously;\nTo slay himself he waiteth privily.\nHe said; \"Alas the day that I was born!\nNow is my prison worse than beforn:\n*Now is me shape* eternally to dwell                *it is fixed for me*\nNot in purgatory, but right in hell.\nAlas! that ever I knew Perithous.\nFor elles had I dwelt with Theseus\nY-fettered in his prison evermo'.\nThen had I been in bliss, and not in woe.\nOnly the sight of her, whom that I serve,\nThough that I never may her grace deserve,\nWould have sufficed right enough for me.\nO deare cousin Palamon,\" quoth he,\n\"Thine is the vict'ry of this aventure,\nFull blissfully in prison to endure:\nIn prison? nay certes, in paradise.\nWell hath fortune y-turned thee the dice,\nThat hast the sight of her, and I th' absence.\nFor possible is, since thou hast her presence,\nAnd art a knight, a worthy and an able,\nThat by some cas*, since fortune is changeable,                  *chance\nThou may'st to thy desire sometime attain.\nBut I that am exiled, and barren\nOf alle grace, and in so great despair,\nThat there n'is earthe, water, fire, nor air,\nNor creature, that of them maked is,\nThat may me helpe nor comfort in this,\nWell ought I *sterve in wanhope* and distress.          *die in despair*\nFarewell my life, my lust*, and my gladness.                   *pleasure\nAlas, *why plainen men so in commune       *why do men so often complain\nOf purveyance of God*, or of Fortune,              of God's providence?*\nThat giveth them full oft in many a guise\nWell better than they can themselves devise?\nSome man desireth for to have richess,\nThat cause is of his murder or great sickness.\nAnd some man would out of his prison fain,\nThat in his house is of his meinie* slain.                *servants <16>\nInfinite harmes be in this mattere.\nWe wot never what thing we pray for here.\nWe fare as he that drunk is as a mouse.\nA drunken man wot well he hath an house,\nBut he wot not which is the right way thither,\nAnd to a drunken man the way is slither*.                      *slippery\nAnd certes in this world so fare we.\nWe seeke fast after felicity,\nBut we go wrong full often truely.\nThus we may sayen all, and namely* I,                        *especially\nThat ween'd*, and had a great opinion,                          *thought\nThat if I might escape from prison\nThen had I been in joy and perfect heal,\nWhere now I am exiled from my weal.\nSince that I may not see you, Emily,\nI am but dead; there is no remedy.\"\n\nUpon that other side, Palamon,\nWhen that he wist Arcita was agone,\nMuch sorrow maketh, that the greate tower\nResounded of his yelling and clamour\nThe pure* fetters on his shinnes great                        *very <17>\nWere of his bitter salte teares wet.\n\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"Arcita, cousin mine,\nOf all our strife, God wot, the fruit is thine.\nThou walkest now in Thebes at thy large,\nAnd of my woe thou *givest little charge*.          *takest little heed*\nThou mayst, since thou hast wisdom and manhead*,       *manhood, courage\nAssemble all the folk of our kindred,\nAnd make a war so sharp on this country\nThat by some aventure, or some treaty,\nThou mayst have her to lady and to wife,\nFor whom that I must needes lose my life.\nFor as by way of possibility,\nSince thou art at thy large, of prison free,\nAnd art a lord, great is thine avantage,\nMore than is mine, that sterve here in a cage.\nFor I must weep and wail, while that I live,\nWith all the woe that prison may me give,\nAnd eke with pain that love me gives also,\nThat doubles all my torment and my woe.\"\n\nTherewith the fire of jealousy upstart\nWithin his breast, and hent* him by the heart                    *seized\nSo woodly*, that he like was to behold                            *madly\nThe box-tree, or the ashes dead and cold.\nThen said; \"O cruel goddess, that govern\nThis world with binding of your word etern*                     *eternal\nAnd writen in the table of adamant\nYour parlement* and your eternal grant,                    *consultation\nWhat is mankind more *unto you y-hold*                  *by you esteemed\nThan is the sheep, that rouketh* in the fold!      *lie huddled together\nFor slain is man, right as another beast;\nAnd dwelleth eke in prison and arrest,\nAnd hath sickness, and great adversity,\nAnd oftentimes guilteless, pardie*                               *by God\nWhat governance is in your prescience,\nThat guilteless tormenteth innocence?\nAnd yet increaseth this all my penance,\nThat man is bounden to his observance\nFor Godde's  sake to *letten of his will*,         *restrain his desire*\nWhereas a beast may all his lust fulfil.\nAnd when a beast is dead, he hath no pain;\nBut man after his death must weep and plain,\nThough in this worlde he have care and woe:\nWithoute doubt it maye standen so.\n\"The answer of this leave I to divines,\nBut well I wot, that in this world great pine* is;        *pain, trouble\nAlas! I see a serpent or a thief\nThat many a true man hath done mischief,\nGo at his large, and where him list may turn.\nBut I must be in prison through Saturn,\nAnd eke through Juno, jealous and eke wood*,                        *mad\nThat hath well nigh destroyed all the blood\nOf Thebes, with his waste walles wide.\nAnd Venus slay'th me on that other side\nFor jealousy, and fear of him, Arcite.\"\n\nNow will I stent* of Palamon a lite**,                   *pause **little\nAnd let him in his prison stille dwell,\nAnd of Arcita forth I will you tell.\nThe summer passeth, and the nightes long\nIncrease double-wise the paines strong\nBoth of the lover and the prisonere.\nI n'ot* which hath the wofuller mistere**.         *know not **condition\nFor, shortly for to say, this Palamon\nPerpetually is damned to prison,\nIn chaines and in fetters to be dead;\nAnd Arcite is exiled *on his head*                *on peril of his head*\nFor evermore as out of that country,\nNor never more he shall his lady see.\nYou lovers ask I now this question,<18>\nWho lieth the worse, Arcite or Palamon?\nThe one may see his lady day by day,\nBut in prison he dwelle must alway.\nThe other where him list may ride or go,\nBut see his lady shall he never mo'.\nNow deem all as you liste, ye that can,\nFor I will tell you forth as I began.\n\nWhen that Arcite to Thebes comen was,\nFull oft a day he swelt*, and said, \"Alas!\"                     *fainted\nFor see this lady he shall never mo'.\nAnd shortly to concluden all his woe,\nSo much sorrow had never creature\nThat is or shall be while the world may dure.\nHis sleep, his meat, his drink is *him byraft*,    *taken away from him*\nThat lean he wex*, and dry as any shaft.                         *became\nHis eyen hollow, grisly to behold,\nHis hue sallow, and pale as ashes cold,\nAnd solitary he was, ever alone,\nAnd wailing all the night, making his moan.\nAnd if he hearde song or instrument,\nThen would he weepen, he might not be stent*.                   *stopped\nSo feeble were his spirits, and so low,\nAnd changed so, that no man coulde know\nHis speech, neither his voice, though men it heard.\nAnd in his gear* for all the world he far'd              *behaviour <19>\nNot only like the lovers' malady\nOf Eros, but rather y-like manie*                               *madness\nEngender'd of humours melancholic,\nBefore his head in his cell fantastic.<20>\nAnd shortly turned was all upside down,\nBoth habit and eke dispositioun,\nOf him, this woful lover Dan* Arcite.                         *Lord <21>\nWhy should I all day of his woe indite?\nWhen he endured had a year or two\nThis cruel torment, and this pain and woe,\nAt Thebes, in his country, as I said,\nUpon a night in sleep as he him laid,\nHim thought how that the winged god Mercury\nBefore him stood, and bade him to be merry.\nHis sleepy yard* in hand he bare upright;                      *rod <22>\nA hat he wore upon his haires bright.\nArrayed was this god (as he took keep*)                          *notice\nAs he was when that Argus<23> took his sleep;\nAnd said him thus: \"To Athens shalt thou wend*;                      *go\nThere is thee shapen* of thy woe an end.\"               *fixed, prepared\nAnd with that word Arcite woke and start.\n\"Now truely how sore that e'er me smart,\"\nQuoth he, \"to Athens right now will I fare.\nNor for no dread of death shall I not spare\nTo see my lady that I love and serve;\nIn her presence *I recke not to sterve.*\"         *do not care if I die*\nAnd with that word he caught a great mirror,\nAnd saw that changed was all his colour,\nAnd saw his visage all in other kind.\nAnd right anon it ran him ill his mind,\nThat since his face was so disfigur'd\nOf malady the which he had endur'd,\nHe mighte well, if that he *bare him low,*      *lived in lowly fashion*\nLive in Athenes evermore unknow,\nAnd see his lady wellnigh day by day.\nAnd right anon he changed his array,\nAnd clad him as a poore labourer.\nAnd all alone, save only a squier,\nThat knew his privity* and all his cas**,             *secrets **fortune\nWhich was disguised poorly as he was,\nTo Athens is he gone the nexte*  way.                      *nearest <24>\nAnd to the court he went upon a day,\nAnd at the gate he proffer'd his service,\nTo drudge and draw, what so men would devise*.                    *order\nAnd, shortly of this matter for to sayn,\nHe fell in office with a chamberlain,\nThe which that dwelling was with Emily.\nFor he was wise, and coulde soon espy\nOf every servant which that served her.\nWell could he hewe wood, and water bear,\nFor he was young and mighty for the nones*,                    *occasion\nAnd thereto he was strong and big of bones\nTo do that any wight can him devise.\n\nA year or two he was in this service,\nPage of the chamber of Emily the bright;\nAnd Philostrate he saide that he hight.\nBut half so well belov'd a man as he\nNe was there never in court of his degree.\nHe was so gentle of conditioun,\nThat throughout all the court was his renown.\nThey saide that it were a charity\nThat Theseus would *enhance his degree*,           *elevate him in rank*\nAnd put him in some worshipful service,\nThere as he might his virtue exercise.\nAnd thus within a while his name sprung\nBoth of his deedes, and of his good tongue,\nThat Theseus hath taken him so near,\nThat of his chamber he hath made him squire,\nAnd gave him gold to maintain his degree;\nAnd eke men brought him out of his country\nFrom year to year full privily his rent.\nBut honestly and slyly* he it spent,              *discreetly, prudently\nThat no man wonder'd how that he it had.\nAnd three year in this wise his life be lad*,                       *led\nAnd bare him so in peace and eke in werre*,                         *war\nThere was no man that Theseus had so derre*.                       *dear\nAnd in this blisse leave I now Arcite,\nAnd speak I will of Palamon a lite*.                             *little\n\nIn darkness horrible, and strong prison,\nThis seven year hath sitten Palamon,\nForpined*, what for love, and for distress.          *pined, wasted away\nWho feeleth double sorrow and heaviness\nBut Palamon? that love distraineth* so,                        *afflicts\nThat wood* out of his wits he went for woe,                         *mad\nAnd eke thereto he is a prisonere\nPerpetual, not only for a year.\nWho coulde rhyme in English properly\nHis martyrdom? forsooth*, it is not I;                            *truly\nTherefore I pass as lightly as I may.\nIt fell that in the seventh year, in May\nThe thirde night (as olde bookes sayn,\nThat all this story tellen more plain),\nWere it by a venture or destiny\n(As when a thing is shapen* it shall be),              *settled, decreed\nThat soon after the midnight, Palamon\nBy helping of a friend brake his prison,\nAnd fled the city fast as he might go,\nFor he had given drink his gaoler so\nOf a clary <25>, made of a certain wine,\nWith *narcotise and opie* of Thebes fine,          *narcotics and opium*\nThat all the night, though that men would him shake,\nThe gaoler slept, he mighte not awake:\nAnd thus he fled as fast as ever he may.\nThe night was short, and *faste by the day            *close at hand was\nThat needes cast he must himself to hide*.          the day during which\nAnd to a grove faste there beside       he must cast about, or contrive,\nWith dreadful foot then stalked Palamon.            to conceal himself.*\nFor shortly this was his opinion,\nThat in the grove he would him hide all day,\nAnd in the night then would he take his way\nTo Thebes-ward, his friendes for to pray\nOn Theseus to help him to warray*.                        *make war <26>\nAnd shortly either he would lose his life,\nOr winnen Emily unto his wife.\nThis is th' effect, and his intention plain.\n\nNow will I turn to Arcita again,\nThat little wist how nighe was his care,\nTill that Fortune had brought him in the snare.\nThe busy lark, the messenger of day,\nSaluteth in her song the morning gray;\nAnd fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright,\nThat all the orient laugheth at the sight,\nAnd with his streames* drieth in the greves**             *rays **groves\nThe silver droppes, hanging on the leaves;\nAnd Arcite, that is in the court royal\nWith Theseus, his squier principal,\nIs ris'n, and looketh on the merry day.\nAnd for to do his observance to May,\nRemembering the point* of his desire,                            *object\nHe on his courser, starting as the fire,\nIs ridden to the fieldes him to play,\nOut of the court, were it a mile or tway.\nAnd to the grove, of which I have you told,\nBy a venture his way began to hold,\nTo make him a garland of the greves*,                            *groves\nWere it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves,\nAnd loud he sang against the sun so sheen*.              *shining bright\n\"O May, with all thy flowers and thy green,\nRight welcome be thou, faire freshe May,\nI hope that I some green here getten may.\"\nAnd from his courser*, with a lusty heart,                        *horse\nInto the grove full hastily he start,\nAnd in a path he roamed up and down,\nThere as by aventure this Palamon\nWas in a bush, that no man might him see,\nFor sore afeard of his death was he.\nNothing ne knew he that it was Arcite;\nGod wot he would have *trowed it full lite*.   *full little believed it*\nBut sooth is said, gone since full many years,\nThe field hath eyen*, and the wood hath ears,                      *eyes\nIt is full fair a man *to bear him even*,           *to be on his guard*\nFor all day meeten men at *unset steven*.          *unexpected time <27>\nFull little wot Arcite of his fellaw,\nThat was so nigh to hearken of his saw*,                 *saying, speech\nFor in the bush he sitteth now full still.\nWhen that Arcite had roamed all his fill,\nAnd *sungen all the roundel* lustily,           *sang the roundelay*<28>\nInto a study he fell suddenly,\nAs do those lovers in their *quainte gears*,              *odd fashions*\nNow in the crop*, and now down in the breres**, <29>           *tree-top\nNow up, now down, as bucket in a well.                          **briars\nRight as the Friday, soothly for to tell,\nNow shineth it, and now it raineth fast,\nRight so can geary* Venus overcast                            *changeful\nThe heartes of her folk, right as her day\nIs gearful*, right so changeth she array.                     *changeful\nSeldom is Friday all the weeke like.\nWhen Arcite had y-sung, he gan to sike*,                           *sigh\nAnd sat him down withouten any more:\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"the day that I was bore!\nHow longe, Juno, through thy cruelty\nWilt thou warrayen* Thebes the city?                            *torment\nAlas! y-brought is to confusion\nThe blood royal of Cadm' and Amphion:\nOf Cadmus, which that was the firste man,\nThat Thebes built, or first the town began,\nAnd of the city first was crowned king.\nOf his lineage am I, and his offspring\nBy very line, as of the stock royal;\nAnd now I am *so caitiff and so thrall*,         *wretched and enslaved*\nThat he that is my mortal enemy,\nI serve him as his squier poorely.\nAnd yet doth Juno me well more shame,\nFor I dare not beknow* mine owen name,                 *acknowledge <30>\nBut there as I was wont to hight Arcite,\nNow hight I Philostrate, not worth a mite.\nAlas! thou fell Mars, and alas! Juno,\nThus hath your ire our lineage all fordo*                *undone, ruined\nSave only me, and wretched Palamon,\nThat Theseus martyreth in prison.\nAnd over all this, to slay me utterly,\nLove hath his fiery dart so brenningly*                       *burningly\nY-sticked through my true careful heart,\nThat shapen was my death erst than my shert. <31>\nYe slay me with your eyen, Emily;\nYe be the cause wherefore that I die.\nOf all the remnant of mine other care\nNe set I not the *mountance of a tare*,               *value of a straw*\nSo that I could do aught to your pleasance.\"\n\nAnd with that word he fell down in a trance\nA longe time; and afterward upstart\nThis Palamon, that thought thorough his heart\nHe felt a cold sword suddenly to glide:\nFor ire he quoke*, no longer would he hide.                      *quaked\nAnd when that he had heard Arcite's tale,\nAs he were wood*, with face dead and pale,                          *mad\nHe start him up out of the bushes thick,\nAnd said: \"False Arcita, false traitor wick'*,                   *wicked\nNow art thou hent*, that lov'st my lady so,                      *caught\nFor whom that I have all this pain and woe,\nAnd art my blood, and to my counsel sworn,\nAs I full oft have told thee herebeforn,\nAnd hast bejaped* here Duke Theseus,             *deceived, imposed upon\nAnd falsely changed hast thy name thus;\nI will be dead, or elles thou shalt die.\nThou shalt not love my lady Emily,\nBut I will love her only and no mo';\nFor I am Palamon thy mortal foe.\nAnd though I have no weapon in this place,\nBut out of prison am astart* by grace,                          *escaped\nI dreade* not that either thou shalt die,                         *doubt\nOr else thou shalt not loven Emily.\nChoose which thou wilt, for thou shalt not astart.\"\n\nThis Arcite then, with full dispiteous* heart,                 *wrathful\nWhen he him knew, and had his tale heard,\nAs fierce as lion pulled out a swerd,\nAnd saide thus; \"By God that sitt'th above,\n*N'ere it* that thou art sick, and wood for love,          *were it not*\nAnd eke that thou no weap'n hast in this place,\nThou should'st never out of this grove pace,\nThat thou ne shouldest dien of mine hand.\nFor I defy the surety and the band,\nWhich that thou sayest I have made to thee.\nWhat? very fool, think well that love is free;\nAnd I will love her maugre* all thy might.                      *despite\nBut, for thou art a worthy gentle knight,\nAnd *wilnest to darraine her by bataille*,             *will reclaim her\nHave here my troth, to-morrow I will not fail,                by combat*\nWithout weeting* of any other wight,                          *knowledge\nThat here I will be founden as a knight,\nAnd bringe harness* right enough for thee;              *armour and arms\nAnd choose the best, and leave the worst for me.\nAnd meat and drinke this night will I bring\nEnough for thee, and clothes for thy bedding.\nAnd if so be that thou my lady win,\nAnd slay me in this wood that I am in,\nThou may'st well have thy lady as for me.\"\nThis Palamon answer'd, \"I grant it thee.\"\nAnd thus they be departed till the morrow,\nWhen each of them hath *laid his faith to borrow*.   *pledged his faith*\n\nO Cupid, out of alle charity!\nO Regne* that wilt no fellow have with thee!                 *queen <32>\nFull sooth is said, that love nor lordeship\nWill not, *his thanks*, have any fellowship.             *thanks to him*\nWell finden that Arcite and Palamon.\nArcite is ridd anon unto the town,\nAnd on the morrow, ere it were daylight,\nFull privily two harness hath he dight*,                       *prepared\nBoth suffisant and meete to darraine*                           *contest\nThe battle in the field betwixt them twain.\nAnd on his horse, alone as he was born,\nHe carrieth all this harness him beforn;\nAnd in the grove, at time and place y-set,\nThis Arcite and this Palamon be met.\nThen change gan the colour of their face;\nRight as the hunter in the regne* of Thrace                     *kingdom\nThat standeth at a gappe with a spear\nWhen hunted is the lion or the bear,\nAnd heareth him come rushing in the greves*,                     *groves\nAnd breaking both the boughes and the leaves,\nThinketh, \"Here comes my mortal enemy,\nWithoute fail, he must be dead or I;\nFor either I must slay him at the gap;\nOr he must slay me, if that me mishap:\"\nSo fared they, in changing of their hue\n*As far as either of them other knew*.        *When they recognised each\nThere was no good day, and no saluting,                  other afar off*\nBut straight, withoute wordes rehearsing,\nEvereach of them holp to arm the other,\nAs friendly, as he were his owen brother.\nAnd after that, with sharpe speares strong\nThey foined* each at other wonder long.                          *thrust\nThou mightest weene*, that this Palamon                           *think\nIn fighting were as a wood* lion,                                   *mad\nAnd as a cruel tiger was Arcite:\nAs wilde boars gan they together smite,\nThat froth as white as foam, *for ire wood*.            *mad with anger*\nUp to the ancle fought they in their blood.\nAnd in this wise I let them fighting dwell,\nAnd forth I will of Theseus you tell.\n\nThe Destiny, minister general,\nThat executeth in the world o'er all\nThe purveyance*, that God hath seen beforn;              *foreordination\nSo strong it is, that though the world had sworn\nThe contrary of a thing by yea or nay,\nYet some time it shall fallen on a day\nThat falleth not eft* in a thousand year.                         *again\nFor certainly our appetites here,\nBe it of war, or peace, or hate, or love,\nAll is this ruled by the sight* above.         *eye, intelligence, power\nThis mean I now by mighty Theseus,\nThat for to hunten is so desirous --\nAnd namely* the greate hart in May --                        *especially\nThat in his bed there dawneth him no day\nThat he n'is clad, and ready for to ride\nWith hunt and horn, and houndes him beside.\nFor in his hunting hath he such delight,\nThat it is all his joy and appetite\nTo be himself the greate harte's bane*                      *destruction\nFor after Mars he serveth now Diane.\nClear was the day, as I have told ere this,\nAnd Theseus, with alle joy and bliss,\nWith his Hippolyta, the faire queen,\nAnd Emily, y-clothed all in green,\nOn hunting be they ridden royally.\nAnd to the grove, that stood there faste by,\nIn which there was an hart, as men him told,\nDuke Theseus the straighte way doth hold,\nAnd to the laund* he rideth him full right,                  *plain <33>\nThere was the hart y-wont to have his flight,\nAnd over a brook, and so forth on his way.\nThis Duke will have a course at him or tway\nWith houndes, such as him lust* to command.                     *pleased\nAnd when this Duke was come to the laund,\nUnder the sun he looked, and anon\nHe was ware of Arcite and Palamon,\nThat foughte breme*, as it were bulles two.                    *fiercely\nThe brighte swordes wente to and fro\nSo hideously, that with the leaste stroke\nIt seemed that it woulde fell an oak,\nBut what they were, nothing yet he wote*.                          *knew\nThis Duke his courser with his spurres smote,\n*And at a start* he was betwixt them two,                     *suddenly*\nAnd pulled out a sword and cried, \"Ho!\nNo more, on pain of losing of your head.\nBy mighty Mars, he shall anon be dead\nThat smiteth any stroke, that I may see!\nBut tell to me what mister* men ye be,                *manner, kind <34>\nThat be so hardy for to fighte here\nWithoute judge or other officer,\nAs though it were in listes royally. <35>\nThis Palamon answered hastily,\nAnd saide: \"Sir, what needeth wordes mo'?\nWe have the death deserved bothe two,\nTwo woful wretches be we, and caitives,\nThat be accumbered* of our own lives,                          *burdened\nAnd as thou art a rightful lord and judge,\nSo give us neither mercy nor refuge.\nAnd slay me first, for sainte charity,\nBut slay my fellow eke as well as me.\nOr slay him first; for, though thou know it lite*,               *little\nThis is thy mortal foe, this is Arcite\nThat from thy land is banisht on his head,\nFor which he hath deserved to be dead.\nFor this is he that came unto thy gate\nAnd saide, that he highte Philostrate.\nThus hath he japed* thee full many year,                       *deceived\nAnd thou hast made of him thy chief esquier;\nAnd this is he, that loveth Emily.\nFor since the day is come that I shall die\nI make pleinly* my confession,                      *fully, unreservedly\nThat I am thilke* woful Palamon,                         *that same <36>\nThat hath thy prison broken wickedly.\nI am thy mortal foe, and it am I\nThat so hot loveth Emily the bright,\nThat I would die here present in her sight.\nTherefore I aske death and my jewise*.                        *judgement\nBut slay my fellow eke in the same wise,\nFor both we have deserved to be slain.\"\n\nThis worthy Duke answer'd anon again,\nAnd said, \"This is a short conclusion.\nYour own mouth, by your own confession\nHath damned you, and I will it record;\nIt needeth not to pain you with the cord;\nYe shall be dead, by mighty Mars the Red.<37>\n\nThe queen anon for very womanhead\nBegan to weep, and so did Emily,\nAnd all the ladies in the company.\nGreat pity was it as it thought them all,\nThat ever such a chance should befall,\nFor gentle men they were, of great estate,\nAnd nothing but for love was this debate\nThey saw their bloody woundes wide and sore,\nAnd cried all at once, both less and more,\n\"Have mercy, Lord, upon us women all.\"\nAnd on their bare knees adown they fall\nAnd would have kissed his feet there as he stood,\nTill at the last *aslaked was his mood*                   *his anger was\n(For pity runneth soon in gentle heart);                       appeased*\nAnd though at first for ire he quoke and start\nHe hath consider'd shortly in a clause\nThe trespass of them both, and eke the cause:\nAnd although that his ire their guilt accused\nYet in his reason he them both excused;\nAs thus; he thoughte well that every man\nWill help himself in love if that he can,\nAnd eke deliver himself out of prison.\nOf women, for they wepten ever-in-one:*                     *continually\nAnd eke his hearte had compassion\nAnd in his gentle heart he thought anon,\nAnd soft unto himself he saide: \"Fie\nUpon a lord that will have no mercy,\nBut be a lion both in word and deed,\nTo them that be in repentance and dread,\nAs well as-to a proud dispiteous* man                         *unpitying\nThat will maintaine what he first began.\nThat lord hath little of discretion,\nThat in such case *can no division*:           *can make no distinction*\nBut weigheth pride and humbless *after one*.\"                    *alike*\nAnd shortly, when his ire is thus agone,\nHe gan to look on them with eyen light*,               *gentle, lenient*\nAnd spake these same wordes *all on height.*                     *aloud*\n\n\"The god of love, ah! benedicite*,                         *bless ye him\nHow mighty and how great a lord is he!\nAgainst his might there gaine* none obstacles,           *avail, conquer\nHe may be called a god for his miracles\nFor he can maken at his owen guise\nOf every heart, as that him list devise.\nLo here this Arcite, and this Palamon,\nThat quietly were out of my prison,\nAnd might have lived in Thebes royally,\nAnd weet* I am their mortal enemy,                                 *knew\nAnd that their death li'th in my might also,\nAnd yet hath love, *maugre their eyen two*,     *in spite of their eyes*\nY-brought them hither bothe for to die.\nNow look ye, is not this an high folly?\nWho may not be a fool, if but he love?\nBehold, for Godde's sake that sits above,\nSee how they bleed! be they not well array'd?\nThus hath their lord, the god of love, them paid\nTheir wages and their fees for their service;\nAnd yet they weene for to be full wise,\nThat serve love, for aught that may befall.\nBut this is yet the beste game* of all,                            *joke\nThat she, for whom they have this jealousy,\nCan them therefor as muchel thank as me.\nShe wot no more of all this *hote fare*,                 *hot behaviour*\nBy God, than wot a cuckoo or an hare.\nBut all must be assayed hot or cold;\nA man must be a fool, or young or old;\nI wot it by myself *full yore agone*:                   *long years ago*\nFor in my time a servant was I one.\nAnd therefore since I know of love's pain,\nAnd wot how sore it can a man distrain*,                       *distress\nAs he that oft hath been caught in his last*,                *snare <38>\nI you forgive wholly this trespass,\nAt request of the queen that kneeleth here,\nAnd eke of Emily, my sister dear.\nAnd ye shall both anon unto me swear,\nThat never more ye shall my country dere*                        *injure\nNor make war upon me night nor day,\nBut be my friends in alle that ye may.\nI you forgive this trespass *every deal*.                   *completely*\nAnd they him sware *his asking* fair and well,           *what he asked*\nAnd him of lordship and of mercy pray'd,\nAnd he them granted grace, and thus he said:\n\n\"To speak of royal lineage and richess,\nThough that she were a queen or a princess,\nEach of you both is worthy doubteless\nTo wedde when time is; but natheless\nI speak as for my sister Emily,\nFor whom ye have this strife and jealousy,\nYe wot* yourselves, she may not wed the two                        *know\nAt once, although ye fight for evermo:\nBut one of you, *all be him loth or lief,*    *whether or not he wishes*\nHe must *go pipe into an ivy leaf*:                       *\"go whistle\"*\nThis is to say, she may not have you both,\nAll be ye never so jealous, nor so wroth.\nAnd therefore I you put in this degree,\nThat each of you shall have his destiny\nAs *him is shape*; and hearken in what wise      *as is decreed for him*\nLo hear your end of that I shall devise.\nMy will is this, for plain conclusion\nWithouten any replication*,                                       *reply\nIf that you liketh, take it for the best,\nThat evereach of you shall go where *him lest*,              *he pleases\nFreely without ransom or danger;\nAnd this day fifty weekes, *farre ne nerre*,     *neither more nor less*\nEvereach of you shall bring an hundred knights,\nArmed for listes up at alle rights\nAll ready to darraine* her by bataille,                     *contend for\nAnd this behete* I you withoute fail                            *promise\nUpon my troth, and as I am a knight,\nThat whether of you bothe that hath might,\nThat is to say, that whether he or thou\nMay with his hundred, as I spake of now,\nSlay his contrary, or out of listes drive,\nHim shall I given Emily to wive,\nTo whom that fortune gives so fair a grace.\nThe listes shall I make here in this place.\n*And God so wisly on my soule rue*,              *may God as surely have\nAs I shall even judge be and true.                     mercy on my soul*\nYe shall none other ende with me maken\nThan one of you shalle be dead or taken.\nAnd if you thinketh this is well y-said,\nSay your advice*, and hold yourselves apaid**.      *opinion **satisfied\nThis is your end, and your conclusion.\"\nWho looketh lightly now but Palamon?\nWho springeth up for joye but Arcite?\nWho could it tell, or who could it indite,\nThe joye that is maked in the place\nWhen Theseus hath done so fair a grace?\nBut down on knees went every *manner wight*,            *kind of person*\nAnd thanked him with all their heartes' might,\nAnd namely* these Thebans *ofte sithe*.         *especially *oftentimes*\nAnd thus with good hope and with hearte blithe\nThey take their leave, and homeward gan they ride\nTo Thebes-ward, with his old walles wide.\n\nI trow men woulde deem it negligence,\nIf I forgot to telle the dispence*                          *expenditure\nOf Theseus, that went so busily\nTo maken up the listes royally,\nThat such a noble theatre as it was,\nI dare well say, in all this world there n'as*.                 *was not\nThe circuit a mile was about,\nWalled of stone, and ditched all without.\n*Round was the shape, in manner of compass,\nFull of degrees, the height of sixty pas*               *see note  <39>*\nThat when a man was set on one degree\nHe letted* not his fellow for to see.                          *hindered\nEastward there stood a gate of marble white,\nWestward right such another opposite.\nAnd, shortly to conclude, such a place\nWas never on earth made in so little space,\nFor in the land there was no craftes-man,\nThat geometry or arsmetrike* can**,                   *arithmetic **knew\nNor pourtrayor*, nor carver of images,                 *portrait painter\nThat Theseus ne gave him meat and wages\nThe theatre to make and to devise.\nAnd for to do his rite and sacrifice\nHe eastward hath upon the gate above,\nIn worship of Venus, goddess of love,\n*Done make* an altar and an oratory;                 *caused to be made*\nAnd westward, in the mind and in memory\nOf Mars, he maked hath right such another,\nThat coste largely of gold a fother*.                    *a great amount\nAnd northward, in a turret on the wall,\nOf alabaster white and red coral\nAn oratory riche for to see,\nIn worship of Diane of chastity,\nHath Theseus done work in noble wise.\nBut yet had I forgotten to devise*                             *describe\nThe noble carving, and the portraitures,\nThe shape, the countenance of the figures\nThat weren in there oratories three.\n\nFirst in the temple of Venus may'st thou see\nWrought on the wall,  full piteous to behold,\nThe broken sleepes, and the sikes* cold,                         *sighes\nThe sacred teares, and the waimentings*,                     *lamentings\nThe fiery strokes of the desirings,\nThat Love's servants in this life endure;\nThe oathes, that their covenants assure.\nPleasance and Hope, Desire, Foolhardiness,\nBeauty and Youth, and Bawdry and Richess,\nCharms and Sorc'ry, Leasings* and Flattery,                  *falsehoods\nDispence, Business, and Jealousy,\nThat wore of yellow goldes* a garland,                  *sunflowers <40>\nAnd had a cuckoo sitting on her hand,\nFeasts, instruments, and caroles and dances,\nLust and array, and all the circumstances\nOf Love, which I reckon'd and reckon shall\nIn order, were painted on the wall,\nAnd more than I can make of mention.\nFor soothly all the mount of Citheron,<41>\nWhere Venus hath her principal dwelling,\nWas showed on the wall in pourtraying,\nWith all the garden, and the lustiness*.                   *pleasantness\nNor was forgot the porter Idleness,\nNor Narcissus the fair of *yore agone*,                    *olden times*\nNor yet the folly of King Solomon,\nNor yet the greate strength of Hercules,\nTh' enchantments of Medea and Circes,\nNor of Turnus the hardy fierce courage,\nThe rich Croesus *caitif in servage.* <42>         *abased into slavery*\nThus may ye see, that wisdom nor richess,\nBeauty, nor sleight, nor strength, nor hardiness\nNe may with Venus holde champartie*,            *divided possession <43>\nFor as her liste the world may she gie*.                          *guide\nLo, all these folk so caught were in her las*                     *snare\nTill they for woe full often said, Alas!\nSuffice these ensamples one or two,\nAlthough I could reckon a thousand mo'.\n\nThe statue of Venus, glorious to see\nWas naked floating in the large sea,\nAnd from the navel down all cover'd was\nWith waves green, and bright as any glass.\nA citole <44> in her right hand hadde she,\nAnd on her head, full seemly for to see,\nA rose garland fresh, and well smelling,\nAbove her head her doves flickering\nBefore her stood her sone Cupido,\nUpon his shoulders winges had he two;\nAnd blind he was, as it is often seen;\nA bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen.\n\nWhy should I not as well eke tell you all\nThe portraiture, that was upon the wall\nWithin the temple of mighty Mars the Red?\nAll painted was the wall in length and brede*                   *breadth\nLike to the estres* of the grisly place               *interior chambers\nThat hight the great temple of Mars in Thrace,\nIn thilke* cold and frosty region,                                 *that\nThere as Mars hath his sovereign mansion.\nIn which there dwelled neither man nor beast,\nWith knotty gnarry* barren trees old                            *gnarled\nOf stubbes sharp and hideous to behold;\nIn which there ran a rumble and a sough*,                *groaning noise\nAs though a storm should bursten every bough:\nAnd downward from an hill under a bent*                           *<DW72>\nThere stood the temple of Mars Armipotent,\nWrought all of burnish'd steel, of which th' entry\nWas long and strait, and ghastly for to see.\nAnd thereout came *a rage and such a vise*,       *such a furious voice*\nThat it made all the gates for to rise.\nThe northern light in at the doore shone,\nFor window on the walle was there none\nThrough which men mighten any light discern.\nThe doors were all of adamant etern,\nY-clenched *overthwart and ende-long*         *crossways and lengthways*\nWith iron tough, and, for to make it strong,\nEvery pillar the temple to sustain\nWas tunne-great*, of iron bright and sheen.     *thick as a tun (barrel)\nThere saw I first the dark imagining\nOf felony, and all the compassing;\nThe cruel ire, as red as any glede*,                          *live coal\nThe picke-purse<45>, and eke the pale dread;\nThe smiler with the knife under the cloak,\nThe shepen* burning with the blacke smoke                   *stable <46>\nThe treason of the murd'ring in the bed,\nThe open war, with woundes all be-bled;\nConteke* with bloody knife, and sharp menace.       *contention, discord\nAll full of chirking* was that sorry place.     *creaking, jarring noise\nThe slayer of himself eke saw I there,\nHis hearte-blood had bathed all his hair:\nThe nail y-driven in the shode* at night,         *hair of the head <47>\nThe colde death, with mouth gaping upright.\nAmiddes of the temple sat Mischance,\nWith discomfort and sorry countenance;\nEke saw I Woodness* laughing in his rage,                       *Madness\nArmed Complaint, Outhees*, and fierce Outrage;                   *Outcry\nThe carrain* in the bush, with throat y-corve**,       *corpse **slashed\nA thousand slain, and not *of qualm y-storve*;        *dead of sickness*\nThe tyrant, with the prey by force y-reft;\nThe town destroy'd, that there was nothing left.\nYet saw I brent* the shippes hoppesteres, <48>                    *burnt\nThe hunter strangled with the wilde bears:\nThe sow freting* the child right in the cradle;          *devouring <49>\nThe cook scalded, for all his longe ladle.\nNor was forgot, *by th'infortune of Mart*        *through the misfortune\nThe carter overridden with his cart;                             of war*\nUnder the wheel full low he lay adown.\nThere were also of Mars' division,\nThe armourer, the bowyer*, and the smith,                 *maker of bows\nThat forgeth sharp swordes on his stith*.                         *anvil\nAnd all above depainted in a tower\nSaw I Conquest, sitting in great honour,\nWith thilke* sharpe sword over his head                            *that\nHanging by a subtle y-twined thread.\nPainted the slaughter was of Julius<50>,\nOf cruel Nero, and Antonius:\nAlthough at that time they were yet unborn,\nYet was their death depainted there beforn,\nBy menacing of Mars, right by figure,\nSo was it showed in that portraiture,\nAs is depainted in the stars above,\nWho shall be slain, or elles dead for love.\nSufficeth one ensample in stories old,\nI may not reckon them all, though I wo'ld.\n\nThe statue of Mars upon a carte* stood                          *chariot\nArmed, and looked grim as he were wood*,                            *mad\nAnd over his head there shone two figures\nOf starres, that be cleped in scriptures,\nThat one Puella, that other Rubeus. <51>\nThis god of armes was arrayed thus:\nA wolf there stood before him at his feet\nWith eyen red, and of a man he eat:\nWith subtle pencil painted was this story,\nIn redouting* of Mars and of his glory.                 *reverance, fear\n\nNow to the temple of Dian the chaste\nAs shortly as I can I will me haste,\nTo telle you all the descriptioun.\nDepainted be the walles up and down\nOf hunting and of shamefast chastity.\nThere saw I how woful Calistope,<52>\nWhen that Dian aggrieved was with her,\nWas turned from a woman to a bear,\nAnd after was she made the lodestar*:                         *pole star\nThus was it painted, I can say no far*;                         *farther\nHer son is eke a star as men may see.\nThere saw I Dane <53> turn'd into a tree,\nI meane not the goddess Diane,\nBut Peneus' daughter, which that hight Dane.\nThere saw I Actaeon an hart y-maked*,                              *made\nFor vengeance that he saw Dian all naked:\nI saw how that his houndes have him caught,\nAnd freten* him, for that they knew him not.                     *devour\nYet painted was, a little farthermore\nHow Atalanta hunted the wild boar;\nAnd Meleager, and many other mo',\nFor which Diana wrought them care and woe.\nThere saw I many another wondrous story,\nThe which me list not drawen to memory.\nThis goddess on an hart full high was set*,                      *seated\nWith smalle houndes all about her feet,\nAnd underneath her feet she had a moon,\nWaxing it was, and shoulde wane soon.\nIn gaudy green her statue clothed was,\nWith bow in hand, and arrows in a case*.                         *quiver\nHer eyen caste she full low adown,\nWhere Pluto hath his darke regioun.\nA woman travailing was her beforn,\nBut, for her child so longe was unborn,\nFull piteously Lucina <54> gan she call,\nAnd saide; \"Help, for thou may'st best of all.\"\nWell could he painte lifelike that it wrought;\nWith many a florin he the hues had bought.\nNow be these listes made, and Theseus,\nThat at his greate cost arrayed thus\nThe temples, and the theatre every deal*,                     *part <55>\nWhen it was done, him liked wonder well.\n\nBut stint* I will of Theseus a lite**,          *cease speaking **little\nAnd speak of Palamon and of Arcite.\nThe day approacheth of their returning,\nThat evereach an hundred knights should bring,\nThe battle to darraine* as I you told;                          *contest\nAnd to Athens, their covenant to hold,\nHath ev'reach of them brought an hundred knights,\nWell-armed for the war at alle rights.\nAnd sickerly* there trowed** many a man,         *surely <56> **believed\nThat never, sithen* that the world began,                         *since\nFor to speaken of knighthood of their hand,\nAs far as God hath maked sea and land,\nWas, of so few, so noble a company.\nFor every wight that loved chivalry,\nAnd would, *his thankes, have a passant name*,        *thanks to his own\nHad prayed, that he might be of that game,               efforts, have a\nAnd well was him, that thereto chosen was.              surpassing name*\nFor if there fell to-morrow such a case,\nYe knowe well, that every lusty knight,\nThat loveth par amour, and hath his might\nWere it in Engleland, or elleswhere,\nThey would, their thankes, willen to be there,\nT' fight for a lady; Benedicite,\nIt were a lusty* sighte for to see.                            *pleasing\nAnd right so fared they with Palamon;\nWith him there wente knightes many one.\nSome will be armed in an habergeon,\nAnd in a breast-plate, and in a gipon*;                  *short doublet.\nAnd some will have *a pair of plates* large;     *back and front armour*\nAnd some will have a Prusse* shield, or targe;                 *Prussian\nSome will be armed on their legges weel;\nSome have an axe, and some a mace of steel.\nThere is no newe guise*, but it was old.                        *fashion\nArmed they weren, as I have you told,\nEvereach after his opinion.\nThere may'st thou see coming with Palamon\nLicurgus himself, the great king of Thrace:\nBlack was his beard, and manly was his face.\nThe circles of his eyen in his head\nThey glowed betwixte yellow and red,\nAnd like a griffin looked he about,\nWith kemped* haires on his browes stout;                     *combed<57>\nHis limbs were great, his brawns were hard and strong,\nHis shoulders broad, his armes round and long.\nAnd as the guise* was in his country,                           *fashion\nFull high upon a car of gold stood he,\nWith foure white bulles in the trace.\nInstead of coat-armour on his harness,\nWith yellow nails, and bright as any gold,\nHe had a beare's skin, coal-black for old*.                         *age\nHis long hair was y-kempt behind his back,\nAs any raven's feather it shone for black.\nA wreath of gold *arm-great*, of huge weight,     *thick as a man's arm*\nUpon his head sate, full of stones bright,\nOf fine rubies and clear diamants.\nAbout his car there wente white alauns*,                *greyhounds <58>\nTwenty and more, as great as any steer,\nTo hunt the lion or the wilde bear,\nAnd follow'd him, with muzzle fast y-bound,\nCollars of gold, and torettes* filed round.                       *rings\nAn hundred lordes had he in his rout*                           *retinue\nArmed full well, with heartes stern and stout.\n\nWith Arcita, in stories as men find,\nThe great Emetrius the king of Ind,\nUpon a *steede bay* trapped in steel,                        *bay horse*\nCover'd with cloth of gold diapred* well,                     *decorated\nCame riding like the god of armes, Mars.\nHis coat-armour was of *a cloth of Tars*,               *a kind of silk*\nCouched* with pearls white and round and great                  *trimmed\nHis saddle was of burnish'd gold new beat;\nA mantelet on his shoulders hanging,\nBretful* of rubies red, as fire sparkling.                      *brimful\nHis crispe hair like ringes was y-run,\nAnd that was yellow, glittering as the sun.\nHis nose was high, his eyen bright citrine*,                *pale yellow\nHis lips were round, his colour was sanguine,\nA fewe fracknes* in his face y-sprent**,           *freckles **sprinkled\nBetwixte yellow and black somedeal y-ment*                   *mixed <59>\nAnd as a lion he *his looking cast*                *cast about his eyes*\nOf five and twenty year his age I cast*                          *reckon\nHis beard was well begunnen for to spring;\nHis voice was as a trumpet thundering.\nUpon his head he wore of laurel green\nA garland fresh and lusty to be seen;\nUpon his hand he bare, for his delight,\nAn eagle tame, as any lily white.\nAn hundred lordes had he with him there,\nAll armed, save their heads, in all their gear,\nFull richely in alle manner things.\nFor trust ye well, that earles, dukes, and kings\nWere gather'd in this noble company,\nFor love, and for increase of chivalry.\nAbout this king there ran on every part\nFull many a tame lion and leopart.\nAnd in this wise these lordes *all and some*            *all and sundry*\nBe on the Sunday to the city come\nAboute prime<60>, and in the town alight.\n\nThis Theseus, this Duke, this worthy knight\nWhen he had brought them into his city,\nAnd inned* them, ev'reach at his degree,                         *lodged\nHe feasteth them, and doth so great labour\nTo *easen them*, and do them all honour,         *make them comfortable*\nThat yet men weene* that no mannes wit                            *think\nOf none estate could amenden* it.                               *improve\nThe minstrelsy, the service at the feast,\nThe greate giftes to the most and least,\nThe rich array of Theseus' palace,\nNor who sate first or last upon the dais.<61>\nWhat ladies fairest be, or best dancing\nOr which of them can carol best or sing,\nOr who most feelingly speaketh of love;\nWhat hawkes sitten on the perch above,\nWhat houndes liggen* on the floor adown,                            *lie\nOf all this now make I no mentioun\nBut of th'effect; that thinketh me the best\nNow comes the point, and hearken if you lest.*                   *please\n\nThe Sunday night, ere day began to spring,\nWhen Palamon the larke hearde sing,\nAlthough it were not day by houres two,\nYet sang the lark, and Palamon right tho*                          *then\nWith holy heart, and with an high courage,\nArose, to wenden* on his pilgrimage                                  *go\nUnto the blissful Cithera benign,\nI meane Venus, honourable and digne*.                            *worthy\nAnd in her hour <62> he walketh forth a pace\nUnto the listes, where her temple was,\nAnd down he kneeleth, and with humble cheer*                  *demeanour\nAnd hearte sore, he said as ye shall hear.\n\n\"Fairest of fair, O lady mine Venus,\nDaughter to Jove, and spouse of Vulcanus,\nThou gladder of the mount of Citheron!<41>\nFor thilke love thou haddest to Adon <63>\nHave pity on my bitter teares smart,\nAnd take mine humble prayer to thine heart.\nAlas! I have no language to tell\nTh'effecte, nor the torment of mine hell;\nMine hearte may mine harmes not betray;\nI am so confused, that I cannot say.\nBut mercy, lady bright, that knowest well\nMy thought, and seest what harm that I feel.\nConsider all this, and *rue upon* my sore,                *take pity on*\nAs wisly* as I shall for evermore                                 *truly\nEnforce my might, thy true servant to be,\nAnd holde war alway with chastity:\nThat make I mine avow*, so ye me help.                     *vow, promise\nI keepe not of armes for to yelp,*                                *boast\nNor ask I not to-morrow to have victory,\nNor renown in this case, nor vaine glory\nOf *prize of armes*, blowing up and down,            *praise for valour*\nBut I would have fully possessioun\nOf Emily, and die in her service;\nFind thou the manner how, and in what wise.\nI *recke not but* it may better be                 *do not know whether*\nTo have vict'ry of them, or they of me,\nSo that I have my lady in mine arms.\nFor though so be that Mars is god of arms,\nYour virtue is so great in heaven above,\nThat, if you list, I shall well have my love.\nThy temple will I worship evermo',\nAnd on thine altar, where I ride or go,\nI will do sacrifice, and fires bete*.                      *make, kindle\nAnd if ye will not so, my lady sweet,\nThen pray I you, to-morrow with a spear\nThat Arcita me through the hearte bear\nThen reck I not, when I have lost my life,\nThough that Arcita win her to his wife.\nThis is th' effect and end of my prayere, --\nGive me my love, thou blissful lady dear.\"\nWhen th' orison was done of Palamon,\nHis sacrifice he did, and that anon,\nFull piteously, with alle circumstances,\n*All tell I not as now* his observances.       *although I tell not now*\nBut at the last the statue of Venus shook,\nAnd made a signe, whereby that he took\nThat his prayer accepted was that day.\nFor though the signe shewed a delay,\nYet wist he well that granted was his boon;\nAnd with glad heart he went him home full soon.\n\nThe third hour unequal <64>  that Palamon\nBegan to Venus' temple for to gon,\nUp rose the sun, and up rose Emily,\nAnd to the temple of Dian gan hie.\nHer maidens, that she thither with her lad*,                        *led\nTh' incense, the clothes, and the remnant all\nThat to the sacrifice belonge shall,\nThe hornes full of mead, as was the guise;\nThere lacked nought to do her sacrifice.\nSmoking* the temple full of clothes fair,                  *draping <65>\nThis Emily with hearte debonnair*                                *gentle\nHer body wash'd with water of a well.\nBut how she did her rite I dare not tell;\nBut* it be any thing in general;                                 *unless\nAnd yet it were a game* to hearen all                          *pleasure\nTo him that meaneth well it were no charge:\nBut it is good a man to *be at large*.                   *do as he will*\nHer bright hair combed was, untressed all.\nA coronet of green oak cerriall <66>\nUpon her head was set full fair and meet.\nTwo fires on the altar gan she bete,\nAnd did her thinges, as men may behold\nIn Stace of Thebes <67>, and these bookes old.\nWhen kindled was the fire, with piteous cheer\nUnto Dian she spake as ye may hear.\n\n\"O chaste goddess of the woodes green,\nTo whom both heav'n and earth and sea is seen,\nQueen of the realm of Pluto dark and low,\nGoddess of maidens, that mine heart hast know\nFull many a year, and wost* what I desire,                      *knowest\nTo keep me from the vengeance of thine ire,\nThat Actaeon aboughte* cruelly:                   *earned; suffered from\nChaste goddess, well wottest thou that I\nDesire to be a maiden all my life,\nNor never will I be no love nor wife.\nI am, thou wost*, yet of thy company,                           *knowest\nA maid, and love hunting and venery*,                      *field sports\nAnd for to walken in the woodes wild,\nAnd not to be a wife, and be with child.\nNought will I know the company of man.\nNow help me, lady, since ye may and can,\nFor those three formes <68> that thou hast in thee.\nAnd Palamon, that hath such love to me,\nAnd eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,\nThis grace I pray thee withoute more,\nAs sende love and peace betwixt them two:\nAnd from me turn away their heartes so,\nThat all their hote love, and their desire,\nAnd all their busy torment, and their fire,\nBe queint*, or turn'd into another place.                      *quenched\nAnd if so be thou wilt do me no grace,\nOr if my destiny be shapen so\nThat I shall needes have one of them two,\nSo send me him that most desireth me.\nBehold, goddess of cleane chastity,\nThe bitter tears that on my cheekes fall.\nSince thou art maid, and keeper of us all,\nMy maidenhead thou keep and well conserve,\nAnd, while I live, a maid I will thee serve.\n\nThe fires burn upon the altar clear,\nWhile Emily was thus in her prayere:\nBut suddenly she saw a sighte quaint*.                          *strange\nFor right anon one of the fire's *queint\nAnd quick'd* again, and after that anon           *went out and revived*\nThat other fire was queint, and all agone:\nAnd as it queint, it made a whisteling,\nAs doth a brande wet in its burning.\nAnd at the brandes end outran anon\nAs it were bloody droppes many one:\nFor which so sore aghast was Emily,\nThat she was well-nigh mad, and gan to cry,\nFor she ne wiste what it signified;\nBut onely for feare thus she cried,\nAnd wept, that it was pity for to hear.\nAnd therewithal Diana gan appear\nWith bow in hand, right as an hunteress,\nAnd saide; \"Daughter, stint* thine heaviness.                     *cease\nAmong the goddes high it is affirm'd,\nAnd by eternal word writ and confirm'd,\nThou shalt be wedded unto one of tho*                             *those\nThat have for thee so muche care and woe:\nBut unto which of them I may not tell.\nFarewell, for here I may no longer dwell.\nThe fires which that on mine altar brenn*,                         *burn\nShall thee declaren, ere that thou go henne*,                     *hence\nThine aventure of love, as in this case.\"\nAnd with that word, the arrows in the case*                      *quiver\nOf the goddess did clatter fast and ring,\nAnd forth she went, and made a vanishing,\nFor which this Emily astonied was,\nAnd saide; \"What amounteth this, alas!\nI put me under thy protection,\nDiane, and in thy disposition.\"\nAnd home she went anon the nexte* way.                          *nearest\nThis is th' effect, there is no more to say.\n\nThe nexte hour of Mars following this\nArcite to the temple walked is\nOf fierce Mars, to do his sacrifice\nWith all the rites of his pagan guise.\nWith piteous* heart and high devotion                             *pious\nRight thus to Mars he said his orison\n\"O stronge god, that in the regnes* old                          *realms\nOf Thrace honoured art, and lord y-hold*                           *held\nAnd hast in every regne, and every land\nOf armes all the bridle in thine hand,\nAnd *them fortunest as thee list devise*,             *send them fortune\nAccept of me my piteous sacrifice.                        as you please*\nIf so be that my youthe may deserve,\nAnd that my might be worthy for to serve\nThy godhead, that I may be one of thine,\nThen pray I thee to *rue upon my pine*,                *pity my anguish*\nFor thilke* pain, and thilke hote fire,                            *that\nIn which thou whilom burned'st for desire\nWhenne that thou usedest* the beauty                            *enjoyed\nOf faire young Venus, fresh and free,\nAnd haddest her in armes at thy will:\nAnd though thee ones on a time misfill*,                   *were unlucky\nWhen Vulcanus had caught thee in his las*,                     *net <69>\nAnd found thee ligging* by his wife, alas!                        *lying\nFor thilke sorrow that was in thine heart,\nHave ruth* as well upon my paine's smart.                          *pity\nI am young and unconning*, as thou know'st,            *ignorant, simple\nAnd, as I trow*, with love offended most                        *believe\nThat e'er was any living creature:\nFor she, that doth* me all this woe endure,                      *causes\nNe recketh ne'er whether I sink or fleet*                          *swim\nAnd well I wot, ere she me mercy hete*,              *promise, vouchsafe\nI must with strengthe win her in the place:\nAnd well I wot, withoute help or grace\nOf thee, ne may my strengthe not avail:\nThen help me, lord, to-morr'w in my bataille,\nFor thilke fire that whilom burned thee,\nAs well as this fire that now burneth me;\nAnd do* that I to-morr'w may have victory.                        *cause\nMine be the travail, all thine be the glory.\nThy sovereign temple will I most honour\nOf any place, and alway most labour\nIn thy pleasance and in thy craftes strong.\nAnd in thy temple I will my banner hong*,                          *hang\nAnd all the armes of my company,\nAnd evermore, until that day I die,\nEternal fire I will before thee find\nAnd eke to this my vow I will me bind:\nMy beard, my hair that hangeth long adown,\nThat never yet hath felt offension*                           *indignity\nOf razor nor of shears, I will thee give,\nAnd be thy true servant while I live.\nNow, lord, have ruth upon my sorrows sore,\nGive me the victory, I ask no more.\"\n\nThe prayer stint* of Arcita the strong,                           *ended\nThe ringes on the temple door that hong,\nAnd eke the doores, clattered full fast,\nOf which Arcita somewhat was aghast.\nThe fires burn'd upon the altar bright,\nThat it gan all the temple for to light;\nA sweete smell anon the ground up gaf*,                            *gave\nAnd Arcita anon his hand up haf*,                                *lifted\nAnd more incense into the fire he cast,\nWith other rites more and at the last\nThe statue of Mars began his hauberk ring;\nAnd with that sound he heard a murmuring\nFull low and dim, that saide thus,  \"Victory.\"\nFor which he gave to Mars honour and glory.\nAnd thus with joy, and hope well to fare,\nArcite anon unto his inn doth fare.\nAs fain* as fowl is of the brighte sun.                            *glad\n\nAnd right anon such strife there is begun\nFor thilke* granting, in the heav'n above,                         *that\nBetwixte Venus the goddess of love,\nAnd Mars the sterne god armipotent,\nThat Jupiter was busy it to stent*:                                *stop\nTill that the pale Saturnus the cold,<70>\nThat knew so many of adventures old,\nFound in his old experience such an art,\nThat he full soon hath pleased every part.\nAs sooth is said, eld* hath great advantage,                        *age\nIn eld is bothe wisdom and usage*:                           *experience\nMen may the old out-run, but not out-rede*.                      *outwit\nSaturn anon, to stint the strife and drede,\nAlbeit that it is against his kind,*                             *nature\nOf all this strife gan a remedy find.\n\"My deare daughter Venus,\" quoth Saturn,\n\"My course*, that hath so wide for to turn,                  *orbit <71>\nHath more power than wot any man.\nMine is the drowning in the sea so wan;\nMine is the prison in the darke cote*,                             *cell\nMine the strangling and hanging by the throat,\nThe murmur, and the churlish rebelling,\nThe groyning*, and the privy poisoning.                      *discontent\nI do vengeance and plein* correction,                              *full\nI dwell in the sign of the lion.\nMine is the ruin of the highe halls,\nThe falling of the towers and the walls\nUpon the miner or the carpenter:\nI slew Samson in shaking the pillar:\nMine also be the maladies cold,\nThe darke treasons, and the castes* old:                          *plots\nMy looking is the father of pestilence.\nNow weep no more, I shall do diligence\nThat Palamon, that is thine owen knight,\nShall have his lady, as thou hast him hight*.                  *promised\nThough Mars shall help his knight, yet natheless\nBetwixte you there must sometime be peace:\nAll be ye not of one complexion,\nThat each day causeth such division,\nI am thine ayel*, ready at thy will;                   *grandfather <72>\nWeep now no more, I shall thy lust* fulfil.\"                   *pleasure\nNow will I stenten* of the gods above,                   *cease speaking\nOf Mars, and of Venus, goddess of love,\nAnd telle you as plainly as I can\nThe great effect, for which that I began.\n\nGreat was the feast in Athens thilke* day;                         *that\nAnd eke the lusty season of that May\nMade every wight to be in such pleasance,\nThat all that Monday jousten they and dance,\nAnd spenden it in Venus' high service.\nBut by the cause that they shoulde rise\nEarly a-morrow for to see that fight,\nUnto their reste wente they at night.\nAnd on the morrow, when the day gan spring,\nOf horse and harness* noise and clattering                       *armour\nThere was in the hostelries all about:\nAnd to the palace rode there many a rout*                *train, retinue\nOf lordes, upon steedes and palfreys.\nThere mayst thou see devising* of harness                    *decoration\nSo uncouth* and so rich, and wrought so weel               *unkown, rare\nOf goldsmithry, of brouding*, and of steel;                  *embroidery\nThe shieldes bright, the testers*, and trappures**          *helmets<73>\nGold-hewen helmets, hauberks, coat-armures;                  **trappings\nLordes in parements* on their coursers,           *ornamental garb <74>;\nKnightes of retinue, and eke squiers,\nNailing the spears, and helmes buckeling,\nGniding* of shieldes, with lainers** lacing;             *polishing <75>\nThere as need is, they were nothing idle:                     **lanyards\nThe foamy steeds upon the golden bridle\nGnawing, and fast the armourers also\nWith file and hammer pricking to and fro;\nYeomen on foot, and knaves* many one                           *servants\nWith shorte staves, thick* as they may gon**;              *close **walk\nPipes, trumpets, nakeres*, and clariouns,                    *drums <76>\nThat in the battle blowe bloody souns;\nThe palace full of people up and down,\nThere three, there ten, holding their questioun*,          *conversation\nDivining* of these Theban knightes two.                    *conjecturing\nSome saiden thus, some said it shall he so;\nSome helden with him with the blacke beard,\nSome with the bald, some with the thick-hair'd;\nSome said he looked grim, and woulde fight:\nHe had a sparth* of twenty pound of weight.           *double-headed axe\nThus was the halle full of divining*                       *conjecturing\nLong after that the sunne gan up spring.\nThe great Theseus that of his sleep is waked\nWith minstrelsy, and noise that was maked,\nHeld yet the chamber of his palace rich,\nTill that the Theban knightes both y-lich*                        *alike\nHonoured were, and to the palace fet*.                          *fetched\nDuke Theseus is at a window set,\nArray'd right as he were a god in throne:\nThe people presseth thitherward full soon\nHim for to see, and do him reverence,\nAnd eke to hearken his hest* and his sentence**.       *command **speech\nAn herald on a scaffold made an O, <77>\nTill the noise of the people was y-do*:                            *done\nAnd when he saw the people of noise all still,\nThus shewed he the mighty Duke's will.\n\"The lord hath of his high discretion\nConsidered that it were destruction\nTo gentle blood, to fighten in the guise\nOf mortal battle now in this emprise:\nWherefore to shape* that they shall not die,          *arrange, contrive\nHe will his firste purpose modify.\nNo man therefore, on pain of loss of life,\nNo manner* shot, nor poleaxe, nor short knife                   *kind of\nInto the lists shall send, or thither bring.\nNor short sword for to stick with point biting\nNo man shall draw, nor bear it by his side.\nAnd no man shall unto his fellow ride\nBut one course, with a sharp y-grounden spear:\n*Foin if him list on foot, himself to wear.           *He who wishes can\nAnd he that is at mischief shall be take*,       fence on foot to defend\nAnd not slain, but be brought unto the stake,       himself, and he that\nThat shall be ordained on either side;       is in peril shall be taken*\nThither he shall by force, and there abide.\nAnd if *so fall* the chiefetain be take                  *should happen*\nOn either side, or elles slay his make*,                   *equal, match\nNo longer then the tourneying shall last.\nGod speede you; go forth and lay on fast.\nWith long sword and with mace fight your fill.\nGo now your way; this is the lordes will.\nThe voice of the people touched the heaven,\nSo loude cried they with merry steven*:                           *sound\nGod save such a lord that is so good,\nHe willeth no destruction of blood.\n\nUp go the trumpets and the melody,\nAnd to the listes rode the company\n*By ordinance*, throughout the city large,            *in orderly array*\nHanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge*.              *serge <78>\nFull like a lord this noble Duke gan ride,\nAnd these two Thebans upon either side:\n\nAnd after rode the queen and Emily,\nAnd after them another company\nOf one and other, after their degree.\nAnd thus they passed thorough that city\nAnd to the listes came they by time:\nIt was not of the day yet fully prime*.              *between 6 & 9 a.m.\nWhen set was Theseus full rich and high,\nHippolyta the queen and Emily,\nAnd other ladies in their degrees about,\nUnto the seates presseth all the rout.\nAnd westward, through the gates under Mart,\nArcite, and eke the hundred of his part,\nWith banner red, is enter'd right anon;\nAnd in the selve* moment Palamon                              *self-same\nIs, under Venus, eastward in the place,\nWith banner white, and hardy cheer* and face                 *expression\nIn all the world, to seeken up and down\nSo even* without variatioun                                       *equal\nThere were such companies never tway.\nFor there was none so wise that coulde say\nThat any had of other avantage\nOf worthiness, nor of estate, nor age,\nSo even were they chosen for to guess.\nAnd *in two ranges faire they them dress*.     *they arranged themselves\nWhen that their names read were every one,                  in two rows*\nThat in their number guile* were there none,                      *fraud\nThen were the gates shut, and cried was loud;\n\"Do now your devoir, younge knights proud\nThe heralds left their pricking* up and down      *spurring their horses\nNow ring the trumpet loud and clarioun.\nThere is no more to say, but east and west\nIn go the speares sadly* in the rest;                          *steadily\nIn go the sharpe spurs into the side.\nThere see me who can joust, and who can ride.\nThere shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick;\nHe feeleth through the hearte-spoon<79> the prick.\nUp spring the speares twenty foot on height;\nOut go the swordes as the silver bright.\nThe helmes they to-hewen, and to-shred*;          *strike in pieces <80>\nOut burst the blood, with sterne streames red.\nWith mighty maces the bones they to-brest*.                       *burst\nHe <81> through the thickest of the throng gan threst*.          *thrust\nThere stumble steedes strong, and down go all.\nHe rolleth under foot as doth a ball.\nHe foineth* on his foe with a trunchoun,                 *forces himself\nAnd he him hurtleth with his horse adown.\nHe through the body hurt is, and *sith take*,      *afterwards captured*\nMaugre his head, and brought unto the stake,\nAs forword* was, right there he must abide.                    *covenant\nAnother led is on that other side.\nAnd sometime doth* them Theseus to rest,                         *caused\nThem to refresh, and drinken if them lest*.                     *pleased\nFull oft a day have thilke Thebans two                            *these\nTogether met and wrought each other woe:\nUnhorsed hath each other of them tway*                            *twice\nThere is no tiger in the vale of Galaphay, <82>\nWhen that her whelp is stole, when it is lite*                   *little\nSo cruel on the hunter, as Arcite\nFor jealous heart upon this Palamon:\nNor in Belmarie <83> there is no fell lion,\nThat hunted is, or for his hunger wood*                             *mad\nOr for his prey desireth so the blood,\nAs Palamon to slay his foe Arcite.\nThe jealous strokes upon their helmets bite;\nOut runneth blood on both their sides red,\nSometime an end there is of every deed\nFor ere the sun unto the reste went,\nThe stronge king Emetrius gan hent*                       *sieze, assail\nThis Palamon, as he fought with Arcite,\nAnd made his sword deep in his flesh to bite,\nAnd by the force of twenty is he take,\nUnyielding, and is drawn unto the stake.\nAnd in the rescue of this Palamon\nThe stronge king Licurgus is borne down:\nAnd king Emetrius, for all his strength\nIs borne out of his saddle a sword's length,\nSo hit him Palamon ere he were take:\nBut all for nought; he was brought to the stake:\nHis hardy hearte might him helpe naught,\nHe must abide when that he was caught,\nBy force, and eke by composition*.                          *the bargain\nWho sorroweth now but woful Palamon\nThat must no more go again to fight?\nAnd when that Theseus had seen that sight\nUnto the folk that foughte thus each one,\nHe cried, Ho! no more, for it is done!\nI will be true judge, and not party.\nArcite of Thebes shall have Emily,\nThat by his fortune hath her fairly won.\"\nAnon there is a noise of people gone,\nFor joy of this, so loud and high withal,\nIt seemed that the listes shoulde fall.\n\nWhat can now faire Venus do above?\nWhat saith she now? what doth this queen of love?\nBut weepeth so, for wanting of her will,\nTill that her teares in the listes fill*                           *fall\nShe said: \"I am ashamed doubteless.\"\nSaturnus saide: \"Daughter, hold thy peace.\nMars hath his will, his knight hath all his boon,\nAnd by mine head thou shalt be eased soon.\"\n The trumpeters with the loud minstrelsy,\nThe heralds, that full loude yell and cry,\nBe in their joy for weal of Dan* Arcite.                           *Lord\nBut hearken me, and stinte noise a lite,\nWhat a miracle there befell anon\nThis fierce Arcite hath off his helm y-done,\nAnd on a courser for to shew his face\nHe *pricketh endelong* the large place,          *rides from end to end*\nLooking upward upon this Emily;\nAnd she again him cast a friendly eye\n(For women, as to speaken *in commune*,                      *generally*\nThey follow all the favour of fortune),\nAnd was all his in cheer*,  as his in heart.                *countenance\nOut of the ground a fire infernal start,\nFrom Pluto sent, at request of Saturn\nFor which his horse for fear began to turn,\nAnd leap aside, and founder* as he leap                         *stumble\nAnd ere that Arcite may take any keep*,                            *care\nHe pight* him on the pummel** of his head.                *pitched **top\nThat in the place he lay as he were dead.\nHis breast to-bursten with his saddle-bow.\nAs black he lay as any coal or crow,\nSo was the blood y-run into his face.\nAnon he was y-borne out of the place\nWith hearte sore, to Theseus' palace.\nThen was he carven* out of his harness.                             *cut\nAnd in a bed y-brought full fair and blive*                     *quickly\nFor he was yet in mem'ry and alive,\nAnd always crying after Emily.\n\nDuke Theseus, with all his company,\nIs come home to Athens his city,\nWith alle bliss and great solemnity.\nAlbeit that this aventure was fall*,                           *befallen\nHe woulde not discomforte* them all                          *discourage\nThen said eke, that Arcite should not die,\nHe should be healed of his malady.\nAnd of another thing they were as fain*.                           *glad\nThat of them alle was there no one slain,\nAll* were they sorely hurt, and namely** one,     *although **especially\nThat with a spear was thirled* his breast-bone.                 *pierced\nTo other woundes, and to broken arms,\nSome hadden salves, and some hadden charms:\nAnd pharmacies of herbs, and eke save*         *sage, Salvia officinalis\nThey dranken, for they would their lives have.\nFor which this noble Duke, as he well can,\nComforteth and honoureth every man,\nAnd made revel all the longe night,\nUnto the strange lordes, as was right.\nNor there was holden no discomforting,\nBut as at jousts or at a tourneying;\nFor soothly there was no discomfiture,\nFor falling is not but an aventure*.                   *chance, accident\nNor to be led by force unto a stake\nUnyielding, and with twenty knights y-take\nOne person all alone, withouten mo',\nAnd harried* forth by armes, foot, and toe,            *dragged, hurried\nAnd eke his steede driven forth with staves,\nWith footmen, bothe yeomen and eke knaves*,                    *servants\nIt was *aretted him no villainy:*           *counted no disgrace to him*\nThere may no man *clepen it cowardy*.                *call it cowardice*\nFor which anon Duke Theseus *let cry*, --      *caused to be proclaimed*\nTo stenten* alle rancour and envy, --                              *stop\nThe gree* as well on one side as the other,                *prize, merit\nAnd either side alike as other's brother:\nAnd gave them giftes after their degree,\nAnd held a feaste fully dayes three:\nAnd conveyed the kinges worthily\nOut of  his town a journee* largely                       *day's journey\nAnd home went every man the righte way,\nThere was no more but \"Farewell, Have good day.\"\nOf this bataille I will no more indite\nBut speak of Palamon and of Arcite.\n\nSwelleth the breast of Arcite and the sore\nIncreaseth at his hearte more and more.\nThe clotted blood, for any leache-craft*                 *surgical skill\nCorrupteth and is *in his bouk y-laft*                *left in his body*\nThat neither *veine blood nor ventousing*,    *blood-letting or cupping*\nNor drink of herbes may be his helping.\nThe virtue expulsive or animal,\nFrom thilke virtue called natural,\nNor may the venom voide, nor expel\nThe pipes of his lungs began to swell\nAnd every lacert* in his breast adown                     *sinew, muscle\nIs shent* with venom and corruption.                          *destroyed\nHim gaineth* neither, for to get his life,                     *availeth\nVomit upward, nor downward laxative;\nAll is to-bursten thilke region;\nNature hath now no domination.\nAnd certainly where nature will not wirch,*                        *work\nFarewell physic: go bear the man to chirch.*                     *church\nThis all and some is, Arcite must die.\nFor which he sendeth after Emily,\nAnd Palamon, that was his cousin dear,\nThen said he thus, as ye shall after hear.\n\n\"Nought may the woful spirit in mine heart\nDeclare one point of all my sorrows' smart\nTo you, my lady, that I love the most:\nBut I bequeath  the service of my ghost\nTo you aboven every creature,\nSince that my life ne may no longer dure.\nAlas the woe! alas, the paines strong\nThat I for you have suffered and so long!\nAlas the death,  alas, mine Emily!\nAlas departing* of our company!                           *the severance\nAlas, mine hearte's queen! alas, my wife!\nMine hearte's lady, ender of my life!\nWhat is this world? what aske men to have?\nNow with his love, now in his colde grave\nAl one, withouten any company.\nFarewell, my sweet, farewell, mine Emily,\nAnd softly take me in your armes tway,\nFor love of God, and hearken what I say.\nI have here with my cousin Palamon\nHad strife and rancour many a day agone,\nFor love of you, and for my jealousy.\nAnd Jupiter so *wis my soule gie*,               *surely guides my soul*\nTo speaken of a servant properly,\nWith alle circumstances truely,\nThat is to say, truth, honour, and knighthead,\nWisdom, humbless*, estate, and high kindred,                   *humility\nFreedom, and all that longeth to that art,\nSo Jupiter have of my soul part,\nAs in this world right now I know not one,\nSo worthy to be lov'd as Palamon,\nThat serveth you, and will do all his life.\nAnd if that you shall ever be a wife,\nForget not Palamon, the gentle man.\"\n\nAnd with that word his speech to fail began.\nFor from his feet up to his breast was come\nThe cold of death, that had him overnome*.                     *overcome\nAnd yet moreover in his armes two\nThe vital strength is lost, and all ago*.                          *gone\nOnly the intellect, withoute more,\nThat dwelled in his hearte sick and sore,\nGan faile, when the hearte felte death;\nDusked* his eyen two, and fail'd his breath.                   *grew dim\nBut on his lady yet he cast his eye;\nHis laste word was; \"Mercy, Emily!\"\nHis spirit changed house, and wente there,\nAs I came never I cannot telle where.<84>\nTherefore I stent*, I am no divinister**;             *refrain **diviner\nOf soules find I nought in this register.\nNe me list not th' opinions to tell\nOf them, though that they writen where they dwell;\nArcite is cold, there Mars his soule gie.*                        *guide\nNow will I speake forth of Emily.\n\nShriek'd Emily, and howled Palamon,\nAnd Theseus his sister took anon\nSwooning, and bare her from the corpse away.\nWhat helpeth it to tarry forth the day,\nTo telle how she wept both eve and morrow?\nFor in such cases women have such sorrow,\nWhen that their husbands be from them y-go*,                       *gone\nThat for the more part they sorrow so,\nOr elles fall into such malady,\nThat at the laste certainly they die.\nInfinite be the sorrows and the tears\nOf olde folk, and folk of tender years,\nIn all the town, for death of this Theban:\nFor him there weepeth bothe child and man.\nSo great a weeping was there none certain,\nWhen Hector was y-brought, all fresh y-slain,\nTo Troy: alas! the pity that was there,\nScratching of cheeks, and rending eke of hair.\n\"Why wouldest thou be dead?\" these women cry,\n\"And haddest gold enough, and Emily.\"\nNo manner man might gladden Theseus,\nSaving his olde father Egeus,\nThat knew this worlde's transmutatioun,\nAs he had seen it changen up and down,\nJoy after woe, and woe after gladness;\nAnd shewed him example and likeness.\n\"Right as there died never man,\" quoth he,\n\"That he ne liv'd in earth in some degree*,             *rank, condition\nRight so there lived never man,\" he said,\n\"In all this world, that sometime be not died.\nThis world is but a throughfare full of woe,\nAnd we be pilgrims, passing to and fro:\nDeath is an end of every worldly sore.\"\nAnd over all this said he yet much more\nTo this effect, full wisely to exhort\nThe people, that they should them recomfort.\nDuke Theseus, with all his busy cure*,                             *care\n*Casteth about*, where that the sepulture                  *deliberates*\nOf good Arcite may best y-maked be,\nAnd eke most honourable in his degree.\nAnd at the last he took conclusion,\nThat there as first Arcite and Palamon\nHadde for love the battle them between,\nThat in that selve* grove, sweet and green,                   *self-same\nThere as he had his amorous desires,\nHis complaint, and for love his hote fires,\nHe woulde make a fire*, in which th' office                *funeral pyre\nOf funeral he might all accomplice;\nAnd *let anon command* to hack and hew         *immediately gave orders*\nThe oakes old, and lay them *on a rew*                        *in a row*\nIn culpons*, well arrayed for to brenne**.                  *logs **burn\nHis officers with swifte feet they renne*                           *run\nAnd ride anon at his commandement.\nAnd after this, Duke Theseus hath sent\nAfter a bier, and it all oversprad\nWith cloth of gold, the richest that he had;\nAnd of the same suit he clad Arcite.\nUpon his handes were his gloves white,\nEke on his head a crown of laurel green,\nAnd in his hand a sword full bright and keen.\nHe laid him *bare the visage* on the bier,         *with face uncovered*\nTherewith he wept, that pity was to hear.\nAnd, for the people shoulde see him all,\nWhen it was day he brought them to the hall,\nThat roareth of the crying and the soun'.\nThen came this woful Theban, Palamon,\nWith sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs,<85>\nIn clothes black, y-dropped all with tears,\nAnd (passing over weeping Emily)\nThe ruefullest of all the company.\nAnd *inasmuch as* the service should be                  *in order that*\nThe more noble and rich in its degree,\nDuke Theseus let forth three steedes bring,\nThat trapped were in steel all glittering.\nAnd covered with the arms of Dan Arcite.\nUpon these steedes, that were great and white,\nThere satte folk, of whom one bare his shield,\nAnother his spear in his handes held;\nThe thirde bare with him his bow Turkeis*,                     *Turkish.\nOf brent* gold was the case** and the harness:       *burnished **quiver\nAnd ride forth *a pace* with sorrowful cheer**          *at a foot pace*\nToward the grove, as ye shall after hear.                   **expression\n\nThe noblest of the Greekes that there were\nUpon their shoulders carried the bier,\nWith slacke pace, and eyen red and wet,\nThroughout the city, by the master* street,                   *main <86>\nThat spread was all with black, and wondrous high\nRight of the same is all the street y-wrie.*               *covered <87>\nUpon the right hand went old Egeus,\nAnd on the other side Duke Theseus,\nWith vessels in their hand of gold full fine,\nAll full of honey, milk, and blood, and wine;\nEke Palamon, with a great company;\nAnd after that came woful Emily,\nWith fire in hand, as was that time the guise*,                  *custom\nTo do th' office of funeral service.\n\nHigh labour, and full great appareling*                     *preparation\nWas at the service, and the pyre-making,\nThat with its greene top the heaven raught*,                    *reached\nAnd twenty fathom broad its armes straught*:                  *stretched\nThis is to say, the boughes were so broad.\nOf straw first there was laid many a load.\nBut how the pyre was maked up on height,\nAnd eke the names how the trees hight*,                     *were called\nAs oak, fir, birch, asp*, alder, holm, poplere,                   *aspen\nWillow, elm, plane, ash, box, chestnut, lind*, laurere,    *linden, lime\nMaple, thorn, beech, hazel, yew, whipul tree,\nHow they were fell'd, shall not be told for me;\nNor how the goddes* rannen up and down               *the forest deities\nDisinherited of their habitatioun,\nIn which they wonned* had in rest and peace,                      *dwelt\nNymphes, Faunes, and Hamadryades;\nNor how the beastes and the birdes all\nFledden for feare, when the wood gan fall;\nNor how the ground aghast* was of the light,                  *terrified\nThat was not wont to see the sunne bright;\nNor how the fire was couched* first with stre**,           *laid **straw\nAnd then with dry stickes cloven in three,\nAnd then with greene wood and spicery*,                          *spices\nAnd then with cloth of gold and with pierrie*,          *precious stones\nAnd garlands hanging with full many a flower,\nThe myrrh, the incense with so sweet odour;\nNor how Arcita lay among all this,\nNor what richess about his body is;\nNor how that Emily, as was the guise*,                           *custom\n*Put in the fire* of funeral service<88>;           *appplied the torch*\nNor how she swooned when she made the fire,\nNor what she spake, nor what was her desire;\nNor what jewels men in the fire then cast\nWhen that the fire was great and burned fast;\n\nNor how some cast their shield, and some their spear,\nAnd of their vestiments, which that they wear,\nAnd cuppes full of wine, and milk, and blood,\nInto the fire, that burnt as it were wood*;                         *mad\nNor how the Greekes with a huge rout*                        *procession\nThree times riden all the fire about <89>\nUpon the left hand, with a loud shouting,\nAnd thries with their speares clattering;\nAnd thries how the ladies gan to cry;\nNor how that led was homeward Emily;\nNor how Arcite is burnt to ashes cold;\nNor how the lyke-wake* was y-hold                             *wake <90>\nAll thilke* night, nor how the Greekes play                        *that\nThe wake-plays*, ne keep** I not to say:           *funeral games **care\nWho wrestled best naked, with oil anoint,\nNor who that bare him best *in no disjoint*.            *in any contest*\nI will not tell eke how they all are gone\nHome to Athenes when the play is done;\nBut shortly to the point now will I wend*,                         *come\nAnd maken of my longe tale an end.\n\nBy process and by length of certain years\nAll stinted* is the mourning and the tears                        *ended\nOf Greekes, by one general assent.\nThen seemed me there was a parlement\nAt Athens, upon certain points and cas*:                          *cases\nAmonge the which points y-spoken was\nTo have with certain countries alliance,\nAnd have of Thebans full obeisance.\nFor which this noble Theseus anon\nLet* send after the gentle Palamon,                              *caused\nUnwist* of him what was the cause and why:                      *unknown\nBut in his blacke clothes sorrowfully\nHe came at his commandment *on hie*;                          *in haste*\nThen sente Theseus for Emily.\nWhen they were set*, and hush'd was all the place                *seated\nAnd Theseus abided* had a space                                  *waited\nEre any word came from his wise breast\n*His eyen set he there as was his lest*,               *he cast his eyes\nAnd with a sad visage he sighed still,              wherever he pleased*\nAnd after that right thus he said his will.\n\"The firste mover of the cause above\nWhen he first made the faire chain of love,\nGreat was th' effect, and high was his intent;\nWell wist he why, and what thereof he meant:\nFor with that faire chain of love he bond*                        *bound\nThe fire, the air, the water, and the lond\nIn certain bondes, that they may not flee:<91>\nThat same prince and mover eke,\" quoth he,\n\"Hath stablish'd, in this wretched world adown,\nCertain of dayes and duration\nTo all that are engender'd in this place,\nOver the whiche day they may not pace*,                            *pass\nAll may they yet their dayes well abridge.\nThere needeth no authority to allege\nFor it is proved by experience;\nBut that me list declare my sentence*.                          *opinion\nThen may men by this order well discern,\nThat thilke* mover stable is and etern.                        *the same\nWell may men know, but that it be a fool,\nThat every part deriveth from its whole.\nFor nature hath not ta'en its beginning\nOf no *partie nor cantle* of a thing,                    *part or piece*\nBut of a thing that perfect is and stable,\nDescending so, till it be corruptable.\nAnd therefore of His wise purveyance*                        *providence\nHe hath so well beset* his ordinance,\nThat species of things and progressions\nShallen endure by successions,\nAnd not etern, withouten any lie:\nThis mayst thou understand and see at eye.\nLo th' oak, that hath so long a nourishing\nFrom the time that it 'ginneth first to spring,\nAnd hath so long a life, as ye may see,\nYet at the last y-wasted is the tree.\nConsider eke, how that the harde stone\nUnder our feet, on which we tread and gon*,                        *walk\nYet wasteth, as it lieth by the way.\nThe broade river some time waxeth drey*.                            *dry\nThe greate townes see we wane and wend*.                  *go, disappear\nThen may ye see that all things have an end.\nOf man and woman see we well also, --\nThat needes in one of the termes two, --\nThat is to say, in youth or else in age,-\nHe must be dead, the king as shall a page;\nSome in his bed, some in the deepe sea,\nSome in the large field, as ye may see:\nThere helpeth nought, all go that ilke* way:                       *same\nThen may I say that alle thing must die.\nWhat maketh this but Jupiter the king?\nThe which is prince, and cause of alle thing,\nConverting all unto his proper will,\nFrom which it is derived, sooth to tell\nAnd hereagainst no creature alive,\nOf no degree, availeth for to strive.\nThen is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,\nTo make a virtue of necessity,\nAnd take it well, that we may not eschew*,                       *escape\nAnd namely what to us all is due.\nAnd whoso grudgeth* ought, he doth folly,                    *murmurs at\nAnd rebel is to him that all may gie*.                    *direct, guide\nAnd certainly a man hath most honour\nTo dien in his excellence and flower,\nWhen he is sicker* of his goode name.                           *certain\nThen hath he done his friend, nor him*, no shame                *himself\nAnd gladder ought his friend be of his death,\nWhen with honour is yielded up his breath,\nThan when his name *appalled is for age*;           *decayed by old age*\nFor all forgotten is his vassalage*.                    *valour, service\nThen is it best, as for a worthy fame,\nTo dien when a man is best of name.\nThe contrary of all this is wilfulness.\nWhy grudge we, why have we heaviness,\nThat good Arcite, of chivalry the flower,\nDeparted is, with duty and honour,\nOut of this foule prison of this life?\nWhy grudge here his cousin and his wife\nOf his welfare, that loved him so well?\nCan he them thank? nay, God wot, neverdeal*, --               *not a jot\nThat both his soul and eke themselves offend*,                     *hurt\nAnd yet they may their lustes* not amend**.           *desires **control\nWhat may I conclude of this longe serie*,             *string of remarks\nBut after sorrow I rede* us to be merry,                        *counsel\nAnd thanke Jupiter for all his grace?\nAnd ere that we departe from this place,\nI rede that we make of sorrows two\nOne perfect joye lasting evermo':\nAnd look now where most sorrow is herein,\nThere will I first amenden and begin.\n\"Sister,\" quoth he, \"this is my full assent,\nWith all th' advice here of my parlement,\nThat gentle Palamon, your owen knight,\nThat serveth you with will, and heart, and might,\nAnd ever hath, since first time ye him knew,\nThat ye shall of your grace upon him rue*,                    *take pity\nAnd take him for your husband and your lord:\nLend me your hand, for this is our accord.\n*Let see* now of your womanly pity.                       *make display*\nHe is a kinge's brother's son, pardie*.                          *by God\nAnd though he were a poore bachelere,\nSince he hath served you so many a year,\nAnd had for you so great adversity,\nIt muste be considered, *'lieveth me*.                      *believe me*\nFor gentle mercy *oweth to passen right*.\"          *ought to be rightly\nThen said he thus to Palamon the knight;                       directed*\n\"I trow there needeth little sermoning\nTo make you assente to this thing.\nCome near, and take your lady by the hand.\"\nBetwixte them was made anon the band,\nThat hight matrimony or marriage,\nBy all the counsel of the baronage.\nAnd thus with alle bliss and melody\nHath Palamon y-wedded Emily.\nAnd God, that all this wide world hath wrought,\nSend him his love, that hath it dearly bought.\nFor now is Palamon in all his weal,\nLiving in bliss, in riches, and in heal*.                        *health\nAnd Emily him loves so tenderly,\nAnd he her serveth all so gentilly,\nThat never was there worde them between\nOf jealousy, nor of none other teen*.                    *cause of anger\nThus endeth Palamon and Emily\nAnd God save all this faire company.\n\n\nNotes to The Knight's Tale.\n\n\n1. For the plan and principal incidents of the \"Knight's Tale,\"\nChaucer was indebted to Boccaccio, who had himself borrowed\nfrom some prior poet, chronicler, or romancer.  Boccaccio\nspeaks of the story as \"very ancient;\" and, though that may not\nbe proof of its antiquity, it certainly shows that he took it from\nan earlier writer. The \"Tale\" is more or less a paraphrase of\nBoccaccio's \"Theseida;\" but in some points the copy has a\ndistinct dramatic superiority over the original.  The \"Theseida\"\ncontained ten thousand lines; Chaucer has condensed it into less\nthan one-fourth of the number. The \"Knight's Tale\" is supposed\nto have been at first composed as a separate work; it is\nundetermined whether Chaucer took it direct from the Italian of\nBoccaccio, or from a French translation.\n\n2. Highte: was called; from the Anglo-Saxon \"hatan\", to bid or\ncall; German, \"Heissen\", \"heisst\".\n\n3. Feminie: The \"Royaume des Femmes\" -- kingdom of the\nAmazons. Gower, in the \"Confessio Amantis,\" styles\nPenthesilea the \"Queen of Feminie.\"\n\n4. Wonnen: Won, conquered; German \"gewonnen.\"\n\n5. Ear: To plough; Latin, \"arare.\"  \"I have abundant  matter for\ndiscourse.\" The first, and half of the second, of Boccaccio's\ntwelve books are disposed of in the few lines foregoing.\n\n6. Waimenting:  bewailing; German, \"wehklagen\"\n\n7. Starf: died; German, \"sterben,\" \"starb\".\n\n8. The Minotaur: The monster, half-man and half-bull, which\nyearly devoured a tribute of fourteen Athenian youths and\nmaidens, until it was slain by Theseus.\n\n9. Pillers: pillagers, strippers; French, \"pilleurs.\"\n\n10. The donjon was originally the central tower or \"keep\" of\nfeudal castles; it was employed to detain prisoners of\nimportance. Hence the modern meaning of the word dungeon.\n\n11. Saturn, in the old astrology, was a most unpropitious star to\nbe born under.\n\n12. To die in the pain was a proverbial expression in the French,\nused as an alternative to enforce a resolution or a promise.\nEdward III., according to Froissart, declared that he would\neither succeed in the war against France or die in the pain --\n\"Ou il mourroit en la peine.\" It was the fashion in those times to\nswear oaths of friendship and brotherhood; and hence, though\nthe fashion has long died out, we still speak of \"sworn friends.\"\n\n13. The saying of the old scholar Boethius, in his treatise \"De\nConsolatione Philosophiae\", which Chaucer translated, and\nfrom which he has freely borrowed in his poetry. The words are\n\"Quis legem det amantibus?\nMajor lex amor est sibi.\"\n(\"Who can give law to lovers? Love is a law unto himself, and\ngreater\")\n\n14. \"Perithous\" and \"Theseus\" must, for the metre, be\npronounced as words of four and three syllables respectively --\nthe vowels at the end not being diphthongated, but enunciated\nseparately, as if the words were printed Pe-ri-tho-us, The-se-us.\nThe same rule applies in such words as \"creature\" and\n\"conscience,\" which are trisyllables.\n\n15. Stound: moment, short space of time; from Anglo-Saxon,\n\"stund;\" akin to which is German, \"Stunde,\" an hour.\n\n16. Meinie: servants, or menials, &c., dwelling together in a\nhouse; from an Anglo-Saxon word meaning a crowd. Compare\nGerman, \"Menge,\" multitude.\n\n17. The pure fetters: the very fetters. The Greeks used\n\"katharos\", the Romans \"purus,\" in the same sense.\n\n18. In the medieval courts of Love, to which allusion is\nprobably made forty lines before, in the word \"parlement,\" or\n\"parliament,\" questions like that here proposed were seriously\ndiscussed.\n\n19. Gear: behaviour, fashion, dress; but, by another reading, the\nword is \"gyre,\" and means fit, trance -- from the Latin, \"gyro,\" I\nturn round.\n\n20. Before his head in his cell fantastic: in front of his head in\nhis cell of fantasy. \"The division of the brain into cells,\naccording to the different sensitive faculties,\" says Mr Wright,\n\"is very ancient, and is found depicted in mediaeval\nmanuscripts.\" In a manuscript in the Harleian Library, it is\nstated, \"Certum est in prora cerebri esse fantasiam, in medio\nrationem discretionis, in puppi memoriam\" (it is certain that in\nthe front of the brain is imagination, in the middle reason, in the\nback memory) -- a classification not materially differing from\nthat of modern phrenologists.\n\n21. Dan: Lord; Latin, \"Dominus;\" Spanish, \"Don.\"\n\n22. The \"caduceus.\"\n\n23. Argus was employed by Juno to watch Io with his hundred\neyes but he was sent to sleep by the flute of Mercury, who then\ncut off his head.\n\n24. Next: nearest; German, \"naechste\".\n\n25. Clary: hippocras, wine made with spices.\n\n26. Warray: make war; French \"guerroyer\", to molest; hence,\nperhaps, \"to worry.\"\n\n27. All day meeten men at unset steven: every day men meet at\nunexpected time.  \"To  set a steven,\" is to fix a time, make an\nappointment.\n\n28. Roundelay: song coming round again to the words with\nwhich it opened.\n\n29. Now in the crop and now down in the breres: Now in the\ntree-top, now down in the briars. \"Crop and root,\" top and\nbottom, is used to express the perfection or totality of anything.\n\n30. Beknow: avow, acknowledge: German, \"bekennen.\"\n\n31. Shapen was my death erst than my shert: My death was\ndecreed before my shirt ws shaped -- that is, before any clothes\nwere made for me, before my birth.\n\n32. Regne: Queen; French, \"Reine;\" Venus is meant. The\ncommon reading, however, is \"regne,\" reign or power.\n\n33. Launde: plain. Compare modern English, \"lawn,\" and\nFrench, \"Landes\" -- flat, bare marshy tracts in the south of\nFrance.\n\n34. Mister: manner, kind; German \"muster,\" sample, model.\n\n35. In listes:  in the lists, prepared for such single combats\nbetween champion and accuser, &c.\n\n36. Thilke: that, contracted from \"the ilke,\" the same.\n\n37. Mars the Red: referring to the ruddy colour of the planet, to\nwhich was doubtless due the transference to it of the name of\nthe God of War. In his \"Republic,\" enumerating the seven\nplanets, Cicero speaks of the propitious and beneficent light of\nJupiter: \"Tum (fulgor) rutilis horribilisque terris, quem Martium\ndicitis\" --  \"Then the red glow, horrible to the nations, which\nyou say to be that of Mars.\" Boccaccio opens the \"Theseida\" by\nan invocation to \"rubicondo Marte.\"\n\n38. Last: lace, leash, noose, snare: from Latin, \"laceus.\"\n\n39. \"Round was the shape, in manner of compass,\n     Full of degrees, the height of sixty pas\"\nThe building was a circle of steps or benches, as in the ancient\namphitheatre. Either the building was sixty paces high; or, more\nprobably, there were sixty of the steps or benches.\n\n40. Yellow goldes: The sunflower, turnsol, or girasol, which\nturns with and seems to watch the sun, as a jealous lover his\nmistress.\n\n41. Citheron: The Isle of Venus, Cythera, in the Aegean Sea;\nnow called Cerigo: not, as Chaucer's form of the word might\nimply, Mount Cithaeron, in the south-west of Boetia, which was\nappropriated to other deities than Venus -- to Jupiter, to\nBacchus, and the Muses.\n\n42. It need not be said that Chaucer pays slight heed to\nchronology in this passage, where the deeds of Turnus, the\nglory of King Solomon, and the fate of Croesus are made\nmemories of the far past in the time of fabulous Theseus, the\nMinotaur-slayer.\n\n43. Champartie: divided power or possession; an old law-term,\nsignifying the maintenance of a person in a law suit on the\ncondition of receiving part of the property in dispute, if\nrecovered.\n\n44. Citole: a kind of dulcimer.\n\n45. The picke-purse:  The plunderers that followed armies, and\ngave to war a horror all their own.\n\n46. Shepen: stable;  Anglo-Saxon, \"scypen;\" the word\n\"sheppon\" still survives in provincial parlance.\n\n47. This line, perhaps, refers to the deed of Jael.\n\n48. The shippes hoppesteres: The meaning is dubious. We may\nunderstand \"the dancing ships,\" \"the ships that hop\" on the\nwaves; \"steres\" being taken as the feminine adjectival\ntermination: or we may, perhaps, read, with one of the\nmanuscripts, \"the ships upon the steres\" -- that is, even as they\nare being steered, or on the open sea -- a more picturesque\nnotion.\n\n49. Freting: devouring; the Germans use \"Fressen\" to mean\neating by animals, \"essen\" by men.\n\n50. Julius: i.e. Julius Caesar\n\n51. Puella and Rubeus were two figures in geomancy,\nrepresenting two constellations-the one signifying Mars\nretrograde, the other Mars direct.\n\n52. Calistope: or Callisto, daughter of Lycaon, seduced by\nJupiter, turned into a bear by Diana, and placed afterwards, with\nher son, as the Great Bear among the stars.\n\n53. Dane: Daphne, daughter of the river-god Peneus, in\nThessaly; she was beloved by Apollo, but to avoid his pursuit,\nshe was, at her own prayer, changed into a laurel-tree.\n\n54. As the goddess of Light, or the goddess who brings to light,\nDiana -- as well as Juno -- was invoked by women in childbirth:\nso Horace, Odes iii. 22, says:--\n\n\"Montium custos nemorumque, Virgo,\nQuae laborantes utero puellas\nTer vocata audis adimisque leto,\nDiva triformis.\"\n\n(\"Virgin custodian of hills and groves, three-formed goddess\nwho hears and saves from death young women who call upon\nher thrice when in childbirth\")\n\n55. Every deal:  in every part; \"deal\" corresponds to the\nGerman \"Theil\" a portion.\n\n56. Sikerly: surely; German, \"sicher;\" Scotch, \"sikkar,\" certain.\nWhen Robert Bruce had escaped from England to assume the\nScottish crown, he stabbed Comyn before the altar at Dumfries;\nand, emerging from the church, was asked by his friend\nKirkpatrick if he had slain the traitor. \"I doubt it,\" said Bruce.\n\"Doubt,\" cried Kirkpatrick.  \"I'll mak sikkar;\" and he rushed\ninto the church, and despatched Comyn with repeated thrusts of\nhis dagger.\n\n57. Kemped: combed; the word survives in \"unkempt.\"\n\n58. Alauns: greyhounds, mastiffs; from the Spanish word\n\"Alano,\" signifying a mastiff.\n\n59. Y-ment: mixed; German, \"mengen,\" to mix.\n\n60. Prime: The time of early prayers, between six and nine in\nthe morning.\n\n61. On the dais: see note 32 to the Prologue.\n\n62. In her hour: in the hour of the day (two hours before\ndaybreak) which after the astrological system that divided the\ntwenty-four among the seven ruling planets, was under the\ninfluence of Venus.\n\n63. Adon: Adonis, a beautiful youth beloved of Venus, whose\ndeath by the tusk of a boar she deeply mourned.\n\n64. The third hour unequal: In the third planetary hour;\nPalamon had gone forth in the hour of Venus, two hours before\ndaybreak; the hour of Mercury intervened; the third hour was\nthat of Luna, or Diana.  \"Unequal\" refers to the astrological\ndivision of day and night, whatever their duration, into twelve\nparts, which of necessity varied in length with the season.\n\n65. Smoking: draping; hence the word \"smock;\" \"smokless,\" in\nChaucer, means naked.\n\n66. Cerrial: of the species of oak which Pliny, in his \"Natural\nHistory,\" calls \"cerrus.\"\n\n67. Stace of Thebes: Statius, the Roman who embodied in the\ntwelve books of his \"Thebaid\" the ancient legends connected\nwith the war of the seven against Thebes.\n\n68. Diana was Luna in heaven, Diana on earth, and Hecate in\nhell; hence the direction of the eyes of her statue to \"Pluto's\ndark region.\"  Her statue was set up where three ways met, so\nthat with a different face she looked down each of the three;\nfrom which she was called Trivia. See the quotation from\nHorace, note 54.\n\n69. Las: net; the invisible toils in which Hephaestus caught Ares\nand the faithless Aphrodite, and exposed them to the\n\"inextinguishable laughter\" of Olympus.\n\n70. Saturnus the cold: Here, as in \"Mars the Red\" we have the\nperson of the deity endowed with the supposed quality of the\nplanet called after his name.\n\n71. The astrologers ascribed great power to Saturn, and\npredicted \"much debate\" under his ascendancy; hence it was\n\"against his kind\" to compose the heavenly strife.\n\n72. Ayel: grandfather; French \"Aieul\".\n\n73. Testers: Helmets; from the French \"teste\", \"tete\", head.\n\n74. Parements: ornamental garb, French \"parer\" to deck.\n\n75. Gniding: Rubbing, polishing; Anglo-Saxon \"gnidan\", to rub.\n\n76. Nakeres: Drums, used in the cavalry; Boccaccio's word is\n\"nachere\".\n\n77. Made an O: Ho! Ho! to command attention; like \"oyez\", the\ncall for silence in law-courts or before proclamations.\n\n78. Sarge: serge, a coarse woollen cloth\n\n79. Heart-spoon: The concave part of the breast, where the\nlower ribs join the cartilago ensiformis.\n\n80. To-hewen and to-shred:  \"to\" before a verb implies\nextraordinary violence in the action denoted.\n\n81. He through the thickest of the throng etc.. \"He\" in this\npassage refers impersonally to any of the combatants.\n\n82. Galaphay: Galapha, in Mauritania.\n\n83. Belmarie is supposed to have been a Moorish state in\nAfrica; but \"Palmyrie\" has been suggested as the correct\nreading.\n\n84. As I came never I cannot telle where: Where it went I\ncannot tell you, as I was not there.  Tyrwhitt thinks that\nChaucer is sneering at Boccacio's pompous account of the\npassage of Arcite's soul to heaven. Up to this point, the\ndescription of the death-scene is taken literally from the\n\"Theseida.\"\n\n85. With sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs: With neglected\nbeard, and rough hair strewn with ashes. \"Flotery\" is the general\nreading; but \"sluttery\" seems to be more in keeping with the\npicture of abandonment to grief.\n\n86. Master street: main street; so Froissart speaks of \"le\nsouverain carrefour.\"\n\n87. Y-wrie: covered, hid; Anglo-Saxon, \"wrigan,\" to veil.\n\n88. Emily applied the funeral torch. The \"guise\" was, among the\nancients, for the nearest relative of the deceased to do this, with\naverted face.\n\n89. It was the custom for soldiers to march thrice around the\nfuneral pile of an emperor or general; \"on the left hand\" is\nadded, in reference to the belief that the left hand was\npropitious -- the Roman augur turning his face southward, and\nso placing on his left hand the east, whence good omens came.\nWith the Greeks, however, their augurs facing the north, it was\njust the contrary. The confusion, frequent in classical writers, is\ncomplicated here by the fact that Chaucer's description of the\nfuneral of Arcite is taken from Statius' \"Thebaid\" -- from a\nRoman's account of a Greek solemnity.\n\n90. Lyke-wake: watching by the remains of the dead; from\nAnglo-Saxon, \"lice,\" a corpse; German, \"Leichnam.\"\n\n91. Chaucer here borrows from Boethius, who says:\n\"Hanc rerum seriem ligat,\nTerras ac pelagus regens,\nEt coelo imperitans, amor.\"\n(Love ties these things together: the earth, and the ruling sea,\nand the imperial heavens)\n\n\n\nTHE MILLER'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nWhen that the Knight had thus his tale told\nIn all the rout was neither young nor old,\nThat he not said it was a noble story,\nAnd worthy to be *drawen to memory*;                          *recorded*\nAnd *namely the gentles* every one.          *especially the gentlefolk*\nOur Host then laugh'd and swore, \"So may I gon,*                *prosper\nThis goes aright; *unbuckled is the mail;*        *the budget is opened*\nLet see now who shall tell another tale:\nFor truely this game is well begun.\nNow telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne*,                       *know\nSomewhat, to quiten* with the Knighte's tale.\"                    *match\nThe Miller that fordrunken was all pale,\nSo that unnethes* upon his horse he sat,                *with difficulty\nHe would avalen* neither hood nor hat,                          *uncover\nNor abide* no man for his courtesy,                         *give way to\nBut in Pilate's voice<1> he gan to cry,\nAnd swore by armes, and by blood, and bones,\n\"I can a noble tale for the nones*                            *occasion,\nWith which I will now quite* the Knighte's tale.\"                 *match\nOur Host saw well how drunk he was of ale,\nAnd said; \"Robin, abide, my leve* brother,                         *dear\nSome better man shall tell us first another:\nAbide, and let us worke thriftily.\"\nBy Godde's soul,\" quoth he, \"that will not I,\nFor I will speak, or elles go my way!\"\nOur Host answer'd; \"*Tell on a devil way*;             *devil take you!*\nThou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.\"\n\"Now hearken,\" quoth the Miller, \"all and some:\nBut first I make a protestatioun.\nThat I am drunk, I know it by my soun':\nAnd therefore if that I misspeak or say,\n*Wite it* the ale of Southwark, I you pray:             *blame it on*<2>\nFor I will tell a legend and a life\nBoth of a carpenter and of his wife,\nHow that a clerk hath *set the wrighte's cap*.\"   *fooled the carpenter*\nThe Reeve answer'd and saide, \"*Stint thy clap*,      *hold your tongue*\nLet be thy lewed drunken harlotry.\nIt is a sin, and eke a great folly\nTo apeiren* any man, or him defame,                              *injure\nAnd eke to bringe wives in evil name.\nThou may'st enough of other thinges sayn.\"\nThis drunken Miller spake full soon again,\nAnd saide, \"Leve brother Osewold,\nWho hath no wife, he is no cuckold.\nBut I say not therefore that thou art one;\nThere be full goode wives many one.\nWhy art thou angry with my tale now?\nI have a wife, pardie, as well as thou,\nYet *n'old I*, for the oxen in my plough,                  *I would not*\nTaken upon me more than enough,\nTo deemen* of myself that I am one;                               *judge\nI will believe well that I am none.\nAn husband should not be inquisitive\nOf Godde's privity, nor of his wife.\nSo he may finde Godde's foison* there,                         *treasure\nOf the remnant needeth not to enquere.\"\n\nWhat should I more say, but that this Millere\nHe would his wordes for no man forbear,\nBut told his churlish* tale in his mannere;               *boorish, rude\nMe thinketh, that I shall rehearse it here.\nAnd therefore every gentle wight I pray,\nFor Godde's love to deem not that I say\nOf evil intent, but that I must rehearse\nTheir tales all, be they better or worse,\nOr elles falsen* some of my mattere.                            *falsify\nAnd therefore whoso list it not to hear,\nTurn o'er the leaf, and choose another tale;\nFor he shall find enough, both great and smale,\nOf storial* thing that toucheth gentiless,             *historical, true\nAnd eke morality and holiness.\nBlame not me, if that ye choose amiss.\nThe Miller is a churl, ye know well this,\nSo was the Reeve, with many other mo',\nAnd harlotry* they tolde bothe two.                        *ribald tales\n*Avise you* now, and put me out of blame;                    *be warned*\nAnd eke men should not make earnest of game*.                 *jest, fun\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Miller's Tale\n\n1. Pilate, an unpopular personage in the mystery-plays of the\nmiddle ages, was probably represented as having a gruff, harsh\nvoice.\n\n2. Wite: blame; in Scotland, \"to bear the wyte,\" is to bear the\nblame.\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nWhilom there was dwelling in Oxenford\nA riche gnof*, that *guestes held to board*,   *miser *took in boarders*\nAnd of his craft he was a carpenter.\nWith him there was dwelling a poor scholer,\nHad learned art, but all his fantasy\nWas turned for to learn astrology.\nHe coude* a certain of conclusions                                 *knew\nTo deeme* by interrogations,                                  *determine\nIf that men asked him in certain hours,\nWhen that men should have drought or elles show'rs:\nOr if men asked him what shoulde fall\nOf everything, I may not reckon all.\n\nThis clerk was called Hendy* Nicholas;                 *gentle, handsome\nOf derne* love he knew and of solace;                   *secret, earnest\nAnd therewith he was sly and full privy,\nAnd like a maiden meek for to see.\nA chamber had he in that hostelry\nAlone, withouten any company,\nFull *fetisly y-dight* with herbes swoot*,            *neatly decorated*\nAnd he himself was sweet as is the root                           *sweet\nOf liquorice, or any setewall*.                                *valerian\nHis Almagest,<1> and bookes great and small,\nHis astrolabe,<2>  belonging to his art,\nHis augrim stones,<3> layed fair apart\nOn shelves couched* at his bedde's head,                      *laid, set\nHis press y-cover'd with a falding* red.                   *coarse cloth\nAnd all above there lay a gay psalt'ry\nOn which he made at nightes melody,\nSo sweetely, that all the chamber rang:\nAnd Angelus ad virginem<4> he sang.\nAnd after that he sung the kinge's note;\nFull often blessed was his merry throat.\nAnd thus this sweete clerk his time spent\nAfter *his friendes finding and his rent.*    *Attending to his friends,\n                                                   and providing for the\n                                                    cost of his lodging*\nThis carpenter had wedded new a wife,\nWhich that he loved more than his life:\nOf eighteen year, I guess, she was of age.\nJealous he was, and held her narr'w in cage,\nFor she was wild and young, and he was old,\nAnd deemed himself belike* a cuckold.                           *perhaps\nHe knew not Cato,<5> for his wit was rude,\nThat bade a man wed his similitude.\nMen shoulde wedden after their estate,\nFor youth and eld* are often at debate.                             *age\nBut since that he was fallen in the snare,\nHe must endure (as other folk) his care.\nFair was this younge wife, and therewithal\nAs any weasel her body gent* and small.                      *slim, neat\nA seint* she weared, barred all of silk,                         *girdle\nA barm-cloth* eke as white as morning milk                     *apron<6>\nUpon her lendes*, full of many a gore**.                  *loins **plait\nWhite was her smock*, and broider'd all before,            *robe or gown\nAnd eke behind, on her collar about\nOf coal-black silk, within and eke without.\nThe tapes of her white volupere*                      *head-kerchief <7>\nWere of the same suit of her collere;\nHer fillet broad of silk, and set full high:\nAnd sickerly* she had a likerous** eye.          *certainly **lascivious\nFull small y-pulled were her browes two,\nAnd they were bent*, and black as any sloe.                      *arched\nShe was well more *blissful on to see*           *pleasant to look upon*\nThan is the newe perjenete* tree;                       *young pear-tree\nAnd softer than the wool is of a wether.\nAnd by her girdle hung a purse of leather,\nTassel'd with silk, and *pearled with latoun*.   *set with brass pearls*\nIn all this world to seeken up and down\nThere is no man so wise, that coude thenche*            *fancy, think of\nSo gay a popelot*, or such a wench.                          *puppet <8>\nFull brighter was the shining of her hue,\nThan in the Tower the noble* forged new.                *a gold coin <9>\nBut of her song, it was as loud and yern*,                  *lively <10>\nAs any swallow chittering on a bern*.                              *barn\nThereto* she coulde skip, and *make a game*                 *also *romp*\nAs any kid or calf following his dame.\nHer mouth was sweet as braket,<11> or as methe*                    *mead\nOr hoard of apples, laid in hay or heath.\nWincing* she was as is a jolly colt,                           *skittish\nLong as a mast, and upright as a bolt.\nA brooch she bare upon her low collere,\nAs broad as is the boss of a bucklere.\nHer shoon were laced on her legges high;\nShe was a primerole,* a piggesnie <12>,                        *primrose\nFor any lord t' have ligging* in his bed,                         *lying\nOr yet for any good yeoman to wed.\n\nNow, sir, and eft* sir, so befell the case,                       *again\nThat on a day this Hendy Nicholas\nFell with this younge wife to rage* and play,       *toy, play the rogue\nWhile that her husband was at Oseney,<13>\nAs clerkes be full subtle and full quaint.\nAnd privily he caught her by the queint,*                          *cunt\nAnd said; \"Y-wis,* but if I have my will,                     *assuredly\nFor *derne love of thee, leman, I spill.\"*     *for earnest love of thee\nAnd helde her fast by the haunche bones,          my mistress, I perish*\nAnd saide \"Leman, love me well at once,\nOr I will dien, all so God me save.\"\nAnd she sprang as a colt doth in the trave<14>:\nAnd with her head she writhed fast away,\nAnd said; \"I will not kiss thee, by my fay*.                      *faith\nWhy let be,\" quoth she, \"let be, Nicholas,\nOr I will cry out harow and alas!<15>\nDo away your handes, for your courtesy.\"\nThis Nicholas gan mercy for to cry,\nAnd spake so fair, and proffer'd him so fast,\nThat she her love him granted at the last,\nAnd swore her oath by Saint Thomas of Kent,\nThat she would be at his commandement,\nWhen that she may her leisure well espy.\n\"My husband is so full of jealousy,\nThat but* ye waite well, and be privy,                           *unless\nI wot right well I am but dead,\" quoth she.\n\"Ye muste be full derne* as in this case.\"                       *secret\n\"Nay, thereof care thee nought,\" quoth Nicholas:\n\"A clerk had *litherly beset his while*,            *ill spent his time*\n*But if* he could a carpenter beguile.\"                          *unless\nAnd thus they were accorded and y-sworn\nTo wait a time, as I have said beforn.\nWhen Nicholas had done thus every deal*,                           *whit\nAnd thwacked her about the lendes* well,                          *loins\nHe kiss'd her sweet, and taketh his psalt'ry\nAnd playeth fast, and maketh melody.\nThen fell it thus, that to the parish church,\nOf Christe's owen workes for to wirch*,                            *work\nThis good wife went upon a holy day;\nHer forehead shone as bright as any day,\nSo was it washen, when she left her werk.\n\nNow was there of that church a parish clerk,\nThe which that was y-cleped Absolon.\nCurl'd was his hair, and as the gold it shone,\nAnd strutted* as a fanne large and broad;                     *stretched\nFull straight and even lay his jolly shode*.               *head of hair\nHis rode* was red, his eyen grey as goose,                   *complexion\nWith Paule's windows carven on his shoes <16>\nIn hosen red he went full fetisly*.                    *daintily, neatly\nY-clad he was full small and properly,\nAll in a kirtle* of a light waget*;                   *girdle **sky blue\nFull fair and thicke be the pointes set,\nAnd thereupon he had a gay surplice,\nAs white as is the blossom on the rise*.                      *twig <17>\nA merry child he was, so God me save;\nWell could he letten blood, and clip, and shave,\nAnd make a charter of land, and a quittance.\nIn twenty manners could he trip and dance,\nAfter the school of Oxenforde tho*,<18>                            *then\nAnd with his legges caste to and fro;\nAnd playen songes on a small ribible*;                           *fiddle\nThereto he sung sometimes a loud quinible*                       *treble\nAnd as well could he play on a gitern.*                          *guitar\nIn all the town was brewhouse nor tavern,\nThat he not visited with his solas*,                       *mirth, sport\nThere as that any *garnard tapstere* was.           *licentious barmaid*\nBut sooth to say he was somedeal squaimous*                   *squeamish\nOf farting, and of speeche dangerous.\nThis Absolon, that jolly was and gay,\nWent with a censer on the holy day,\nCensing* the wives of the parish fast;              *burning incense for\nAnd many a lovely look he on them cast,\nAnd namely* on this carpenter's wife:                        *especially\nTo look on her him thought a merry life.\nShe was so proper, and sweet, and likerous.\nI dare well say, if she had been a mouse,\nAnd he a cat, he would *her hent anon*.           *have soon caught her*\nThis parish clerk, this jolly Absolon,\nHath in his hearte such a love-longing!\nThat of no wife took he none offering;\nFor courtesy he said he woulde none.\nThe moon at night full clear and brighte shone,\nAnd Absolon his gitern hath y-taken,\nFor paramours he thoughte for to waken,\nAnd forth he went, jolif* and amorous,                           *joyous\nTill he came to the carpentere's house,\nA little after the cock had y-crow,\nAnd *dressed him* under a shot window <19>,         *stationed himself.*\nThat was upon the carpentere's wall.\nHe singeth in his voice gentle and small;\n\"Now, dear lady, if thy will be,\nI pray that ye will rue* on me;\"                              *take pity\nFull well accordant to his giterning.\nThis carpenter awoke, and heard him sing,\nAnd spake unto his wife, and said anon,\nWhat Alison, hear'st thou not Absolon,\nThat chanteth thus under our bower* wall?\"                      *chamber\nAnd she answer'd her husband therewithal;\n\"Yes, God wot, John, I hear him every deal.\"\nThis passeth forth; what will ye bet* than well?                 *better\n\nFrom day to day this jolly Absolon\nSo wooeth her, that him is woebegone.\nHe waketh all the night, and all the day,\nTo comb his lockes broad, and make him gay.\nHe wooeth her *by means and by brocage*,     *by presents and by agents*\nAnd swore he woulde be her owen page.\nHe singeth brokking* as a nightingale.                        *quavering\nHe sent her piment <20>, mead, and spiced ale,\nAnd wafers* piping hot out of the glede**:                *cakes **coals\nAnd, for she was of town, he proffer'd meed.<21>\nFor some folk will be wonnen for richess,\nAnd some for strokes, and some with gentiless.\nSometimes, to show his lightness and mast'ry,\nHe playeth Herod <22> on a scaffold high.\nBut what availeth him as in this case?\nSo loveth she the Hendy Nicholas,\nThat Absolon may *blow the bucke's horn*:                 *\"go whistle\"*\nHe had for all his labour but a scorn.\nAnd thus she maketh Absolon her ape,\nAnd all his earnest turneth to a jape*.                            *jest\nFull sooth is this proverb, it is no lie;\nMen say right thus alway; the nighe sly\nMaketh oft time the far lief to be loth. <23>\nFor though that Absolon be wood* or wroth                           *mad\nBecause that he far was from her sight,\nThis nigh Nicholas stood still in his light.\nNow bear thee well, thou Hendy Nicholas,\nFor Absolon may wail and sing \"Alas!\"\n\nAnd so befell, that on a Saturday\nThis carpenter was gone to Oseney,\nAnd Hendy Nicholas and Alison\nAccorded were to this conclusion,\nThat Nicholas shall *shape him a wile*              *devise a stratagem*\nThe silly jealous husband to beguile;\nAnd if so were the game went aright,\nShe shoulde sleepen in his arms all night;\nFor this was her desire and his also.\nAnd right anon, withoute wordes mo',\nThis Nicholas no longer would he tarry,\nBut doth full soft unto his chamber carry\nBoth meat and drinke for a day or tway.\nAnd to her husband bade her for to say,\nIf that he asked after Nicholas,\nShe shoulde say, \"She wist* not where he was;                      *knew\nOf all the day she saw him not with eye;\nShe trowed* he was in some malady,                             *believed\nFor no cry that her maiden could him call\nHe would answer, for nought that might befall.\"\nThus passed forth all thilke* Saturday,                            *that\nThat Nicholas still in his chamber lay,\nAnd ate, and slept, and didde what him list\nTill Sunday, that* the sunne went to rest.                         *when\nThis silly carpenter *had great marvaill*             *wondered greatly*\nOf Nicholas, or what thing might him ail,\nAnd said; \"I am adrad*, by Saint Thomas!               *afraid, in dread\nIt standeth not aright with Nicholas:\n*God shielde* that he died suddenly.                    *heaven forbid!*\nThis world is now full fickle sickerly*.                      *certainly\nI saw to-day a corpse y-borne to chirch,\nThat now on Monday last I saw him wirch*.                          *work\n\"Go up,\" quod he unto his knave*, \"anon;                       *servant.\nClepe* at his door, or knocke with a stone:                        *call\nLook how it is, and tell me boldely.\"\nThis knave went him up full sturdily,\nAnd, at the chamber door while that he stood,\nHe cried and knocked as that he were wood:*                         *mad\n\"What how? what do ye, Master Nicholay?\nHow may ye sleepen all the longe day?\"\nBut all for nought, he hearde not a word.\nAn hole he found full low upon the board,\nWhere as the cat was wont in for to creep,\nAnd at that hole he looked in full deep,\nAnd at the last he had of him a sight.\nThis Nicholas sat ever gaping upright,\nAs he had kyked* on the newe moon.                          *looked <24>\nAdown he went, and told his master soon,\nIn what array he saw this ilke* man.                               *same\n\nThis carpenter to *blissen him* began,            *bless, cross himself*\nAnd said: \"Now help us, Sainte Frideswide.<25>\nA man wot* little what shall him betide.                          *knows\nThis man is fall'n with his astronomy\nInto some woodness* or some agony.                              *madness\nI thought aye well how that it shoulde be.\nMen should know nought of Godde's privity*.                     *secrets\nYea, blessed be alway a lewed* man,                           *unlearned\nThat *nought but only his believe can*.                   *knows no more\nSo far'd another clerk with astronomy:                than his \"credo.\"*\nHe walked in the fieldes for to *pry\nUpon* the starres, what there should befall,             *keep watch on*\nTill he was in a marle pit y-fall.<26>\nHe saw not that. But yet, by Saint Thomas!\n*Me rueth sore of*  Hendy Nicholas:                *I am very sorry for*\nHe shall be *rated of* his studying,                       *chidden for*\nIf that I may, by Jesus, heaven's king!\nGet me a staff, that I may underspore*                         *lever up\nWhile that thou, Robin, heavest off the door:\nHe shall out of his studying, as I guess.\"\nAnd to the chamber door he gan him dress*                *apply himself.\nHis knave was a strong carl for the nonce,\nAnd by the hasp he heav'd it off at once;\nInto the floor the door fell down anon.\nThis Nicholas sat aye as still as stone,\nAnd ever he gap'd upward into the air.\nThe carpenter ween'd* he were in despair,                       *thought\nAnd hent* him by the shoulders mightily,                         *caught\nAnd shook him hard, and cried spitously;*                       *angrily\n\"What, Nicholas? what how, man? look adown:\nAwake, and think on Christe's passioun.\nI crouche thee<27> from elves, and from wights*.                *witches\nTherewith the night-spell said he anon rights*,                *properly\nOn the four halves* of the house about,                         *corners\nAnd on the threshold of the door without.\n\"Lord Jesus Christ, and Sainte Benedight,\nBlesse this house from every wicked wight,\nFrom the night mare, the white Pater-noster;\nWhere wonnest* thou now, Sainte Peter's sister?\"               *dwellest\nAnd at the last this Hendy Nicholas\nGan for to sigh full sore, and said; \"Alas!\nShall all time world be lost eftsoones* now?\"                 *forthwith\nThis carpenter answer'd; \"What sayest thou?\nWhat? think on God, as we do, men that swink.*\"                  *labour\nThis Nicholas answer'd; \"Fetch me a drink;\nAnd after will I speak in privity\nOf certain thing that toucheth thee and me:\nI will tell it no other man certain.\"\n\nThis carpenter went down, and came again,\nAnd brought of mighty ale a large quart;\nAnd when that each of them had drunk his part,\nThis Nicholas his chamber door fast shet*,                         *shut\nAnd down the carpenter by him he set,\nAnd saide; \"John, mine host full lief* and dear,                  *loved\nThou shalt upon thy truthe swear me here,\nThat to no wight thou shalt my counsel wray*:                    *betray\nFor it is Christes counsel that I say,\nAnd if thou tell it man, thou art forlore:*                    *lost<28>\nFor this vengeance thou shalt have therefor,\nThat if thou wraye* me, thou shalt be wood**.\"             *betray **mad\n\"Nay, Christ forbid it for his holy blood!\"\nQuoth then this silly man; \"I am no blab,*                       *talker\nNor, though I say it, am I *lief to gab*.               *fond of speech*\nSay what thou wilt, I shall it never tell\nTo child or wife, by him that harried Hell.\"                        <29>\n\n\"Now, John,\" quoth Nicholas, \"I will not lie,\nI have y-found in my astrology,\nAs I have looked in the moone bright,\nThat now on Monday next, at quarter night,\nShall fall a rain, and that so wild and wood*,                      *mad\nThat never half so great was Noe's flood.\nThis world,\" he said, \"in less than half an hour\nShall all be dreint*, so hideous is the shower:                 *drowned\nThus shall mankinde drench*, and lose their life.\"                *drown\nThis carpenter answer'd; \"Alas, my wife!\nAnd shall she drench? alas, mine Alisoun!\"\nFor sorrow of this he fell almost adown,\nAnd said; \"Is there no remedy in this case?\"\n\"Why, yes, for God,\" quoth Hendy Nicholas;\n\"If thou wilt worken after *lore and rede*;        *learning and advice*\nThou may'st not worken after thine own head.\nFor thus saith Solomon, that was full true:\nWork all by counsel, and thou shalt not rue*.                    *repent\nAnd if thou worke wilt by good counseil,\nI undertake, withoute mast or sail,\nYet shall I save her, and thee, and me.\nHast thou not heard how saved was Noe,\nWhen that our Lord had warned him beforn,\nThat all the world with water *should be lorn*?\"         *should perish*\n\"Yes,\" quoth this carpenter,\" *full yore ago*.\"             *long since*\n\"Hast thou not heard,\" quoth Nicholas, \"also\nThe sorrow of Noe, with his fellowship,\nThat he had ere he got his wife to ship?<30>\n*Him had been lever, I dare well undertake,\nAt thilke time, than all his wethers black,\nThat she had had a ship herself alone.*                   *see note <31>\nAnd therefore know'st thou what is best to be done?\nThis asketh haste, and of an hasty thing\nMen may not preach or make tarrying.\nAnon go get us fast into this inn*                                *house\nA kneading trough, or else a kemelin*,                      *brewing-tub\nFor each of us; but look that they be large,\nIn whiche we may swim* as in a barge:                             *float\nAnd have therein vitaille suffisant\nBut for one day; fie on the remenant;\nThe water shall aslake* and go away                      *slacken, abate\nAboute prime* upon the nexte day.                         *early morning\nBut Robin may not know of this, thy knave*,                     *servant\nNor eke thy maiden Gill I may not save:\nAsk me not why: for though thou aske me\nI will not telle Godde's privity.\nSufficeth thee, *but if thy wit be mad*,                 *unless thou be\nTo have as great a grace as Noe had;                    out of thy wits*\nThy wife shall I well saven out of doubt.\nGo now thy way, and speed thee hereabout.\nBut when thou hast for her, and thee, and me,\nY-gotten us these kneading tubbes three,\nThen shalt thou hang them in the roof full high,\nSo that no man our purveyance* espy:              *foresight, providence\nAnd when thou hast done thus as I have said,\nAnd hast our vitaille fair in them y-laid,\nAnd eke an axe to smite the cord in two\nWhen that the water comes, that we may go,\nAnd break an hole on high upon the gable\nInto the garden-ward, over the stable,\nThat we may freely passe forth our way,\nWhen that the greate shower is gone away.\nThen shalt thou swim as merry, I undertake,\nAs doth the white duck after her drake:\nThen will I clepe,* 'How, Alison? How, John?                       *call\nBe merry: for the flood will pass anon.'\nAnd thou wilt say, 'Hail, Master Nicholay,\nGood-morrow, I see thee well, for it is day.'\nAnd then shall we be lordes all our life\nOf all the world, as Noe and his wife.\nBut of one thing I warne thee full right,\nBe well advised, on that ilke* night,                              *same\nWhen we be enter'd into shippe's board,\nThat none of us not speak a single word,\nNor clepe nor cry, but be in his prayere,\nFor that is Godde's owen heste* dear.                           *command\nThy wife and thou must hangen far atween*,                      *asunder\nFor that betwixte you shall be no sin,\nNo more in looking than there shall in deed.\nThis ordinance is said: go, God thee speed\nTo-morrow night, when men be all asleep,\nInto our kneading tubbes will we creep,\nAnd sitte there, abiding Godde's grace.\nGo now thy way, I have no longer space\nTo make of this no longer sermoning:\nMen say thus: Send the wise, and say nothing:\nThou art so wise, it needeth thee nought teach.\nGo, save our lives, and that I thee beseech.\"\n\nThis silly carpenter went forth his way,\nFull oft he said, \"Alas! and Well-a-day!,'\nAnd to his wife he told his privity,\nAnd she was ware, and better knew than he\nWhat all this *quainte cast was for to say*.        *strange contrivance\nBut natheless she fear'd as she would dey,                        meant*\nAnd said: \"Alas! go forth thy way anon.\nHelp us to scape, or we be dead each one.\nI am thy true and very wedded wife;\nGo, deare spouse, and help to save our life.\"\nLo, what a great thing is affection!\nMen may die of imagination,\nSo deeply may impression be take.\nThis silly carpenter begins to quake:\nHe thinketh verily that he may see\nThis newe flood come weltering as the sea\nTo drenchen* Alison, his honey dear.                              *drown\nHe weepeth, waileth, maketh *sorry cheer*;          *dismal countenance*\nHe sigheth, with full many a sorry sough.*                        *groan\nHe go'th, and getteth him a kneading trough,\nAnd after that a tub, and a kemelin,\nAnd privily he sent them to his inn:\nAnd hung them in the roof full privily.\nWith his own hand then made he ladders three,\nTo climbe by *the ranges and the stalks*    *the rungs and the uprights*\nUnto the tubbes hanging in the balks*;                            *beams\nAnd victualed them, kemelin, trough, and tub,\nWith bread and cheese, and good ale in a jub*,                      *jug\nSufficing right enough as for a day.\nBut ere that he had made all this array,\nHe sent his knave*, and eke his wench** also,            *servant **maid\nUpon his need* to London for to go.                            *business\nAnd on the Monday, when it drew to night,\nHe shut his door withoute candle light,\nAnd dressed* every thing as it should be.                      *prepared\nAnd shortly up they climbed all the three.\nThey satte stille well *a furlong way*.          *the time it would take\n\"Now, Pater noster, clum,\"<32> said Nicholay,         to walk a furlong*\nAnd \"clum,\" quoth John; and \"clum,\" said Alison:\nThis carpenter said his devotion,\nAnd still he sat and bidded his prayere,\nAwaking on the rain, if he it hear.\nThe deade sleep, for weary business,\nFell on this carpenter, right as I guess,\nAbout the curfew-time,<33> or little more,\nFor *travail of his ghost* he groaned sore,          *anguish of spirit*\n*And eft he routed, for his head mislay.*           *and then he snored,\nAdown the ladder stalked Nicholay;                for his head lay awry*\nAnd Alison full soft adown she sped.\nWithoute wordes more they went to bed,\n*There as* the carpenter was wont to lie:                        *where*\nThere was the revel, and the melody.\nAnd thus lay Alison and Nicholas,\nIn business of mirth and in solace,\nUntil the bell of laudes* gan to ring,       *morning service, at 3.a.m.\nAnd friars in the chancel went to sing.\n\nThis parish clerk, this amorous Absolon,\nThat is for love alway so woebegone,\nUpon the Monday was at Oseney\nWith company, him to disport and play;\nAnd asked upon cas* a cloisterer**                      *occasion **monk\nFull privily after John the carpenter;\nAnd he drew him apart out of the church,\nAnd said, \"I n'ot;* I saw him not here wirch**          *know not **work\nSince Saturday; I trow that he be went\nFor timber, where our abbot hath him sent.\nAnd dwellen at the Grange a day or two:\nFor he is wont for timber for to go,\nOr else he is at his own house certain.\nWhere that he be, I cannot *soothly sayn.*\"              *say certainly*\nThis Absolon full jolly was and light,\nAnd thought, \"Now is the time to wake all night,\nFor sickerly* I saw him not stirring                          *certainly\nAbout his door, since day began to spring.\nSo may I thrive, but I shall at cock crow\nFull privily go knock at his window,\nThat stands full low upon his bower* wall:                      *chamber\nTo Alison then will I tellen all\nMy love-longing; for I shall not miss\nThat at the leaste way I shall her kiss.\nSome manner comfort shall I have, parfay*,                  *by my faith\nMy mouth hath itched all this livelong day:\nThat is a sign of kissing at the least.\nAll night I mette* eke I was at a feast.                         *dreamt\nTherefore I will go sleep an hour or tway,\nAnd all the night then will I wake and play.\"\nWhen that the first cock crowed had, anon\nUp rose this jolly lover Absolon,\nAnd him arrayed gay, *at point devise.*                *with exact care*\nBut first he chewed grains<34> and liquorice,\nTo smelle sweet, ere he had combed his hair.\nUnder his tongue a true love <35>  he bare,\nFor thereby thought he to be gracious.\n\nThen came he to the carpentere's house,\nAnd still he stood under the shot window;\nUnto his breast it raught*, it was so low;                      *reached\nAnd soft he coughed with a semisoun'.*                         *low tone\n\"What do ye, honeycomb, sweet Alisoun?\nMy faire bird, my sweet cinamome*,                *cinnamon, sweet spice\nAwaken, leman* mine, and speak to me.                          *mistress\nFull little thinke ye upon my woe,\nThat for your love I sweat *there as* I go.                    *wherever\nNo wonder is that I do swelt* and sweat.                          *faint\nI mourn as doth a lamb after the teat\nY-wis*, leman, I have such love-longing,                      *certainly\nThat like a turtle* true is my mourning.                    *turtle-dove\nI may not eat, no more than a maid.\"\n\"Go from the window, thou jack fool,\" she said:\n\"As help me God, it will not be, 'come ba* me.'                    *kiss\nI love another, else I were to blame\",\nWell better than thee, by Jesus, Absolon.\nGo forth thy way, or I will cast a stone;\nAnd let me sleep; *a twenty devil way*.         *twenty devils take ye!*\n\"Alas!\" quoth Absolon, \"and well away!\nThat true love ever was so ill beset:\nThen kiss me, since that it may be no bet*,                      *better\nFor Jesus' love, and for the love of me.\"\n\"Wilt thou then go thy way therewith?\" , quoth she.\n\"Yea, certes, leman,\" quoth this Absolon.\n\"Then make thee ready,\" quoth she, \"I come anon.\"\n[And unto Nicholas she said *full still*:               *in a low voice*\n\"Now peace, and thou shalt laugh anon thy fill.\"]<36>\nThis Absolon down set him on his knees,\nAnd said; \"I am a lord at all degrees:\nFor after this I hope there cometh more;\nLeman, thy grace, and, sweete bird, thine ore.*\"                 *favour\nThe window she undid, and that in haste.\n\"Have done,\" quoth she, \"come off, and speed thee fast,\nLest that our neighebours should thee espy.\"\nThen Absolon gan wipe his mouth full dry.\nDark was the night as pitch or as the coal,\nAnd at the window she put out her hole,\nAnd Absolon him fell ne bet ne werse,\nBut with his mouth he kiss'd her naked erse\nFull savourly. When he was ware of this,\nAback he start, and thought it was amiss;\nFor well he wist a woman hath no beard.\nHe felt a thing all rough, and long y-hair'd,\nAnd saide; \"Fy, alas! what have I do?\"\n\"Te he!\" quoth she, and clapt the window to;\nAnd Absolon went forth at sorry pace.\n\"A beard, a beard,\" said Hendy Nicholas;\n\"By God's corpus, this game went fair and well.\"\nThis silly Absolon heard every deal*,                              *word\nAnd on his lip he gan for anger bite;\nAnd to himself he said, \"I shall thee quite*.     *requite, be even with\nWho rubbeth now, who frotteth* now his lips                        *rubs\nWith dust, with sand, with straw, with cloth, with chips,\nBut Absolon? that saith full oft, \"Alas!\nMy soul betake I unto Sathanas,\nBut me were lever* than all this town,\" quoth he                 *rather\nI this despite awroken* for to be.                             *revenged\nAlas! alas! that I have been y-blent*.\"                        *deceived\nHis hote love is cold, and all y-quent.*                       *quenched\nFor from that time that he had kiss'd her erse,\nOf paramours he *sette not a kers,*                   *cared not a rush*\nFor he was healed of his malady;\nFull often paramours he gan defy,\nAnd weep as doth a child that hath been beat.\nA softe pace he went over the street\nUnto a smith, men callen Dan* Gerveis,                           *master\nThat in his forge smithed plough-harness;\nHe sharped share and culter busily.\nThis Absolon knocked all easily,\nAnd said; \"Undo, Gerveis, and that anon.\"\n\"What, who art thou?\" \"It is I, Absolon.\"\n\"What? Absolon, what? Christe's sweete tree*,                     *cross\nWhy rise so rath*? hey! Benedicite,                               *early\nWhat aileth you? some gay girl,<37> God it wote,\nHath brought you thus upon the viretote:<38>\nBy Saint Neot, ye wot well what I mean.\"\nThis Absolon he raughte* not a bean                       *recked, cared\nOf all his play; no word again he gaf*,                           *spoke\nFor he had more tow on his distaff<39>\nThan Gerveis knew, and saide; \"Friend so dear,\nThat hote culter in the chimney here\nLend it to me, I have therewith to don*:                             *do\nI will it bring again to thee full soon.\"\nGerveis answered; \"Certes, were it gold,\nOr in a poke* nobles all untold,                                  *purse\nThou shouldst it have, as I am a true smith.\nHey! Christe's foot, what will ye do therewith?\"\n\"Thereof,\" quoth Absolon, \"be as be may;\nI shall well tell it thee another day:\"\nAnd caught the culter by the colde stele*.                       *handle\nFull soft out at the door he gan to steal,\nAnd went unto the carpentere's wall\nHe coughed first, and knocked therewithal\nUpon the window, light as he did ere*.                      *before <40>\nThis Alison answered; \"Who is there\nThat knocketh so? I warrant him a thief.\"\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth he, \"God wot, my sweete lefe*,                   *love\nI am thine Absolon, my own darling.\nOf gold,\" quoth he, \"I have thee brought a ring,\nMy mother gave it me, so God me save!\nFull fine it is, and thereto well y-grave*:                    *engraved\nThis will I give to thee, if thou me kiss.\"\nNow Nicholas was risen up to piss,\nAnd thought he would *amenden all the jape*;          *improve the joke*\nHe shoulde kiss his erse ere that he scape:\nAnd up the window did he hastily,\nAnd out his erse he put full privily\nOver the buttock, to the haunche bone.\nAnd therewith spake this clerk, this Absolon,\n\"Speak, sweete bird, I know not where thou art.\"\nThis Nicholas anon let fly a fart,\nAs great as it had been a thunder dent*;                     *peal, clap\nThat with the stroke he was well nigh y-blent*;                 *blinded\nBut he was ready with his iron hot,\nAnd Nicholas amid the erse he smote.\nOff went the skin an handbreadth all about.\nThe hote culter burned so his tout*,                             *breech\nThat for the smart he weened* he would die;                     *thought\nAs he were wood*, for woe he gan to cry,                            *mad\n\"Help! water, water, help for Godde's heart!\"\n\nThis carpenter out of his slumber start,\nAnd heard one cry \"Water,\" as he were wood*,                        *mad\nAnd thought, \"Alas! now cometh Noe's flood.\"\nHe sat him up withoute wordes mo'\nAnd with his axe he smote the cord in two;\nAnd down went all; he found neither to sell\nNor bread nor ale, till he came to the sell*,            *threshold <41>\nUpon the floor, and there in swoon he lay.\nUp started Alison and Nicholay,\nAnd cried out an \"harow!\" <15>  in the street.\nThe neighbours alle, bothe small and great\nIn ranne, for to gauren* on this man,                             *stare\nThat yet in swoone lay, both pale and wan:\nFor with the fall he broken had his arm.\nBut stand he must unto his owen harm,\nFor when he spake, he was anon borne down\nWith Hendy Nicholas and Alisoun.\nThey told to every man that he was wood*;                           *mad\nHe was aghaste* so of Noe's flood,                               *afraid\nThrough phantasy, that of his vanity\nHe had y-bought him kneading-tubbes three,\nAnd had them hanged in the roof above;\nAnd that he prayed them for Godde's love\nTo sitten in the roof for company.\nThe folk gan laughen at his phantasy.\nInto the roof they kyken* and they gape,                    *peep, look.\nAnd turned all his harm into a jape*.                              *jest\nFor whatsoe'er this carpenter answer'd,\nIt was for nought, no man his reason heard.\nWith oathes great he was so sworn adown,\nThat he was holden wood in all the town.\nFor every clerk anon right held with other;\nThey said, \"The man was wood, my leve* brother;\"                   *dear\nAnd every wight gan laughen at his strife.\nThus swived* was the carpentere's wife,                         *enjoyed\nFor all his keeping* and his jealousy;                             *care\nAnd Absolon hath kiss'd her nether eye;\nAnd Nicholas is scalded in the tout.\nThis tale is done, and God save all the rout*.                  *company\n\n\nNotes to the Miller's Tale\n\n\n1. Almagest: The book of Ptolemy the astronomer, which\nformed the canon of astrological science in the middle ages.\n\n2. Astrolabe:  \"Astrelagour,\" \"astrelabore\"; a mathematical\ninstrument for taking the altitude of the sun or stars.\n\n3. \"Augrim\" is a corruption of algorithm, the Arabian term for\nnumeration; \"augrim stones,\" therefore were probably marked\nwith numerals, and used as counters.\n\n4. Angelus ad virginem: The Angel's salutation to Mary; Luke i.\n28.  It was the \"Ave Maria\" of the Catholic Church service.\n\n5. Cato: Though Chaucer may have referred to the famous\nCensor, more probably the reference is merely to the \"Moral\nDistichs,\" which go under his name, though written after his\ntime; and in a supplement to which the quoted passage may be\nfound.\n\n6. Barm-cloth: apron; from Anglo-Saxon \"barme,\" bosom or\nlap.\n\n7. Volupere: Head-gear, kerchief; from French, \"envelopper,\"\nto wrap up.\n\n8. Popelet:  Puppet; but chiefly; young wench.\n\n9. Noble: nobles were gold coins of especial purity and\nbrightness; \"Ex auro nobilissimi, unde nobilis vocatus,\" (made\nfrom the noblest (purest) gold, and therefore called nobles) says\nVossius.\n\n10. Yern: Shrill, lively; German, \"gern,\" willingly, cheerfully.\n\n11. Braket:  bragget, a sweet drink made of honey, spices, &c.\nIn some parts of the country, a drink made from honeycomb,\nafter the honey is extracted, is still called \"bragwort.\"\n\n12. Piggesnie: a fond term, like \"my duck;\" from Anglo-Saxon,\n\"piga,\" a young maid; but Tyrwhitt associates it with the Latin,\n\"ocellus,\" little eye, a fondling term, and suggests that the \"pigs-\neye,\" which is very small, was  applied in the same sense.\nDavenport and Butler both use the word pigsnie, the first for\n\"darling,\" the second literally for \"eye;\" and Bishop Gardner,\n\"On True Obedience,\" in his address to the reader, says: \"How\nsoftly she was wont to chirpe him under the chin, and kiss him;\nhow prettily she could talk to him (how doth my sweet heart,\nwhat saith now pig's-eye).\"\n\n13. Oseney: A once well-known abbey near Oxford.\n\n14. Trave: travis; a frame in which unruly  horses were shod.\n\n15. Harow and Alas:  Haro! was an old Norman cry for redress\nor aid. The \"Clameur de Haro\" was lately raised, under peculiar\ncircumstances, as the prelude to a legal protest, in Jersey.\n\n16. His shoes were  ornamented like the windows of St. Paul's,\nespecially like the old rose-window.\n\n17. Rise: Twig, bush; German, \"Reis,\" a twig; \"Reisig,\" a copse.\n\n18. Chaucer satirises the dancing of Oxford as he did the French\nof Stratford at Bow.\n\n19. Shot window: A projecting or bow window, whence it was\npossible shoot at any one approaching the door.\n\n20. Piment: A drink made with wine, honey, and spices.\n\n21. Because she was town-bred, he offered wealth, or money\nreward, for her love.\n\n22. Parish-clerks, like Absolon, had leading parts in the\nmysteries or religious plays; Herod was one of these parts,\nwhich may have been an object of competition among the\namateurs of the period.\n\n23 .\"The nighe sly maketh oft time the far lief to be loth\": a\nproverb; the cunning one near at hand oft makes the loving one\nafar off to be odious.\n\n24. Kyked: Looked; \"keek\" is still used in some parts in the\nsense of \"peep.\"\n\n25. Saint Frideswide was the patroness of a considerable priory\nat Oxford, and held there in high repute.\n\n26. Plato, in his \"Theatetus,\" tells this story of Thales; but\nit has since appeared in many other forms.\n\n27. Crouche: protect by signing the sign of the cross.\n\n28. Forlore: lost; german, \"verloren.\"\n\n29. Him that harried Hell: Christ who wasted or subdued hell: in\nthe middle ages, some very active exploits against the prince of\ndarkness and his powers were ascribed by the monkish tale-\ntellers to the saviour after he had \"descended into hell.\"\n\n30. According to the old mysteries, Noah's wife refused to\ncome into the ark, and bade her husband row forth and get him\na new wife, because he was leaving her gossips in the town to\ndrown. Shem and his brothers got her shipped by main force;\nand Noah, coming forward to welcome her, was greeted with a\nbox on the ear.\n\n31. \"Him had been lever, I dare well undertake,\n     At thilke time, than all his wethers black,\n     That she had had a ship herself alone.\"\ni.e.\n\"At that time he would have given all his black wethers, if she\nhad had an ark to herself.\"\n\n32. \"Clum,\" like \"mum,\" a note of silence; but otherwise\nexplained as the humming sound made in repeating prayers;\nfrom the Anglo-Saxon, \"clumian,\" to mutter, speak in an under-\ntone, keep silence.\n\n33. Curfew-time: Eight in the evening, when, by the law of\nWilliam the Conqueror, all people were, on ringing of a bell, to\nextinguish fire and candle, and go to rest; hence the word\ncurfew, from French, \"couvre-feu,\" cover-fire.\n\n34. Absolon chewed grains: these were grains of Paris, or\nParadise; a favourite spice.\n\n35. Under his tongue a true love he bare:  some sweet herb;\nanother reading, however, is \"a true love-knot,\" which may\nhave been of the nature of a charm.\n\n36. The two lines within brackets are not in most of the\neditions: they are taken from Urry; whether he supplied them or\nnot, they serve the purpose of a necessary explanation.\n\n37. Gay girl: As applied to a young woman of light manners,\nthis euphemistic phrase has enjoyed a wonderful vitality.\n\n38. Viretote: Urry reads \"meritote,\" and explains it from\nSpelman as a game in which children made themselves giddy by\nwhirling on ropes.  In French, \"virer\" means to turn; and the\nexplanation may, therefore, suit either reading. In modern slang\nparlance, Gerveis would probably have said, \"on the rampage,\"\nor \"on the swing\" -- not very far from Spelman's rendering.\n\n39. He had more tow on his distaff: a proverbial saying: he was\nplaying a deeper game, had more serious business on hand.\n\n40. Ere: before; German, \"eher.\"\n\n41. Sell:  sill of the door, threshold; French, \"seuil,\" Latin,\n\"solum,\" the ground.\n\n\n\nTHE REEVE'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nWHEN folk had laughed all at this nice case\nOf Absolon and Hendy Nicholas,\nDiverse folk diversely they said,\nBut for the more part they laugh'd and play'd;*           *were diverted\nAnd at this tale I saw no man him grieve,\nBut it were only Osewold the Reeve.\nBecause he was of carpenteres craft,\nA little ire is in his hearte laft*;                               *left\nHe gan to grudge* and blamed it a lite.**              *murmur **little.\n\"So the* I,\"  quoth he, \"full well could I him quite**   *thrive **match\nWith blearing* of a proude miller's eye,                    *dimming <1>\nIf that me list to speak of ribaldry.\nBut I am old; me list not play for age; <2>\nGrass time is done, my fodder is now forage.\nThis white top* writeth mine olde years;                           *head\nMine heart is also moulded* as mine hairs;                 *grown mouldy\nAnd I do fare as doth an open-erse*;                         *medlar <3>\nThat ilke* fruit is ever longer werse,                             *same\nTill it be rotten *in mullok or in stre*.    *on the ground or in straw*\nWe olde men, I dread, so fare we;\nTill we be rotten, can we not be ripe;\nWe hop* away, while that the world will pipe;                     *dance\nFor in our will there sticketh aye a nail,\nTo have an hoary head and a green tail,\nAs hath a leek; for though our might be gone,\nOur will desireth folly ever-in-one*:                       *continually\nFor when we may not do, then will we speak,\nYet in our ashes cold does fire reek.*                         *smoke<4>\nFour gledes* have we, which I shall devise**,         *coals ** describe\nVaunting, and lying, anger, covetise*.                     *covetousness\nThese foure sparks belongen unto eld.\nOur olde limbes well may be unweld*,                           *unwieldy\nBut will shall never fail us, that is sooth.\nAnd yet have I alway a coltes tooth,<5>\nAs many a year as it is passed and gone\nSince that my tap of life began to run;\nFor sickerly*, when I was born, anon                          *certainly\nDeath drew the tap of life, and let it gon:\nAnd ever since hath so the tap y-run,\nTill that almost all empty is the tun.\nThe stream of life now droppeth on the chimb.<6>\nThe silly tongue well may ring and chime\nOf wretchedness, that passed is full yore*:                        *long\nWith olde folk, save dotage, is no more. <7>\n\nWhen that our Host had heard this sermoning,\nHe gan to speak as lordly as a king,\nAnd said; \"To what amounteth all this wit?\nWhat? shall we speak all day of holy writ?\nThe devil made a Reeve for to preach,\nAs of a souter* a shipman, or a leach**.                    *cobbler <8>\nSay forth thy tale, and tarry not the time:                **surgeon <9>\nLo here is Deptford, and 'tis half past prime:<10>\nLo Greenwich, where many a shrew is in.\nIt were high time thy tale to begin.\"\n\n\"Now, sirs,\" quoth then this Osewold the Reeve,\nI pray you all that none of you do grieve,\nThough I answer, and somewhat set his hove*,                  *hood <11>\nFor lawful is *force off with force to shove.*           *to repel force\nThis drunken miller hath y-told us here                        by force*\nHow that beguiled was a carpentere,\nParaventure* in scorn, for I am one:                            *perhaps\nAnd, by your leave, I shall him quite anon.\nRight in his churlish termes will I speak,\nI pray to God his necke might to-break.\nHe can well in mine eye see a stalk,\nBut in his own he cannot see a balk.\"<12>\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Reeves Tale.\n\n\n 1. \"With blearing of a proude miller's eye\": dimming his eye;\nplaying off a joke on him.\n\n2. \"Me list not play for age\": age takes away my zest for\ndrollery.\n\n3. The medlar, the fruit of the mespilus tree, is only edible when\nrotten.\n\n4. Yet in our ashes cold does fire reek: \"ev'n in our ashes live\ntheir wonted fires.\"\n\n5. A colt's tooth; a wanton humour, a relish for pleasure.\n\n6. Chimb: The rim of a barrel where the staves project beyond\nthe head.\n\n7. With olde folk, save dotage, is no more: Dotage is all that is\nleft them; that is, they can only dwell fondly, dote, on the past.\n\n8. Souter: cobbler; Scottice, \"sutor;\"' from Latin, \"suere,\" to\nsew.\n\n9. \"Ex sutore medicus\"  (a surgeon from a cobbler) and \"ex\nsutore nauclerus\" (a  seaman or pilot from a cobbler) were both\nproverbial expressions in the Middle Ages.\n\n10. Half past prime: half-way between prime and tierce; about\nhalf-past seven in the morning.\n\n11. Set his hove; like \"set their caps;\" as in the description of\nthe Manciple in the Prologue, who \"set their aller cap\".  \"Hove\"\nor \"houfe,\" means \"hood;\" and the phrase signifies to be even\nwith, outwit.\n\n12. The illustration of the mote and the beam, from Matthew.\n\n\nTHE TALE.<1>\n\n\nAt Trompington, not far from Cantebrig,*                      *Cambridge\nThere goes a brook, and over that a brig,\nUpon the whiche brook there stands a mill:\nAnd this is *very sooth* that I you tell.               *complete truth*\nA miller was there dwelling many a day,\nAs any peacock he was proud and gay:\nPipen he could, and fish, and nettes bete*,                     *prepare\nAnd turne cups, and wrestle well, and shete*.                     *shoot\nAye by his belt he bare a long pavade*,                         *poniard\nAnd of his sword full trenchant was the blade.\nA jolly popper* bare he in his pouch;                            *dagger\nThere was no man for peril durst him touch.\nA Sheffield whittle* bare he in his hose.                   *small knife\nRound was his face, and camuse* was his nose.                  *flat <2>\nAs pilled* as an ape's was his skull.                     *peeled, bald.\nHe was a market-beter* at the full.                             *brawler\nThere durste no wight hand upon him legge*,                         *lay\nThat he ne swore anon he should abegge*.             *suffer the penalty\n\nA thief he was, for sooth, of corn and meal,\nAnd that a sly, and used well to steal.\nHis name was *hoten deinous Simekin*        *called \"Disdainful Simkin\"*\nA wife he hadde, come of noble kin:\nThe parson of the town her father was.\nWith her he gave full many a pan of brass,\nFor that Simkin should in his blood ally.\nShe was y-foster'd in a nunnery:\nFor Simkin woulde no wife, as he said,\nBut she were well y-nourish'd, and a maid,\nTo saven his estate and yeomanry:\nAnd she was proud, and pert as is a pie*.                        *magpie\nA full fair sight it was to see them two;\nOn holy days before her would he go\nWith his tippet* y-bound about his head;                           *hood\nAnd she came after in a gite* of red,                          *gown <3>\nAnd Simkin hadde hosen of the same.\nThere durste no wight call her aught but Dame:\nNone was so hardy, walking by that way,\nThat with her either durste *rage or play*,                *use freedom*\n*But if* he would be slain by Simekin                            *unless\nWith pavade, or with knife, or bodekin.\nFor jealous folk be per'lous evermo':\nAlgate* they would their wives *wende so*.           *unless *so behave*\nAnd eke for she was somewhat smutterlich*,                        *dirty\nShe was as dign* as water in a ditch,                             *nasty\nAnd all so full of hoker*, and bismare**.   *ill-nature **abusive speech\nHer thoughte that a lady should her spare*,        *not judge her hardly\nWhat for her kindred, and her nortelrie*           *nurturing, education\nThat she had learned in the nunnery.\n\nOne daughter hadde they betwixt them two\nOf twenty year, withouten any mo,\nSaving a child that was of half year age,\nIn cradle it lay, and was a proper page.*                           *boy\nThis wenche thick and well y-growen was,\nWith camuse* nose, and eyen gray as glass;                         *flat\nWith buttocks broad, and breastes round and high;\nBut right fair was her hair, I will not lie.\nThe parson of the town, for she was fair,\nIn purpose was to make of her his heir\nBoth of his chattels and his messuage,\nAnd *strange he made it* of her marriage.           *he made it a matter\nHis purpose was for to bestow her high                    of difficulty*\nInto some worthy blood of ancestry.\nFor holy Church's good may be dispended*                          *spent\nOn holy Church's blood that is descended.\nTherefore he would his holy blood honour\nThough that he holy Churche should devour.\n\nGreat soken* hath this miller, out of doubt,    *toll taken for grinding\nWith wheat and malt, of all the land about;\nAnd namely* there was a great college                        *especially\nMen call the Soler Hall at Cantebrege,<4>\nThere was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.\nAnd on a day it happed in a stound*,                           *suddenly\nSick lay the manciple* of a malady,                         *steward <5>\nMen *weened wisly* that he shoulde die.              *thought certainly*\nFor which this miller stole both meal and corn\nAn hundred times more than beforn.\nFor theretofore he stole but courteously,\nBut now he was a thief outrageously.\nFor which the warden chid and made fare*,                          *fuss\nBut thereof *set the miller not a tare*;           *he cared not a rush*\nHe *crack'd his boast,* and swore it was not so.            *talked big*\n\nThen were there younge poore scholars two,\nThat dwelled in the hall of which I say;\nTestif* they were, and lusty for to play;                *headstrong <6>\nAnd only for their mirth and revelry\nUpon the warden busily they cry,\nTo give them leave for but a *little stound*,               *short time*\nTo go to mill, and see their corn y-ground:\nAnd hardily* they durste lay their neck,                         *boldly\nThe miller should not steal them half a peck\nOf corn by sleight, nor them by force bereave*                *take away\nAnd at the last the warden give them leave:\nJohn hight the one, and Alein hight the other,\nOf one town were they born, that highte Strother,<7>\nFar in the North, I cannot tell you where.\nThis Alein he made ready all his gear,\nAnd on a horse the sack he cast anon:\nForth went Alein the clerk, and also John,\nWith good sword and with buckler by their side.\nJohn knew the way, him needed not no guide,\nAnd at the mill the sack adown he lay'th.\n\nAlein spake first; \"All hail, Simon, in faith,\nHow fares thy faire daughter, and thy wife.\"\n\"Alein, welcome,\" quoth Simkin, \"by my life,\nAnd John also: how now, what do ye here?\"\n\"By God, Simon,\" quoth John, \"need has no peer*.                  *equal\nHim serve himself behoves that has no swain*,                   *servant\nOr else he is a fool, as clerkes sayn.\nOur manciple I hope* he will be dead,                            *expect\nSo workes aye the wanges* in his head:                  *cheek-teeth <8>\nAnd therefore is I come, and eke Alein,\nTo grind our corn and carry it home again:\nI pray you speed us hence as well ye may.\"\n\"It shall be done,\" quoth Simkin, \"by my fay.\nWhat will ye do while that it is in hand?\"\n\"By God, right by the hopper will I stand,\"\nQuoth John, \"and see how that the corn goes in.\nYet saw I never, by my father's kin,\nHow that the hopper wagges to and fro.\"\nAlein answered, \"John, and wilt thou so?\nThen will I be beneathe, by my crown,\nAnd see how that the meale falls adown\nInto the trough, that shall be my disport*:                   *amusement\nFor, John, in faith I may be of your sort;\nI is as ill a miller as is ye.\"\n\nThis miller smiled at their nicety*,                         *simplicity\nAnd thought, \"All this is done but for a wile.\nThey weenen* that no man may them beguile,                        *think\nBut by my thrift yet shall I blear their eye,<9>\nFor all the sleight in their philosophy.\nThe more *quainte knackes* that they make,           *odd little tricks*\nThe more will I steal when that I take.\nInstead of flour yet will I give them bren*.                       *bran\nThe greatest clerks are not the wisest men,\nAs whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare: <10>\nOf all their art ne count I not a tare.\"\nOut at the door he went full privily,\nWhen that he saw his time, softely.\nHe looked up and down, until he found\nThe clerkes' horse, there as he stood y-bound\nBehind the mill, under a levesell:*                          *arbour<11>\nAnd to the horse he went him fair and well,\nAnd stripped off the bridle right anon.\nAnd when the horse was loose, he gan to gon\nToward the fen, where wilde mares run,\nForth, with \"Wehee!\" through thick and eke through thin.\nThis miller went again, no word he said,\nBut did his note*, and with these clerkes play'd,         *business <12>\nTill that their corn was fair and well y-ground.\nAnd when the meal was sacked and y-bound,\nThen John went out, and found his horse away,\nAnd gan to cry, \"Harow, and well-away!\nOur horse is lost: Alein, for Godde's bones,\nStep on thy feet; come off, man, all at once:\nAlas! our warden has his palfrey lorn.*\"                           *lost\nThis Alein all forgot, both meal and corn;\nAll was out of his mind his husbandry*.              *careful watch over\n\"What, which way is he gone?\" he gan to cry.                   the corn*\nThe wife came leaping inward at a renne*,                           *run\nShe said; \"Alas! your horse went to the fen\nWith wilde mares, as fast as he could go.\nUnthank* come on his hand that bound him so           *ill luck, a curse\nAnd his that better should have knit the rein.\"\n\"Alas!\" quoth John, \"Alein, for Christes pain\nLay down thy sword, and I shall mine also.\nI is full wight*, God wate**, as is a roe.                *swift **knows\nBy Godde's soul he shall not scape us bathe*.                 *both <13>\nWhy n' had thou put the capel* in the lathe**?         *horse<14> **barn\nIll hail, Alein, by God thou is a fonne.*\"                         *fool\nThese silly clerkes have full fast y-run\nToward the fen, both Alein and eke John;\nAnd when the miller saw that they were gone,\nHe half a bushel of their flour did take,\nAnd bade his wife go knead it in a cake.\nHe said; I trow, the clerkes were afeard,\nYet can a miller *make a clerkes beard,*          *cheat a scholar* <15>\nFor all his art: yea, let them go their way!\nLo where they go! yea, let the children play:\nThey get him not so lightly, by my crown.\"\nThese silly clerkes runnen up and down\nWith \"Keep, keep; stand, stand; jossa*, warderere.                 *turn\nGo whistle thou, and I shall keep* him here.\"                     *catch\nBut shortly, till that it was very night\nThey coulde not, though they did all their might,\nTheir capel catch, he ran alway so fast:\nTill in a ditch they caught him at the last.\n\nWeary and wet, as beastes in the rain,\nComes silly John, and with him comes Alein.\n\"Alas,\" quoth John, \"the day that I was born!\nNow are we driv'n till hething* and till scorn.                 *mockery\nOur corn is stol'n, men will us fonnes* call,                     *fools\nBoth the warden, and eke our fellows all,\nAnd namely* the miller, well-away!\"                          *especially\nThus plained John, as he went by the way\nToward the mill, and Bayard* in his hand.                 *the bay horse\nThe miller sitting by the fire he fand*.                          *found\nFor it was night, and forther* might they not,             *go their way\nBut for the love of God they him besought\nOf herberow* and ease, for their penny.                         *lodging\nThe miller said again,\" If there be any,\nSuch as it is, yet shall ye have your part.\nMine house is strait, but ye have learned art;\nYe can by arguments maken a place\nA mile broad, of twenty foot of space.\nLet see now if this place may suffice,\nOr make it room with speech, as is your guise.*\"                *fashion\n\"Now, Simon,\" said this John, \"by Saint Cuthberd\nAye is thou merry, and that is fair answer'd.\nI have heard say, man shall take of two things,\nSuch as he findes, or such as he brings.\nBut specially I pray thee, hoste dear,\nGar <16> us have meat and drink, and make us cheer,\nAnd we shall pay thee truly at the full:\nWith empty hand men may not hawkes tull*.                        *allure\nLo here our silver ready for to spend.\"\n\nThis miller to the town his daughter send\nFor ale and bread, and roasted them a goose,\nAnd bound their horse, he should no more go loose:\nAnd them in his own chamber made a bed.\nWith sheetes and with chalons* fair y-spread,              *blankets<17>\nNot from his owen bed ten foot or twelve:\nHis daughter had a bed all by herselve,\nRight in the same chamber *by and by*:                    *side by side*\nIt might no better be, and cause why,\nThere was no *roomer herberow* in the place.           *roomier lodging*\nThey suppen, and they speaken of solace,\nAnd drinken ever strong ale at the best.\nAboute midnight went they all to rest.\nWell had this miller varnished his head;\nFull pale he was, fordrunken, and *nought red*.       *without his wits*\nHe yoxed*, and he spake thorough the nose,                     *hiccuped\nAs he were in the quakke*, or in the pose**.         *grunting **catarrh\nTo bed he went, and with him went his wife,\nAs any jay she light was and jolife,*                             *jolly\nSo was her jolly whistle well y-wet.\nThe cradle at her beddes feet was set,\nTo rock, and eke to give the child to suck.\nAnd when that drunken was all in the crock*                 *pitcher<18>\nTo bedde went the daughter right anon,\nTo bedde went Alein, and also John.\nThere was no more; needed them no dwale.<19>\nThis miller had, so wisly* bibbed ale,                        *certainly\nThat as a horse he snorted in his sleep,\nNor of his tail behind he took no keep*.                           *heed\nHis wife bare him a burdoun*, a full strong;                  *bass <20>\nMen might their routing* hearen a furlong.                      *snoring\n\nThe wenche routed eke for company.\nAlein the clerk, that heard this melody,\nHe poked John, and saide: \"Sleepest thou?\nHeardest thou ever such a song ere now?\nLo what a compline<21> is y-mell* them all.                       *among\nA wilde fire upon their bodies fall,\nWho hearken'd ever such a ferly* thing?                    *strange <22>\nYea, they shall have the flow'r of ill ending!\nThis longe night there *tides me* no rest.                 *comes to me*\nBut yet no force*, all shall be for the best.                    *matter\nFor, John,\" said he, \"as ever may I thrive,\nIf that I may, yon wenche will I swive*.                 *enjoy carnally\nSome easement* has law y-shapen** us            *satisfaction **provided\nFor, John, there is a law that sayeth thus,\nThat if a man in one point be aggriev'd,\nThat in another he shall be relievd.\nOur corn is stol'n, soothly it is no nay,\nAnd we have had an evil fit to-day.\nAnd since I shall have none amendement\nAgainst my loss, I will have easement:\nBy Godde's soul, it shall none, other be.\"\nThis John answer'd;  Alein, *avise thee*:                  *have a care*\nThe miller is a perilous man,\" he said,\n\"And if that he out of his sleep abraid*,                        *awaked\nHe mighte do us both a villainy*.\"                             *mischief\nAlein answer'd; \"I count him not a fly.\nAnd up he rose, and by the wench he crept.\nThis wenche lay upright, and fast she slept,\nTill he so nigh was, ere she might espy,\nThat it had been too late for to cry:\nAnd, shortly for to say, they were at one.\nNow play, Alein, for I will speak of John.\n\nThis John lay still a furlong way <23> or two,\nAnd to himself he made ruth* and woe.                              *wail\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"this is a wicked jape*;                        *trick\nNow may I say, that I is but an ape.\nYet has my fellow somewhat for his harm;\nHe has the miller's daughter in his arm:\nHe auntred* him, and hath his needes sped,                   *adventured\nAnd I lie as a draff-sack in my bed;\nAnd when this jape is told another day,\nI shall be held a daffe* or a cockenay <24>                      *coward\nI will arise, and auntre* it, by my fay:                        *attempt\nUnhardy is unsely, <25> as men say.\"\nAnd up he rose, and softely he went\nUnto the cradle, and in his hand it hent*,                         *took\nAnd bare it soft unto his beddes feet.\nSoon after this the wife *her routing lete*,           *stopped snoring*\nAnd gan awake, and went her out to piss\nAnd came again and gan the cradle miss\nAnd groped here and there, but she found none.\n\"Alas!\" quoth she, \"I had almost misgone\nI had almost gone to the clerkes' bed.\nEy! Benedicite, then had I foul y-sped.\"\nAnd forth she went, till she the cradle fand.\nShe groped alway farther with her hand\nAnd found the bed, and *thoughte not but good*        *had no suspicion*\nBecause that the cradle by it stood,\nAnd wist not where she was, for it was derk;\nBut fair and well she crept in by the clerk,\nAnd lay full still, and would have caught a sleep.\nWithin a while this John the Clerk up leap\nAnd on this goode wife laid on full sore;\nSo merry a fit had she not had *full yore*.            *for a long time*\nHe pricked hard and deep, as he were mad.\n\nThis jolly life have these two clerkes had,\nTill that the thirde cock began to sing.\nAlein wax'd weary in the morrowing,\nFor he had swonken* all the longe night,                       *laboured\nAnd saide; \"Farewell, Malkin, my sweet wight.\nThe day is come, I may no longer bide,\nBut evermore, where so I go or ride,\nI is thine owen clerk, so have I hele.*\"                         *health\n\"Now, deare leman*,\" quoth she, \"go, fare wele:              *sweetheart\nBut ere thou go, one thing I will thee tell.\nWhen that thou wendest homeward by the mill,\nRight at the entry of the door behind\nThou shalt a cake of half a bushel find,\nThat was y-maked of thine owen meal,\nWhich that I help'd my father for to steal.\nAnd goode leman, God thee save and keep.\"\nAnd with that word she gan almost to weep.\nAlein uprose and thought, \"Ere the day daw\nI will go creepen in by my fellaw:\"\nAnd found the cradle with his hand anon.\n\"By God!\" thought he, \"all wrong I have misgone:\nMy head is *totty of my swink* to-night,          *giddy from my labour*\nThat maketh me that I go not aright.\nI wot well by the cradle I have misgo';\nHere lie the miller and his wife also.\"\nAnd forth he went a twenty devil way\nUnto the bed, there as the miller lay.\nHe ween'd* t' have creeped by his fellow John,                  *thought\nAnd by the miller in he crept anon,\nAnd caught him by the neck, and gan him shake,\nAnd said; \"Thou John, thou swines-head, awake\nFor Christes soul, and hear a noble game!\nFor by that lord that called is Saint Jame,\nAs I have thries in this shorte night\nSwived the miller's daughter bolt-upright,\nWhile thou hast as a coward lain aghast*.\"                       *afraid\n\"Thou false harlot,\" quoth the miller, \"hast?\nAh, false traitor, false clerk,\" quoth he,\n\"Thou shalt be dead, by Godde's dignity,\nWho durste be so bold to disparage*                            *disgrace\nMy daughter, that is come of such lineage?\"\nAnd by the throate-ball* he caught Alein,                  *Adam's apple\nAnd he him hent* dispiteously** again,                 *seized **angrily\nAnd on the nose he smote him with his fist;\nDown ran the bloody stream upon his breast:\nAnd in the floor with nose and mouth all broke\nThey wallow, as do two pigs in a poke.\nAnd up they go, and down again anon,\nTill that the miller spurned* on a stone,                      *stumbled\nAnd down he backward fell upon his wife,\nThat wiste nothing of this nice strife:\nFor she was fall'n asleep a little wight*                         *while\nWith John the clerk, that waked had all night:\nAnd with the fall out of her sleep she braid*.                     *woke\n\"Help, holy cross of Bromeholm,\" <26> she said;\n\"In manus tuas! <27> Lord, to thee I call.\nAwake, Simon, the fiend is on me fall;\nMine heart is broken; help; I am but dead:\nThere li'th one on my womb and on mine head.\nHelp, Simkin, for these false clerks do fight\"\nThis John start up as fast as e'er he might,\nAnd groped by the walles to and fro\nTo find a staff; and she start up also,\nAnd knew the estres* better than this John,                   *apartment\nAnd by the wall she took a staff anon:\nAnd saw a little shimmering of a light,\nFor at an hole in shone the moone bright,\nAnd by that light she saw them both the two,\nBut sickerly* she wist not who was who,                       *certainly\nBut as she saw a white thing in her eye.\nAnd when she gan this white thing espy,\nShe ween'd* the clerk had wear'd a volupere**;     *supposed **night-cap\nAnd with the staff she drew aye nere* and nere*,                 *nearer\nAnd ween'd to have hit this Alein at the full,\nAnd smote the miller on the pilled* skull;                         *bald\nThat down he went, and cried,\" Harow! I die.\"\nThese clerkes beat him well, and let him lie,\nAnd greithen* them, and take their horse anon,        *make ready, dress\nAnd eke their meal, and on their way they gon:\nAnd at the mill door eke they took their cake\nOf half a bushel flour, full well y-bake.\n\nThus is the proude miller well y-beat,\nAnd hath y-lost the grinding of the wheat;\nAnd payed for the supper *every deal*                         *every bit\nOf Alein and of John, that beat him well;\nHis wife is swived, and his daughter als*;                         *also\nLo, such it is a miller to be false.\nAnd therefore this proverb is said full sooth,\n\"*Him thar not winnen well* that evil do'th,   *he deserves not to gain*\nA guiler shall himself beguiled be:\"\nAnd God that sitteth high in majesty\nSave all this Company, both great and smale.\nThus have I quit* the Miller in my tale.         *made myself quits with\n\n\nNotes to the Reeve's Tale\n\n\n1. The incidents of this tale were much relished in the Middle\nAges, and are found under various forms.  Boccaccio has told\nthem in the ninth day of his \"Decameron\".\n\n2. Camuse: flat; French \"camuse\", snub-nosed.\n\n3. Gite: gown or coat; French \"jupe.\"\n\n4. Soler Hall: the hall or college at Cambridge with the gallery\nor upper storey; supposed to have been Clare Hall.\n(Transcribers note: later commentators identify it with King's\nHall, now merged with Trinity College)\n\n5. Manciple:  steward; provisioner of the hall. See also note 47\nto the prologue to the Tales.\n\n6. Testif: headstrong, wild-brained; French, \"entete.\"\n\n7. Strother:  Tyrwhitt points to Anstruther, in Fife: Mr Wright\nto the Vale of Langstroth, in the West Riding of Yorkshire.\nChaucer has given the scholars a dialect that may have belonged\nto either district, although it more immediately suggests the\nmore northern of the two.\n(Transcribers note: later commentators have identified it with a\nnow vanished village near Kirknewton in Northumberland.\nThere was a well-known Alein of Strother in Chaucer's\nlifetime.)\n\n8. Wanges: grinders, cheek-teeth; Anglo-Saxon, \"Wang,\" the\ncheek; German, \"Wange.\"\n\n9. See note 1 to the Prologue to the Reeves Tale\n\n10. In the \"Cento Novelle Antiche,\" the story is told of a mule,\nwhich pretends that his name is written on the bottom of his\nhind foot. The wolf attempts to read it, the mule kills him with a\nkick in the forehead; and the fox, looking on, remarks that\n\"every man of letters is not wise.\" A similar story is told in\n\"Reynard the Fox.\"\n\n11. Levesell: an arbour; Anglo-Saxon, \"lefe-setl,\" leafy seat.\n\n12. Noth:  business; German, \"Noth,\" necessity.\n\n13. Bathe: both; Scottice, \"baith.\"\n\n14. Capel:  horse; Gaelic, \"capall;\" French, \"cheval;\" Italian,\n\"cavallo,\" from Latin, \"caballus.\"\n\n15. Make a clerkes beard: cheat a scholar; French, \"faire la\nbarbe;\" and Boccaccio uses the proverb in the same sense.\n\n16. \"Gar\" is Scotch for \"cause;\" some editions read, however,\n\"get us some\".\n\n17. Chalons:  blankets, coverlets, made at Chalons in France.\n\n18. Crock: pitcher, cruse; Anglo-Saxon, \"crocca;\" German,\n\"krug;\" hence \"crockery.\"\n\n19. Dwale: night-shade, Solanum somniferum, given to cause\nsleep.\n\n20. Burdoun: bass; \"burden\" of a song. It originally means the\ndrone of a bagpipe; French, \"bourdon.\"\n\n21. Compline: even-song in the church service; chorus.\n\n22. Ferly: strange. In Scotland, a \"ferlie\" is an unwonted or\nremarkable sight.\n\n23. A furlong way: As long as it might take to walk a furlong.\n\n24. Cockenay: a term of contempt, probably borrowed from the\nkitchen; a cook, in base Latin, being termed \"coquinarius.\"\ncompare French \"coquin,\" rascal.\n\n25. Unhardy is unsely: the cowardly is unlucky; \"nothing\nventure, nothing have;\" German, \"unselig,\" unhappy.\n\n26. Holy cross of Bromeholm: A common adjuration at that\ntime; the cross or rood of the priory of Bromholm, in Norfolk,\nwas said to contain part of the real cross and therefore held in\nhigh esteem.\n\n27. In manus tuas: Latin, \"in your hands\".\n\n\n\nTHE COOK'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nTHE Cook of London, while the Reeve thus spake,\nFor joy he laugh'd and clapp'd him on the back:\n\"Aha!\" quoth he, \"for Christes passion,\nThis Miller had a sharp conclusion,\nUpon this argument of herbergage.*                              *lodging\nWell saide Solomon in his language,\nBring thou not every man into thine house,\nFor harbouring by night is perilous.\n*Well ought a man avised for to be*        *a man should take good heed*\nWhom that he brought into his privity.\nI pray to God to give me sorrow and care\nIf ever, since I highte* Hodge of Ware,                      *was called\nHeard I a miller better *set a-work*;                           *handled\nHe had a jape* of malice in the derk.                             *trick\nBut God forbid that we should stinte* here,                        *stop\nAnd therefore if ye will vouchsafe to hear\nA tale of me, that am a poore man,\nI will you tell as well as e'er I can\nA little jape that fell in our city.\"\n\nOur Host answer'd and said; \"I grant it thee.\nRoger, tell on; and look that it be good,\nFor many a pasty hast thou letten blood,\nAnd many a Jack of Dover<1> hast thou sold,\nThat had been twice hot and twice cold.\nOf many a pilgrim hast thou Christe's curse,\nFor of thy parsley yet fare they the worse.\nThat they have eaten in thy stubble goose:\nFor in thy shop doth many a fly go loose.\nNow tell on, gentle Roger, by thy name,\nBut yet I pray thee be not *wroth for game*;     *angry with my jesting*\nA man may say full sooth in game and play.\"\n\"Thou sayst full sooth,\" quoth Roger, \"by my fay;\nBut sooth play quad play,<2> as the Fleming saith,\nAnd therefore, Harry Bailly, by thy faith,\nBe thou not wroth, else we departe* here,                  *part company\nThough that my tale be of an hostelere.*                      *innkeeper\nBut natheless, I will not tell it yet,\nBut ere we part, y-wis* thou shalt be quit.\"<3>               *assuredly\nAnd therewithal he laugh'd and made cheer,<4>\nAnd told his tale, as ye shall after hear.\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Cook's Tale\n\n\n1. Jack of Dover:  an article of cookery. (Transcriber's note:\nsuggested by some commentators to be a kind of pie, and by\nothers to be a fish)\n\n2. Sooth play quad play: true jest is no jest.\n\n3. It may be remembered that each pilgrim was bound to tell\ntwo stories; one on the way to Canterbury, the other returning.\n\n4. Made cheer: French, \"fit bonne mine;\" put on a pleasant\ncountenance.\n\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nA prentice whilom dwelt in our city,\nAnd of a craft of victuallers was he:\nGalliard* he was, as goldfinch in the shaw**,            *lively **grove\nBrown as a berry, a proper short fellaw:\nWith lockes black, combed full fetisly.*                       *daintily\nAnd dance he could so well and jollily,\nThat he was called Perkin Revellour.\nHe was as full of love and paramour,\nAs is the honeycomb of honey sweet;\nWell was the wenche that with him might meet.\nAt every bridal would he sing and hop;\nHe better lov'd the tavern than the shop.\nFor when there any riding was in Cheap,<1>\nOut of the shoppe thither would he leap,\nAnd, till that he had all the sight y-seen,\nAnd danced well, he would not come again;\nAnd gather'd him a meinie* of his sort,              *company of fellows\nTo hop and sing, and make such disport:\nAnd there they *sette steven* for to meet             *made appointment*\nTo playen at the dice in such a street.\nFor in the towne was there no prentice\nThat fairer coulde cast a pair of dice\nThan Perkin could; and thereto *he was free    *he spent money liberally\nOf his dispence, in place of privity.*       where he would not be seen*\nThat found his master well in his chaffare,*                *merchandise\nFor oftentime he found his box full bare.\nFor, soothely, a prentice revellour,\nThat haunteth dice, riot, and paramour,\nHis master shall it in his shop abie*,                       *suffer for\nAll* have he no part of the minstrelsy.                        *although\nFor theft and riot they be convertible,\nAll can they play on *gitern or ribible.*             *guitar or rebeck*\nRevel and truth, as in a low degree,\nThey be full wroth* all day, as men may see.                *at variance\n\nThis jolly prentice with his master bode,\nTill he was nigh out of his prenticehood,\nAll were he snubbed* both early and late,                       *rebuked\nAnd sometimes led with revel to Newgate.\nBut at the last his master him bethought,\nUpon a day when he his paper<2> sought,\nOf a proverb, that saith this same word;\nBetter is rotten apple out of hoard,\nThan that it should rot all the remenant:\nSo fares it by a riotous servant;\nIt is well lesse harm to let him pace*,                        *pass, go\nThan he shend* all the servants in the place.                   *corrupt\nTherefore his master gave him a quittance,\nAnd bade him go, with sorrow and mischance.\nAnd thus this jolly prentice had his leve*:                      *desire\nNow let him riot all the night, or leave*.                      *refrain\nAnd, for there is no thief without a louke,<3>\nThat helpeth him to wasten and to souk*                           *spend\nOf that he bribe* can, or borrow may,                             *steal\nAnon he sent his bed and his array\nUnto a compere* of his owen sort,                               *comrade\nThat loved dice, and riot, and disport;\nAnd had a wife, that held *for countenance*            *for appearances*\nA shop, and swived* for her sustenance.             *prostituted herself\n       .       .       .       .       .       .       . <4>\n\n\nNotes to the Cook's Tale\n\n\n1. Cheapside, where jousts were sometimes held, and which\nwas the great scene of city revels and processions.\n\n2. His paper: his certificate of completion of his apprenticeship.\n\n3. Louke:  The precise meaning of the word is unknown, but it\nis doubtless included in the cant term \"pal\".\n\n4. The Cook's Tale is unfinished in all the manuscripts; but in\nsome, of minor authority, the Cook is made to break off his\ntale, because \"it is so foul,\" and to tell the story of Gamelyn, on\nwhich Shakespeare's \"As You Like It\" is founded. The story is\nnot Chaucer's, and is different in metre, and inferior in\ncomposition to the Tales. It is supposed that Chaucer expunged\nthe Cook's Tale for the same reason that made him on his death-\nbed lament that he had written so much \"ribaldry.\"\n\n\n\nTHE MAN OF LAW'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nOur Hoste saw well that the brighte sun\nTh' arc of his artificial day had run\nThe fourthe part, and half an houre more;\nAnd, though he were not deep expert in lore,\nHe wist it was the eight-and-twenty day\nOf April, that is messenger to May;\nAnd saw well that the shadow of every tree\nWas in its length of the same quantity\nThat was the body erect that caused it;\nAnd therefore by the shadow he took his wit*,                 *knowledge\nThat Phoebus, which that shone so clear and bright,\nDegrees was five-and-forty clomb on height;\nAnd for that day, as in that latitude,\nIt was ten of the clock, he gan conclude;\nAnd suddenly he plight* his horse about.                     *pulled <1>\n\n\"Lordings,\" quoth he, \"I warn you all this rout*,               *company\nThe fourthe partie of this day is gone.\nNow for the love of God and of Saint John\nLose no time, as farforth as ye may.\nLordings, the time wasteth night and day,\nAnd steals from us, what privily sleeping,\nAnd what through negligence in our waking,\nAs doth the stream, that turneth never again,\nDescending from the mountain to the plain.\nWell might Senec, and many a philosopher,\nBewaile time more than gold in coffer.\nFor loss of chattels may recover'd be,\nBut loss of time shendeth* us, quoth he.                       *destroys\n\nIt will not come again, withoute dread,*\nNo more than will Malkin's maidenhead,<2>\nWhen she hath lost it in her wantonness.\nLet us not moulde thus in idleness.\n\"Sir Man of Law,\" quoth he, \"so have ye bliss,\nTell us a tale anon, as forword* is.                        *the bargain\nYe be submitted through your free assent\nTo stand in this case at my judgement.\nAcquit you now, and *holde your behest*;             *keep your promise*\nThen have ye done your devoir* at the least.\"                      *duty\n\"Hoste,\" quoth he, \"de par dieux jeo asente; <3>\nTo breake forword is not mine intent.\nBehest is debt, and I would hold it fain,\nAll my behest; I can no better sayn.\nFor such law as a man gives another wight,\nHe should himselfe usen it by right.\nThus will our text: but natheless certain\nI can right now no thrifty* tale sayn,                           *worthy\nBut Chaucer (though he *can but lewedly*         *knows but imperfectly*\nOn metres and on rhyming craftily)\nHath said them, in such English as he can,\nOf olde time, as knoweth many a man.\nAnd if he have not said them, leve* brother,                       *dear\nIn one book, he hath said them in another\nFor he hath told of lovers up and down,\nMore than Ovide made of mentioun\nIn his Epistolae, that be full old.\nWhy should I telle them, since they he told?\nIn youth he made of Ceyx and Alcyon,<4>\nAnd since then he hath spoke of every one\nThese noble wives, and these lovers eke.\nWhoso that will his large volume seek\nCalled the Saintes' Legend of Cupid:<5>\nThere may he see the large woundes wide\nOf Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisbe;\nThe sword of Dido for the false Enee;\nThe tree of Phillis for her Demophon;\nThe plaint of Diane, and of Hermion,\nOf Ariadne, and Hypsipile;\nThe barren isle standing in the sea;\nThe drown'd Leander for his fair Hero;\nThe teares of Helene, and eke the woe\nOf Briseis, and Laodamia;\nThe cruelty of thee, Queen Medea,\nThy little children hanging by the halse*,                         *neck\nFor thy Jason, that was of love so false.\nHypermnestra, Penelop', Alcest',\nYour wifehood he commendeth with the best.\nBut certainly no worde writeth he\nOf *thilke wick'* example of Canace,                       *that wicked*\nThat loved her own brother sinfully;\n(Of all such cursed stories I say, Fy),\nOr else of Tyrius Apollonius,\nHow that the cursed king Antiochus\nBereft his daughter of her maidenhead;\nThat is so horrible a tale to read,\nWhen he her threw upon the pavement.\nAnd therefore he, *of full avisement*,         *deliberately, advisedly*\nWould never write in none of his sermons\nOf such unkind* abominations;                                 *unnatural\nNor I will none rehearse, if that I may.\nBut of my tale how shall I do this day?\nMe were loth to be liken'd doubteless\nTo Muses, that men call Pierides<6>\n(Metamorphoseos <7> wot what I mean),\nBut natheless I recke not a bean,\nThough I come after him with hawebake*;                        *lout <8>\nI speak in prose, and let him rhymes make.\"\nAnd with that word, he with a sober cheer\nBegan his tale, and said as ye shall hear.\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to The Man of Law's Tale\n\n\n1. Plight: pulled; the word is an obsolete past tense from\n\"pluck.\"\n\n2. No more than will Malkin's maidenhead: a proverbial saying;\nwhich, however, had obtained fresh point from the Reeve's\nTale, to which the host doubtless refers.\n\n3. De par dieux jeo asente: \"by God, I agree\".  It is\ncharacteristic that the somewhat pompous Sergeant of Law\nshould couch his assent in the semi-barbarous French, then\nfamiliar in law procedure.\n\n4. Ceyx and Alcyon: Chaucer treats of these in the introduction\nto the poem called \"The Book of the Duchess.\"  It relates to the\ndeath of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the\npoet's patron, and afterwards his connexion by marriage.\n\n5. The Saintes Legend of Cupid: Now called \"The Legend of\nGood Women\". The names of eight ladies mentioned here are\nnot in the \"Legend\" as it has come down to us; while those of\ntwo ladies in the \"legend\" -- Cleopatra and Philomela -- are her\nomitted.\n\n6. Not the Muses, who had their surname from the place near\nMount Olympus where the Thracians first worshipped them; but\nthe nine daughters of Pierus, king of Macedonia, whom he\ncalled the nine Muses, and who, being conquered in a contest\nwith the genuine sisterhood, were changed into birds.\n\n7. Metamorphoseos:  Ovid's.\n\n8. Hawebake: hawbuck, country lout; the common proverbial\nphrase, \"to put a rogue above a gentleman,\" may throw light on\nthe reading here, which is difficult.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nO scatheful harm, condition of poverty,\nWith thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded;\nTo aske help thee shameth in thine hearte;\nIf thou none ask, so sore art thou y-wounded,\nThat very need unwrappeth all thy wound hid.\nMaugre thine head thou must for indigence\nOr steal, or beg, or borrow thy dispence*.                      *expense\n\nThou blamest Christ, and sayst full bitterly,\nHe misdeparteth* riches temporal;                          *allots amiss\nThy neighebour thou witest* sinfully,                           *blamest\nAnd sayst, thou hast too little, and he hath all:\n\"Parfay (sayst thou) sometime he reckon shall,\nWhen that his tail shall *brennen in the glede*,      *burn in the fire*\nFor he not help'd the needful in their need.\"\n\nHearken what is the sentence of the wise:\nBetter to die than to have indigence.\n*Thy selve* neighebour will thee despise,                    *that same*\nIf thou be poor, farewell thy reverence.\nYet of the wise man take this sentence,\nAlle the days of poore men be wick'*,                      *wicked, evil\nBeware therefore ere thou come to that prick*.                    *point\n\nIf thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,\nAnd all thy friendes flee from thee, alas!\nO riche merchants, full of wealth be ye,\nO noble, prudent folk, as in this case,\nYour bagges be not fill'd with *ambes ace,*                   *two aces*\nBut with *six-cinque*, that runneth for your chance;<2>       *six-five*\nAt Christenmass well merry may ye dance.\n\nYe seeke land and sea for your winnings,\nAs wise folk ye knowen all th' estate\nOf regnes*;  ye be fathers of tidings,                         *kingdoms\nAnd tales, both of peace and of debate*:                *contention, war\nI were right now of tales desolate*,                     *barren, empty.\nBut that a merchant, gone in many a year,\nMe taught a tale, which ye shall after hear.\n\nIn Syria whilom dwelt a company\nOf chapmen rich, and thereto sad* and true,            *grave, steadfast\nClothes of gold, and satins rich of hue.\nThat widewhere* sent their spicery,                    *to distant parts\nTheir chaffare* was so thriftly** and so new,      *wares **advantageous\nThat every wight had dainty* to chaffare**              *pleasure **deal\nWith them, and eke to selle them their ware.\n\nNow fell it, that the masters of that sort\nHave *shapen them* to Rome for to wend,           *determined, prepared*\nWere it for chapmanhood* or for disport,                        *trading\nNone other message would they thither send,\nBut come themselves to Rome, this is the end:\nAnd in such place as thought them a vantage\nFor their intent, they took their herbergage.*                  *lodging\n\nSojourned have these merchants in that town\nA certain time as fell to their pleasance:\nAnd so befell, that th' excellent renown\nOf th' emperore's daughter, Dame Constance,\nReported was, with every circumstance,\nUnto these Syrian merchants in such wise,\nFrom day to day, as I shall you devise*                          *relate\n\nThis was the common voice of every man\n\"Our emperor of Rome, God him see*,                 *look on with favour\nA daughter hath, that since the the world began,\nTo reckon as well her goodness and beauty,\nWas never such another as is she:\nI pray to God in honour her sustene*,                           *sustain\nAnd would she were of all Europe the queen.\n\n\"In her is highe beauty without pride,\nAnd youth withoute greenhood* or folly:        *childishness, immaturity\nTo all her workes virtue is her guide;\nHumbless hath slain in her all tyranny:\nShe is the mirror of all courtesy,\nHer heart a very chamber of holiness,\nHer hand minister of freedom for almess*.\"                   *almsgiving\n\nAnd all this voice was sooth, as God is true;\nBut now to purpose* let us turn again.                     *our tale <3>\nThese merchants have done freight their shippes new,\nAnd when they have this blissful maiden seen,\nHome to Syria then they went full fain,\nAnd did their needes*, as they have done yore,*     *business **formerly\nAnd liv'd in weal*; I can you say no more.                   *prosperity\n\nNow fell it, that these merchants stood in grace*                *favour\nOf him that was the Soudan* of Syrie:                            *Sultan\nFor when they came from any strange place\nHe would of his benigne courtesy\nMake them good cheer, and busily espy*                          *inquire\nTidings of sundry regnes*, for to lear**                 *realms **learn\nThe wonders that they mighte see or hear.\n\nAmonges other thinges, specially\nThese merchants have him told of Dame Constance\nSo great nobless, in earnest so royally,\nThat this Soudan hath caught so great pleasance*               *pleasure\nTo have her figure in his remembrance,\nThat all his lust*, and all his busy cure**,            *pleasure **care\nWas for to love her while his life may dure.\n\nParaventure in thilke* large book,                                 *that\nWhich that men call the heaven, y-written was\nWith starres, when that he his birthe took,\nThat he for love should have his death, alas!\nFor in the starres, clearer than is glass,\nIs written, God wot, whoso could it read,\nThe death of every man withoute dread.*                           *doubt\n\nIn starres many a winter therebeforn\nWas writ the death of Hector, Achilles,\nOf Pompey, Julius, ere they were born;\nThe strife of Thebes; and of Hercules,\nOf Samson, Turnus, and of Socrates\nThe death; but mennes wittes be so dull,\nThat no wight can well read it at the full.\n\nThis Soudan for his privy council sent,\nAnd, *shortly of this matter for to pace*,          *to pass briefly by*\nHe hath to them declared his intent,\nAnd told them certain, but* he might have grace                  *unless\nTo have Constance, within a little space,\nHe was but dead; and charged them in hie*                         *haste\nTo shape* for his life some remedy.                            *contrive\n\nDiverse men diverse thinges said;\nAnd arguments they casten up and down;\nMany a subtle reason forth they laid;\nThey speak of magic, and abusion*;                            *deception\nBut finally, as in conclusion,\nThey cannot see in that none avantage,\nNor in no other way, save marriage.\n\nThen saw they therein such difficulty\nBy way of reason, for to speak all plain,\nBecause that there was such diversity\nBetween their bothe lawes, that they sayn,\nThey trowe* that no Christian prince would fain**   *believe **willingly\nWedden his child under our lawe sweet,\nThat us was given by Mahound* our prophete.                     *Mahomet\n\nAnd he answered: \"Rather than I lose\nConstance, I will be christen'd doubteless\nI must be hers, I may none other choose,\nI pray you hold your arguments in peace,<4>\nSave my life, and be not reckeless\nTo gette her that hath my life in cure,*                        *keeping\nFor in this woe I may not long endure.\"\n\nWhat needeth greater dilatation?\nI say, by treaty and ambassadry,\nAnd by the Pope's mediation,\nAnd all the Church, and all the chivalry,\nThat in destruction of Mah'metry,*                         *Mahometanism\nAnd in increase of Christe's lawe dear,\nThey be accorded* so as ye may hear;                             *agreed\n\nHow that the Soudan, and his baronage,\nAnd all his lieges, shall y-christen'd be,\nAnd he shall have Constance in marriage,\nAnd certain gold, I n'ot* what quantity,                       *know not\nAnd hereto find they suffisant surety.\nThe same accord is sworn on either side;\nNow, fair Constance, Almighty God thee guide!\n\nNow woulde some men waiten, as I guess,\nThat I should tellen all the purveyance*,                     *provision\nThe which the emperor of his noblesse\nHath shapen* for his daughter, Dame Constance.                 *prepared\nWell may men know that so great ordinance\nMay no man tellen in a little clause,\nAs was arrayed for so high a cause.\n\nBishops be shapen with her for to wend,\nLordes, ladies, and knightes of renown,\nAnd other folk enough, this is the end.\nAnd notified is throughout all the town,\nThat every wight with great devotioun\nShould pray to Christ, that he this marriage\nReceive *in gree*, and speede this voyage.      *with good will, favour*\n\nThe day is comen of her departing, --\nI say the woful fatal day is come,\nThat there may be no longer tarrying,\nBut forward they them dressen* all and some.        *prepare to set out*\nConstance, that was with sorrow all o'ercome,\nFull pale arose, and dressed her to wend,\nFor well she saw there was no other end.\n\nAlas! what wonder is it though she wept,\nThat shall be sent to a strange nation\nFrom friendes, that so tenderly her kept,\nAnd to be bound under subjection\nof one, she knew not his condition?\nHusbands be all good, and have been *of yore*,                  *of old*\nThat knowe wives; I dare say no more.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"thy wretched child Constance,\nThy younge daughter, foster'd up so soft,\nAnd you, my mother, my sov'reign pleasance\nOver all thing, out-taken* Christ *on loft*,          *except  *on high*\nConstance your child her recommendeth oft\nUnto your grace; for I shall to Syrie,\nNor shall I ever see you more with eye.\n\n\"Alas! unto the barbarous nation\nI must anon, since that it is your will:\nBut Christ, that starf* for our redemption,                        *died\nSo give me grace his hestes* to fulfil.                        *commands\nI, wretched woman, *no force though I spill!*          *no matter though\nWomen are born to thraldom and penance,                        I perish*\nAnd to be under mannes governance.\"\n\nI trow at Troy when Pyrrhus brake the wall,\nOr Ilion burnt, or Thebes the city,\nNor at Rome for the harm through Hannibal,\nThat Romans hath y-vanquish'd times three,\nWas heard such tender weeping for pity,\nAs in the chamber was for her parting;\nBut forth she must, whether she weep or sing.\n\nO firste moving cruel Firmament,<5>\nWith thy diurnal sway that crowdest* aye,     *pushest together, drivest\nAnd hurtlest all from East till Occident\nThat naturally would hold another way;\nThy crowding set the heav'n in such array\nAt the beginning of this fierce voyage,\nThat cruel Mars hath slain this marriage.\n\nUnfortunate ascendant tortuous,\nOf which the lord is helpless fall'n, alas!\nOut of his angle into the darkest house;\nO Mars, O Atyzar,<6> as in this case;\nO feeble Moon, unhappy is thy pace.*                           *progress\nThou knittest thee where thou art not receiv'd,\nWhere thou wert well, from thennes art thou weiv'd. <7>\n\nImprudent emperor of Rome, alas!\nWas there no philosopher in all thy town?\nIs no time bet* than other in such case?                         *better\nOf voyage is there none election,\nNamely* to folk of high condition,                           *especially\nNot *when a root is of a birth y-know?*     *when the nativity is known*\nAlas! we be too lewed*, or too slow.                           *ignorant\n\nTo ship was brought this woeful faire maid\nSolemnely, with every circumstance:\n\"Now Jesus Christ be with you all,\" she said.\nThere is no more,but \"Farewell, fair Constance.\"\nShe *pained her* to make good countenance.              *made an effort*\nAnd forth I let her sail in this manner,\nAnd turn I will again to my matter.\n\nThe mother of the Soudan, well of vices,\nEspied hath her sone's plain intent,\nHow he will leave his olde sacrifices:\nAnd right anon she for her council sent,\nAnd they be come, to knowe what she meant,\nAnd when assembled was this folk *in fere*,                   *together*\nShe sat her down, and said as ye shall hear.\n\n\"Lordes,\" she said, \"ye knowen every one,\nHow that my son in point is for to lete*                        *forsake\nThe holy lawes of our Alkaron*,                                   *Koran\nGiven by God's messenger Mahomete:\nBut one avow to greate God I hete*,                             *promise\nLife shall rather out of my body start,\nThan Mahomet's law go out of mine heart.\n\n\"What should us tiden* of this newe law,                 *betide, befall\nBut thraldom to our bodies, and penance,\nAnd afterward in hell to be y-draw,\nFor we *renied Mahound our creance?*         *denied Mahomet our belief*\nBut, lordes, will ye maken assurance,\nAs I shall say, assenting to my lore*?                           *advice\nAnd I shall make us safe for evermore.\"\n\nThey sworen and assented every man\nTo live with her and die, and by her stand:\nAnd every one, in the best wise he can,\nTo strengthen her shall all his friendes fand.*            *endeavour<8>\nAnd she hath this emprise taken in hand,\nWhich ye shall heare that I shall devise*;                       *relate\nAnd to them all she spake right in this wise.\n\n\"We shall first feign us *Christendom to take*;   *embrace Christianity*\nCold water shall not grieve us but a lite*:                      *little\nAnd I shall such a feast and revel make,\nThat, as I trow, I shall the Soudan quite.*              *requite, match\nFor though his wife be christen'd ne'er so white,\nShe shall have need to wash away the red,\nThough she a fount of water with her led.\"\n\nO Soudaness*, root of iniquity,                               *Sultaness\nVirago thou, Semiramis the second!\nO serpent under femininity,\nLike to the serpent deep in hell y-bound!\nO feigned woman, all that may confound\nVirtue and innocence, through thy malice,\nIs bred in thee, as nest of every vice!\n\nO Satan envious! since thilke day\nThat thou wert chased from our heritage,\nWell knowest thou to woman th' olde way.\nThou madest Eve to bring us in servage*:                        *bondage\nThou wilt fordo* this Christian marriage:                          *ruin\nThine instrument so (well-away the while!)\nMak'st thou of women when thou wilt beguile.\n\nThis Soudaness, whom I thus blame and warray*,          *oppose, censure\nLet privily her council go their way:\nWhy should I in this tale longer tarry?\nShe rode unto the Soudan on a day,\nAnd said him, that she would *reny her lay,*        *renounce her creed*\nAnd Christendom of priestes' handes fong*,                      *take<9>\nRepenting her she heathen was so long;\n\nBeseeching him to do her that honour,\nThat she might have the Christian folk to feast:\n\"To please them I will do my labour.\"\nThe Soudan said, \"I will do at your hest,*\"                      *desire\nAnd kneeling, thanked her for that request;\nSo glad he was, he wist* not what to say.                          *knew\nShe kiss'd her son, and home she went her way.\n\nArrived be these Christian folk to land\nIn Syria, with a great solemne rout,\nAnd hastily this Soudan sent his sond,*                         *message\nFirst to his mother, and all the realm about,\nAnd said, his wife was comen out of doubt,\nAnd pray'd them for to ride again* the queen,                   *to meet\nThe honour of his regne* to sustene.                              *realm\n\nGreat was the press, and rich was the array\nOf Syrians and Romans met *in fere*.                        *in company*\nThe mother of the Soudan rich and gay\nReceived her with all so glad a cheer*                             *face\nAs any mother might her daughter dear\nAnd to the nexte city there beside\nA softe pace solemnely they ride.\n\nNought, trow I, the triumph of Julius\nOf which that Lucan maketh such a boast,\nWas royaller, or more curious,\nThan was th' assembly of this blissful host\nBut O this scorpion, this wicked ghost,*                         *spirit\nThe Soudaness, for all her flattering\nCast* under this full mortally to sting.                      *contrived\n\nThe Soudan came himself soon after this,\nSo royally, that wonder is to tell,\nAnd welcomed her with all joy and bliss.\nAnd thus in mirth and joy I let them dwell.\nThe fruit of his matter is that I tell;\nWhen the time came, men thought it for the best\nThat revel stint,* and men go to their rest.                      *cease\n\nThe time is come that this old Soudaness\nOrdained hath the feast of which I told,\nAnd to the feast the Christian folk them dress\nIn general, yea, bothe young and old.\nThere may men feast and royalty behold,\nAnd dainties more than I can you devise;\nBut all too dear they bought it ere they rise.\n\nO sudden woe, that ev'r art successour\nTo worldly bliss! sprent* is with bitterness                  *sprinkled\nTh' end of our joy, of our worldly labour;\nWoe *occupies the fine* of our gladness.                *seizes the end*\nHearken this counsel, for thy sickerness*:                     *security\nUpon thy glade days have in thy mind\nThe unware* woe of harm, that comes behind.                  *unforeseen\n\nFor, shortly for to tell it at a word,\nThe Soudan and the Christians every one\nWere all *to-hewn and sticked* at the board,             *cut to pieces*\nBut it were only Dame Constance alone.\nThis olde Soudaness, this cursed crone,\nHad with her friendes done this cursed deed,\nFor she herself would all the country lead.\n\nNor there was Syrian that was converted,\nThat of the counsel of the Soudan wot*,                            *knew\nThat was not all to-hewn, ere he asterted*:                     *escaped\nAnd Constance have they ta'en anon foot-hot*,               *immediately\nAnd in a ship all steereless,* God wot,                  *without rudder\nThey have her set, and bid her learn to sail\nOut of Syria *again-ward to Itale.*                      *back to Italy*\n\nA certain treasure that she thither lad,*                          *took\nAnd, sooth to say, of victual great plenty,\nThey have her giv'n, and clothes eke she had\nAnd forth she sailed in the salte sea:\nO my Constance, full of benignity,\nO emperores younge daughter dear,\nHe that is lord of fortune be thy steer*!                 *rudder, guide\n\nShe bless'd herself, and with full piteous voice\nUnto the cross of Christ thus saide she;\n\"O dear, O wealful* altar, holy cross,              *blessed, beneficent\nRed of the Lambes blood, full of pity,\nThat wash'd the world from old iniquity,\nMe from the fiend and from his clawes keep,\nThat day that I shall drenchen* in the deepe.                     *drown\n\n\"Victorious tree, protection of the true,\nThat only worthy were for to bear\nThe King of Heaven, with his woundes new,\nThe white Lamb, that hurt was with a spear;\nFlemer* of fiendes out of him and her              *banisher, driver out\nOn which thy limbes faithfully extend,<10>\nMe keep, and give me might my life to mend.\"\n\nYeares and days floated this creature\nThroughout the sea of Greece, unto the strait\nOf Maroc*, as it was her a venture:                  *Morocco; Gibraltar\nOn many a sorry meal now may she bait,\nAfter her death full often may she wait*,                        *expect\nEre that the wilde waves will her drive\nUnto the place *there as* she shall arrive.                       *where\n\nMen mighten aske, why she was not slain?\nEke at the feast who might her body save?\nAnd I answer to that demand again,\nWho saved Daniel in the horrible cave,\nWhere every wight, save he, master or knave*,                   *servant\nWas with the lion frett*, ere he astart?**          *devoured ** escaped\nNo wight but God, that he bare in his heart.\n\nGod list* to shew his wonderful miracle                      *it pleased\nIn her, that we should see his mighty workes:\nChrist, which that is to every harm triacle*,             *remedy, salve\nBy certain meanes oft, as knowe clerkes*,                      *scholars\nDoth thing for certain ende, that full derk is\nTo manne's wit, that for our, ignorance\nNe cannot know his prudent purveyance*.                       *foresight\n\nNow since she was not at the feast y-slaw,*                       *slain\nWho kepte her from drowning in the sea?\nWho kepte Jonas in the fish's maw,\nTill he was spouted up at Nineveh?\nWell may men know, it was no wight but he\nThat kept the Hebrew people from drowning,\nWith drye feet throughout the sea passing.\n\nWho bade the foure spirits of tempest,<11>\nThat power have t' annoye land and sea,\nBoth north and south, and also west and east,\nAnnoye neither sea, nor land, nor tree?\nSoothly the commander of that was he\nThat from the tempest aye this woman kept,\nAs well when she awoke as when she slept.\n\nWhere might this woman meat and drinke have?\nThree year and more how lasted her vitaille*?                  *victuals\nWho fed the Egyptian Mary in the cave\nOr in desert? no wight but Christ *sans faille.*          *without fail*\nFive thousand folk it was as great marvaille\nWith loaves five and fishes two to feed\nGod sent his foison* at her greate need.                      *abundance\n\nShe drived forth into our ocean\nThroughout our wilde sea, till at the last\nUnder an hold*, that nempnen** I not can,                 *castle **name\nFar in Northumberland, the wave her cast\nAnd in the sand her ship sticked so fast\nThat thennes would it not in all a tide: <12>\nThe will of Christ was that she should abide.\n\nThe Constable of the castle down did fare*                           *go\nTo see this wreck, and all the ship he sought*,                *searched\nAnd found this weary woman full of care;\nHe found also the treasure that she brought:\nIn her language mercy she besought,\nThe life out of her body for to twin*,                           *divide\nHer to deliver of woe that she was in.\n\nA manner Latin corrupt <13> was her speech,\nBut algate* thereby was she understond.                    *nevertheless\nThe Constable, when him list no longer seech*,                   *search\nThis woeful woman brought he to the lond.\nShe kneeled down, and thanked *Godde's sond*;        *what God had sent*\nBut what she was she would to no man say\nFor foul nor fair, although that she should dey.*                   *die\n\nShe said, she was so mazed in the sea,\nThat she forgot her minde, by her truth.\nThe Constable had of her so great pity\nAnd eke his wife, that they wept for ruth:*                        *pity\nShe was so diligent withoute slouth\nTo serve and please every one in that place,\nThat all her lov'd, that looked in her face.\n\nThe Constable and Dame Hermegild his wife\nWere Pagans, and that country every where;\nBut Hermegild lov'd Constance as her life;\nAnd Constance had so long sojourned there\nIn orisons, with many a bitter tear,\nTill Jesus had converted through His grace\nDame Hermegild, Constabless of that place.\n\nIn all that land no Christians durste rout;*                   *assemble\nAll Christian folk had fled from that country\nThrough Pagans, that conquered all about\nThe plages* of the North by land and sea.               *regions, coasts\nTo Wales had fled the *Christianity                 *the Old Britons who\nOf olde Britons,* dwelling in this isle;                were Christians*\nThere was their refuge for the meanewhile.\n\nBut yet n'ere* Christian Britons so exiled,                  *there were\nThat there n'ere* some which in their privity                        not\nHonoured Christ, and heathen folk beguiled;\nAnd nigh the castle such there dwelled three:\nAnd one of them was blind, and might not see,\nBut* it were with thilk* eyen of his mind,               *except **those\nWith which men maye see when they be blind.\n\nBright was the sun, as in a summer's day,\nFor which the Constable, and his wife also,\nAnd Constance, have y-take the righte way\nToward the sea a furlong way or two,\nTo playen, and to roame to and fro;\nAnd in their walk this blinde man they met,\nCrooked and old, with eyen fast y-shet.*                           *shut\n\n\"In the name of Christ,\" cried this blind Briton,\n\"Dame Hermegild, give me my sight again!\"\nThis lady *wax'd afrayed of that soun',*       *was alarmed by that cry*\nLest that her husband, shortly for to sayn,\nWould her for Jesus Christe's love have slain,\nTill Constance made her hold, and bade her wirch*                  *work\nThe will of Christ, as daughter of holy Church\n\nThe Constable wax'd abashed* of that sight,                  *astonished\nAnd saide; *\"What amounteth all this fare?\"*             *what means all\nConstance answered; \"Sir, it is Christ's might,               this ado?*\nThat helpeth folk out of the fiendes snare:\"\nAnd *so farforth* she gan our law declare,            *with such effect*\nThat she the Constable, ere that it were eve,\nConverted, and on Christ made him believe.\n\nThis Constable was not lord of the place\nOf which I speak, there as he Constance fand,*                    *found\nBut kept it strongly many a winter space,\nUnder Alla, king of Northumberland,\nThat was full wise, and worthy of his hand\nAgainst the Scotes, as men may well hear;\nBut turn I will again to my mattere.\n\nSatan, that ever us waiteth to beguile,\nSaw of Constance all her perfectioun,\nAnd *cast anon how he might quite her while;*    *considered how to have\nAnd made a young knight, that dwelt in that town,        revenge on her*\nLove her so hot of foul affectioun,\nThat verily him thought that he should spill*                    *perish\nBut* he of her might ones have his will.                         *unless\n\nHe wooed her, but it availed nought;\nShe woulde do no sinne by no way:\nAnd for despite, he compassed his thought\nTo make her a shameful death to dey;*                               *die\nHe waiteth when the Constable is away,\nAnd privily upon a night he crept\nIn Hermegilda's chamber while she slept.\n\nWeary, forwaked* in her orisons,                 *having been long awake\nSleepeth Constance, and Hermegild also.\nThis knight, through Satanas' temptation;\nAll softetly is to the bed y-go,*                                  *gone\nAnd cut the throat of Hermegild in two,\nAnd laid the bloody knife by Dame Constance,\nAnd went his way, there God give him mischance.\n\nSoon after came the Constable home again,\nAnd eke Alla that king was of that land,\nAnd saw his wife dispiteously* slain,                           *cruelly\nFor which full oft he wept and wrung his hand;\nAnd ill the bed the bloody knife he fand\nBy Dame Constance: Alas! what might she say?\nFor very woe her wit was all away.\n\nTo King Alla was told all this mischance\nAnd eke the time, and where, and in what wise\nThat in a ship was founden this Constance,\nAs here before ye have me heard devise:*                       *describe\nThe kinges heart for pity *gan agrise,*      *to be grieved, to tremble*\nWhen he saw so benign a creature\nFall in disease* and in misaventure.                           *distress\n\nFor as the lamb toward his death is brought,\nSo stood this innocent before the king:\nThis false knight, that had this treason wrought,\n*Bore her in hand* that she had done this thing:   *accused her falsely*\nBut natheless there was great murmuring\nAmong the people, that say they cannot guess\nThat she had done so great a wickedness.\n\nFor they had seen her ever virtuous,\nAnd loving Hermegild right as her life:\nOf this bare witness each one in that house,\nSave he that Hermegild slew with his knife:\nThis gentle king had *caught a great motife*         *been greatly moved\nOf this witness, and thought he would inquere           by the evidence*\nDeeper into this case, the truth to lear.*                        *learn\n\nAlas! Constance, thou has no champion,\nNor fighte canst thou not, so well-away!\nBut he that starf for our redemption,                              *died\nAnd bound Satan, and yet li'th where he lay,\nSo be thy stronge champion this day:\nFor, but Christ upon thee miracle kithe,*                          *show\nWithoute guilt thou shalt be slain *as swithe.*            *immediately*\n\nShe set her down on knees, and thus she said;\n\"Immortal God, that savedest Susanne\nFrom false blame; and thou merciful maid,\nMary I mean, the daughter to Saint Anne,\nBefore whose child the angels sing Osanne,*                     *Hosanna\nIf I be guiltless of this felony,\nMy succour be, or elles shall I die.\"\n\nHave ye not seen sometime a pale face\n(Among a press) of him that hath been lad*                          *led\nToward his death, where he getteth no grace,\nAnd such a colour in his face hath had,\nMen mighte know him that was so bestad*                *bested, situated\nAmonges all the faces in that rout?\nSo stood Constance, and looked her about.\n\nO queenes living in prosperity,\nDuchesses, and ye ladies every one,\nHave some ruth* on her adversity!                                  *pity\nAn emperor's daughter, she stood alone;\nShe had no wight to whom to make her moan.\nO blood royal, that standest in this drede,*                     *danger\nFar be thy friendes in thy greate need!\n\nThis king Alla had such compassioun,\nAs gentle heart is full filled of pity,\nThat from his eyen ran the water down\n\"Now hastily do fetch a book,\" quoth he;\n\"And if this knight will sweare, how that she\nThis woman slew, yet will we us advise*                        *consider\nWhom that we will that shall be our justice.\"\n\nA Briton book, written with Evangiles,*                     *the Gospels\nWas  fetched, and on this book he swore anon\nShe guilty was; and, in the meanewhiles,\nAn hand him smote upon the necke bone,\nThat down he fell at once right as a stone:\nAnd both his eyen burst out of his face\nIn sight of ev'rybody in that place.\n\nA voice was heard, in general audience,\nThat said; \"Thou hast deslander'd guilteless\nThe daughter of holy Church in high presence;\nThus hast thou done, and yet *hold I my peace?\"*    *shall I be silent?*\nOf this marvel aghast was all the press,\nAs mazed folk they stood every one\nFor dread of wreake,* save Constance alone.                   *vengeance\n\nGreat was the dread and eke the repentance\nOf them that hadde wrong suspicion\nUpon this sely* innocent Constance;                    *simple, harmless\nAnd for this miracle, in conclusion,\nAnd by Constance's mediation,\nThe king, and many another in that place,\nConverted was, thanked be Christe's grace!\n\nThis false knight was slain for his untruth\nBy judgement of Alla hastily;\nAnd yet Constance had of his death great ruth;*              *compassion\nAnd after this Jesus of his mercy\nMade Alla wedde full solemnely\nThis holy woman, that is so bright and sheen,\nAnd thus hath Christ y-made Constance a queen.\n\nBut who was woeful, if I shall not lie,\nOf this wedding but Donegild, and no mo',\nThe kinge's mother, full of tyranny?\nHer thought her cursed heart would burst in two;\nShe would not that her son had done so;\nHer thought it a despite that he should take\nSo strange a creature unto his make.*                     *mate, consort\n\nMe list not of the chaff nor of the stre*                         *straw\nMake so long a tale, as of the corn.\nWhat should I tellen of the royalty\nOf this marriage, or which course goes beforn,\nWho bloweth in a trump or in an horn?\nThe fruit of every tale is for to say;\nThey eat and drink, and dance, and sing, and play.\n\nThey go to bed, as it was skill* and right;                  *reasonable\nFor though that wives be full holy things,\nThey muste take in patience at night\nSuch manner* necessaries as be pleasings                        *kind of\nTo folk that have y-wedded them with rings,\nAnd lay *a lite* their holiness aside                      *a little of*\nAs for the time, it may no better betide.\n\nOn her he got a knave* child anon,                            *male <14>\nAnd to a Bishop and to his Constable eke\nHe took his wife to keep, when he is gone\nTo Scotland-ward, his foemen for to seek.\nNow fair Constance, that is so humble and meek,\nSo long is gone with childe till that still\nShe held her chamb'r, abiding Christe's will\n\nThe time is come, a knave child she bare;\nMauricius at the font-stone they him call.\nThis Constable *doth forth come* a messenger,     *caused to come forth*\nAnd wrote unto his king that clep'd was All',\nHow that this blissful tiding is befall,\nAnd other tidings speedful for to say\nHe* hath the letter, and forth he go'th his way.     *i.e. the messenger\n\nThis messenger, to *do his avantage,*         *promote his own interest*\nUnto the kinge's mother rideth swithe,*                         *swiftly\nAnd saluteth her full fair in his language.\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"ye may be glad and blithe,\nAnd thanke God an hundred thousand sithe;*                        *times\nMy lady queen hath child, withoute doubt,\nTo joy and bliss of all this realm about.\n\n\"Lo, here the letter sealed of this thing,\nThat I must bear with all the haste I may:\nIf ye will aught unto your son the king,\nI am your servant both by night and day.\"\nDonegild answer'd, \"As now at this time, nay;\nBut here I will all night thou take thy rest,\nTo-morrow will I say thee what me lest.*\"                       *pleases\n\nThis messenger drank sadly* ale and wine,                      *steadily\nAnd stolen were his letters privily\nOut of his box, while he slept as a swine;\nAnd counterfeited was full subtilly\nAnother letter, wrote full sinfully,\nUnto the king, direct of this mattere\nFrom his Constable, as ye shall after hear.\n\nThis letter said, the queen deliver'd was\nOf so horrible a fiendlike creature,\nThat in the castle none so hardy* was                             *brave\nThat any while he durst therein endure:\nThe mother was an elf by aventure\nBecome, by charmes or by sorcery,\nAnd every man hated her company.\n\nWoe was this king when he this letter had seen,\nBut to no wight he told his sorrows sore,\nBut with his owen hand he wrote again,\n\"Welcome the sond* of Christ for evermore                 *will, sending\nTo me, that am now learned in this lore:\nLord, welcome be thy lust* and thy pleasance,            *will, pleasure\nMy lust I put all in thine ordinance.\n\n\"Keepe*  this child, albeit foul or fair,                      *preserve\nAnd eke my wife, unto mine homecoming:\nChrist when him list may send to me an heir\nMore agreeable than this to my liking.\"\nThis letter he sealed, privily weeping.\nWhich to the messenger was taken soon,\nAnd forth he went, there is no more to do'n.*                        *do\n\nO messenger full fill'd of drunkenness,\nStrong is thy breath, thy limbes falter aye,\nAnd thou betrayest alle secretness;\nThy mind is lorn,* thou janglest as a jay;                         *lost\nThy face is turned in a new array;*                              *aspect\nWhere drunkenness reigneth in any rout,*                        *company\nThere is no counsel hid, withoute doubt.\n\nO Donegild, I have no English dign*                              *worthy\nUnto thy malice, and thy tyranny:\nAnd therefore to the fiend I thee resign,\nLet him indite of all thy treachery\n'Fy, mannish,* fy! O nay, by God I lie;                 *unwomanly woman\nFy, fiendlike spirit! for I dare well tell,\nThough thou here walk, thy spirit is in hell.\n\nThis messenger came from the king again,\nAnd at the kinge's mother's court he light,*                   *alighted\nAnd she was of this messenger full fain,*                          *glad\nAnd pleased him in all that e'er she might.\nHe drank, and *well his girdle underpight*;        *stowed away (liquor)\nHe slept, and eke he snored in his guise               under his girdle*\nAll night, until the sun began to rise.\n\nEft* were his letters stolen every one,                           *again\nAnd counterfeited letters in this wise:\nThe king commanded his Constable anon,\nOn pain of hanging and of high jewise,*                       *judgement\nThat he should suffer in no manner wise\nConstance within his regne* for to abide                        *kingdom\nThree dayes, and a quarter of a tide;\n\nBut in the same ship as he her fand,\nHer and her younge son, and all her gear,\nHe shoulde put, and crowd* her from the land,                      *push\nAnd charge her, that she never eft come there.\nO my Constance, well may thy ghost* have fear,                   *spirit\nAnd sleeping in thy dream be in penance,*                 *pain, trouble\nWhen Donegild cast* all this ordinance.**        *contrived **plan, plot\n\nThis messenger, on morrow when he woke,\nUnto the castle held the nexte* way,                            *nearest\nAnd to the constable the letter took;\nAnd when he this dispiteous* letter sey,**                  *cruel **saw\nFull oft he said, \"Alas, and well-away!\nLord Christ,\" quoth he, \"how may this world endure?\nSo full of sin is many a creature.\n\n\"O mighty God, if that it be thy will,\nSince thou art rightful judge, how may it be\nThat thou wilt suffer innocence to spill,*                 *be destroyed\nAnd wicked folk reign in prosperity?\nAh! good Constance, alas! so woe is me,\nThat I must be thy tormentor, or dey*                               *die\nA shameful death, there is no other way.\n\nWept bothe young and old in all that place,\nWhen that the king this cursed letter sent;\nAnd Constance, with a deadly pale face,\nThe fourthe day toward her ship she went.\nBut natheless she took in good intent\nThe will of Christ, and kneeling on the strond*           *strand, shore\nShe saide, \"Lord, aye welcome be thy sond*        *whatever thou sendest\n\n\"He that me kepte from the false blame,\nWhile I was in the land amonges you,\nHe can me keep from harm and eke from shame\nIn the salt sea, although I see not how\nAs strong as ever he was, he is yet now,\nIn him trust I, and in his mother dere,\nThat is to me my sail and eke my stere.\"*                 *rudder, guide\n\nHer little child lay weeping in her arm\nAnd, kneeling, piteously to him she said\n\"Peace, little son, I will do thee no harm:\"\nWith that her kerchief off her head she braid,*              *took, drew\nAnd over his little eyen she it laid,\nAnd in her arm she lulled it full fast,\nAnd unto heav'n her eyen up she cast.\n\n\"Mother,\" quoth she, \"and maiden bright, Mary,\nSooth is, that through a woman's eggement*        *incitement, egging on\nMankind was lorn,* and damned aye to die;                          *lost\nFor which thy child was on a cross y-rent:*               *torn, pierced\nThy blissful eyen saw all his torment,\nThen is there no comparison between\nThy woe, and any woe man may sustene.\n\n\"Thou saw'st thy child y-slain before thine eyen,\nAnd yet now lives my little child, parfay:*                 *by my faith\nNow, lady bright, to whom the woeful cryen,\nThou glory of womanhood, thou faire may,*                          *maid\nThou haven of refuge, bright star of day,\nRue* on my child, that of thy gentleness                      *take pity\nRuest on every rueful* in distress.                    *sorrowful person\n\n\"O little child, alas! what is thy guilt,\nThat never wroughtest sin as yet, pardie?*             *par Dieu; by God\nWhy will thine harde* father have thee spilt?**       *cruel **destroyed\nO mercy, deare Constable,\" quoth she,\n\"And let my little child here dwell with thee:\nAnd if thou dar'st not save him from blame,\nSo kiss him ones in his father's name.\"\n\nTherewith she looked backward to the land,\nAnd saide, \"Farewell, husband rutheless!\"\nAnd up she rose, and walked down the strand\nToward the ship, her following all the press:*                *multitude\nAnd ever she pray'd her child to hold his peace,\nAnd took her leave, and with an holy intent\nShe blessed her, and to the ship she went.\n\nVictualed was the ship, it is no drede,*                          *doubt\nAbundantly for her a full long space:\nAnd other necessaries that should need*                       *be needed\nShe had enough, heried* be Godde's grace:                  *praised <15>\nFor wind and weather, Almighty God purchase,*                   *provide\nAnd bring her home; I can no better say;\nBut in the sea she drived forth her way.\n\nAlla the king came home soon after this\nUnto the castle, of the which I told,\nAnd asked where his wife and his child is;\nThe Constable gan about his heart feel cold,\nAnd plainly all the matter he him told\nAs ye have heard; I can tell it no better;\nAnd shew'd the king his seal, and eke his letter\n\nAnd saide; \"Lord, as ye commanded me\nOn pain of death, so have I done certain.\"\nThe messenger tormented* was, till he                          *tortured\nMuste beknow,* and tell it flat and plain,                 *confess <16>\nFrom night to night in what place he had lain;\nAnd thus, by wit and subtle inquiring,\nImagin'd was by whom this harm gan spring.\n\nThe hand was known that had the letter wrote,\nAnd all the venom of the cursed deed;\nBut in what wise, certainly I know not.\nTh' effect is this, that Alla, *out of drede,*           *without doubt*\nHis mother slew, that may men plainly read,\nFor that she traitor was to her liegeance:*                  *allegiance\nThus ended olde Donegild with mischance.\n\nThe sorrow that this Alla night and day\nMade for his wife, and for his child also,\nThere is no tongue that it telle may.\nBut now will I again to Constance go,\nThat floated in the sea in pain and woe\nFive year and more, as liked Christe's sond,*           *decree, command\nEre that her ship approached to the lond.*                         *land\n\nUnder an heathen castle, at the last,\nOf which the name in my text I not find,\nConstance and eke her child the sea upcast.\nAlmighty God, that saved all mankind,\nHave on Constance and on her child some mind,\nThat fallen is in heathen hand eftsoon*                           *again\n*In point to spill,* as I shall tell you soon!             *in danger of\n                                                              perishing*\nDown from the castle came there many a wight\nTo gauren* on this ship, and on Constance:                  *gaze, stare\nBut shortly from the castle, on a night,\nThe lorde's steward, -- God give him mischance, --\nA thief that had *renied our creance,*                *denied our faith*\nCame to the ship alone, and said he would\nHer leman* be, whether she would or n'ould.               *illicit lover\n\nWoe was this wretched woman then begone;\nHer child cri'd, and she cried piteously:\nBut blissful Mary help'd her right anon,\nFor, with her struggling well and mightily,\nThe thief fell overboard all suddenly,\nAnd in the sea he drenched* for vengeance,                      *drowned\nAnd thus hath Christ unwemmed* kept Constance.              *unblemished\n\nO foul lust of luxury! lo thine end!\nNot only that thou faintest* manne's mind,                    *weakenest\nBut verily thou wilt his body shend.*                           *destroy\nTh' end of thy work, or of thy lustes blind,\nIs complaining: how many may men find,\nThat not for work, sometimes, but for th' intent\nTo do this sin, be either slain or shent?\n\nHow may this weake woman have the strength\nHer to defend against this renegate?\nO Goliath, unmeasurable of length,\nHow mighte David make thee so mate?*                         *overthrown\nSo young, and of armour so desolate,*                            *devoid\nHow durst he look upon thy dreadful face?\nWell may men see it was but Godde's grace.\n\nWho gave Judith courage or hardiness\nTo slay him, Holofernes, in his tent,\nAnd to deliver out of wretchedness\nThe people of God? I say for this intent\nThat right as God spirit of vigour sent\nTo them, and saved them out of mischance,\nSo sent he might and vigour to Constance.\n\nForth went her ship throughout the narrow mouth\nOf *Jubaltare and Septe,* driving alway,           *Gibraltar and Ceuta*\nSometime west, and sometime north and south,\nAnd sometime east, full many a weary day:\nTill Christe's mother (blessed be she aye)\nHad shaped* through her endeless goodness            *resolved, arranged\nTo make an end of all her heaviness.\n\nNow let us stint* of Constance but a throw,**            *cease speaking\nAnd speak we of the Roman emperor,                          **short time\nThat out of Syria had by letters know\nThe slaughter of Christian folk, and dishonor\nDone to his daughter by a false traitor,\nI mean the cursed wicked Soudaness,\nThat at the feast *let slay both more and less.*       *caused both high\n                                                   and low to be killed*\nFor which this emperor had sent anon\nHis senator, with royal ordinance,\nAnd other lordes, God wot, many a one,\nOn Syrians to take high vengeance:\nThey burn and slay, and bring them to mischance\nFull many a day: but shortly this is th' end,\nHomeward to Rome they shaped them to wend.\n\nThis senator repaired with victory\nTo Rome-ward, sailing full royally,\nAnd met the ship driving, as saith the story,\nIn which Constance sat full piteously:\nAnd nothing knew he what she was, nor why\nShe was in such array; nor she will say\nOf her estate, although that she should dey.*                       *die\n\nHe brought her unto Rome, and to his wife\nHe gave her, and her younge son also:\nAnd with the senator she led her life.\nThus can our Lady bringen out of woe\nWoeful Constance, and many another mo':\nAnd longe time she dwelled in that place,\nIn holy works ever, as was her grace.\n\nThe senatores wife her aunte was,\nBut for all that she knew her ne'er the more:\nI will no longer tarry in this case,\nBut to King Alla, whom I spake of yore,\nThat for his wife wept and sighed sore,\nI will return, and leave I will Constance\nUnder the senatores governance.\n\nKing Alla, which that had his mother slain,\nUpon a day fell in such repentance;\nThat, if I shortly tell it shall and plain,\nTo Rome he came to receive his penitance,\nAnd put him in the Pope's ordinance\nIn high and low, and Jesus Christ besought\nForgive his wicked works that he had wrought.\n\nThe fame anon throughout the town is borne,\nHow Alla king shall come on pilgrimage,\nBy harbingers that wente him beforn,\nFor which the senator, as was usage,\nRode *him again,* and many of his lineage,                 *to meet him*\nAs well to show his high magnificence,\nAs to do any king a reverence.\n\nGreat cheere* did this noble senator                           *courtesy\nTo King Alla and he to him also;\nEach of them did the other great honor;\nAnd so befell, that in a day or two\nThis senator did to King Alla go\nTo feast, and shortly, if I shall not lie,\nConstance's son went in his company.\n\nSome men would say,<17> at request of Constance\nThis senator had led this child to feast:\nI may not tellen every circumstance,\nBe as be may, there was he at the least:\nBut sooth is this, that at his mother's hest*                    *behest\nBefore Alla during *the meates space,*                       *meal time*\nThe child stood, looking in the kinges face.\n\nThis Alla king had of this child great wonder,\nAnd to the senator he said anon,\n\"Whose is that faire child that standeth yonder?\"\n\"I n'ot,\"* quoth he, \"by God and by Saint John;                *know not\nA mother he hath, but father hath he none,\nThat I of wot:\" and shortly in a stound*                *short time <18>\nHe told to Alla how this child was found.\n\n\"But God wot,\" quoth this senator also,\n\"So virtuous a liver in all my life\nI never saw, as she, nor heard of mo'\nOf worldly woman, maiden, widow or wife:\nI dare well say she hadde lever* a knife                         *rather\nThroughout her breast, than be a woman wick',*                   *wicked\nThere is no man could bring her to that prick.*                   *point\n\nNow was this child as like unto Constance\nAs possible is a creature to be:\nThis Alla had the face in remembrance\nOf Dame Constance, and thereon mused he,\nIf that the childe's mother *were aught she*              *could be she*\nThat was his wife; and privily he sight,*                        *sighed\nAnd sped him from the table *that he might.*       *as fast as he could*\n\n\"Parfay,\"* thought he, \"phantom** is in mine head.          *by my faith\nI ought to deem, of skilful judgement,                       **a fantasy\nThat in the salte sea my wife is dead.\"\nAnd afterward he made his argument,\n\"What wot I, if that Christ have hither sent\nMy wife by sea, as well as he her sent\nTo my country, from thennes that she went?\"\n\nAnd, after noon, home with the senator.\nWent Alla, for to see this wondrous chance.\nThis senator did Alla great honor,\nAnd hastily he sent after Constance:\nBut truste well, her liste not to dance.\nWhen that she wiste wherefore was that sond,*                   *summons\nUnneth* upon her feet she mighte stand.                 *with difficulty\n\nWhen Alla saw his wife, fair he her gret,*                      *greeted\nAnd wept, that it was ruthe for to see,\nFor at the firste look he on her set\nHe knew well verily that it was she:\nAnd she, for sorrow, as dumb stood as a tree:\nSo was her hearte shut in her distress,\nWhen she remember'd his unkindeness.\n\nTwice she swooned in his owen sight,\nHe wept and him excused piteously:\n\"Now God,\" quoth he, \"and all his hallows bright*                *saints\nSo wisly* on my soule have mercy,                                *surely\nThat of your harm as guilteless am I,\nAs is Maurice my son, so like your face,\nElse may the fiend me fetch out of this place.\"\n\nLong was the sobbing and the bitter pain,\nEre that their woeful heartes mighte cease;\nGreat was the pity for to hear them plain,*                      *lament\nThrough whiche plaintes gan their woe increase.\nI pray you all my labour to release,\nI may not tell all their woe till to-morrow,\nI am so weary for to speak of sorrow.\n\nBut finally, when that the *sooth is wist,*             *truth is known*\nThat Alla guiltless was of all her woe,\nI trow an hundred times have they kiss'd,\nAnd such a bliss is there betwixt them two,\nThat, save the joy that lasteth evermo',\nThere is none like, that any creature\nHath seen, or shall see, while the world may dure.\n\nThen prayed she her husband meekely\nIn the relief of her long piteous pine,*                         *sorrow\nThat he would pray her father specially,\nThat of his majesty he would incline\nTo vouchesafe some day with him to dine:\nShe pray'd him eke, that he should by no way\nUnto her father no word of her say.\n\nSome men would say,<17> how that the child Maurice\nDid this message unto the emperor:\nBut, as I guess, Alla was not so nice,*                         *foolish\nTo him that is so sovereign of honor\nAs he that is of Christian folk the flow'r,\nSend any child, but better 'tis to deem\nHe went himself; and so it may well seem.\n\nThis emperor hath granted gentilly\nTo come to dinner, as he him besought:\nAnd well rede* I, he looked busily                          *guess, know\nUpon this child, and on his daughter thought.\nAlla went to his inn, and as him ought\nArrayed* for this feast in every wise,                         *prepared\n*As farforth as his cunning* may suffice.          *as far as his skill*\n\nThe morrow came, and Alla gan him dress,*                    *make ready\nAnd eke his wife, the emperor to meet:\nAnd forth they rode in joy and in gladness,\nAnd when she saw her father in the street,\nShe lighted down and fell before his feet.\n\"Father,\" quoth she, \"your younge child Constance\nIs now full clean out of your remembrance.\n\n\"I am your daughter, your Constance,\" quoth she,\n\"That whilom ye have sent into Syrie;\nIt am I, father, that in the salt sea\nWas put alone, and damned* for to die.                        *condemned\nNow, goode father, I you mercy cry,\nSend me no more into none heatheness,\nBut thank my lord here of his kindeness.\"\n\nWho can the piteous joye tellen all,\nBetwixt them three, since they be thus y-met?\nBut of my tale make an end I shall,\nThe day goes fast, I will no longer let.*                        *hinder\nThese gladde folk to dinner be y-set;\nIn joy and bliss at meat I let them dwell,\nA thousand fold well more than I can tell.\n\nThis child Maurice was since then emperor\nMade by the Pope, and lived Christianly,\nTo Christe's Churche did he great honor:\nBut I let all his story passe by,\nOf Constance is my tale especially,\nIn the olde Roman gestes* men may find                    *histories<19>\nMaurice's life, I bear it not in mind.\n\nThis King Alla, when he his time sey,*                              *saw\nWith his Constance, his holy wife so sweet,\nTo England are they come the righte way,\nWhere they did live in joy and in quiet.\nBut little while it lasted, I you hete,*                        *promise\nJoy of this world for time will not abide,\nFrom day to night it changeth as the tide.\n\nWho liv'd ever in such delight one day,\nThat him not moved either conscience,\nOr ire, or talent, or *some kind affray,*     *some kind of disturbance*\nEnvy, or pride, or passion, or offence?\nI say but for this ende this sentence,*              *judgment, opinion*\nThat little while in joy or in pleasance\nLasted the bliss of Alla with Constance.\n\nFor death, that takes of high and low his rent,\nWhen passed was a year, even as I guess,\nOut of this world this King Alla he hent,*                     *snatched\nFor whom Constance had full great heaviness.\nNow let us pray that God his soule bless:\nAnd Dame Constance, finally to say,\nToward the town of Rome went her way.\n\nTo Rome is come this holy creature,\nAnd findeth there her friendes whole and sound:\nNow is she scaped all her aventure:\nAnd when that she her father hath y-found,\nDown on her knees falleth she to ground,\nWeeping for tenderness in hearte blithe\nShe herieth* God an hundred thousand sithe.**           *praises **times\n\nIn virtue and in holy almes-deed\nThey liven all, and ne'er asunder wend;\nTill death departeth them, this life they lead:\nAnd fare now well, my tale is at an end\nNow Jesus Christ, that of his might may send\nJoy after woe, govern us in his grace\nAnd keep us alle that be in this place.\n\n\nNotes to the Man of Law's Tale\n\n\n1. This tale is believed by Tyrwhitt to have been taken, with no\nmaterial change, from the \"Confessio Amantis\" of John Gower,\nwho was contemporary with Chaucer, though somewhat his\nsenior.  In the prologue, the references to the stories of Canace,\nand of Apollonius Tyrius, seem to be an attack on Gower, who\nhad given these tales in his book; whence Tyrwhitt concludes\nthat the friendship between the two poets suffered some\ninterruption in the latter part of their lives.  Gower was not the\ninventor of the story, which he found in old French romances,\nand it is not improbable that Chaucer may have gone to the\nsame source as Gower, though the latter undoubtedly led the\nway.\n(Transcriber's note: later commentators have identified the\nintroduction describing the sorrows of poverty, along with the\nother moralising interludes in the tale, as translated from \"De\nContemptu Mundi\" (\"On the contempt of the world\") by Pope\nInnocent.)\n\n2. Transcriber' note: This refers to the game of hazard, a dice\ngame like craps, in which two  (\"ambes ace\") won,  and eleven\n(\"six-cinque\") lost.\n\n3. Purpose: discourse, tale: French \"propos\".\n\n4. \"Peace\" rhymed with \"lese\" and \"chese\", the old forms of\n\"lose\" and \"choose\".\n\n5. According to Middle Age writers there were two motions of\nthe first heaven; one everything always from east to west above\nthe stars; the other moving the stars against the first motion,\nfrom west to east, on two other poles.\n\n6. Atyzar: the meaning of this word is not known; but \"occifer\",\nmurderer, has been suggested instead by Urry, on the authority\nof a marginal reading on a manuscript.\n(Transcriber's note: later commentators explain it as derived\nfrom Arabic \"al-ta'thir\", influence - used here in an astrological\nsense)\n\n7. \"Thou knittest thee where thou art not receiv'd,\n    Where thou wert well, from thennes art thou weiv'd\"\ni.e.\n\"Thou joinest thyself where thou art rejected, and art declined\nor departed from the place where thou wert well.\"  The moon\nportends the fortunes of Constance.\n\n8. Fand: endeavour; from Anglo-Saxon, \"fandian,\" to try\n\n9. Feng: take; Anglo-Saxon \"fengian\", German, \"fangen\".\n\n10. Him and her on which thy limbes faithfully extend: those\nwho in faith wear the crucifix.\n\n11. The four spirits of tempest: the four angels who held the\nfour winds of the earth and to whom it was given to hurt the\nearth and the sea (Rev. vii. 1, 2).\n\n12. Thennes would it not in all a tide: thence would it not move\nfor long, at all.\n\n13. A manner Latin corrupt: a kind of bastard Latin.\n\n14. Knave child: male child; German \"Knabe\".\n\n15. Heried: honoured, praised; from Anglo-Saxon, \"herian.\"\nCompare German, \"herrlich,\" glorious, honourable.\n\n16. Beknow:  confess; German, \"bekennen.\"\n\n17. The poet here refers to Gower's version of the story.\n\n18. Stound: short time; German, \"stunde\", hour.\n\n19. Gestes: histories, exploits; Latin, \"res gestae\".\n\n\n\nTHE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE. <1>\n\n\nExperience, though none authority*                  *authoritative texts\nWere in this world, is right enough for me\nTo speak of woe that is in marriage:\nFor, lordings, since I twelve year was of age,\n(Thanked be God that *is etern on live),*              *lives eternally*\nHusbands at the church door have I had five,<2>\nFor I so often have y-wedded be,\nAnd all were worthy men in their degree.\nBut me was told, not longe time gone is\nThat sithen* Christe went never but ones                          *since\nTo wedding, in the Cane* of Galilee,                               *Cana\nThat by that ilk* example taught he me,                            *same\nThat I not wedded shoulde be but once.\nLo, hearken eke a sharp word for the nonce,*                   *occasion\nBeside a welle Jesus, God and man,\nSpake in reproof of the Samaritan:\n\"Thou hast y-had five husbandes,\" said he;\n\"And thilke* man, that now hath wedded thee,                       *that\nIs not thine husband:\" <3> thus said he certain;\nWhat that he meant thereby, I cannot sayn.\nBut that I aske, why the fifthe man\nWas not husband to the Samaritan?\nHow many might she have in marriage?\nYet heard I never tellen *in mine age*                      *in my life*\nUpon this number definitioun.\nMen may divine, and glosen* up and down;                        *comment\nBut well I wot, express without a lie,\nGod bade us for to wax and multiply;\nThat gentle text can I well understand.\nEke well I wot, he said, that mine husband\nShould leave father and mother, and take to me;\nBut of no number mention made he,\nOf bigamy or of octogamy;\nWhy then should men speak of it villainy?*     *as if it were a disgrace\n\nLo here, the wise king Dan* Solomon,                           *Lord <4>\nI trow that he had wives more than one;\nAs would to God it lawful were to me\nTo be refreshed half so oft as he!\nWhat gift* of God had he for all his wives?     *special favour, licence\nNo man hath such, that in this world alive is.\nGod wot, this noble king, *as to my wit,*              *as I understand*\nThe first night had many a merry fit\nWith each of them, so *well was him on live.*         *so well he lived*\nBlessed be God that I have wedded five!\nWelcome the sixth whenever that he shall.\nFor since I will not keep me chaste in all,\nWhen mine husband is from the world y-gone,\nSome Christian man shall wedde me anon.\nFor then th' apostle saith that I am free\nTo wed, *a' God's half,* where it liketh me.             *on God's part*\nHe saith, that to be wedded is no sin;\nBetter is to be wedded than to brin.*                              *burn\nWhat recketh* me though folk say villainy**                 *care **evil\nOf shrewed* Lamech, and his bigamy?                     *impious, wicked\nI wot well Abraham was a holy man,\nAnd Jacob eke, as far as ev'r I can.*                              *know\nAnd each of them had wives more than two;\nAnd many another holy man also.\nWhere can ye see, *in any manner age,*                   *in any period*\nThat highe God defended* marriage                           *forbade <5>\nBy word express? I pray you tell it me;\nOr where commanded he virginity?\nI wot as well as you, it is no dread,*                            *doubt\nTh' apostle, when he spake of maidenhead,\nHe said, that precept thereof had he none:\nMen may counsel a woman to be one,*                              *a maid\nBut counseling is no commandement;\nHe put it in our owen judgement.\nFor, hadde God commanded maidenhead,\nThen had he damned* wedding out of dread;**           *condemned **doubt\nAnd certes, if there were no seed y-sow,*                          *sown\nVirginity then whereof should it grow?\nPaul durste not commanden, at the least,\nA thing of which his Master gave no hest.*                      *command\nThe dart* is set up for virginity;                             *goal <6>\nCatch whoso may, who runneth best let see.\nBut this word is not ta'en of every wight,\n*But there as* God will give it of his might.             *except where*\nI wot well that th' apostle was a maid,\nBut natheless, although he wrote and said,\nHe would that every wight were such as he,\nAll is but counsel to virginity.\nAnd, since to be a wife he gave me leave\nOf indulgence, so is it no repreve*                   *scandal, reproach\nTo wedde me, if that my make* should die,                 *mate, husband\nWithout exception* of bigamy;                          *charge, reproach\n*All were it* good no woman for to touch            *though it might be*\n(He meant as in his bed or in his couch),\nFor peril is both fire and tow t'assemble\nYe know what this example may resemble.\nThis is all and some, he held virginity\nMore profit than wedding in frailty:\n(*Frailty clepe I, but if* that he and she           *frailty I call it,\nWould lead their lives all in chastity),                         unless*\nI grant it well, I have of none envy\nWho maidenhead prefer to bigamy;\nIt liketh them t' be clean in body and ghost;*                     *soul\nOf mine estate* I will not make a boast.                      *condition\n\nFor, well ye know, a lord in his household\nHath not every vessel all of gold; <7>\nSome are of tree, and do their lord service.\nGod calleth folk to him in sundry wise,\nAnd each one hath of God a proper gift,\nSome this, some that, as liketh him to shift.*      *appoint, distribute\nVirginity is great perfection,\nAnd continence eke with devotion:\nBut Christ, that of perfection is the well,*                   *fountain\nBade not every wight he should go sell\nAll that he had, and give it to the poor,\nAnd in such wise follow him and his lore:*                     *doctrine\nHe spake to them that would live perfectly, --\nAnd, lordings, by your leave, that am not I;\nI will bestow the flower of mine age\nIn th' acts and in the fruits of marriage.\nTell me also, to what conclusion*                          *end, purpose\nWere members made of generation,\nAnd of so perfect wise a wight* y-wrought?                        *being\nTrust me right well, they were not made for nought.\nGlose whoso will, and say both up and down,\nThat they were made for the purgatioun\nOf urine, and of other thinges smale,\nAnd eke to know a female from a male:\nAnd for none other cause? say ye no?\nExperience wot well it is not so.\nSo that the clerkes* be not with me wroth,                     *scholars\nI say this, that they were made for both,\nThat is to say, *for office, and for ease*                 *for duty and\nOf engendrure, there we God not displease.                 for pleasure*\nWhy should men elles in their bookes set,\nThat man shall yield unto his wife her debt?\nNow wherewith should he make his payement,\nIf he us'd not his silly instrument?\nThen were they made upon a creature\nTo purge urine, and eke for engendrure.\nBut I say not that every wight is hold,*                        *obliged\nThat hath such harness* as I to you told,                     *equipment\nTo go and use them in engendrure;\nThen should men take of chastity no cure.*                         *care\nChrist was a maid, and shapen* as a man,                      *fashioned\nAnd many a saint, since that this world began,\nYet ever liv'd in perfect chastity.\nI will not vie* with no virginity.                              *contend\nLet them with bread of pured* wheat be fed,                    *purified\nAnd let us wives eat our barley bread.\nAnd yet with barley bread, Mark tell us can,<8>\nOur Lord Jesus refreshed many a man.\nIn such estate as God hath *cleped us,*                    *called us to\nI'll persevere, I am not precious,*                         *over-dainty\nIn wifehood I will use mine instrument\nAs freely as my Maker hath it sent.\nIf I be dangerous* God give me sorrow;            *sparing of my favours\nMine husband shall it have, both eve and morrow,\nWhen that him list come forth and pay his debt.\nA husband will I have, I *will no let,*         *will bear no hindrance*\nWhich shall be both my debtor and my thrall,*                     *slave\nAnd have his tribulation withal\nUpon his flesh, while that I am his wife.\nI have the power during all my life\nUpon his proper body, and not he;\nRight thus th' apostle told it unto me,\nAnd bade our husbands for to love us well;\nAll this sentence me liketh every deal.*                           *whit\n\nUp start the Pardoner, and that anon;\n\"Now, Dame,\" quoth he, \"by God and by Saint John,\nYe are a noble preacher in this case.\nI was about to wed a wife, alas!\nWhat? should I bie* it on my flesh so dear?                  *suffer for\nYet had I lever* wed no wife this year.\"                         *rather\n\"Abide,\"* quoth she; \"my tale is not begun             *wait in patience\nNay, thou shalt drinken of another tun\nEre that I go, shall savour worse than ale.\nAnd when that I have told thee forth my tale\nOf tribulation in marriage,\nOf which I am expert in all mine age,\n(This is to say, myself hath been the whip),\nThen mayest thou choose whether thou wilt sip\nOf *thilke tunne,* that I now shall broach.                   *that tun*\nBeware of it, ere thou too nigh approach,\nFor I shall tell examples more than ten:\nWhoso will not beware by other men,\nBy him shall other men corrected be:\nThese same wordes writeth Ptolemy;\nRead in his Almagest, and take it there.\"\n\"Dame, I would pray you, if your will it were,\"\nSaide this Pardoner, \"as ye began,\nTell forth your tale, and spare for no man,\nAnd teach us younge men of your practique.\"\n\"Gladly,\" quoth she, \"since that it may you like.\nBut that I pray to all this company,\nIf that I speak after my fantasy,\nTo take nought agrief* what I may say;                         *to heart\nFor mine intent is only for to play.\n\nNow, Sirs, then will I tell you forth my tale.\nAs ever may I drinke wine or ale\nI shall say sooth; the husbands that I had\nThree of them were good, and two were bad\nThe three were goode men, and rich, and old\n*Unnethes mighte they the statute hold*      *they could with difficulty\nIn which that they were bounden unto me.                   obey the law*\nYet wot well what I mean of this, pardie.*                       *by God\nAs God me help, I laugh when that I think\nHow piteously at night I made them swink,*                       *labour\nBut, *by my fay, I told of it no store:*         *by my faith, I held it\nThey had me giv'n their land and their treasor,           of no account*\nMe needed not do longer diligence\nTo win their love, or do them reverence.\nThey loved me so well, by God above,\nThat I *tolde no dainty* of their love.              *cared nothing for*\nA wise woman will busy her ever-in-one*                      *constantly\nTo get their love, where that she hath none.\nBut, since I had them wholly in my hand,\nAnd that they had me given all their land,\nWhy should I take keep* them for to please,                        *care\nBut* it were for my profit, or mine ease?                        *unless\nI set them so a-worke, by my fay,\nThat many a night they sange, well-away!\nThe bacon was not fetched for them, I trow,\nThat some men have in Essex at Dunmow.<9>\nI govern'd them so well after my law,\nThat each of them full blissful was and fawe*                      *fain\nTo bringe me gay thinges from the fair.\nThey were full glad when that I spake them fair,\nFor, God it wot, I *chid them spiteously.*        *rebuked them angrily*\nNow hearken how I bare me properly.\n\nYe wise wives, that can understand,\nThus should ye speak, and *bear them wrong on hand,*          *make them\nFor half so boldely can there no man                    believe falsely*\nSwearen and lien as a woman can.\n(I say not this by wives that be wise,\n*But if* it be when they them misadvise.)*     *unless* *act unadvisedly\nA wise wife, if that she can* her good,                           *knows\nShall *beare them on hand* the cow is wood,          *make them believe*\nAnd take witness of her owen maid\nOf their assent: but hearken how I said.\n\"Sir olde  kaynard,<10> is this thine array?\nWhy is my neigheboure's wife so gay?\nShe is honour'd *over all where* she go'th,                 *wheresoever\nI sit at home, I have no *thrifty cloth.*                 *good clothes*\nWhat dost thou at my neigheboure's house?\nIs she so fair? art thou so amorous?\nWhat rown'st* thou with our maid? benedicite,                *whisperest\nSir olde lechour, let thy japes* be.                             *tricks\nAnd if I have a gossip, or a friend\n(Withoute guilt), thou chidest as a fiend,\nIf that I walk or play unto his house.\nThou comest home as drunken as a mouse,\nAnd preachest on thy bench, with evil prefe:*                     *proof\nThou say'st to me, it is a great mischief\nTo wed a poore woman, for costage:*                             *expense\nAnd if that she be rich, of high parage;*                   * birth <11>\nThen say'st thou, that it is a tormentry\nTo suffer her pride and melancholy.\nAnd if that she be fair, thou very knave,\nThou say'st that every holour* will her have;               *whoremonger\nShe may no while in chastity abide,\nThat is assailed upon every side.\nThou say'st some folk desire us for richess,\nSome for our shape, and some for our fairness,\nAnd some, for she can either sing or dance,\nAnd some for gentiless and dalliance,\nSome for her handes and her armes smale:\nThus goes all to the devil, by thy tale;\nThou say'st, men may not keep a castle wall\nThat may be so assailed *over all.*                         *everywhere*\nAnd if that she be foul, thou say'st that she\nCoveteth every man that she may see;\nFor as a spaniel she will on him leap,\nTill she may finde some man her to cheap;*                          *buy\nAnd none so grey goose goes there in the lake,\n(So say'st thou) that will be without a make.*                     *mate\nAnd say'st, it is a hard thing for to weld                *wield, govern\nA thing that no man will, *his thankes, held.*  *hold with his goodwill*\nThus say'st thou, lorel,* when thou go'st to bed,      *good-for-nothing\nAnd that no wise man needeth for to wed,\nNor no man that intendeth unto heaven.\nWith wilde thunder dint* and fiery leven**          * stroke **lightning\nMote* thy wicked necke be to-broke.                                 *may\nThou say'st, that dropping houses, and eke smoke,\nAnd chiding wives, make men to flee\nOut of their owne house; ah! ben'dicite,\nWhat aileth such an old man for to chide?\nThou say'st, we wives will our vices hide,\nTill we be fast,* and then we will them shew.                    *wedded\nWell may that be a proverb of a shrew.*             *ill-tempered wretch\nThou say'st, that oxen, asses, horses, hounds,\nThey be *assayed at diverse stounds,*                 *tested at various\nBasons and lavers, ere that men them buy,                        seasons\nSpoones, stooles, and all such husbandry,\nAnd so be pots, and clothes, and array,*                        *raiment\nBut folk of wives make none assay,\nTill they be wedded, -- olde dotard shrew! --\nAnd then, say'st thou, we will our vices shew.\nThou say'st also, that it displeaseth me,\nBut if * that thou wilt praise my beauty,                        *unless\nAnd but* thou pore alway upon my face,                           *unless\nAnd call me faire dame in every place;\nAnd but* thou make a feast on thilke** day                *unless **that\nThat I was born, and make me fresh and gay;\nAnd but thou do to my norice* honour,                        *nurse <12>\nAnd to my chamberere* within my bow'r,                     *chamber-maid\nAnd to my father's folk, and mine allies;*                    *relations\nThus sayest thou, old barrel full of lies.\nAnd yet also of our prentice Jenkin,\nFor his crisp hair, shining as gold so fine,\nAnd for he squireth me both up and down,\nYet hast thou caught a false suspicioun:\nI will him not, though thou wert dead to-morrow.\nBut tell me this, why hidest thou, *with sorrow,*      *sorrow on thee!*\nThe keyes of thy chest away from me?\nIt is my good* as well as thine, pardie.                       *property\nWhat, think'st to make an idiot of our dame?\nNow, by that lord that called is Saint Jame,\nThou shalt not both, although that thou wert wood,*             *furious\nBe master of my body, and my good,*                            *property\nThe one thou shalt forego, maugre* thine eyen.              *in spite of\nWhat helpeth it of me t'inquire and spyen?\nI trow thou wouldest lock me in thy chest.\nThou shouldest say, 'Fair wife, go where thee lest;\nTake your disport; I will believe no tales;\nI know you for a true wife, Dame Ales.'*                          *Alice\nWe love no man, that taketh keep* or charge                        *care\nWhere that we go; we will be at our large.\nOf alle men most blessed may he be,\nThe wise astrologer Dan* Ptolemy,                                  *Lord\nThat saith this proverb in his Almagest:<13>\n'Of alle men his wisdom is highest,\nThat recketh not who hath the world in hand.\nBy this proverb thou shalt well understand,\nHave thou enough, what thar* thee reck or care           *needs, behoves\nHow merrily that other folkes fare?\nFor certes, olde dotard, by your leave,\nYe shall have [pleasure] <14> right enough at eve.\nHe is too great a niggard that will werne*                       *forbid\nA man to light a candle at his lantern;\nHe shall have never the less light, pardie.\nHave thou enough, thee thar* not plaine** thee          *need **complain\nThou say'st also, if that we make us gay\nWith clothing and with precious array,\nThat it is peril of our chastity.\nAnd yet, -- with sorrow! -- thou enforcest thee,\nAnd say'st these words in the apostle's name:\n'In habit made with chastity and shame*                         *modesty\nYe women shall apparel you,' quoth he,<15>\n'And not in tressed hair and gay perrie,*                        *jewels\nAs pearles, nor with gold, nor clothes rich.'\nAfter thy text nor after thy rubrich\nI will not work as muchel as a gnat.\nThou say'st also, I walk out like a cat;\nFor whoso woulde singe the catte's skin\nThen will the catte well dwell in her inn;*                       *house\nAnd if the catte's skin be sleek and gay,\nShe will not dwell in house half a day,\nBut forth she will, ere any day be daw'd,\nTo shew her skin, and go a caterwaw'd.*                    *caterwauling\nThis is to say, if I be gay, sir shrew,\nI will run out, my borel* for to shew.            *apparel, fine clothes\nSir olde fool, what helpeth thee to spyen?\nThough thou pray Argus with his hundred eyen\nTo be my wardecorps,* as he can best                         *body-guard\nIn faith he shall not keep me, *but me lest:*          *unless I please*\nYet could I *make his beard,* so may I the.         *make a jest of him*\n\n\"Thou sayest eke, that there be thinges three,                   *thrive\nWhich thinges greatly trouble all this earth,\nAnd that no wighte may endure the ferth:*                        *fourth\nO lefe* sir shrew, may Jesus short** thy life.       *pleasant **shorten\nYet preachest thou, and say'st, a hateful wife\nY-reckon'd is for one of these mischances.\nBe there *none other manner resemblances*              *no other kind of\nThat ye may liken your parables unto,                        comparison*\nBut if a silly wife be one of tho?*                               *those\nThou likenest a woman's love to hell;\nTo barren land where water may not dwell.\nThou likenest it also to wild fire;\nThe more it burns, the more it hath desire\nTo consume every thing that burnt will be.\nThou sayest, right as wormes shend* a tree,                     *destroy\nRight so a wife destroyeth her husbond;\nThis know they well that be to wives bond.\"\n\nLordings, right thus, as ye have understand,\n*Bare I stiffly mine old husbands on hand,*          *made them believe*\nThat thus they saiden in their drunkenness;\nAnd all was false, but that I took witness\nOn Jenkin, and upon my niece also.\nO Lord! the pain I did them, and the woe,\n'Full guilteless, by Godde's sweete pine;*                         *pain\nFor as a horse I coulde bite and whine;\nI coulde plain,* an'** I was in the guilt,       *complain **even though\nOr elles oftentime I had been spilt*                             *ruined\nWhoso first cometh to the nilll, first grint;*                *is ground\nI plained first, so was our war y-stint.*                       *stopped\nThey were full glad to excuse them full blive*                  *quickly\nOf things that they never *aguilt their live.*     *were guilty in their\n                                                                  lives*\nOf wenches would I *beare them on hand,*           *falsely accuse them*\nWhen that for sickness scarcely might they stand,\nYet tickled I his hearte for that he\nWeen'd* that I had of him so great cherte:**     *though **affection<16>\nI swore that all my walking out by night\nWas for to espy wenches that he dight:*                         *adorned\nUnder that colour had I many a mirth.\nFor all such wit is given us at birth;\nDeceit, weeping, and spinning, God doth give\nTo women kindly, while that they may live.                    *naturally\nAnd thus of one thing I may vaunte me,\nAt th' end I had the better in each degree,\nBy sleight, or force, or by some manner thing,\nAs by continual murmur or grudging,*                        *complaining\nNamely* a-bed, there hadde they mischance,                   *especially\nThere would I chide, and do them no pleasance:\nI would no longer in the bed abide,\nIf that I felt his arm over my side,\nTill he had made his ransom unto me,\nThen would I suffer him do his nicety.*                      *folly <17>\nAnd therefore every man this tale I tell,\nWin whoso may, for all is for to sell;\nWith empty hand men may no hawkes lure;\nFor winning would I all his will endure,\nAnd make me a feigned appetite,\nAnd yet in bacon* had I never delight:               *i.e. of Dunmow <9>\nThat made me that I ever would them chide.\nFor, though the Pope had sitten them beside,\nI would not spare them at their owen board,\nFor, by my troth, I quit* them word for word                     *repaid\nAs help me very God omnipotent,\nThough I right now should make my testament\nI owe them not a word, that is not quit*                         *repaid\nI brought it so aboute by my wit,\nThat they must give it up, as for the best\nOr elles had we never been in rest.\nFor, though he looked as a wood* lion,                          *furious\nYet should he fail of his conclusion.\nThen would I say, \"Now, goode lefe* tak keep**              *dear **heed\nHow meekly looketh Wilken oure sheep!\nCome near, my spouse, and let me ba* thy cheek                *kiss <18>\nYe shoulde be all patient and meek,\nAnd have a *sweet y-spiced* conscience,                   *tender, nice*\nSince ye so preach of Jobe's patience.\nSuffer alway, since ye so well can preach,\nAnd but* ye do, certain we shall you teach*                      *unless\nThat it is fair to have a wife in peace.\nOne of us two must bowe* doubteless:                           *give way\nAnd since a man is more reasonable\nThan woman is, ye must be suff'rable.\nWhat aileth you to grudge* thus and groan?                     *complain\nIs it for ye would have my [love] <14> alone?\nWhy, take it all: lo, have it every deal,*                         *whit\nPeter! <19> shrew* you but ye love it well                        *curse\nFor if I woulde sell my *belle chose*,                 *beautiful thing*\nI coulde walk as fresh as is a rose,\nBut I will keep it for your owen tooth.\nYe be to blame, by God, I say you sooth.\"\nSuch manner wordes hadde we on hand.\n\nNow will I speaken of my fourth husband.\nMy fourthe husband was a revellour;\nThis is to say, he had a paramour,\nAnd I was young and full of ragerie,*                        *wantonness\nStubborn and strong, and jolly as a pie.*                        *magpie\nThen could I dance to a harpe smale,\nAnd sing, y-wis,* as any nightingale,                         *certainly\nWhen I had drunk a draught of sweete wine.\nMetellius, the foule churl, the swine,\nThat with a staff bereft his wife of life\nFor she drank wine, though I had been his wife,\nNever should he have daunted me from drink:\nAnd, after wine, of Venus most I think.\nFor all so sure as cold engenders hail,\nA liquorish mouth must have a liquorish tail.\nIn woman vinolent* is no defence,**            *full of wine *resistance\nThis knowe lechours by experience.\nBut, lord Christ, when that it rememb'reth me\nUpon my youth, and on my jollity,\nIt tickleth me about mine hearte-root;\nUnto this day it doth mine hearte boot,*                           *good\nThat I have had my world as in my time.\nBut age, alas! that all will envenime,*                *poison, embitter\nHath me bereft my beauty and my pith:*                           *vigour\nLet go; farewell; the devil go therewith.\nThe flour is gon, there is no more to tell,\nThe bran, as I best may, now must I sell.\nBut yet to be right merry will I fand.*                             *try\nNow forth to tell you of my fourth husband,\nI say, I in my heart had great despite,\nThat he of any other had delight;\nBut he was quit,* by God and by Saint Joce:<21>     *requited, paid back\nI made for him of the same wood a cross;\nNot of my body in no foul mannere,\nBut certainly I made folk such cheer,\nThat in his owen grease I made him fry\nFor anger, and for very jealousy.\nBy God, in earth I was his purgatory,\nFor which I hope his soul may be in glory.\nFor, God it wot, he sat full oft and sung,\nWhen that his shoe full bitterly him wrung.*                    *pinched\nThere was no wight, save God and he, that wist\nIn many wise how sore I did him twist.<20>\nHe died when I came from Jerusalem,\nAnd lies in grave under the *roode beam:*                        *cross*\nAlthough his tomb is not so curious\nAs was the sepulchre of Darius,\nWhich that Apelles wrought so subtlely.\nIt is but waste to bury them preciously.\nLet him fare well, God give his soule rest,\nHe is now in his grave and in his chest.\n\nNow of my fifthe husband will I tell:\nGod let his soul never come into hell.\nAnd yet was he to me the moste shrew;*              *cruel, ill-tempered\nThat feel I on my ribbes all *by rew,*                         *in a row\nAnd ever shall, until mine ending day.\nBut in our bed he was so fresh and gay,\nAnd therewithal so well he could me glose,*                     *flatter\nWhen that he woulde have my belle chose,\nThough he had beaten me on every bone,\nYet could he win again my love anon.\nI trow, I lov'd him better, for that he\nWas of his love so dangerous* to me.                 *sparing, difficult\nWe women have, if that I shall not lie,\nIn this matter a quainte fantasy.\nWhatever thing we may not lightly have,\nThereafter will we cry all day and crave.\nForbid us thing, and that desire we;\nPress on us fast, and thenne will we flee.\nWith danger* utter we all our chaffare;**      *difficulty **merchandise\nGreat press at market maketh deare ware,\nAnd too great cheap is held at little price;\nThis knoweth every woman that is wise.\nMy fifthe husband, God his soule bless,\nWhich that I took for love and no richess,\nHe some time was *a clerk of Oxenford,*            *a scholar of Oxford*\nAnd had left school, and went at home to board\nWith my gossip,* dwelling in oure town:                       *godmother\nGod have her soul, her name was Alisoun.\nShe knew my heart, and all my privity,\nBet than our parish priest, so may I the.*                       *thrive\nTo her betrayed I my counsel all;\nFor had my husband pissed on a wall,\nOr done a thing that should have cost his life,\nTo her, and to another worthy wife,\nAnd to my niece, which that I loved well,\nI would have told his counsel every deal.*                          *jot\nAnd so I did full often, God it wot,\nThat made his face full often red and hot\nFor very shame, and blam'd himself, for he\nHad told to me so great a privity.*                              *secret\nAnd so befell that ones in a Lent\n(So oftentimes I to my gossip went,\nFor ever yet I loved to be gay,\nAnd for to walk in March, April, and May\nFrom house to house, to heare sundry tales),\nThat Jenkin clerk, and my gossip, Dame Ales,\nAnd I myself, into the fieldes went.\nMine husband was at London all that Lent;\nI had the better leisure for to play,\nAnd for to see, and eke for to be sey*                             *seen\nOf lusty folk; what wist I where my grace*                       *favour\nWas shapen for to be, or in what place?                       *appointed\nTherefore made I my visitations\nTo vigilies,* and to processions,                     *festival-eves<22>\nTo preachings eke, and to these pilgrimages,\nTo plays of miracles, and marriages,\nAnd weared upon me gay scarlet gites.*                            *gowns\nThese wormes, nor these mothes, nor these mites\nOn my apparel frett* them never a deal**                     *fed **whit\nAnd know'st thou why? for they were used* well.                    *worn\nNow will I telle forth what happen'd me:\nI say, that in the fieldes walked we,\nTill truely we had such dalliance,\nThis clerk and I, that of my purveyance*                      *foresight\nI spake to him, and told him how that he,\nIf I were widow, shoulde wedde me.\nFor certainly, I say for no bobance,*                      *boasting<23>\nYet was I never without purveyance*                           *foresight\nOf marriage, nor of other thinges eke:\nI hold a mouse's wit not worth a leek,\nThat hath but one hole for to starte* to,<24>                    *escape\nAnd if that faile, then is all y-do.*                              *done\n[*I bare him on hand* he had enchanted me          *falsely assured him*\n(My dame taughte me that subtilty);\nAnd eke I said, I mette* of him all night,                      *dreamed\nHe would have slain me, as I lay upright,\nAnd all my bed was full of very blood;\nBut yet I hop'd that he should do me good;\nFor blood betoken'd gold, as me was taught.\nAnd all was false, I dream'd of him right naught,\nBut as I follow'd aye my dame's lore,\nAs well of that as of other things more.] <25>\nBut now, sir, let me see, what shall I sayn?\nAha! by God, I have my tale again.\nWhen that my fourthe husband was on bier,\nI wept algate* and made a sorry cheer,**           *always **countenance\nAs wives must, for it is the usage;\nAnd with my kerchief covered my visage;\nBut, for I was provided with a make,*                              *mate\nI wept but little, that I undertake*                            *promise\nTo churche was mine husband borne a-morrow\nWith neighebours that for him made sorrow,\nAnd Jenkin, oure clerk, was one of tho:*                          *those\nAs help me God, when that I saw him go\nAfter the bier, methought he had a pair\nOf legges and of feet so clean and fair,\nThat all my heart I gave unto his hold.*                        *keeping\nHe was, I trow, a twenty winter old,\nAnd I was forty, if I shall say sooth,\nBut yet I had always a colte's tooth.\nGat-toothed* I was, and that became me well,              *see note <26>\nI had the print of Sainte Venus' seal.\n[As help me God, I was a lusty one,\nAnd fair, and rich, and young, and *well begone:*        *in a good way*\nFor certes I am all venerian*              *under the influence of Venus\nIn feeling, and my heart is martian;*       *under the influence of Mars\nVenus me gave my lust and liquorishness,\nAnd Mars gave me my sturdy hardiness.] <25>\nMine ascendant was Taure,* and Mars therein:                     *Taurus\nAlas, alas, that ever love was sin!\nI follow'd aye mine inclination\nBy virtue of my constellation:\nThat made me that I coulde not withdraw\nMy chamber of Venus from a good fellaw.\n[Yet have I Marte's mark upon my face,\nAnd also in another privy place.\nFor God so wisly* be my salvation,                            *certainly\nI loved never by discretion,\nBut ever follow'd mine own appetite,\nAll* were he short, or long, or black, or white,                *whether\nI took no keep,* so that he liked me,                              *heed\nHow poor he was, neither of what degree.] <25>\nWhat should I say? but that at the month's end\nThis jolly clerk Jenkin, that was so hend,*                   *courteous\nHad wedded me with great solemnity,\nAnd to him gave I all the land and fee\nThat ever was me given therebefore:\nBut afterward repented me full sore.\nHe woulde suffer nothing of my list.*                          *pleasure\nBy God, he smote me ones with his fist,\nFor that I rent out of his book a leaf,\nThat of the stroke mine eare wax'd all deaf.\nStubborn I was, as is a lioness,\nAnd of my tongue a very jangleress,*                             *prater\nAnd walk I would, as I had done beforn,\nFrom house to house, although he had it sworn:*            *had sworn to\nFor which he oftentimes woulde preach                         prevent it\nAnd me of olde Roman gestes* teach                              *stories\nHow that Sulpitius Gallus left his wife\nAnd her forsook for term of all his\nFor nought but open-headed* he her say**              *bare-headed **saw\nLooking out at his door upon a day.\nAnother Roman <27> told he me by name,\nThat, for his wife was at a summer game\nWithout his knowing, he forsook her eke.\nAnd then would he upon his Bible seek\nThat ilke* proverb of Ecclesiast,                                  *same\nWhere he commandeth, and forbiddeth fast,\nMan shall not suffer his wife go roll about.\nThen would he say right thus withoute doubt:\n\"Whoso that buildeth his house all of sallows,*                 *willows\nAnd pricketh his blind horse over the fallows,\nAnd suff'reth his wife to *go seeke hallows,*         *make pilgrimages*\nIs worthy to be hanged on the gallows.\"\nBut all for nought; I *sette not a haw*              *cared nothing for*\nOf his proverbs, nor of his olde saw;\nNor would I not of him corrected be.\nI hate them that my vices telle me,\nAnd so do more of us (God wot) than I.\nThis made him wood* with me all utterly;                        *furious\nI woulde not forbear* him in no case.                            *endure\nNow will I say you sooth, by Saint Thomas,\nWhy that I rent out of his book a leaf,\nFor which he smote me, so that I was deaf.\nHe had a book, that gladly night and day\nFor his disport he would it read alway;\nHe call'd it Valerie,<28> and Theophrast,\nAnd with that book he laugh'd alway full fast.\nAnd eke there was a clerk sometime at Rome,\nA cardinal, that highte Saint Jerome,\nThat made a book against Jovinian,\nWhich book was there; and eke Tertullian,\nChrysippus, Trotula, and Heloise,\nThat was an abbess not far from Paris;\nAnd eke the Parables* of Solomon,                              *Proverbs\nOvide's Art, <29> and bourdes* many one;                          *jests\nAnd alle these were bound in one volume.\nAnd every night and day was his custume\n(When he had leisure and vacation\nFrom other worldly occupation)\nTo readen in this book of wicked wives.\nHe knew of them more legends and more lives\nThan be of goodde wives in the Bible.\nFor, trust me well, it is an impossible\nThat any clerk will speake good of wives,\n(*But if* it be of holy saintes' lives)                          *unless\nNor of none other woman never the mo'.\nWho painted the lion, tell it me, who?\nBy God, if women haddde written stories,\nAs clerkes have within their oratories,\nThey would have writ of men more wickedness\nThan all the mark of Adam <30> may redress\nThe children of Mercury and of Venus,<31>\nBe in their working full contrarious.\nMercury loveth wisdom and science,\nAnd Venus loveth riot and dispence.*                       *extravagance\nAnd for their diverse disposition,\nEach falls in other's exaltation.\nAs thus, God wot, Mercury is desolate\nIn Pisces, where Venus is exaltate,\nAnd Venus falls where Mercury is raised. <32>\nTherefore no woman by no clerk is praised.\nThe clerk, when he is old, and may not do\nOf Venus' works not worth his olde shoe,\nThen sits he down, and writes in his dotage,\nThat women cannot keep their marriage.\nBut now to purpose, why I tolde thee\nThat I was beaten for a book, pardie.\n\nUpon a night Jenkin, that was our sire,*                        *goodman\nRead on his book, as he sat by the fire,\nOf Eva first, that for her wickedness\nWas all mankind brought into wretchedness,\nFor which that Jesus Christ himself was slain,\nThat bought us with his hearte-blood again.\nLo here express of women may ye find\nThat woman was the loss of all mankind.\nThen read he me how Samson lost his hairs\nSleeping, his leman cut them with her shears,\nThrough whiche treason lost he both his eyen.\nThen read he me, if that I shall not lien,\nOf Hercules, and of his Dejanire,\nThat caused him to set himself on fire.\nNothing forgot he of the care and woe\nThat Socrates had with his wives two;\nHow Xantippe cast piss upon his head.\nThis silly man sat still, as he were dead,\nHe wip'd his head, and no more durst he sayn,\nBut, \"Ere the thunder stint* there cometh rain.\"                 *ceases\nOf Phasiphae, that was queen of Crete,\nFor shrewedness* he thought the tale sweet.                  *wickedness\nFy, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,\nOf her horrible lust and her liking.\nOf Clytemnestra, for her lechery\nThat falsely made her husband for to die,\nHe read it with full good devotion.\nHe told me eke, for what occasion\nAmphiorax at Thebes lost his life:\nMy husband had a legend of his wife\nEryphile, that for an ouche* of gold                      *clasp, collar\nHad privily unto the Greekes told,\nWhere that her husband hid him in a place,\nFor which he had at Thebes sorry grace.\nOf Luna told he me, and of Lucie;\nThey bothe made their husbands for to die,\nThat one for love, that other was for hate.\nLuna her husband on an ev'ning late\nEmpoison'd had, for that she was his foe:\nLucia liquorish lov'd her husband so,\nThat, for he should always upon her think,\nShe gave him such a manner* love-drink,                         *sort of\nThat he was dead before it were the morrow:\nAnd thus algates* husbands hadde sorrow.                         *always\nThen told he me how one Latumeus\nComplained to his fellow Arius\nThat in his garden growed such a tree,\nOn which he said how that his wives three\nHanged themselves for heart dispiteous.\n\"O leve* brother,\" quoth this Arius,                               *dear\n\"Give me a plant of thilke* blessed tree,                          *that\nAnd in my garden planted shall it be.\"\nOf later date of wives hath he read,\nThat some have slain their husbands in their bed,\nAnd let their *lechour dight them* all the night,      *lover ride them*\nWhile that the corpse lay on the floor upright:\nAnd some have driven nails into their brain,\nWhile that they slept, and thus they have them slain:\nSome have them given poison in their drink:\nHe spake more harm than hearte may bethink.\nAnd therewithal he knew of more proverbs,\nThan in this world there groweth grass or herbs.\n\"Better (quoth he) thine habitation\nBe with a lion, or a foul dragon,\nThan with a woman using for to chide.\nBetter (quoth he) high in the roof abide,\nThan with an angry woman in the house,\nThey be so wicked and contrarious:\nThey hate that their husbands loven aye.\"\nHe said, \"A woman cast her shame away\nWhen she cast off her smock;\" and farthermo',\n\"A fair woman, but* she be chaste also,                          *except\nIs like a gold ring in a sowe's nose.\nWho coulde ween,* or who coulde suppose                           *think\nThe woe that in mine heart was, and the pine?*                     *pain\nAnd when I saw that he would never fine*                         *finish\nTo readen on this cursed book all night,\nAll suddenly three leaves have I plight*                        *plucked\nOut of his book, right as he read, and eke\nI with my fist so took him on the cheek,\nThat in our fire he backward fell adown.\nAnd he up start, as doth a wood* lion,                          *furious\nAnd with his fist he smote me on the head,\nThat on the floor I lay as I were dead.\nAnd when he saw how still that there I lay,\nHe was aghast, and would have fled away,\nTill at the last out of my swoon I braid,*                         *woke\n\"Oh, hast thou slain me, thou false thief?\" I said\n\"And for my land thus hast thou murder'd me?\nEre I be dead, yet will I kisse thee.\"\nAnd near he came, and kneeled fair adown,\nAnd saide\", \"Deare sister Alisoun,\nAs help me God, I shall thee never smite:\nThat I have done it is thyself to wite,*                          *blame\nForgive it me, and that I thee beseek.\"*                        *beseech\nAnd yet eftsoons* I hit him on the cheek,            *immediately; again\nAnd saidde, \"Thief, thus much am I awreak.*                     *avenged\nNow will I die, I may no longer speak.\"\n\nBut at the last, with muche care and woe\nWe fell accorded* by ourselves two:                              *agreed\nHe gave me all the bridle in mine hand\nTo have the governance of house and land,\nAnd of his tongue, and of his hand also.\nI made him burn his book anon right tho.*                          *then\nAnd when that I had gotten unto me\nBy mast'ry all the sovereignety,\nAnd that he said, \"Mine owen true wife,\nDo *as thee list,* the term of all thy life,           *as pleases thee*\nKeep thine honour, and eke keep mine estate;\nAfter that day we never had debate.\nGod help me so, I was to him as kind\nAs any wife from Denmark unto Ind,\nAnd also true, and so was he to me:\nI pray to God that sits in majesty\nSo bless his soule, for his mercy dear.\nNow will I say my tale, if ye will hear. --\n\nThe Friar laugh'd when he had heard all this:\n\"Now, Dame,\" quoth he, \"so have I joy and bliss,\nThis is a long preamble of a tale.\"\nAnd when the Sompnour heard the Friar gale,*                      *speak\n\"Lo,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"Godde's armes two,\nA friar will intermete* him evermo':                     *interpose <33>\nLo, goode men, a fly and eke a frere\nWill fall in ev'ry dish and eke mattere.\nWhat speak'st thou of perambulation?*                          *preamble\nWhat? amble or trot; or peace, or go sit down:\nThou lettest* our disport in this mattere.\"                  *hinderesst\n\"Yea, wilt thou so, Sir Sompnour?\" quoth the Frere;\n\"Now by my faith I shall, ere that I go,\nTell of a Sompnour such a tale or two,\nThat all the folk shall laughen in this place.\"\n\"Now do, else, Friar, I beshrew* thy face,\"                       *curse\nQuoth this Sompnour; \"and I beshrewe me,\nBut if* I telle tales two or three                               *unless\nOf friars, ere I come to Sittingbourne,\nThat I shall make thine hearte for to mourn:\nFor well I wot thy patience is gone.\"\nOur Hoste cried, \"Peace, and that anon;\"\nAnd saide, \"Let the woman tell her tale.\nYe fare* as folk that drunken be of ale.                         *behave\nDo, Dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.\"\n\"All ready, sir,\" quoth she, \"right as you lest,*                *please\nIf I have licence of this worthy Frere.\"\n\"Yes, Dame,\" quoth he, \"tell forth, and I will hear.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Wife of Bath's Tale\n\n\n1. Among the evidences that Chaucer's great work was left\nincomplete, is the absence of any link of connexion between the\nWife of Bath's Prologue and Tale, and what goes before. This\ndeficiency has in some editions caused the Squire's and the\nMerchant's Tales to be interposed between those of the Man of\nLaw and the Wife of Bath; but in the Merchant's Tale there is\ninternal proof that it was told after the jolly Dame's.  Several\nmanuscripts contain verses designed to serve as a connexion;\nbut they are evidently not Chaucer's, and it is unnecessary to\ngive them here. Of this Prologue, which may fairly be regarded\nas a distinct autobiographical tale, Tyrwhitt says: \"The\nextraordinary length of it, as well as the vein of pleasantry that\nruns through it, is very suitable to the character of the speaker.\nThe greatest part must have been of Chaucer's own invention,\nthough one may plainly see that he had been reading the popular\ninvectives against marriage and women in general; such as the\n'Roman de la Rose,'  'Valerius ad Rufinum, De non Ducenda\nUxore,' ('Valerius to Rufinus, on not being ruled by one's wife')\nand particularly 'Hieronymus contra Jovinianum.' ('Jerome\nagainst Jovinianus')  St Jerome, among other things designed to\ndiscourage marriage, has inserted in his treatise a long passage\nfrom 'Liber Aureolus Theophrasti de Nuptiis.' ('Theophrastus's\nGolden Book of Marriage').\"\n\n2. A great part of the marriage service used to be performed in\nthe church-porch.\n\n3. Jesus and the Samaritan woman: John iv. 13.\n\n4. Dan: Lord; Latin, \"dominus.\"  Another reading is \"the wise\nman, King Solomon.\"\n\n5. Defended: forbade; French, \"defendre,\" to prohibit.\n\n6. Dart: the goal; a spear or dart was set up to mark the point of\nvictory.\n\n7. \"But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and\nsilver, but also of wood and of earth; and some to honour, and\nsome to dishonour.\" -- 2 Tim. ii 20.\n\n8. Jesus feeding the multitude with barley bread: Mark vi. 41,\n42.\n\n9. At Dunmow prevailed the custom of giving, amid much\nmerry making, a flitch of bacon to the married pair who had\nlived together for a year without quarrel or regret. The same\ncustom prevailed of old in Bretagne.\n\n10. \"Cagnard,\" or \"Caignard,\" a French term of reproach,\noriginally derived from \"canis,\" a dog.\n\n11. Parage: birth, kindred; from Latin, \"pario,\" I beget.\n\n12. Norice: nurse; French, \"nourrice.\"\n\n13. This and the previous quotation from Ptolemy are due to\nthe Dame's own fancy.\n\n14. (Transcriber's note: Some Victorian censorship here. The\nword given in [brackets] should be \"queint\" i.e. \"cunt\".)\n\n15. Women should not adorn themselves:  see I Tim. ii. 9.\n\n16. Cherte: affection; from French, \"cher,\" dear.\n\n17. Nicety: folly; French, \"niaiserie.\"\n\n18. Ba: kiss; from French, \"baiser.\"\n\n19. Peter!: by Saint Peter! a common adjuration, like Marie!\nfrom the Virgin's name.\n\n20. St. Joce: or Judocus, a saint of Ponthieu, in France.\n\n21. \"An allusion,\" says Mr Wright, \"to the story of the Roman\nsage who, when blamed for divorcing his wife, said that a shoe\nmight appear outwardly to fit well, but no one but the wearer\nknew where it pinched.\"\n\n22. Vigilies: festival-eves; see note 33 to the Prologue to the\nTales.\n\n23. Bobance: boasting; Ben Jonson's braggart, in \"Every Man in\nhis Humour,\" is named Bobadil.\n\n24. \"I hold a mouse's wit not worth a leek,\n     That hath but one hole for to starte to\"\n A very old proverb in French, German, and Latin.\n\n25. The lines in brackets are only in some of the manuscripts.\n\n26. Gat-toothed: gap-toothed; goat-toothed; or cat- or separate\ntoothed. See note 41 to the prologue to the Tales.\n\n27. Sempronius Sophus, of whom Valerius Maximus tells in his\nsixth book.\n\n28. The tract of Walter Mapes against marriage, published\nunder the title of \"Epistola Valerii ad Rufinum.\"\n\n29. \"Ars Amoris.\"\n\n30. All the mark of Adam: all who bear the mark of Adam i.e.\nall men.\n\n31. The Children of Mercury and Venus: those born under the\ninfluence of the respective planets.\n\n32. A planet, according to the old astrologers, was in\n\"exaltation\" when in the sign of the Zodiac in which it exerted\nits strongest influence; the opposite sign, in which it was\nweakest, was called its \"dejection.\"  Venus being strongest in\nPisces, was weakest in Virgo; but in Virgo Mercury was in\n\"exaltation.\"\n\n33. Intermete: interpose; French, \"entremettre.\"\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nIn olde dayes of the king Arthour,\nOf which that Britons speake great honour,\nAll was this land full fill'd of faerie;*                       *fairies\nThe Elf-queen, with her jolly company,\nDanced full oft in many a green mead\nThis was the old opinion, as I read;\nI speak of many hundred years ago;\nBut now can no man see none elves mo',\nFor now the great charity and prayeres\nOf limitours,* and other holy freres,                *begging friars <2>\nThat search every land and ev'ry stream\nAs thick as motes in the sunne-beam,\nBlessing halls, chambers, kitchenes, and  bowers,\nCities and burghes, castles high and towers,\nThorpes* and barnes, shepens** and dairies,      *villages <3> **stables\nThis makes that there be now no faeries:\nFor *there as* wont to walke was an elf,                         *where*\nThere walketh now the limitour himself,\nIn undermeles* and in morrowings**,             *evenings <4>\t**mornings\nAnd saith his matins and his holy things,\nAs he goes in his limitatioun.*                        *begging district\nWomen may now go safely up and down,\nIn every bush, and under every tree;\nThere is none other incubus <5> but he;\nAnd he will do to them no dishonour.\n\nAnd so befell it, that this king Arthour\nHad in his house a lusty bacheler,\nThat on a day came riding from river: <6>\nAnd happen'd, that, alone as she was born,\nHe saw a maiden walking him beforn,\nOf which maiden anon, maugre* her head,                     *in spite of\nBy very force he reft her maidenhead:\nFor which oppression was such clamour,\nAnd such pursuit unto the king Arthour,\nThat damned* was this knight for to be dead                   *condemned\nBy course of law, and should have lost his head;\n(Paraventure such was the statute tho),*                           *then\nBut that the queen and other ladies mo'\nSo long they prayed the king of his grace,\nTill he his life him granted in the place,\nAnd gave him to the queen, all at her will\nTo choose whether she would him save or spill*                  *destroy\nThe queen thanked the king with all her might;\nAnd, after this, thus spake she to the knight,\nWhen that she saw her time upon a day.\n\"Thou standest yet,\" quoth she, \"in such array,*             *a position\nThat of thy life yet hast thou no surety;\nI grant thee life, if thou canst tell to me\nWhat thing is it that women most desiren:\nBeware, and keep thy neck-bone from the iron*         *executioner's axe\nAnd if thou canst not tell it me anon,\nYet will I give thee leave for to gon\nA twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lear*                        *learn\nAn answer suffisant* in this mattere.                      *satisfactory\nAnd surety will I have, ere that thou pace,*                         *go\nThy body for to yielden in this place.\"\nWoe was the knight, and sorrowfully siked;*                      *sighed\nBut what? he might not do all as him liked.\nAnd at the last he chose him for to wend,*                       *depart\nAnd come again, right at the yeare's end,\nWith such answer as God would him purvey:*                      *provide\nAnd took his leave, and wended forth his way.\n\nHe sought in ev'ry house and ev'ry place,\nWhere as he hoped for to finde grace,\nTo learne what thing women love the most:\nBut he could not arrive in any coast,\nWhere as he mighte find in this mattere\nTwo creatures *according in fere.*                   *agreeing together*\nSome said that women loved best richess,\nSome said honour, and some said jolliness,\nSome rich array, and some said lust* a-bed,                    *pleasure\nAnd oft time to be widow and be wed.\nSome said, that we are in our heart most eased\nWhen that we are y-flatter'd and y-praised.\nHe *went full nigh the sooth,* I will not lie;           *came very near\nA man shall win us best with flattery;                        the truth*\nAnd with attendance, and with business\nBe we y-limed,* bothe more and less.              *caught with bird-lime\nAnd some men said that we do love the best\nFor to be free, and do *right as us lest,*          *whatever we please*\nAnd that no man reprove us of our vice,\nBut say that we are wise, and nothing nice,*                *foolish <7>\nFor truly there is none among us all,\nIf any wight will *claw us on the gall,*                  *see note <8>*\nThat will not kick, for that he saith us sooth:\nAssay,* and he shall find it, that so do'th.                        *try\nFor be we never so vicious within,\nWe will be held both wise and clean of sin.\nAnd some men said, that great delight have we\nFor to be held stable and eke secre,*                          *discreet\nAnd in one purpose steadfastly to dwell,\nAnd not bewray* a thing that men us tell.                     *give away\nBut that tale is not worth a rake-stele.*                   *rake-handle\nPardie, we women canne nothing hele,*                          *hide <9>\nWitness on Midas; will ye hear the tale?\nOvid, amonges other thinges smale*                                *small\nSaith, Midas had, under his longe hairs,\nGrowing upon his head two ass's ears;\nThe whiche vice he hid, as best he might,\nFull subtlely from every man's sight,\nThat, save his wife, there knew of it no mo';\nHe lov'd her most, and trusted her also;\nHe prayed her, that to no creature\nShe woulde tellen of his disfigure.\nShe swore him, nay, for all the world to win,\nShe would not do that villainy or sin,\nTo make her husband have so foul a name:\nShe would not tell it for her owen shame.\nBut natheless her thoughte that she died,\nThat she so longe should a counsel hide;\nHer thought it swell'd so sore about her heart\nThat needes must some word from her astart\nAnd, since she durst not tell it unto man\nDown to a marish fast thereby she ran,\nTill she came there, her heart was all afire:\nAnd, as a bittern bumbles* in the mire,           *makes a humming noise\nShe laid her mouth unto the water down\n\"Bewray me not, thou water, with thy soun'\"\nQuoth she, \"to thee I tell it, and no mo',\nMine husband hath long ass's eares two!\nNow is mine heart all whole; now is it out;\nI might no longer keep it, out of doubt.\"\nHere may ye see, though we a time abide,\nYet out it must, we can no counsel hide.\nThe remnant of the tale, if ye will hear,\nRead in Ovid, and there ye may it lear.*                          *learn\n\nThis knight, of whom my tale is specially,\nWhen that he saw he might not come thereby,\nThat is to say, what women love the most,\nWithin his breast full sorrowful was his ghost.*                 *spirit\nBut home he went, for he might not sojourn,\nThe day was come, that homeward he must turn.\nAnd in his way it happen'd him to ride,\nIn all his care,* under a forest side,                 *trouble, anxiety\nWhere as he saw upon a dance go\nOf ladies four-and-twenty, and yet mo',\nToward this ilke* dance he drew full yern,**        *same **eagerly <10>\nThe hope that he some wisdom there should learn;\nBut certainly, ere he came fully there,\nY-vanish'd was this dance, he knew not where;\nNo creature saw he that bare life,\nSave on the green he sitting saw a wife,\nA fouler wight there may no man devise.*                  *imagine, tell\nAgainst* this knight this old wife gan to rise,                 *to meet\nAnd said, \"Sir Knight, hereforth* lieth no way.               *from here\nTell me what ye are seeking, by your fay.\nParaventure it may the better be:\nThese olde folk know muche thing.\" quoth she.\nMy leve* mother,\" quoth this knight, \"certain,                     *dear\nI am but dead, but if* that I can sayn                           *unless\nWhat thing it is that women most desire:\nCould ye me wiss,* I would well *quite your hire.\"*       *instruct <11>\n\"Plight me thy troth here in mine hand,\" quoth she,         *reward you*\n\"The nexte thing that I require of thee\nThou shalt it do, if it be in thy might,\nAnd I will tell it thee ere it be night.\"\n\"Have here my trothe,\" quoth the knight; \"I grant.\"\n\"Thenne,\" quoth she, \"I dare me well avaunt,*             *boast, affirm\nThy life is safe, for I will stand thereby,\nUpon my life the queen will say as I:\nLet see, which is the proudest of them all,\nThat wears either a kerchief or a caul,\nThat dare say nay to that I shall you teach.\nLet us go forth withoute longer speech\nThen *rowned she a pistel* in his ear,          *she whispered a secret*\nAnd bade him to be glad, and have no fear.\n\nWhen they were come unto the court, this knight\nSaid, he had held his day, as he had hight,*                   *promised\nAnd ready was his answer, as he said.\nFull many a noble wife, and many a maid,\nAnd many a widow, for that they be wise, --\nThe queen herself sitting as a justice, --\nAssembled be, his answer for to hear,\nAnd afterward this knight was bid appear.\nTo every wight commanded was silence,\nAnd that the knight should tell in audience,\nWhat thing that worldly women love the best.\nThis knight he stood not still, as doth a beast,\nBut to this question anon answer'd\nWith manly voice, that all the court it heard,\n\"My liege lady, generally,\" quoth he,\n\"Women desire to have the sovereignty\nAs well over their husband as their love\nAnd for to be in mast'ry him above.\nThis is your most desire, though ye me kill,\nDo as you list, I am here at your will.\"\nIn all the court there was no wife nor maid\nNor widow, that contraried what he said,\nBut said, he worthy was to have his life.\nAnd with that word up start that olde wife\nWhich that the knight saw sitting on the green.\n\n\"Mercy,\" quoth she, \"my sovereign lady queen,\nEre that your court departe, do me right.\nI taughte this answer unto this knight,\nFor which he plighted me his trothe there,\nThe firste thing I would of him requere,\nHe would it do, if it lay in his might.\nBefore this court then pray I thee, Sir Knight,\"\nQuoth she, \"that thou me take unto thy wife,\nFor well thou know'st that I have kept* thy life.             *preserved\nIf I say false, say nay, upon thy fay.\"*                          *faith\nThis knight answer'd, \"Alas, and well-away!\nI know right well that such was my behest.*                     *promise\nFor Godde's love choose a new request\nTake all my good, and let my body go.\"\n\"Nay, then,\" quoth she, \"I shrew* us bothe two,                   *curse\nFor though that I be old, and foul, and poor,\nI n'ould* for all the metal nor the ore,                      *would not\nThat under earth is grave,* or lies above                        *buried\nBut if thy wife I were and eke thy love.\"\n\"My love?\" quoth he, \"nay, my damnation,\nAlas! that any of my nation\nShould ever so foul disparaged be.\nBut all for nought; the end is this, that he\nConstrained was, that needs he muste wed,\nAnd take this olde wife, and go to bed.\n\nNow woulde some men say paraventure\nThat for my negligence I do no cure*                      *take no pains\nTo tell you all the joy and all th' array\nThat at the feast was made that ilke* day.                         *same\nTo which thing shortly answeren I shall:\nI say there was no joy nor feast at all,\nThere was but heaviness and muche sorrow:\nFor privily he wed her on the morrow;\nAnd all day after hid him as an owl,\nSo woe was him, his wife look'd so foul\nGreat was the woe the knight had in his thought\nWhen he was with his wife to bed y-brought;\nHe wallow'd, and he turned to and fro.\nThis olde wife lay smiling evermo',\nAnd said, \"Dear husband, benedicite,\nFares every knight thus with his wife as ye?\nIs this the law of king Arthoures house?\nIs every knight of his thus dangerous?*           *fastidious, niggardly\nI am your owen love, and eke your wife\nI am she, which that saved hath your life\nAnd certes yet did I you ne'er unright.\nWhy fare ye thus with me this firste night?\nYe fare like a man had lost his wit.\nWhat is my guilt? for God's love tell me it,\nAnd it shall be amended, if I may.\"\n\"Amended!\" quoth this knight; \"alas, nay, nay,\nIt will not be amended, never mo';\nThou art so loathly, and so old also,\nAnd thereto* comest of so low a kind,                       *in addition\nThat little wonder though I  wallow and wind;*       *writhe, turn about\nSo woulde God, mine hearte woulde brest!\"*                        *burst\n\"Is this,\" quoth she, \"the cause of your unrest?\"\n\"Yea, certainly,\" quoth he; \"no wonder is.\"\n\"Now, Sir,\" quoth she, \"I could amend all this,\nIf that me list, ere it were dayes three,\n*So well ye mighte bear you unto me.*              *if you could conduct\nBut, for ye speaken of such gentleness                     yourself well\nAs is descended out of old richess,                          towards me*\nThat therefore shalle ye be gentlemen;\nSuch arrogancy is *not worth a hen.*                      *worth nothing\nLook who that is most virtuous alway,\n*Prive and apert,* and most intendeth aye        *in private and public*\nTo do the gentle deedes that he can;\nAnd take him for the greatest gentleman.\nChrist will,* we claim of him our gentleness,           *wills, requires\nNot of our elders* for their old richess.                     *ancestors\nFor though they gave us all their heritage,\nFor which we claim to be of high parage,*                *birth, descent\nYet may they not bequeathe, for no thing,\nTo none of us, their virtuous living\nThat made them gentlemen called to be,\nAnd bade us follow them in such degree.\nWell can the wise poet of Florence,\nThat highte Dante, speak of this sentence:*                   *sentiment\nLo, in such manner* rhyme is Dante's tale.                      *kind of\n'Full seld'* upriseth by his branches smale                      *seldom\nProwess of man, for God of his goodness\nWills that we claim of him our gentleness;' <12>\nFor of our elders may we nothing claim\nBut temp'ral things that man may hurt and maim.\nEke every wight knows this as well as I,\nIf gentleness were planted naturally\nUnto a certain lineage down the line,\nPrive and apert, then would they never fine*                      *cease\nTo do of gentleness the fair office\nThen might they do no villainy nor vice.\nTake fire, and bear it to the darkest house\nBetwixt this and the mount of Caucasus,\nAnd let men shut the doores, and go thenne,*                     *thence\nYet will the fire as fair and lighte brenne*                       *burn\nAs twenty thousand men might it behold;\n*Its office natural aye will it hold,*              *it will perform its\nOn peril of my life, till that it die.                     natural duty*\nHere may ye see well how that gentery*              *gentility, nobility\nIs not annexed to possession,\nSince folk do not their operation\nAlway, as doth the fire, lo, *in its kind*        *from its very nature*\nFor, God it wot, men may full often find\nA lorde's son do shame and villainy.\nAnd he that will have price* of his gent'ry,             *esteem, honour\nFor* he was boren of a gentle house,                            *because\nAnd had his elders noble and virtuous,\nAnd will himselfe do no gentle deedes,\nNor follow his gentle ancestry, that dead is,\nHe is not gentle, be he duke or earl;\nFor villain sinful deedes make a churl.\nFor gentleness is but the renomee*                               *renown\nOf thine ancestors, for their high bounte,*             *goodness, worth\nWhich is a strange thing to thy person:\nThy gentleness cometh from God alone.\nThen comes our very* gentleness of grace;                          *true\nIt was no thing bequeath'd us with our place.\nThink how noble, as saith Valerius,\nWas thilke* Tullius Hostilius,                                     *that\nThat out of povert' rose to high\nRead in Senec, and read eke in Boece,\nThere shall ye see express, that it no drede* is,                 *doubt\nThat he is gentle that doth gentle deedes.\nAnd therefore, leve* husband, I conclude,                          *dear\nAlbeit that mine ancestors were rude,\nYet may the highe God, -- and so hope I, --\nGrant me His grace to live virtuously:\nThen am I gentle when that I begin\nTo live virtuously, and waive* sin.                             *forsake\n\n\"And whereas ye of povert' me repreve,*                        *reproach\nThe highe God, on whom that we believe,\nIn wilful povert' chose to lead his life:\nAnd certes, every man, maiden, or wife\nMay understand that Jesus, heaven's king,\nNe would not choose a virtuous living.\n*Glad povert'* is an honest thing, certain;          *poverty cheerfully\nThis will Senec and other clerkes sayn                          endured*\nWhoso that *holds him paid of*  his povert',         *is satisfied with*\nI hold him rich though he hath not a shirt.\nHe that coveteth is a poore wight\nFor he would have what is not in his might\nBut he that nought hath, nor coveteth to have,\nIs rich, although ye hold him but a knave.*        *slave, abject wretch\n*Very povert' is sinne,* properly.        *the only true poverty is sin*\nJuvenal saith of povert' merrily:\nThe poore man, when he goes by the way\nBefore the thieves he may sing and play <13>\nPovert' is hateful good,<14> and, as I guess,\nA full great *bringer out of business;*           *deliver from trouble*\nA great amender eke of sapience\nTo him that taketh it in patience.\nPovert' is this, although it seem elenge*                  *strange <15>\nPossession that no wight will challenge\nPovert' full often, when a man is low,\nMakes him his God and eke himself to know\nPovert' a spectacle* is, as thinketh me            *a pair of spectacles\nThrough which he may his very* friendes see.                       *true\nAnd, therefore, Sir, since that I you not grieve,\nOf my povert' no more me repreve.*                             *reproach\n\"Now, Sir, of elde* ye repreve me:                                  *age\nAnd certes, Sir, though none authority*                    *text, dictum\nWere in no book, ye gentles of honour\nSay, that men should an olde wight honour,\nAnd call him father, for your gentleness;\nAnd authors shall I finden, as I guess.\nNow there ye say that I am foul and old,\nThen dread ye not to be a cokewold.*                            *cuckold\nFor filth, and elde, all so may I the,*                          *thrive\nBe greate wardens upon chastity.\nBut natheless, since I know your delight,\nI shall fulfil your wordly appetite.\nChoose now,\" quoth she, \"one of these thinges tway,\nTo have me foul and old till that I dey,*                           *die\nAnd be to you a true humble wife,\nAnd never you displease in all my life:\nOr elles will ye have me young and fair,\nAnd take your aventure of the repair*                            *resort\nThat shall be to your house because of me, --\nOr in some other place, it may well be?\nNow choose yourselfe whether that you liketh.\n\nThis knight adviseth* him and sore he siketh,**     *considered **sighed\nBut at the last he said in this mannere;\n\"My lady and my love, and wife so dear,\nI put me in your wise governance,\nChoose for yourself which may be most pleasance\nAnd most honour to you and me also;\nI *do no force* the whether of the two:                        *care not\nFor as you liketh, it sufficeth me.\"\n\"Then have I got the mastery,\" quoth she,\n\"Since I may choose and govern as me lest.\"*                    *pleases\n\"Yea, certes wife,\" quoth he, \"I hold it best.\"\n\"Kiss me,\" quoth she, \"we are no longer wroth,*             *at variance\nFor by my troth I will be to you both;\nThis is to say, yea, bothe fair and good.\nI pray to God that I may *sterve wood,*                        *die mad*\nBut* I to you be all so good and true,                           *unless\nAs ever was wife since the world was new;\nAnd but* I be to-morrow as fair to seen,                         *unless\nAs any lady, emperess or queen,\nThat is betwixt the East and eke the West\nDo with my life and death right as you lest.*                    *please\nCast up the curtain, and look how it is.\"\n\nAnd when the knight saw verily all this,\nThat she so fair was, and so young thereto,\nFor joy he hent* her in his armes two:                             *took\nHis hearte bathed in a bath of bliss,\nA thousand times *on row* he gan her kiss:               *in succession*\nAnd she obeyed him in every thing\nThat mighte do him pleasance or liking.\nAnd thus they live unto their lives' end\nIn  perfect joy; and Jesus Christ us send\nHusbandes meek and young, and fresh in bed,\nAnd grace to overlive them that we wed.\nAnd eke I pray Jesus to short their lives,\nThat will not be governed by their wives.\nAnd old and angry niggards of dispence,*                        *expense\nGod send them soon a very pestilence!\n\n\nNotes to the Wife of Bath's Tale\n\n\n1. It is not clear whence Chaucer derived this tale. Tyrwhitt\nthinks it was taken from the story of Florent, in the first book of\nGower's \"Confessio Amantis;\" or perhaps from an older\nnarrative from which Gower himself borrowed. Chaucer has\ncondensed and otherwise improved the fable, especially by\nlaying the scene, not in Sicily, but at the court of our own King\nArthur.\n\n2. Limitours: begging friars. See note 18 to the prologue to the\nTales.\n\n3. Thorpes: villages.  Compare German, \"Dorf,\"; Dutch,\n\"Dorp.\"\n\n4. Undermeles: evening-tides, afternoons; \"undern\" signifies the\nevening; and \"mele,\" corresponds to the German \"Mal\" or\n\"Mahl,\" time.\n\n5. Incubus: an evil spirit supposed to do violence to women; a\nnightmare.\n\n6. Where he had been hawking after waterfowl. Froissart says\nthat any one engaged in this sport \"alloit en riviere.\"\n\n7. Nice: foolish; French, \"niais.\"\n\n8. Claw us on the gall:  Scratch us on the sore place.  Compare,\n\"Let the galled jade wince.\" Hamlet iii. 2.\n\n9. Hele: hide; from Anglo-Saxon, \"helan,\" to hide, conceal.\n\n10. Yern: eagerly; German, \"gern.\"\n\n11. Wiss: instruct; German, \"weisen,\" to show or counsel.\n\n12. Dante, \"Purgatorio\", vii. 121.\n\n13. \"Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator\" -- \"Satires,\" x. 22.\n\n14. In a fabulous conference between the Emperor Adrian and\nthe philosopher Secundus, reported by Vincent of Beauvais,\noccurs the passage which Chaucer here paraphrases: -- \"Quid\nest Paupertas? Odibile bonum; sanitas mater; remotio Curarum;\nsapientae repertrix; negotium sine damno; possessio absque\ncalumnia; sine sollicitudinae felicitas.\" (What is Poverty? A\nhateful good; a mother of health; a putting away of cares;  a\ndiscoverer of wisdom; business without injury; ownership\nwithout calumny; happiness without anxiety)\n\n15. Elenge: strange; from French \"eloigner,\" to remove.\n\n\n\nTHE FRIAR'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.<1>\n\n\nThis worthy limitour, this noble Frere,\nHe made always a manner louring cheer*                      *countenance\nUpon the Sompnour; but for honesty*                            *courtesy\nNo villain word as yet to him spake he:\nBut at the last he said unto the Wife:\n\"Dame,\" quoth he, \"God give you right good life,\nYe have here touched, all so may I the,*                         *thrive\nIn school matter a greate difficulty.\nYe have said muche thing right well, I say;\nBut, Dame, here as we ride by the way,\nUs needeth not but for to speak of game,\nAnd leave authorities, in Godde's name,\nTo preaching, and to school eke of clergy.\nBut if it like unto this company,\nI will you of a Sompnour tell a game;\nPardie, ye may well knowe by the name,\nThat of a Sompnour may no good be said;\nI pray that none of you be *evil paid;*                   *dissatisfied*\nA Sompnour is a runner up and down\nWith mandements* for fornicatioun,                 *mandates, summonses*\nAnd is y-beat at every towne's end.\"\nThen spake our Host; \"Ah, sir, ye should be hend*         *civil, gentle\nAnd courteous, as a man of your estate;\nIn company we will have no debate:\nTell us your tale, and let the Sompnour be.\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Sompnour, \"let him say by me\nWhat so him list; when it comes to my lot,\nBy God, I shall him quiten* every groat!                    *pay him off\nI shall him telle what a great honour\nIt is to be a flattering limitour\nAnd his office I shall him tell y-wis\".\nOur Host answered, \"Peace, no more of this.\"\nAnd afterward he said unto the frere,\n\"Tell forth your tale, mine owen master dear.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Friar's tale\n\n\n1. On the Tale of the Friar, and that of the Sompnour which\nfollows, Tyrwhitt has remarked that they \"are well engrafted\nupon that of the Wife of Bath. The ill-humour which shows\nitself between these two characters is quite natural, as no two\nprofessions at that time were at more constant variance.  The\nregular clergy, and particularly the mendicant friars, affected a\ntotal exemption from all ecclesiastical jurisdiction,  except that\nof the Pope, which made them exceedingly obnoxious to the\nbishops and of course to all the inferior officers of the national\nhierarchy.\" Both tales, whatever their origin, are bitter satires\non the greed and worldliness of the Romish clergy.\n\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nWhilom* there was dwelling in my country                 *once on a time\nAn archdeacon, a man of high degree,\nThat boldely did execution,\nIn punishing of fornication,\nOf witchecraft, and eke of bawdery,\nOf defamation, and adultery,\nOf churche-reeves,* and of testaments,                    *churchwardens\nOf contracts, and of lack of sacraments,\nAnd eke of many another manner* crime,                          *sort of\nWhich needeth not rehearsen at this time,\nOf usury, and simony also;\nBut, certes, lechours did he greatest woe;\nThey shoulde singen, if that they were hent;*                    *caught\nAnd smale tithers<1> were foul y-shent,*         *troubled, put to shame\nIf any person would on them complain;\nThere might astert them no pecunial pain.<2>\nFor smalle tithes, and small offering,\nHe made the people piteously to sing;\nFor ere the bishop caught them with his crook,\nThey weren in the archedeacon's book;\nThen had he, through his jurisdiction,\nPower to do on them correction.\n\nHe had a Sompnour ready to his hand,\nA slier boy was none in Engleland;\nFor subtlely he had his espiaille,*                           *espionage\nThat taught him well where it might aught avail.\nHe coulde spare of lechours one or two,\nTo teache him to four and twenty mo'.\nFor, -- though this Sompnour wood* be as a hare, --        *furious, mad\nTo tell his harlotry I will not spare,\nFor we be out of their correction,\nThey have of us no jurisdiction,\nNe never shall have, term of all their lives.\n\n\"Peter; so be the women of the stives,\"*                          *stews\nQuoth this Sompnour, \"y-put out of our cure.\"*                     *care\n\n\"Peace, with mischance and with misaventure,\"\nOur Hoste said, \"and let him tell his tale.\nNow telle forth, and let the Sompnour gale,*              *whistle; bawl\nNor spare not, mine owen master dear.\"\n\nThis false thief, the Sompnour (quoth the Frere),\nHad always bawdes ready to his hand,\nAs any hawk to lure in Engleland,\nThat told him all the secrets that they knew, --\nFor their acquaintance was not come of new;\nThey were his approvers* privily.                             *informers\nHe took himself at great profit thereby:\nHis master knew not always what he wan.*                            *won\nWithoute mandement, a lewed* man                               *ignorant\nHe could summon, on pain of Christe's curse,\nAnd they were inly glad to fill his purse,\nAnd make him greate feastes at the nale.*                      *alehouse\nAnd right as Judas hadde purses smale,*                           *small\nAnd was a thief, right such a thief was he,\nHis master had but half *his duety.*                *what was owing him*\nHe was (if I shall give him his laud)\nA thief, and eke a Sompnour, and a bawd.\nAnd he had wenches at his retinue,\nThat whether that Sir Robert or Sir Hugh,\nOr Jack, or Ralph, or whoso that it were\nThat lay by them, they told it in his ear.\nThus were the wench and he of one assent;\nAnd he would fetch a feigned mandement,\nAnd to the chapter summon them both two,\nAnd pill* the man, and let the wenche go.                *plunder, pluck\nThen would he say, \"Friend, I shall for thy sake\nDo strike thee out of oure letters blake;*                        *black\nThee thar* no more as in this case travail;                        *need\nI am thy friend where I may thee avail.\"\nCertain he knew of bribers many mo'\nThan possible is to tell in yeare's two:\nFor in this world is no dog for the bow,<3>\nThat can a hurt deer from a whole know,\nBet* than this Sompnour knew a sly lechour,                      *better\nOr an adult'rer, or a paramour:\nAnd, for that was the fruit of all his rent,\nTherefore on it he set all his intent.\n\nAnd so befell, that once upon a day.\nThis Sompnour, waiting ever on his prey,\nRode forth to summon a widow, an old ribibe,<4>\nFeigning a cause, for he would have a bribe.\nAnd happen'd that he saw before him ride\nA gay yeoman under a forest side:\nA bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen,\nHe had upon a courtepy* of green,                         *short doublet\nA hat upon his head with fringes blake.*                          *black\n\"Sir,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"hail, and well o'ertake.\"\n\"Welcome,\" quoth he, \"and every good fellaw;\nWhither ridest thou under this green shaw?\"*                       shade\nSaide this yeoman; \"wilt thou far to-day?\"\nThis Sompnour answer'd him, and saide, \"Nay.\nHere faste by,\" quoth he, \"is mine intent\nTo ride, for to raisen up a rent,\nThat longeth to my lorde's duety.\"\n\"Ah! art thou then a bailiff?\" \"Yea,\" quoth he.\nHe durste not for very filth and shame\nSay that he was a Sompnour, for the name.\n\"De par dieux,\" <5> quoth this yeoman, \"leve* brother,             *dear\nThou art a bailiff, and I am another.\nI am unknowen, as in this country.\nOf thine acquaintance I will praye thee,\nAnd eke of brotherhood, if that thee list.*                      *please\nI have gold and silver lying in my chest;\nIf that thee hap to come into our shire,\nAll shall be thine, right as thou wilt desire.\"\n\"Grand mercy,\"* quoth this Sompnour, \"by my faith.\"        *great thanks\nEach in the other's hand his trothe lay'th,\nFor to be sworne brethren till they dey.*                        *die<6>\nIn dalliance they ride forth and play.\n\nThis Sompnour, which that was as full of jangles,*           *chattering\nAs full of venom be those wariangles,*               * butcher-birds <7>\nAnd ev'r inquiring upon every thing,\n\"Brother,\" quoth he, \"where is now your dwelling,\nAnother day if that I should you seech?\"*                   *seek, visit\nThis yeoman him answered in soft speech;\nBrother,\" quoth he, \"far in the North country,<8>\nWhere as I hope some time I shall thee see\nEre we depart I shall thee so well wiss,*                        *inform\nThat of mine house shalt thou never miss.\"\nNow, brother,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"I you pray,\nTeach me, while that we ride by the way,\n(Since that ye be a bailiff as am I,)\nSome subtilty, and tell me faithfully\nFor mine office how that I most may win.\nAnd *spare not* for conscience or for sin,             *conceal nothing*\nBut, as my brother, tell me how do ye.\"\nNow by my trothe, brother mine,\" said he,\nAs I shall tell to thee a faithful tale:\nMy wages be full strait and eke full smale;\nMy lord is hard to me and dangerous,*                         *niggardly\nAnd mine office is full laborious;\nAnd therefore by extortion I live,\nForsooth I take all that men will me give.\nAlgate* by sleighte, or by violence,                            *whether\nFrom year to year I win all my dispence;\nI can no better tell thee faithfully.\"\nNow certes,\" quoth this Sompnour,  \"so fare* I;                      *do\nI spare not to take, God it wot,\n*But if* it be too heavy or too hot.                            *unless*\nWhat I may get in counsel privily,\nNo manner conscience of that have I.\nN'ere* mine extortion, I might not live,                *were it not for\nFor of such japes* will I not be shrive.**           *tricks **confessed\nStomach nor conscience know I none;\nI shrew* these shrifte-fathers** every one.          *curse **confessors\nWell be we met, by God and by St Jame.\nBut, leve brother, tell me then thy name,\"\nQuoth this Sompnour.  Right in this meane while\nThis yeoman gan a little for to smile.\n\n\"Brother,\" quoth he, \"wilt thou that I thee tell?\nI am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,\nAnd here I ride about my purchasing,\nTo know where men will give me any thing.\n*My purchase is th' effect of all my rent*        *what I can gain is my\nLook how thou ridest for the same intent                   sole revenue*\nTo winne good, thou reckest never how,\nRight so fare I, for ride will I now\nInto the worlde's ende for a prey.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"benedicite! what say y'?\nI weened ye were a yeoman truly.                                *thought\nYe have a manne's shape as well as I\nHave ye then a figure determinate\nIn helle, where ye be in your estate?\"*                         *at home\n\"Nay, certainly,\" quoth he, there have we none,\nBut when us liketh we can take us one,\nOr elles make you seem* that we be shape                        *believe\nSometime like a man, or like an ape;\nOr like an angel can I ride or go;\nIt is no wondrous thing though it be so,\nA lousy juggler can deceive thee.\nAnd pardie, yet can I more craft* than he.\"              *skill, cunning\n\"Why,\" quoth the Sompnour, \"ride ye then or gon\nIn sundry shapes and not always in one?\"\n\"For we,\" quoth he, \"will us in such form make.\nAs most is able our prey for to take.\"\n\"What maketh you to have all this labour?\"\n\"Full many a cause, leve Sir Sompnour,\"\nSaide this fiend. \"But all thing hath a time;\nThe day is short and it is passed prime,\nAnd yet have I won nothing in this day;\nI will intend* to winning, if I may,                       *apply myself\nAnd not intend our thinges to declare:\nFor, brother mine, thy wit is all too bare\nTo understand, although I told them thee.\n*But for* thou askest why laboure we:                          *because*\nFor sometimes we be Godde's instruments\nAnd meanes to do his commandements,\nWhen that him list, upon his creatures,\nIn divers acts and in divers figures:\nWithoute him we have no might certain,\nIf that him list to stande thereagain.*                      *against it\nAnd sometimes, at our prayer have we leave\nOnly the body, not the soul, to grieve:\nWitness on Job, whom that we did full woe,\nAnd sometimes have we might on both the two, --\nThis is to say, on soul and body eke,\nAnd sometimes be we suffer'd for to seek\nUpon a man and do his soul unrest\nAnd not his body, and all is for the best,\nWhen he withstandeth our temptation,\nIt is a cause of his salvation,\nAlbeit that it was not our intent\nHe should be safe, but that we would him hent.*                   *catch\nAnd sometimes be we servants unto man,\nAs to the archbishop Saint Dunstan,\nAnd to th'apostle servant eke was I.\"\n\"Yet tell me,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"faithfully,\nMake ye you newe bodies thus alway\nOf th' elements?\" The fiend answered, \"Nay:\nSometimes we feign, and sometimes we arise\nWith deade bodies, in full sundry wise,\nAnd speak as reas'nably, and fair, and well,\nAs to the Pythoness<9> did Samuel:\nAnd yet will some men say it was not he.\nI *do no force of* your divinity.                    *set no value upon*\nBut one thing warn I thee, I will not jape,*                        jest\nThou wilt *algates weet* how we be shape:               *assuredly know*\nThou shalt hereafterward, my brother dear,\nCome, where thee needeth not of me to lear.*                      *learn\nFor thou shalt by thine own experience\n*Conne in a chair to rede of this sentence,*        *learn to understand\nBetter than Virgil, while he was alive,                what I have said*\nOr Dante also. <10> Now let us ride blive,*                     *briskly\nFor I will holde company with thee,\nTill it be so that thou forsake me.\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"that shall ne'er betide.\nI am a yeoman, that is known full wide;\nMy trothe will I hold, as in this case;\nFor though thou wert the devil Satanas,\nMy trothe will I hold to thee, my brother,\nAs I have sworn, and each of us to other,\nFor to be true brethren in this case,\nAnd both we go *abouten our purchase.*                  *seeking what we\nTake thou thy part, what that men will thee give,           may pick up*\nAnd I shall mine, thus may we bothe live.\nAnd if that any of us have more than other,\nLet him be true, and part it with his brother.\"\n\"I grante,\" quoth the devil, \"by my fay.\"\nAnd with that word they rode forth their way,\nAnd right at th'ent'ring of the towne's end,\nTo which this Sompnour shope* him for to wend,**            *shaped **go\nThey saw a cart, that charged was with hay,\nWhich that a carter drove forth on his way.\nDeep was the way, for which the carte stood:\nThe carter smote, and cried as he were wood,*                       *mad\n\"Heit Scot! heit Brok! what, spare ye for the stones?\nThe fiend (quoth he) you fetch body and bones,\nAs farforthly* as ever ye were foal'd,                             *sure\nSo muche woe as I have with you tholed.*                   *endured <11>\nThe devil have all, horses, and cart, and hay.\"\nThe Sompnour said, \"Here shall we have a prey,\"\nAnd near the fiend he drew, *as nought ne were,*          *as if nothing\nFull privily, and rowned* in his ear:                   were the matter*\n\"Hearken, my brother, hearken, by thy faith,                  *whispered\nHearest thou not, how that the carter saith?\nHent* it anon, for he hath giv'n it thee,                         *seize\nBoth hay and cart, and eke his capels* three.\"              *horses <12>\n\"Nay,\" quoth the devil, \"God wot, never a deal,*                    whit\nIt is not his intent, trust thou me well;\nAsk him thyself, if thou not trowest* me,                     *believest\nOr elles stint* a while and thou shalt see.\"                       *stop\nThe carter thwack'd his horses on the croup,\nAnd they began to drawen and to stoop.\n\"Heit now,\" quoth he; \"there, Jesus Christ you bless,\nAnd all his handiwork, both more and less!\nThat was well twight,* mine owen liart,** boy,        *pulled **grey<13>\nI pray God save thy body, and Saint Loy!\nNow is my cart out of the slough, pardie.\"\n\"Lo, brother,\" quoth the fiend, \"what told I thee?\nHere may ye see, mine owen deare brother,\nThe churl spake one thing, but he thought another.\nLet us go forth abouten our voyage;\nHere win I nothing upon this carriage.\"\n\nWhen that they came somewhat out of the town,\nThis Sompnour to his brother gan to rown;\n\"Brother,\" quoth he, \"here wons* an old rebeck,<14>              *dwells\nThat had almost as lief to lose her neck.\nAs for to give a penny of her good.\nI will have twelvepence, though that she be wood,*                  *mad\nOr I will summon her to our office;\nAnd yet, God wot, of her know I no vice.\nBut for thou canst not, as in this country,\nWinne thy cost, take here example of me.\"\nThis Sompnour clapped at the widow's gate:\n\"Come out,\" he said, \"thou olde very trate;*                  *trot <15>\nI trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee.\"\n\"Who clappeth?\" said this wife; \"benedicite,\nGod save you, Sir, what is your sweete will?\"\n\"I have,\" quoth he, \"of summons here a bill.\nUp* pain of cursing, looke that thou be                            *upon\nTo-morrow before our archdeacon's knee,\nTo answer to the court of certain things.\"\n\"Now Lord,\" quoth she, \"Christ Jesus, king of kings,\nSo wis1y* helpe me, *as I not may.*                *surely *as I cannot*\nI have been sick, and that full many a day.\nI may not go so far,\" quoth she, \"nor ride,\nBut I be dead, so pricketh it my side.\nMay I not ask a libel, Sir Sompnour,\nAnd answer there by my procuratour\nTo such thing as men would appose* me?\"                          *accuse\n\"Yes,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"pay anon, let see,\nTwelvepence to me, and I will thee acquit.\nI shall no profit have thereby but lit:*                         *little\nMy master hath the profit and not I.\nCome off, and let me ride hastily;\nGive me twelvepence, I may no longer tarry.\"\n\n\"Twelvepence!\" quoth she; \"now lady Sainte Mary\nSo wisly* help me out of care and sin,                           *surely\nThis wide world though that I should it win,\nNo have I not twelvepence within my hold.\nYe know full well that I am poor and old;\n*Kithe your almes* upon me poor wretch.\"             *show your charity*\n\"Nay then,\" quoth he, \"the foule fiend me fetch,\nIf I excuse thee, though thou should'st be spilt.\"*              *ruined\n\"Alas!\" quoth she, \"God wot, I have no guilt.\"\n\"Pay me,\" quoth he, \"or, by the sweet Saint Anne,\nAs I will bear away thy newe pan\nFor debte, which thou owest me of old, --\nWhen that thou madest thine husband cuckold, --\nI paid at home for thy correction.\"\n\"Thou liest,\" quoth she, \"by my salvation;\nNever was I ere now, widow or wife,\nSummon'd unto your court in all my life;\nNor never I was but of my body true.\nUnto the devil rough and black of hue\nGive I thy body and my pan also.\"\nAnd when the devil heard her curse so\nUpon her knees, he said in this mannere;\n\"Now, Mabily, mine owen mother dear,\nIs this your will in earnest that ye say?\"\n\"The devil,\" quoth she, \"so fetch him ere he dey,*                  *die\nAnd pan and all, but* he will him repent.\"                       *unless\n\"Nay, olde stoat,* that is not mine intent,\"                    *polecat\nQuoth this Sompnour, \"for to repente me\nFor any thing that I have had of thee;\nI would I had thy smock and every cloth.\"\n\"Now, brother,\" quoth the devil, \"be not wroth;\nThy body and this pan be mine by right.\nThou shalt with me to helle yet tonight,\nWhere thou shalt knowen of our privity*                         *secrets\nMore than a master of divinity.\"\n\nAnd with that word the foule fiend him hent.*                    *seized\nBody and soul, he with the devil went,\nWhere as the Sompnours have their heritage;\nAnd God, that maked after his image\nMankinde, save and guide us all and some,\nAnd let this Sompnour a good man become.\nLordings, I could have told you (quoth this Frere),\nHad I had leisure for this Sompnour here,\nAfter the text of Christ, and Paul, and John,\nAnd of our other doctors many a one,\nSuch paines, that your heartes might agrise,*              *be horrified\nAlbeit so, that no tongue may devise,* --                        *relate\nThough that I might a thousand winters tell, --\nThe pains of thilke* cursed house of hell                          *that\nBut for to keep us from that cursed place\nWake we, and pray we Jesus, of his grace,\nSo keep us from the tempter, Satanas.\nHearken this word, beware as in this case.\nThe lion sits *in his await* alway                   *on the watch* <16>\nTo slay the innocent, if that he may.\nDisposen aye your heartes to withstond\nThe fiend that would you make thrall and bond;\nHe may not tempte you over your might,\nFor Christ will be your champion and your knight;\nAnd pray, that this our Sompnour him repent\nOf his misdeeds ere that the fiend him hent.*                     *seize\n\n\nNotes to the Friar's Tale\n\n\n1. Small tithers:  people who did not pay their full tithes.  Mr\nWright remarks that \"the sermons of the friars in the fourteenth\ncentury were most frequently designed to impress the ahsolute\nduty of paying full tithes and offerings\".\n\n2. There might astert them no pecunial pain: they got off with\nno mere pecuniary punishment. (Transcriber's note: \"Astert\"\nmeans \"escape\".  An alternative reading of this line is \"there\nmight astert him no pecunial pain\" i.e. no fine ever escaped him\n(the archdeacon))\n\n3. A dog for the bow:  a dog attending a huntsman with bow\nand arrow.\n\n4. Ribibe: the name of a musical instrument; applied to an old\nwoman because of the shrillness of her voice.\n\n5. De par dieux: by the gods.\n\n6. See note 12 to the Knight's Tale.\n\n7. Wariangles: butcher-birds; which are very noisy and\nravenous, and tear in pieces the birds on which they prey; the\nthorn on which they do this was said to become poisonous.\n\n8. Medieval legends located hell in the North.\n\n9. The Pythoness: the witch, or woman, possesed with a\nprophesying spirit; from the Greek, \"Pythia.\"  Chaucer of\ncourse refers to the raising of Samuel's spirit by the witch of\nEndor.\n\n10. Dante and Virgil were both poets who had in fancy visited\nHell.\n\n11. Tholed: suffered, endured; \"thole\" is still used in Scotland in\nthe same sense.\n\n12. Capels: horses. See note 14 to the Reeve's Tale.\n\n13. Liart: grey; elsewhere applied by Chaucer to the hairs of an\nold man. So Burns, in the \"Cotter's Saturday Night,\" speaks of\nthe gray temples of \"the sire\" -- \"His lyart haffets wearing thin\nand bare.\"\n\n14. Rebeck: a kind of fiddle; used like \"ribibe,\" as a nickname\nfor a shrill old scold.\n\n15. Trot; a contemptuous term for an old woman who has\ntrotted about much, or who moves with quick short steps.\n\n16. In his await: on the watch; French, \"aux aguets.\"\n\n\n\nTHE SOMPNOUR'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nThe Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood,\nUpon this Friar his hearte was so wood,*                        *furious\nThat like an aspen leaf he quoke* for ire:             *quaked, trembled\n\"Lordings,\" quoth he, \"but one thing I desire;\nI you beseech, that of your courtesy,\nSince ye have heard this false Friar lie,\nAs suffer me I may my tale tell\nThis Friar boasteth that he knoweth hell,\nAnd, God it wot, that is but little wonder,\nFriars and fiends be but little asunder.\nFor, pardie, ye have often time heard tell,\nHow that a friar ravish'd was to hell\nIn spirit ones by a visioun,\nAnd, as an angel led him up and down,\nTo shew him all the paines that there were,\nIn all the place saw he not a frere;\nOf other folk he saw enough in woe.\nUnto the angel spake the friar tho;*                               *then\n'Now, Sir,' quoth he, 'have friars such a grace,\nThat none of them shall come into this place?'\n'Yes' quoth the angel; 'many a millioun:'\nAnd unto Satanas he led him down.\n'And now hath Satanas,' said he, 'a tail\nBroader than of a carrack<1> is the sail.\nHold up thy tail, thou Satanas,' quoth he,\n'Shew forth thine erse, and let the friar see\nWhere is the nest of friars in this place.'\nAnd *less than half a furlong way of space*            *immediately* <2>\nRight so as bees swarmen out of a hive,\nOut of the devil's erse there gan to drive\nA twenty thousand friars *on a rout.*                       *in a crowd*\nAnd throughout hell they swarmed all about,\nAnd came again, as fast as they may gon,\nAnd in his erse they creeped every one:\nHe clapt his tail again, and lay full still.\nThis friar, when he looked had his fill\nUpon the torments of that sorry place,\nHis spirit God restored of his grace\nInto his body again, and he awoke;\nBut natheless for feare yet he quoke,\nSo was the devil's erse aye in his mind;\nThat is his heritage, *of very kind*                *by his very nature*\nGod save you alle, save this cursed Frere;\nMy prologue will I end in this mannere.\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Sompnour's Tale\n\n\n1. Carrack: A great ship of burden used by the Portuguese; the\nname is from the Italian, \"cargare,\" to load\n\n2. In less than half a furlong way of space: immediately;\nliterally, in less time than it takes to walk half a furlong (110\nyards).\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nLordings, there is in Yorkshire, as I guess,\nA marshy country called Holderness,\nIn which there went a limitour about\nTo preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt.\nAnd so befell that on a day this frere\nHad preached at a church in his mannere,\nAnd specially, above every thing,\nExcited he the people in his preaching\nTo trentals, <1> and to give, for Godde's sake,\nWherewith men mighte holy houses make,\nThere as divine service is honour'd,\nNot there as it is wasted and devour'd,\nNor where it needeth not for to be given,\nAs to possessioners, <2> that may liven,\nThanked be God, in wealth and abundance.\n\"Trentals,\" said he, \"deliver from penance\nTheir friendes' soules, as well old as young,\nYea, when that they be hastily y-sung, --\nNot for to hold a priest jolly and gay,\nHe singeth not but one mass in a day.\n\"Deliver out,\" quoth he, \"anon the souls.\nFull hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owls*                     *awls\nTo be y-clawed, or to burn or bake: <3>\nNow speed you hastily, for Christe's sake.\"\nAnd when this friar had said all his intent,\nWith qui cum patre<4> forth his way he went,\nWhen folk in church had giv'n him what them lest;*              *pleased\nHe went his way, no longer would he rest,\nWith scrip and tipped staff, *y-tucked high:*      *with his robe tucked\nIn every house he gan to pore* and pry,                   up high* *peer\nAnd begged meal and cheese, or elles corn.\nHis fellow had a staff tipped with horn,\nA pair of tables* all of ivory,                         *writing tablets\nAnd a pointel* y-polish'd fetisly,**                  *pencil **daintily\nAnd wrote alway the names, as he stood;\nOf all the folk that gave them any good,\nAskaunce* that he woulde for them pray.                    *see note <5>\n\"Give us a bushel wheat, or malt, or rey,*                          *rye\nA Godde's kichel,* or a trip** of cheese,        *little cake<6> **scrap\nOr elles what you list, we may not chese;*                       *choose\nA Godde's halfpenny, <6> or a mass penny;\nOr give us of your brawn, if ye have any;\nA dagon* of your blanket, leve dame,                            *remnant\nOur sister dear, -- lo, here I write your name,--\nBacon or beef, or such thing as ye find.\"\nA sturdy harlot* went them aye behind,                   *manservant <7>\nThat was their hoste's man, and bare a sack,\nAnd what men gave them, laid it on his back\nAnd when that he was out at door, anon\nHe *planed away* the names every one,                       *rubbed out*\nThat he before had written in his tables:\nHe served them with nifles* and with fables. --             *silly tales\n\n\"Nay, there thou liest, thou Sompnour,\" quoth the Frere.\n\"Peace,\" quoth our Host, \"for Christe's mother dear;\nTell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all.\"\n\"So thrive I,\" quoth this Sompnour, \"so I shall.\" --\n\nSo long he went from house to house, till he\nCame to a house, where he was wont to be\nRefreshed more than in a hundred places\nSick lay the husband man, whose that the place is,\nBed-rid upon a couche low he lay:\n*\"Deus hic,\"* quoth he; \"O Thomas friend, good day,\"       *God be here*\nSaid this friar, all courteously and soft.\n\"Thomas,\" quoth he, \"God *yield it you,* full oft       *reward you for*\nHave I upon this bench fared full well,\nHere have I eaten many a merry meal.\"\nAnd from the bench he drove away the cat,\nAnd laid adown his potent* and his hat,                       *staff <8>\nAnd eke his scrip, and sat himself adown:\nHis fellow was y-walked into town\nForth with his knave,* into that hostelry                       *servant\nWhere as he shope* him that night to lie.              *shaped, purposed\n\n\"O deare master,\" quoth this sicke man,\n\"How have ye fared since that March began?\nI saw you not this fortenight and more.\"\n\"God wot,\" quoth he, \"labour'd have I full sore;\nAnd specially for thy salvation\nHave I said many a precious orison,\nAnd for mine other friendes, God them bless.\nI have this day been at your church at mess,*                      *mass\nAnd said sermon after my simple wit,\nNot all after the text of Holy Writ;\nFor it is hard to you, as I suppose,\nAnd therefore will I teach you aye the glose.*           *gloss, comment\nGlosing is a full glorious thing certain,\nFor letter slayeth, as we clerkes* sayn.                       *scholars\nThere have I taught them to be charitable,\nAnd spend their good where it is reasonable.\nAnd there I saw our dame; where is she?\"\n\"Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,\"\nSaide this man; \"and she will come anon.\"\n\"Hey master, welcome be ye by Saint John,\"\nSaide this wife; \"how fare ye heartily?\"\n\nThis friar riseth up full courteously,\nAnd her embraceth *in his armes narrow,*                        *closely\nAnd kiss'th her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow\nWith his lippes: \"Dame,\" quoth he, \"right well,\nAs he that is your servant every deal.*                            *whit\nThanked be God, that gave you soul and life,\nYet saw I not this day so fair a wife\nIn all the churche, God so save me,\"\n\"Yea, God amend defaultes, Sir,\" quoth she;\n\"Algates* welcome be ye, by my fay.\"                             *always\n\"Grand mercy, Dame; that have I found alway.\nBut of your greate goodness, by your leave,\nI woulde pray you that ye not you grieve,\nI will with Thomas speak *a little throw:*              *a little while*\nThese curates be so negligent and slow\nTo grope tenderly a conscience.\nIn shrift* and preaching is my diligence                     *confession\nAnd study in Peter's wordes and in Paul's;\nI walk and fishe Christian menne's souls,\nTo yield our Lord Jesus his proper rent;\nTo spread his word is alle mine intent.\"\n\"Now by your faith, O deare Sir,\" quoth she,\n\"Chide him right well, for sainte charity.\nHe is aye angry as is a pismire,*                                   *ant\nThough that he have all that he can desire,\nThough I him wrie* at night, and make him warm,                   *cover\nAnd ov'r him lay my leg and eke mine arm,\nHe groaneth as our boar that lies in sty:\nOther disport of him right none have I,\nI may not please him in no manner case.\"\n\"O Thomas, *je vous dis,* Thomas, Thomas,                   *I tell you*\nThis *maketh the fiend,* this must be amended.     *is the devil's work*\nIre is a thing that high God hath defended,*                  *forbidden\nAnd thereof will I speak a word or two.\"\n\"Now, master,\" quoth the wife, \"ere that I go,\nWhat will ye dine? I will go thereabout.\"\n\"Now, Dame,\" quoth he, \"je vous dis sans doute, <9>\nHad I not of a capon but the liver,\nAnd of your white bread not but a shiver,*                   *thin slice\nAnd after that a roasted pigge's head,\n(But I would that for me no beast were dead,)\nThen had I with you homely suffisance.\nI am a man of little sustenance.\nMy spirit hath its fost'ring in the Bible.\nMy body is aye so ready and penible*                        *painstaking\nTo wake,* that my stomach is destroy'd.                           *watch\nI pray you, Dame, that ye be not annoy'd,\nThough I so friendly you my counsel shew;\nBy God, I would have told it but to few.\"\n\"Now, Sir,\" quoth she, \"but one word ere I go;\nMy child is dead within these weeke's two,\nSoon after that ye went out of this town.\"\n\n\"His death saw I by revelatioun,\"\nSaid this friar, \"at home in our dortour.*               *dormitory <10>\nI dare well say, that less than half an hour\nMter his death, I saw him borne to bliss\nIn mine vision, so God me wiss.*                                 *direct\nSo did our sexton, and our fermerere,*                 *infirmary-keeper\nThat have been true friars fifty year, --\nThey may now, God be thanked of his love,\nMake their jubilee, and walk above.<12>\nAnd up I rose, and all our convent eke,\nWith many a teare trilling on my cheek,\nWithoute noise or clattering of bells,\nTe Deum was our song, and nothing else,\nSave that to Christ I bade an orison,\nThanking him of my revelation.\nFor, Sir and Dame, truste me right well,\nOur orisons be more effectuel,\nAnd more we see of Christe's secret things,\nThan *borel folk,* although that they be kings.             *laymen*<13>\nWe live in povert', and in abstinence,\nAnd borel folk in riches and dispence\nOf meat and drink, and in their foul delight.\nWe have this worlde's lust* all in despight**      * pleasure **contempt\nLazar and Dives lived diversely,\nAnd diverse guerdon* hadde they thereby.                         *reward\nWhoso will pray, he must fast and be clean,\nAnd fat his soul, and keep his body lean\nWe fare as saith th' apostle; cloth* and food                  *clothing\nSuffice us, although they be not full good.\nThe cleanness and the fasting of us freres\nMaketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres.\nLo, Moses forty days and forty night\nFasted, ere that the high God full of might\nSpake with him in the mountain of Sinai:\nWith empty womb* of fasting many a day                          *stomach\nReceived he the lawe, that was writ\nWith Godde's finger; and Eli,<14> well ye wit,*                    *know\nIn Mount Horeb, ere he had any speech\nWith highe God, that is our live's leech,*            *physician, healer\nHe fasted long, and was in contemplance.\nAaron, that had the temple in governance,\nAnd eke the other priestes every one,\nInto the temple when they shoulde gon\nTo praye for the people, and do service,\nThey woulde drinken in no manner wise\nNo drinke, which that might them drunken make,\nBut there in abstinence pray and wake,\nLest that they died: take heed what I say --\nBut* they be sober that for the people pray --                   *unless\nWare that, I say -- no more: for it sufficeth.\nOur Lord Jesus, as Holy Writ deviseth,*                        *narrates\nGave us example of fasting and prayeres:\nTherefore we mendicants, we sely* freres,                 *simple, lowly\nBe wedded to povert' and continence,\nTo charity, humbless, and abstinence,\nTo persecution for righteousness,\nTo weeping, misericorde,* and to cleanness.                  *compassion\nAnd therefore may ye see that our prayeres\n(I speak of us, we mendicants, we freres),\nBe to the highe God more acceptable\nThan youres, with your feastes at your table.\nFrom Paradise first, if I shall not lie,\nWas man out chased for his gluttony,\nAnd chaste was man in Paradise certain.\nBut hark now, Thomas, what I shall thee sayn;\nI have no text of it, as I suppose,\nBut I shall find it in *a manner glose;*             *a kind of comment*\nThat specially our sweet Lord Jesus\nSpake this of friars, when he saide thus,\n'Blessed be they that poor in spirit be'\nAnd so forth all the gospel may ye see,\nWhether it be liker our profession,\nOr theirs that swimmen in possession;\nFy on their pomp, and on their gluttony,\nAnd on their lewedness!  I them defy.\nMe thinketh they be like Jovinian,<15>\nFat as a whale, and walking as a swan;\nAll vinolent* as bottle in the spence;**      *full of wine **store-room\nTheir prayer is of full great reverence;\nWhen they for soules say the Psalm of David,\nLo, 'Buf' they say, Cor meum eructavit.<16>\nWho follow Christe's gospel and his lore*                      *doctrine\nBut we, that humble be, and chaste, and pore,*                     *poor\nWorkers of Godde's word, not auditours?*                        *hearers\nTherefore right as a hawk *upon a sours*                        *rising*\nUp springs into the air, right so prayeres\nOf charitable and chaste busy freres\n*Make their sours* to Godde's eares two.                          *rise*\nThomas, Thomas, so may I ride or go,\nAnd by that lord that called is Saint Ive,\n*N'ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive;*    *see note  <17>*\nIn our chapiter pray we day and night\nTo Christ, that he thee sende health and might,\nThy body for to *wielde hastily.*          *soon be able to move freely*\n\n\"God wot,\" quoth he, \"nothing thereof feel I;\nSo help me Christ, as I in fewe years\nHave spended upon *divers manner freres*       *friars of various sorts*\nFull many a pound, yet fare I ne'er the bet;*                    *better\nCertain my good have I almost beset:*                             *spent\nFarewell my gold, for it is all ago.\"*                             *gone\nThe friar answer'd, \"O Thomas, dost thou so?\nWhat needest thou diverse friars to seech?*                        *seek\nWhat needeth him that hath a perfect leech,*                     *healer\nTo seeken other leeches in the town?\nYour inconstance is your confusioun.\nHold ye then me, or elles our convent,\nTo praye for you insufficient?\nThomas, that jape* it is not worth a mite;                         *jest\nYour malady is *for we have too lite.*                  *because we have\nAh, give that convent half a quarter oats;                   too little*\nAnd give that convent four and twenty groats;\nAnd give that friar a penny, and let him go!\nNay, nay, Thomas, it may no thing be so.\nWhat is a farthing worth parted on twelve?\nLo, each thing that is oned* in himselve               *made one, united\nIs more strong than when it is y-scatter'd.\nThomas, of me thou shalt not be y-flatter'd,\nThou wouldest have our labour all for nought.\nThe highe God, that all this world hath wrought,\nSaith, that the workman worthy is his hire\nThomas, nought of your treasure I desire\nAs for myself, but that all our convent\nTo pray for you is aye so diligent:\nAnd for to builde Christe's owen church.\nThomas, if ye will learne for to wirch,*                           *work\nOf building up of churches may ye find\nIf it be good, in Thomas' life of Ind.<18>\nYe lie here full of anger and of ire,\nWith which the devil sets your heart on fire,\nAnd chide here this holy innocent\nYour wife, that is so meek and patient.\nAnd therefore trow* me, Thomas, if thee lest,**        *believe **please\nNe strive not with thy wife, as for the best.\nAnd bear this word away now, by thy faith,\nTouching such thing, lo, what the wise man saith:\n'Within thy house be thou no lion;\nTo thy subjects do none oppression;\nNor make thou thine acquaintance for to flee.'\nAnd yet, Thomas, eftsoones* charge I thee,                        *again\nBeware from ire that in thy bosom sleeps,\nWare from the serpent, that so slily creeps\nUnder the grass, and stingeth subtilly.\nBeware, my son, and hearken patiently,\nThat twenty thousand men have lost their lives\nFor striving with their lemans* and their wives.             *mistresses\nNow since ye have so holy and meek a wife,\nWhat needeth you, Thomas, to make strife?\nThere is, y-wis,* no serpent so cruel,                        *certainly\nWhen men tread on his tail nor half so fell,*                    *fierce\nAs woman is, when she hath caught an ire;\nVery* vengeance is then all her desire.                      *pure, only\nIre is a sin, one of the greate seven,\nAbominable to the God of heaven,\nAnd to himself it is destruction.\nThis every lewed* vicar and parson                             *ignorant\nCan say, how ire engenders homicide;\nIre is in sooth th' executor* of pride.                     *executioner\nI could of ire you say so muche sorrow,\nMy tale shoulde last until to-morrow.\nAnd therefore pray I God both day and ight,\nAn irous* man God send him little might.                     *passionate\nIt is great harm, and certes great pity\nTo set an irous man in high degree.\n\n\"Whilom* there was an irous potestate,**               *once **judge<19>\nAs saith Senec, that during his estate*                  *term of office\nUpon a day out rode knightes two;\nAnd, as fortune would that it were so,\nThe one of them came home, the other not.\nAnon the knight before the judge is brought,\nThat saide thus; 'Thou hast thy fellow slain,\nFor which I doom thee to the death certain.'\nAnd to another knight commanded he;\n'Go, lead him to the death, I charge thee.'\nAnd happened, as they went by the way\nToward the place where as he should dey,*                           *die\nThe knight came, which men weened* had been dead                *thought\nThen thoughte they it was the beste rede*                       *counsel\nTo lead them both unto the judge again.\nThey saide, 'Lord, the knight hath not y-slain\nHis fellow; here he standeth whole alive.'\n'Ye shall be dead,' quoth he, 'so may I thrive,\nThat is to say, both one, and two, and three.'\nAnd to the firste knight right thus spake he:\n'I damned thee, thou must algate* be dead:                *at all events\nAnd thou also must needes lose thine head,\nFor thou the cause art why thy fellow dieth.'\nAnd to the thirde knight right thus he sayeth,\n'Thou hast not done that I commanded thee.'\nAnd thus he did do slay them alle three.\n\nIrous Cambyses was eke dronkelew,*                           *a drunkard\nAnd aye delighted him to be a shrew.*             *vicious, ill-tempered\nAnd so befell, a lord of his meinie,*                             *suite\nThat loved virtuous morality,\nSaid on a day betwixt them two right thus:\n'A lord is lost, if he be vicious.\n[An irous man is like a frantic beast,\nIn which there is of wisdom *none arrest*;]                 *no control*\nAnd drunkenness is eke a foul record\nOf any man, and namely* of a lord.                           *especially\nThere is full many an eye and many an ear\n*Awaiting on* a lord, he knows not where.                      *watching\nFor Godde's love, drink more attemperly:*                   *temperately\nWine maketh man to lose wretchedly\nHis mind, and eke his limbes every one.'\n'The reverse shalt thou see,' quoth he, 'anon,\nAnd prove it by thine own experience,\nThat wine doth to folk no such offence.\nThere is no wine bereaveth me my might\nOf hand, nor foot, nor of mine eyen sight.'\nAnd for despite he dranke muche more\nA hundred part* than he had done before,                          *times\nAnd right anon this cursed irous wretch\nThis knighte's sone let* before him fetch,                       *caused\nCommanding him he should before him stand:\nAnd suddenly he took his bow in hand,\nAnd up the string he pulled to his ear,\nAnd with an arrow slew the child right there.\n'Now whether have I a sicker* hand or non?'**                *sure **not\nQuoth he; 'Is all my might and mind agone?\nHath wine bereaved me mine eyen sight?'\nWhy should I tell the answer of the knight?\nHis son was slain, there is no more to say.\nBeware therefore with lordes how ye play,*                  *use freedom\nSing placebo;<20> and I shall if I can,\n*But if* it be unto a poore man:                                 *unless\nTo a poor man men should his vices tell,\nBut not t' a lord, though he should go to hell.\nLo, irous Cyrus, thilke* Persian,                                  *that\nHow he destroy'd the river of Gisen,<21>\nFor that a horse of his was drowned therein,\nWhen that he wente Babylon to win:\nHe made that the river was so small,\nThat women mighte wade it *over all.*                        *everywhere\nLo, what said he, that so well teache can,\n'Be thou no fellow to an irous man,\nNor with no wood* man walke by the way,                         *furious\nLest thee repent;' I will no farther say.\n\n\"Now, Thomas, leve* brother, leave thine ire,                      *dear\nThou shalt me find as just as is as squire;\nHold not the devil's knife aye at thine heaat;\nThine anger doth thee all too sore smart;*                         *pain\nBut shew to me all thy confession.\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth the sicke man, \"by Saint Simon\nI have been shriven* this day of my curate;                   *confessed\nI have him told all wholly mine estate.\nNeedeth no more to speak of it, saith he,\nBut if me list of mine humility.\"\n\"Give me then of thy good to make our cloister,\"\nQuoth he, \"for many a mussel and many an oyster,\nWhen other men have been full well at ease,\nHath been our food, our cloister for to rese:*             *raise, build\nAnd yet, God wot, unneth* the foundement**        *scarcely **foundation\nPerformed is, nor of our pavement\nIs not a tile yet within our wones:*                         *habitation\nBy God, we owe forty pound for stones.\nNow help, Thomas, for *him that harrow'd hell,*             *Christ <22>\nFor elles must we oure bookes sell,\nAnd if ye lack our predication,\nThen goes this world all to destruction.\nFor whoso from this world would us bereave,\nSo God me save, Thomas, by your leave,\nHe would bereave out of this world the sun\nFor who can teach and worken as we conne?*               *know how to do\nAnd that is not of little time (quoth he),\nBut since Elijah was, and Elisee,*                               *Elisha\nHave friars been, that find I of record,\nIn charity, y-thanked be our Lord.\nNow, Thomas, help for sainte charity.\"\nAnd down anon he set him on his knee,\nThe sick man waxed well-nigh wood* for ire,                         *mad\nHe woulde that the friar had been a-fire\nWith his false dissimulation.\n\"Such thing as is in my possession,\"\nQuoth he, \"that may I give you and none other:\nYe say me thus, how that I am your brother.\"\n\"Yea, certes,\" quoth this friar, \"yea, truste well;\nI took our Dame the letter of our seal\"<23>\n\"Now well,\" quoth he, \"and somewhat shall I give\nUnto your holy convent while I live;\nAnd in thine hand thou shalt it have anon,\nOn this condition, and other none,\nThat thou depart* it so, my deare brother,                       *divide\nThat every friar have as much as other:\nThis shalt thou swear on thy profession,\nWithoute fraud or cavillation.\"*                              *quibbling\n\"I swear it,\" quoth the friar, \"upon my faith.\"\nAnd therewithal his hand in his he lay'th;\n\"Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack.\"\n\"Then put thine hand adown right by my back,\"\nSaide this man, \"and grope well behind,\nBeneath my buttock, there thou shalt find\nA thing, that I have hid in privity.\"\n\"Ah,\" thought this friar, \"that shall go with me.\"\nAnd down his hand he launched to the clift,*                      *cleft\nIn hope for to finde there a gift.\nAnd when this sicke man felte this frere\nAbout his taile groping there and here,\nAmid his hand he let the friar a fart;\nThere is no capel* drawing in a cart,                             *horse\nThat might have let a fart of such a soun'.\nThe friar up start, as doth a wood* lioun:                       *fierce\n\"Ah, false churl,\" quoth he, \"for Godde's bones,\nThis hast thou in despite done for the nones:*               *on purpose\nThou shalt abie* this fart, if that I may.\"                  *suffer for\nHis meinie,* which that heard of this affray,                  *servants\nCame leaping in, and chased out the frere,\nAnd forth he went with a full angry cheer*                  *countenance\nAnd fetch'd his fellow, there as lay his store:\nHe looked as it were a wilde boar,\nAnd grounde with his teeth, so was he wroth.\nA sturdy pace down to the court he go'th,\nWhere as there wonn'd* a man of great honour,                     *dwelt\nTo whom that he was always confessour:\nThis worthy man was lord of that village.\nThis friar came, as he were in a rage,\nWhere as this lord sat eating at his board:\nUnnethes* might the friar speak one word,               *with difficulty\nTill at the last he saide, \"God you see.\"*                         *save\n\nThis lord gan look, and said, \"Ben'dicite!\nWhat? Friar John, what manner world is this?\nI see well that there something is amiss;\nYe look as though the wood were full of thieves.\nSit down anon, and tell me what your grieve* is,       *grievance, grief\nAnd it shall be amended, if I may.\"\n\"I have,\" quoth he, \"had a despite to-day,\nGod *yielde you,* adown in your village,                     *reward you\nThat in this world is none so poor a page,\nThat would not have abominatioun\nOf that I have received in your town:\nAnd yet ne grieveth me nothing so sore,\nAs that the olde churl, with lockes hoar,\nBlasphemed hath our holy convent eke.\"\n\"Now, master,\" quoth this lord, \"I you beseek\" --\n\"No master, Sir,\" quoth he, \"but servitour,\nThough I have had in schoole that honour. <24>\nGod liketh not, that men us Rabbi call\nNeither in market, nor in your large hall.\"\n*\"No force,\"* quoth he; \"but tell me all your grief.\"        *no matter*\nSir,\" quoth this friar, \"an odious mischief\nThis day betid* is to mine order and me,                       *befallen\nAnd so par consequence to each degree\nOf holy churche, God amend it soon.\"\n\"Sir,\" quoth the lord, \"ye know what is to doon:*                    *do\n*Distemp'r you not,* ye be my confessour.             *be not impatient*\nYe be the salt of th' earth, and the savour;\nFor Godde's love your patience now hold;\nTell me your grief.\" And he anon him told\nAs ye have heard before, ye know well what.\nThe lady of the house aye stiller sat,\nTill she had hearde what the friar said,\n\"Hey, Godde's mother;\" quoth she, \"blissful maid,\nIs there ought elles? tell me faithfully.\"\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"how thinketh you thereby?\"\n\"How thinketh me?\" quoth she; \"so God me speed,\nI say, a churl hath done a churlish deed,\nWhat should I say?  God let him never the;*                      *thrive\nHis sicke head is full of vanity;\nI hold him in *a manner phrenesy.\"*                   *a sort of frenzy*\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"by God, I shall not lie,\nBut I in other wise may be awreke,*                            *revenged\nI shall defame him *ov'r all there* I speak;                   *wherever\nThis false blasphemour, that charged me\nTo parte that will not departed be,\nTo every man alike, with mischance.\"\n\nThe lord sat still, as he were in a trance,\nAnd in his heart he rolled up and down,\n\"How had this churl imaginatioun\nTo shewe such a problem to the frere.\nNever ere now heard I of such mattere;\nI trow* the Devil put it in his mind.                           *believe\nIn all arsmetrik* shall there no man find,                   *arithmetic\nBefore this day, of such a question.\nWho shoulde make a demonstration,\nThat every man should have alike his part\nAs of the sound and savour of a fart?\nO nice* proude churl, I shrew** his face.               *foolish **curse\nLo, Sires,\" quoth the lord, \"with harde grace,\nWho ever heard of such a thing ere now?\nTo every man alike? tell me how.\nIt is impossible, it may not be.\nHey nice* churl, God let him never the.**              *foolish **thrive\nThe rumbling of a fart, and every soun',\nIs but of air reverberatioun,\nAnd ever wasteth lite* and lite* away;                           *little\nThere is no man can deemen,* by my fay,                   *judge, decide\nIf that it were departed* equally.                              *divided\nWhat? lo, my churl, lo yet how shrewedly*           *impiously, wickedly\nUnto my confessour to-day he spake;\nI hold him certain a demoniac.\nNow eat your meat, and let the churl go play,\nLet him go hang himself a devil way!\"\n\nNow stood the lorde's squier at the board,\nThat carv'd his meat, and hearde word by word\nOf all this thing, which that I have you said.\n\"My lord,\" quoth he, \"be ye not *evil paid,*                *displeased*\nI coulde telle, for a gowne-cloth,*                   *cloth for a gown*\nTo you, Sir Friar, so that ye be not wrot,\nHow that this fart should even* dealed be                       *equally\nAmong your convent, if it liked thee.\"\n\"Tell,\" quoth the lord, \"and thou shalt have anon\nA gowne-cloth, by God and by Saint John.\"\n\"My lord,\" quoth he, \"when that the weather is fair,\nWithoute wind, or perturbing of air,\nLet* bring a cart-wheel here into this hall,                      cause*\nBut looke that it have its spokes all;\nTwelve spokes hath a cart-wheel commonly;\nAnd bring me then twelve friars, know ye why?\nFor thirteen is a convent as I guess;<25>\nYour confessor here, for his worthiness,\nShall *perform up* the number of his convent.                 *complete*\nThen shall they kneel adown by one assent,\nAnd to each spoke's end, in this mannere,\nFull sadly* lay his nose shall a frere;             *carefully, steadily\nYour noble confessor there, God him save,\nShall hold his nose upright under the nave.\nThen shall this churl, with belly stiff and tought*               *tight\nAs any tabour,* hither be y-brought;                               *drum\nAnd set him on the wheel right of this cart\nUpon the nave, and make him let a fart,\nAnd ye shall see, on peril of my life,\nBy very proof that is demonstrative,\nThat equally the sound of it will wend,*                             *go\nAnd eke the stink, unto the spokes' end,\nSave that this worthy man, your confessour'\n(Because he is a man of great honour),\nShall have the firste fruit, as reason is;\nThe noble usage of friars yet it is,\nThe worthy men of them shall first be served,\nAnd certainly he hath it well deserved;\nHe hath to-day taught us so muche good\nWith preaching in the pulpit where he stood,\nThat I may vouchesafe, I say for me,\nHe had the firste smell of fartes three;\nAnd so would all his brethren hardily;\nHe beareth him so fair and holily.\"\n\nThe lord, the lady, and each man, save the frere,\nSaide, that Jankin spake in this mattere\nAs well as Euclid, or as Ptolemy.\nTouching the churl, they said that subtilty\nAnd high wit made him speaken as he spake;\nHe is no fool, nor no demoniac.\nAnd Jankin hath y-won a newe gown;\nMy tale is done, we are almost at town.\n\n\nNotes to the Sompnour's Tale\n\n\n1. Trentals: The money given to the priests for performing thirty\nmasses for the dead, either in succession or on the anniversaries\nof their death; also the masses themselves, which were very\nprofitable to the clergy.\n\n2. Possessioners: The regular religious orders, who had lands\nand fixed revenues; while the friars, by their vows, had to\ndepend on voluntary contributions, though their need suggested\nmany modes of evading the prescription.\n\n3. In Chaucer's day the most material notions about the tortures\nof hell prevailed, and were made the most of by the clergy, who\npreyed on the affection and fear of the survivors, through the\ningenious doctrine of purgatory. Old paintings and illuminations\nrepresent the dead as torn by hooks, roasted in fires, boiled in\npots, and subjected to many other physical torments.\n\n4. Qui cum patre: \"Who with the father\"; the closing words of\nthe final benediction pronounced at Mass.\n\n5. Askaunce: The word now means sideways or asquint; here it\nmeans \"as if;\" and its force is probably to suggest that the\nsecond friar, with an ostentatious stealthiness, noted down the\nnames of the liberal, to make them believe that they would be\nremembered in the holy beggars' orisons.\n\n6. A Godde's kichel\/halfpenny: a little cake\/halfpenny, given for\nGod's sake.\n\n7. Harlot: hired servant; from Anglo-Saxon, \"hyran,\" to hire;\nthe word was commonly applied to males.\n\n8. Potent: staff; French, \"potence,\" crutch, gibbet.\n\n9. Je vous dis sans doute: French; \"I tell you without doubt.\"\n\n10. Dortour: dormitory; French, \"dortoir.\"\n\n12. The Rules of St Benedict granted peculiar honours and\nimmunities to monks who had lived fifty years -- the jubilee\nperiod -- in the order. The usual reading of the words ending\nthe two lines is \"loan\" or \"lone,\" and \"alone;\" but to walk alone\ndoes not seem to have been any peculiar privilege of a friar,\nwhile the idea of precedence, or higher place at table and in\nprocessions, is suggested by the reading in the text.\n\n13. Borel folk:  laymen, people who are not learned; \"borel\"\nwas a kind of coarse cloth.\n\n14. Eli: Elijah (1 Kings, xix.)\n\n15. An emperor Jovinian was famous in the mediaeval  legends\nfor his pride and luxury\n\n16. Cor meum eructavit: literally, \"My heart has belched forth;\"\nin our translation, (i.e. the Authorised \"King James\" Version -\nTranscriber) \"My heart is inditing a goodly matter.\"  (Ps. xlv.\n1.). \"Buf\" is meant to represent the sound  of an eructation, and\nto show the \"great reverence\" with which \"those in possession,\"\nthe monks of the rich monasteries, performed divine service,\n\n17. N'ere thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive: if thou\nwert not of our  brotherhood, thou shouldst have no hope of\nrecovery.\n\n18. Thomas' life of Ind: The life of  Thomas of India - i.e. St.\nThomas the Apostle, who was said to have travelled to India.\n\n19. Potestate:  chief magistrate or judge; Latin, \"potestas;\"\nItalian, \"podesta.\"  Seneca relates the story of Cornelius Piso;\n\"De Ira,\" i. 16.\n\n20. Placebo: An anthem of the Roman Church, from Psalm\ncxvi. 9, which in the Vulgate reads, \"Placebo Domino in regione\nvivorum\" -- \"I will please the Lord in the land of the living\"\n\n21. The Gysen:  Seneca calls it the Gyndes; Sir John Mandeville\ntells the story of the Euphrates. \"Gihon,\" was the name of one\nof the four rivers of Eden (Gen. ii, 13).\n\n22. Him that harrowed Hell: Christ. See note 14 to the Reeve's\nTale.\n\n23. Mr. Wright says that \"it was a common practice to grant\nunder the conventual seal to benefactors and others a brotherly\nparticipation in the spiritual good works of the convent, and in\ntheir expected reward after death.\"\n\n24. The friar had received a master's degree.\n\n25. The regular number of monks or friars in a convent was\nfixed at twelve,  with a superior, in imitation of the apostles and\ntheir Master; and large religious houses were held to consist of\nso many convents.\n\n\n\nTHE CLERK'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\"SIR Clerk of Oxenford,\" our Hoste said,\n\"Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid\nThat were new spoused, sitting at the board:\nThis day I heard not of your tongue a word.\nI trow ye study about some sophime:*                            *sophism\nBut Solomon saith, every thing hath time.\nFor Godde's sake, be of *better cheer,*                  *livelier mien*\nIt is no time for to study here.\nTell us some merry tale, by your fay;*                            *faith\nFor what man that is entered in a play,\nHe needes must unto that play assent.\nBut preache not, as friars do in Lent,\nTo make us for our olde sinnes weep,\nNor that thy tale make us not to sleep.\nTell us some merry thing of aventures.\nYour terms, your coloures, and your figures,\nKeep them in store, till so be ye indite\nHigh style, as when that men to kinges write.\nSpeake so plain at this time, I you pray,\nThat we may understande what ye say.\"\n\nThis worthy Clerk benignely answer'd;\n\"Hoste,\" quoth he, \"I am under your yerd,*                      *rod <1>\nYe have of us as now the governance,\nAnd therefore would I do you obeisance,\nAs far as reason asketh, hardily:*                        *boldly, truly\nI will you tell a tale, which that I\nLearn'd at Padova of a worthy clerk,\nAs proved by his wordes and his werk.\nHe is now dead, and nailed in his chest,\nI pray to God to give his soul good rest.\nFrancis Petrarc', the laureate poet,<2>\nHighte* this clerk, whose rhetoric so sweet                  *was called\nIllumin'd all Itale of poetry,\nAs Linian <3> did of philosophy,\nOr law, or other art particulere:\nBut death, that will not suffer us dwell here\nBut as it were a twinkling of an eye,\nThem both hath slain, and alle we shall die.\n\n\"But forth to tellen of this worthy man,\nThat taughte me this tale, as I began,\nI say that first he with high style inditeth\n(Ere he the body of his tale writeth)\nA proem, in the which describeth he\nPiedmont, and of Saluces <4> the country,\nAnd speaketh of the Pennine hilles high,\nThat be the bounds of all West Lombardy:\nAnd of Mount Vesulus in special,\nWhere as the Po out of a welle small\nTaketh his firste springing and his source,\nThat eastward aye increaseth in his course\nT'Emilia-ward, <5> to Ferraro, and Venice,\nThe which a long thing were to devise.*                         *narrate\nAnd truely, as to my judgement,\nMe thinketh it a thing impertinent,*                         *irrelevant\nSave that he would conveye his mattere:\nBut this is the tale, which that ye shall hear.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Clerk's Tale\n\n\n1. Under your yerd: under your rod; as the emblem of\ngovernment or direction.\n\n2. Francesco Petrarca, born 1304, died 1374; for his Latin epic\npoem on the carer of Scipio, called \"Africa,\" he was solemnly\ncrowned with the poetic laurel in the  Capitol of Rome, on\nEaster-day of 1341.\n\n3. Linian: An eminent jurist and philosopher, now almost\nforgotten, who died four or five years after Petrarch.\n\n4. Saluces: Saluzzo, a district of Savoy; its marquises were\ncelebrated during the Middle Ages.\n\n5. Emilia:  The region called Aemilia, across which ran the Via\nAemilia -- made by M. Aemilius Lepidus, who was consul at\nRome B.C. 187. It continued the Flaminian  Way from\nAriminum (Rimini) across the Po at Placentia (Piacenza) to\nMediolanum (Milan), traversing Cisalpine Gaul.\n\n\nTHE TALE.<1>\n\n\n*Pars Prima.*                                               *First Part*\n\nThere is, right at the west side of Itale,\nDown at the root of Vesulus<2> the cold,\nA lusty* plain, abundant of vitaille;*              *pleasant **victuals\nThere many a town and tow'r thou may'st behold,\nThat founded were in time of fathers old,\nAnd many another delectable sight;\nAnd Saluces this noble country hight.\n\nA marquis whilom lord was of that land,\nAs were his worthy elders* him before,                        *ancestors\nAnd obedient, aye ready to his hand,\nWere all his lieges, bothe less and more:\nThus in delight he liv'd, and had done yore,*                      *long\nBelov'd and drad,* through favour of fortune,         *held in reverence\nBoth of his lordes and of his commune.*                      *commonalty\n\nTherewith he was, to speak of lineage,\nThe gentilest y-born of Lombardy,\nA fair person, and strong, and young of age,\nAnd full of honour and of courtesy:\nDiscreet enough his country for to gie,*                    *guide, rule\nSaving in some things that he was to blame;\nAnd Walter was this younge lordes name.\n\nI blame him thus, that he consider'd not\nIn time coming what might him betide,\nBut on his present lust* was all his thought,                  *pleasure\nAnd for to hawk and hunt on every side;\nWell nigh all other cares let he slide,\nAnd eke he would (that was the worst of all)\nWedde no wife for aught that might befall.\n\nOnly that point his people bare so sore,\nThat flockmel* on a day to him they went,                     *in a body\nAnd one of them, that wisest was of lore\n(Or elles that the lord would best assent\nThat he should tell him what the people meant,\nOr elles could he well shew such mattere),\nHe to the marquis said as ye shall hear.\n\n\"O noble Marquis! your humanity\nAssureth us and gives us hardiness,\nAs oft as time is of necessity,\nThat we to you may tell our heaviness:\nAccepte, Lord, now of your gentleness,\nWhat we with piteous heart unto you plain,*                 *complain of\nAnd let your ears my voice not disdain.\n\n\"All* have I nought to do in this mattere                      *although\nMore than another man hath in this place,\nYet forasmuch as ye, my Lord so dear,\nHave always shewed me favour and grace,\nI dare the better ask of you a space\nOf audience, to shewen our request,\nAnd ye, my Lord, to do right *as you lest.*            *as pleaseth you*\n\n\"For certes, Lord, so well us like you\nAnd all your work, and ev'r have done, that we\nNe coulde not ourselves devise how\nWe mighte live in more felicity:\nSave one thing, Lord, if that your will it be,\nThat for to be a wedded man you lest;\nThen were your people *in sovereign hearte's rest.*          *completely\n\n\"Bowe your neck under the blissful yoke\nOf sovereignty, and not of service,\nWhich that men call espousal or wedlock:\nAnd thinke, Lord, among your thoughtes wise,\nHow that our dayes pass in sundry wise;\nFor though we sleep, or wake, or roam, or ride,\nAye fleeth time, it will no man abide.\n\n\"And though your greene youthe flow'r as yet,\nIn creepeth age always as still as stone,\nAnd death menaceth every age, and smit*                         *smiteth\nIn each estate, for there escapeth none:\nAnd all so certain as we know each one\nThat we shall die, as uncertain we all\nBe of that day when death shall on us fall.\n\n\"Accepte then of us the true intent,*                      *mind, desire\nThat never yet refused youre hest,*                             *command\nAnd we will, Lord, if that ye will assent,\nChoose you a wife, in short time at the lest,*                    *least\nBorn of the gentilest and of the best\nOf all this land, so that it ought to seem\nHonour to God and you, as we can deem.\n\n\"Deliver us out of all this busy dread,*                          *doubt\nAnd take a wife, for highe Godde's sake:\nFor if it so befell, as God forbid,\nThat through your death your lineage should slake,*      *become extinct\nAnd that a strange successor shoulde take\nYour heritage, oh! woe were us on live:*                          *alive\nWherefore we pray you hastily to wive.\"\n\nTheir meeke prayer and their piteous cheer\nMade the marquis for to have pity.\n\"Ye will,\" quoth he, \"mine owen people dear,\nTo that I ne'er ere* thought constraine me.                      *before\nI me rejoiced of my liberty,\nThat seldom time is found in rnarriage;\nWhere I was free, I must be in servage!*                      *servitude\n\n\"But natheless I see your true intent,\nAnd trust upon your wit, and have done aye:\nWherefore of my free will I will assent\nTo wedde me, as soon as e'er I may.\nBut whereas ye have proffer'd me to-day\nTo choose me a wife, I you release\nThat choice, and pray you of that proffer cease.\n\n\"For God it wot, that children often been\nUnlike their worthy elders them before,\nBounte* comes all of God, not of the strene**                  *goodness\nOf which they be engender'd and y-bore:                    **stock, race\nI trust in Godde's bounte, and therefore\nMy marriage, and mine estate and rest,\nI *him betake;* he may do as him lest.                   *commend to him\n\n\"Let me alone in choosing of my wife;\nThat charge upon my back I will endure:\nBut I you pray, and charge upon your life,\nThat what wife that I take, ye me assure\nTo worship* her, while that her life may dure,                   *honour\nIn word and work both here and elleswhere,\nAs she an emperore's daughter were.\n\n\"And farthermore this shall ye swear, that ye\nAgainst my choice shall never grudge* nor strive.                *murmur\nFor since I shall forego my liberty\nAt your request, as ever may I thrive,\nWhere as mine heart is set, there will I live\nAnd but* ye will assent in such mannere,                         *unless\nI pray you speak no more of this mattere.\"\n\nWith heartly will they sworen and assent\nTo all this thing, there said not one wight nay:\nBeseeching him of grace, ere that they went,\nThat he would grante them a certain day\nOf his espousal, soon as e'er he rnay,\nFor yet always the people somewhat dread*         *were in fear or doubt\nLest that the marquis woulde no wife wed.\n\nHe granted them a day, such as him lest,\nOn which he would be wedded sickerly,*                        *certainly\nAnd said he did all this at their request;\nAnd they with humble heart full buxomly,*                *obediently <3>\nKneeling upon their knees full reverently,\nHim thanked all; and thus they have an end\nOf their intent, and home again they wend.\n\nAnd hereupon he to his officers\nCommanded for the feaste to purvey.*                            *provide\nAnd to his privy knightes and squiers\nSuch charge he gave, as him list on them lay:\nAnd they to his commandement obey,\nAnd each of them doth all his diligence\nTo do unto the feast all reverence.\n\n\n*Pars Secunda*                                             *Second Part*\n\n\nNot far from thilke* palace honourable,                            *that\nWhere as this marquis shope* his marriage,        *prepared; resolved on\nThere stood a thorp,* of sighte delectable,                      *hamlet\nIn which the poore folk of that village\nHadde their beastes and their harbourage,*                     *dwelling\nAnd of their labour took their sustenance,\nAfter the earthe gave them abundance.\n\nAmong this poore folk there dwelt a man\nWhich that was holden poorest of them all;\nBut highe God sometimes sende can\nHis grace unto a little ox's stall;\nJanicola men of that thorp him call.\nA daughter had he, fair enough to sight,\nAnd Griseldis this younge maiden hight.\n\nBut for to speak of virtuous beauty,\nThen was she one the fairest under sun:\nFull poorely y-foster'd up was she;\nNo *likerous lust* was in her heart y-run;          *luxurious pleasure*\nWell ofter of the well than of the tun\nShe drank, <4> and, for* she woulde virtue please               *because\nShe knew well labour, but no idle ease.\n\nBut though this maiden tender were of age;\nYet in the breast of her virginity\nThere was inclos'd a *sad and ripe corage;*        *steadfast and mature\nAnd in great reverence and charity                               spirit*\nHer olde poore father foster'd she.\nA few sheep, spinning, on the field she kept,\nShe woulde not be idle till she slept.\n\nAnd when she homeward came, she would bring\nWortes,* and other herbes, times oft,                  *plants, cabbages\nThe which she shred and seeth'd for her living,\nAnd made her bed full hard, and nothing soft:\nAnd aye she kept her father's life on loft*                   *up, aloft\nWith ev'ry obeisance and diligence,\nThat child may do to father's reverence.\n\nUpon Griselda, this poor creature,\nFull often sithes* this marquis set his eye,                      *times\nAs he on hunting rode, paraventure:*                          *by chance\nAnd when it fell that he might her espy,\nHe not with wanton looking of folly\nHis eyen cast on her, but in sad* wise                          *serious\nUpon her cheer* he would him oft advise;**       *countenance **consider\n\nCommending in his heart her womanhead,\nAnd eke her virtue, passing any wight\nOf so young age, as well in cheer as deed.\nFor though the people have no great insight\nIn virtue, he considered full right\nHer bounte,* and disposed that he would                        *goodness\nWed only her, if ever wed he should.\n\nThe day of wedding came, but no wight can\nTelle what woman that it shoulde be;\nFor which marvail wonder'd many a man,\nAnd saide, when they were in privity,\n\"Will not our lord yet leave his vanity?\nWill he not wed?  Alas, alas the while!\nWhy will he thus himself and us beguile?\"\n\nBut natheless this marquis had *done make*           *caused to be made*\nOf gemmes, set in gold and in azure,\nBrooches and ringes, for Griselda's sake,\nAnd of her clothing took he the measure\nOf a maiden like unto her stature,\nAnd eke of other ornamentes all\nThat unto such a wedding shoulde fall.*                           *befit\n\nThe time of undern* of the same day                         *evening <5>\nApproached, that this wedding shoulde be,\nAnd all the palace put was in array,\nBoth hall and chamber, each in its degree,\nHouses of office stuffed with plenty\nThere may'st thou see of dainteous vitaille,*      *victuals, provisions\nThat may be found, as far as lasts Itale.\n\nThis royal marquis, richely array'd,\nLordes and ladies in his company,\nThe which unto the feaste were pray'd,\nAnd of his retinue the bach'lery,\nWith many a sound of sundry melody,\nUnto the village, of the which I told,\nIn this array the right way did they hold.\n\nGriseld' of this (God wot) full innocent,\nThat for her shapen* was all this array,                       *prepared\nTo fetche water at a well is went,\nAnd home she came as soon as e'er she may.\nFor well she had heard say, that on that day\nThe marquis shoulde wed, and, if she might,\nShe fain would have seen somewhat of that sight.\n\nShe thought, \"I will with other maidens stand,\nThat be my fellows, in our door, and see\nThe marchioness; and therefore will I fand*                      *strive\nTo do at home, as soon as it may be,\nThe labour which belongeth unto me,\nAnd then I may at leisure her behold,\nIf she this way unto the castle hold.\"\n\nAnd as she would over the threshold gon,\nThe marquis came and gan for her to call,\nAnd she set down her water-pot anon\nBeside the threshold, in an ox's stall,\nAnd down upon her knees she gan to fall,\nAnd with sad* countenance kneeled still,                         *steady\nTill she had heard what was the lorde's will.\n\nThe thoughtful marquis spake unto the maid\nFull soberly, and said in this mannere:\n\"Where is your father, Griseldis?\" he said.\nAnd she with reverence, *in humble cheer,*             *with humble air*\nAnswered, \"Lord, he is all ready here.\"\nAnd in she went withoute longer let*                              *delay\nAnd to the marquis she her father fet.*                         *fetched\n\nHe by the hand then took the poore man,\nAnd saide thus, when he him had aside:\n\"Janicola, I neither may nor can\nLonger the pleasance of mine hearte hide;\nIf that thou vouchesafe, whatso betide,\nThy daughter will I take, ere that I wend,*                          *go\nAs for my wife, unto her life's end.\n\n\"Thou lovest me, that know I well certain,\nAnd art my faithful liegeman y-bore,*                              *born\nAnd all that liketh me, I dare well sayn\nIt liketh thee; and specially therefore\nTell me that point, that I have said before, --\nIf that thou wilt unto this purpose draw,\nTo take me as for thy son-in-law.\"\n\nThis sudden case* the man astonied so,                            *event\nThat red he wax'd, abash'd,* and all quaking                     *amazed\nHe stood; unnethes* said he wordes mo',                        *scarcely\nBut only thus; \"Lord,\" quoth he, \"my willing\nIs as ye will, nor against your liking\nI will no thing, mine owen lord so dear;\nRight as you list governe this mattere.\"\n\n\"Then will I,\" quoth the marquis softely,\n\"That in thy chamber I, and thou, and she,\nHave a collation;* and know'st thou why?                     *conference\nFor I will ask her, if her will it be\nTo be my wife, and rule her after me:\nAnd all this shall be done in thy presence,\nI will not speak out of thine audience.\"*                       *hearing\n\nAnd in the chamber while they were about\nThe treaty, which ye shall hereafter hear,\nThe people came into the house without,\nAnd wonder'd them in how honest mannere\nAnd tenderly she kept her father dear;\nBut utterly Griseldis wonder might,\nFor never erst* ne saw she such a sight.                         *before\n\nNo wonder is though that she be astoned,*                    *astonished\nTo see so great a guest come in that place,\nShe never was to no such guestes woned;*               *accustomed, wont\nFor which she looked with full pale face.\nBut shortly forth this matter for to chase,*            *push on, pursue\nThese are the wordes that the marquis said\nTo this benigne, very,* faithful maid.                         *true <6>\n\n\"Griseld',\" he said, \"ye shall well understand,\nIt liketh to your father and to me\nThat I you wed, and eke it may so stand,\nAs I suppose ye will that it so be:\nBut these demandes ask I first,\" quoth he,\n\"Since that it shall be done in hasty wise;\nWill ye assent, or elles you advise?*                          *consider\n\n\"I say this, be ye ready with good heart\nTo all my lust,* and that I freely may,                        *pleasure\nAs me best thinketh, *do you* laugh or smart,             *cause you to*\nAnd never ye to grudge,* night nor day,                          *murmur\nAnd eke when I say Yea, ye say not Nay,\nNeither by word, nor frowning countenance?\nSwear this, and here I swear our alliance.\"\n\nWond'ring upon this word, quaking for dread,\nShe saide; \"Lord, indigne and unworthy\nAm I to this honour that ye me bede,*                             *offer\nBut as ye will yourself, right so will I:\nAnd here I swear, that never willingly\nIn word or thought I will you disobey,\nFor to be dead; though me were loth to dey.\"*                       *die\n\n\"This is enough, Griselda mine,\" quoth he.\nAnd forth he went with a full sober cheer,\nOut at the door, and after then came she,\nAnd to the people he said in this mannere:\n\"This is my wife,\" quoth he, \"that standeth here.\nHonoure her, and love her, I you pray,\nWhoso me loves; there is no more to say.\"\n\nAnd, for that nothing of her olde gear\nShe shoulde bring into his house, he bade\nThat women should despoile* her right there;                      *strip\nOf which these ladies were nothing glad\nTo handle her clothes wherein she was clad:\nBut natheless this maiden bright of hue\nFrom foot to head they clothed have all new.\n\nHer haires have they comb'd that lay untress'd*                   *loose\nFull rudely, and with their fingers small\nA crown upon her head they have dress'd,\nAnd set her full of nouches <7> great and small:\nOf her array why should I make a tale?\nUnneth* the people her knew for her fairness,                  *scarcely\nWhen she transmuted was in such richess.\n\nThe marquis hath her spoused with a ring\nBrought for the same cause, and then her set\nUpon a horse snow-white, and well ambling,\nAnd to his palace, ere he longer let*                           *delayed\nWith joyful people, that her led and met,\nConveyed her; and thus the day they spend\nIn revel, till the sunne gan descend.\n\nAnd, shortly forth this tale for to chase,\nI say, that to this newe marchioness\nGod hath such favour sent her of his grace,\nThat it ne seemed not by likeliness\nThat she was born and fed in rudeness, --\nAs in a cot, or in an ox's stall, --\nBut nourish'd in an emperore's hall.\n\nTo every wight she waxen* is so dear                              *grown\nAnd worshipful, that folk where she was born,\nThat from her birthe knew her year by year,\n*Unnethes trowed* they, but durst have sworn,        *scarcely believed*\nThat to Janicol' of whom I spake before,\nShe was not daughter, for by conjecture\nThem thought she was another creature.\n\nFor though that ever virtuous was she,\nShe was increased in such excellence\nOf thewes* good, y-set in high bounte,                        *qualities\nAnd so discreet, and fair of eloquence,\nSo benign, and so digne* of reverence,                           *worthy\nAnd coulde so the people's heart embrace,\nThat each her lov'd that looked on her face.\n\nNot only of Saluces in the town\nPublished was the bounte of her name,\nBut eke besides in many a regioun;\nIf one said well, another said the same:\nSo spread of here high bounte the fame,\nThat men and women, young as well as old,\nWent to Saluces, her for to behold.\n\nThus Walter lowly, -- nay, but royally,-\nWedded with fortn'ate honestete,*                                *virtue\nIn Godde's peace lived full easily\nAt home, and outward grace enough had he:\nAnd, for he saw that under low degree\nWas honest virtue hid, the people him held\nA prudent man, and that is seen full seld'.*                     *seldom\n\nNot only this Griseldis through her wit\n*Couth all the feat* of wifely homeliness,         *knew all the duties*\nBut eke, when that the case required it,\nThe common profit coulde she redress:\nThere n'as discord, rancour, nor heaviness\nIn all the land, that she could not appease,\nAnd wisely bring them all in rest and ease\n\nThough that her husband absent were or non,*                        *not\nIf gentlemen or other of that country,\nWere wroth,* she woulde bringe them at one,                     *at feud\nSo wise and ripe wordes hadde she,\nAnd judgement of so great equity,\nThat she from heaven sent was, as men wend,*           *weened, imagined\nPeople to save, and every wrong t'amend\n\nNot longe time after that this Griseld'\nWas wedded, she a daughter had y-bore;\nAll she had lever* borne a knave** child,                  *rather **boy\nGlad was the marquis and his folk therefore;\nFor, though a maiden child came all before,\nShe may unto a knave child attain\nBy likelihood, since she is not barren.\n\n\n*Pars Tertia.*                                              *Third Part*\n\n\nThere fell, as falleth many times mo',\nWhen that his child had sucked but a throw,*                little while\nThis marquis in his hearte longed so\nTo tempt his wife, her sadness* for to know,              *steadfastness\nThat he might not out of his hearte throw\nThis marvellous desire his wife t'asssay;*                          *try\nNeedless,* God wot, he thought her to affray.**           *without cause\n                                                        **alarm, disturb\nHe had assayed her anough before,\nAnd found her ever good; what needed it\nHer for to tempt, and always more and more?\nThough some men praise it for a subtle wit,\nBut as for me, I say that *evil it sit*              *it ill became him*\nT'assay a wife when that it is no need,\nAnd putte her in anguish and in dread.\n\nFor which this marquis wrought in this mannere:\nHe came at night alone there as she lay,\nWith sterne face and with full troubled cheer,\nAnd saide thus; \"Griseld',\" quoth he \"that day\nThat I you took out of your poor array,\nAnd put you in estate of high nobless,\nYe have it not forgotten, as I guess.\n\n\"I say, Griseld', this present dignity,\nIn which that I have put you, as I trow*                        *believe\nMaketh you not forgetful for to be\nThat I you took in poor estate full low,\nFor any weal you must yourselfe know.\nTake heed of every word that I you say,\nThere is no wight that hears it but we tway.*                       *two\n\n\"Ye know yourself well how that ye came here\nInto this house, it is not long ago;\nAnd though to me ye be right lefe* and dear,                      *loved\nUnto my gentles* ye be nothing so:                   *nobles, gentlefolk\nThey say, to them it is great shame and woe\nFor to be subject, and be in servage,\nTo thee, that born art of small lineage.\n\n\"And namely* since thy daughter was y-bore                   *especially\nThese wordes have they spoken doubteless;\nBut I desire, as I have done before,\nTo live my life with them in rest and peace:\nI may not in this case be reckeless;\nI must do with thy daughter for the best,\nNot as I would, but as my gentles lest.*                         *please\n\n\"And yet, God wot, this is full loth* to me:                     *odious\nBut natheless withoute your weeting*                            *knowing\nI will nought do; but this will I,\" quoth he,\n\"That ye to me assenten in this thing.\nShew now your patience in your working,\nThat ye me hight* and swore in your village                    *promised\nThe day that maked was our marriage.\"\n\nWhen she had heard all this, she not amev'd*                    *changed\nNeither in word, in cheer, nor countenance\n(For, as it seemed, she was not aggriev'd);\nShe saide; \"Lord, all lies in your pleasance,\nMy child and I, with hearty obeisance\nBe youres all, and ye may save or spill*                        *destroy\nYour owen thing: work then after your will.\n\n\"There may no thing, so God my soule save,\n*Like to* you, that may displease me:                      *be pleasing*\nNor I desire nothing for to have,\nNor dreade for to lose, save only ye:\nThis will is in mine heart, and aye shall be,\nNo length of time, nor death, may this deface,\nNor change my corage* to another place.\"                  *spirit, heart\n\nGlad was the marquis for her answering,\nBut yet he feigned as he were not so;\nAll dreary was his cheer and his looking\nWhen that he should out of the chamber go.\nSoon after this, a furlong way or two,<8>\nHe privily hath told all his intent\nUnto a man, and to his wife him sent.\n\nA *manner sergeant* was this private* man,              *kind of squire*\nThe which he faithful often founden had                        *discreet\nIn thinges great, and eke such folk well can\nDo execution in thinges bad:\nThe lord knew well, that he him loved and drad.*                *dreaded\nAnd when this sergeant knew his lorde's will,\nInto the chamber stalked he full still.\n\n\"Madam,\" he said, \"ye must forgive it me,\nThough I do thing to which I am constrain'd;\nYe be so wise, that right well knowe ye\n*That lordes' hestes may not be y-feign'd;*               *see note <9>*\nThey may well be bewailed and complain'd,\nBut men must needs unto their lust* obey;                      *pleasure\nAnd so will I, there is no more to say.\n\n\"This child I am commanded for to take.\"\nAnd spake no more, but out the child he hent*                    *seized\nDispiteously,* and gan a cheer** to make     *unpityingly **show, aspect\nAs though he would have slain it ere he went.\nGriseldis must all suffer and consent:\nAnd as a lamb she sat there meek and still,\nAnd let this cruel sergeant do his will\n\nSuspicious* was the diffame** of this man,    *ominous **evil reputation\nSuspect his face, suspect his word also,\nSuspect the time in which he this began:\nAlas! her daughter, that she loved so,\nShe weened* he would have it slain right tho,**          *thought **then\nBut natheless she neither wept nor siked,*                       *sighed\nConforming her to what the marquis liked.\n\nBut at the last to speake she began,\nAnd meekly she unto the sergeant pray'd,\nSo as he was a worthy gentle man,\nThat she might kiss her child, ere that it died:\nAnd in her barme* this little child she laid,                *lap, bosom\nWith full sad face, and gan the child to bless,*                  *cross\nAnd lulled it, and after gan it kiss.\n\nAnd thus she said in her benigne voice:\nFarewell, my child, I shall thee never see;\nBut since I have thee marked with the cross,\nOf that father y-blessed may'st thou be\nThat for us died upon a cross of tree:\nThy soul, my little child, I *him betake,*             *commit unto him*\nFor this night shalt thou dien for my sake.\n\nI trow* that to a norice** in this case                 *believe **nurse\nIt had been hard this ruthe* for to see:                  *pitiful sight\nWell might a mother then have cried, \"Alas!\"\nBut natheless so sad steadfast was she,\nThat she endured all adversity,\nAnd to the sergeant meekely she said,\n\"Have here again your little younge maid.\n\n\"Go now,\" quoth she, \"and do my lord's behest.\nAnd one thing would I pray you of your grace,\n*But if* my lord forbade you at the least,                      *unless*\nBury this little body in some place,\nThat neither beasts nor birdes it arace.\"*                    *tear <10>\nBut he no word would to that purpose say,\nBut took the child and went upon his way.\n\nThe sergeant came unto his lord again,\nAnd of Griselda's words and of her cheer*                     *demeanour\nHe told him point for point, in short and plain,\nAnd him presented with his daughter dear.\nSomewhat this lord had ruth in his mannere,\nBut natheless his purpose held he still,\nAs lordes do, when they will have their will;\n\nAnd bade this sergeant that he privily\nShoulde the child full softly wind and wrap,\nWith alle circumstances tenderly,\nAnd carry it in a coffer, or in lap;\nBut, upon pain his head off for to swap,*                        *strike\nThat no man shoulde know of his intent,\nNor whence he came, nor whither that he went;\n\nBut at Bologna, to his sister dear,\nThat at that time of Panic'* was Countess,                       *Panico\nHe should it take, and shew her this mattere,\nBeseeching her to do her business\nThis child to foster in all gentleness,\nAnd whose child it was he bade her hide\nFrom every wight, for aught that might betide.\n\nThe sergeant went, and hath fulfill'd this thing.\nBut to the marquis now returne we;\nFor now went he full fast imagining\nIf by his wife's cheer he mighte see,\nOr by her wordes apperceive, that she\nWere changed; but he never could her find,\nBut ever-in-one* alike sad** and kind.           *constantly **steadfast\n\nAs glad, as humble, as busy in service,\nAnd eke in love, as she was wont to be,\nWas she to him, in every *manner wise;*                    *sort of way*\nAnd of her daughter not a word spake she;\n*No accident for no adversity*            *no change of humour resulting\nWas seen in her, nor e'er her daughter's name       from her affliction*\nShe named, or in earnest or in game.\n\n\n*Pars Quarta*                                              *Fourth Part*\n\n\nIn this estate there passed be four year\nEre she with childe was; but, as God wo'ld,\nA knave* child she bare by this Waltere,                            *boy\nFull gracious and fair for to behold;\nAnd when that folk it to his father told,\nNot only he, but all his country, merry\nWere for this child, and God they thank and hery.*               *praise\n\nWhen it was two year old, and from the breast\nDeparted* of the norice, on a day                         *taken, weaned\nThis marquis *caughte yet another lest*               *was seized by yet\nTo tempt his wife yet farther, if he may.                another desire*\nOh! needless was she tempted in as say;*                          *trial\nBut wedded men *not connen no measure,*             *know no moderation*\nWhen that they find a patient creature.\n\n\"Wife,\" quoth the marquis, \"ye have heard ere this\nMy people *sickly bear* our marriage;          *regard with displeasure*\nAnd namely* since my son y-boren is,                         *especially\nNow is it worse than ever in all our age:\nThe murmur slays mine heart and my corage,\nFor to mine ears cometh the voice so smart,*                  *painfully\nThat it well nigh destroyed hath mine heart.\n\n\"Now say they thus, 'When Walter is y-gone,\nThen shall the blood of Janicol' succeed,\nAnd be our lord, for other have we none:'\nSuch wordes say my people, out of drede.*                         *doubt\nWell ought I of such murmur take heed,\nFor certainly I dread all such sentence,*         *expression of opinion\nThough they not *plainen in mine audience.*     *complain in my hearing*\n\n\"I woulde live in peace, if that I might;\nWherefore I am disposed utterly,\nAs I his sister served ere* by night,                            *before\nRight so think I to serve him privily.\nThis warn I you, that ye not suddenly\nOut of yourself for no woe should outraie;*     *become outrageous, rave\nBe patient, and thereof I you pray.\"\n\n\"I have,\" quoth she, \"said thus, and ever shall,\nI will no thing, nor n'ill no thing, certain,\nBut as you list; not grieveth me at all\nThough that my daughter and my son be slain\nAt your commandement; that is to sayn,\nI have not had no part of children twain,\nBut first sickness, and after woe and pain.\n\n\"Ye be my lord, do with your owen thing\nRight as you list, and ask no rede of me:\nFor, as I left at home all my clothing\nWhen I came first to you, right so,\" quoth she,\n\"Left I my will and all my liberty,\nAnd took your clothing: wherefore I you pray,\nDo your pleasance, I will your lust* obey.                         *will\n\n\"And, certes, if I hadde prescience\nYour will to know, ere ye your lust* me told,                      *will\nI would it do withoute negligence:\nBut, now I know your lust, and what ye wo'ld,\nAll your pleasance firm and stable I hold;\nFor, wist I that my death might do you ease,\nRight gladly would I dien you to please.\n\n\"Death may not make no comparisoun\nUnto your love.\" And when this marquis say*                         *saw\nThe constance of his wife,  he cast adown\nHis eyen two, and wonder'd how she may\nIn patience suffer all this array;\nAnd forth he went with dreary countenance;\nBut to his heart it was full great pleasance.\n\nThis ugly sergeant, in the same wise\nThat he her daughter caught, right so hath he\n(Or worse, if men can any worse devise,)\nY-hent* her son, that full was of beauty:                        *seized\nAnd ever-in-one* so patient was she,                        *unvaryingly\nThat she no cheere made of heaviness,\nBut kiss'd her son, and after gan him bless.\n\nSave this she prayed him, if that he might,\nHer little son he would in earthe grave,*                          *bury\nHis tender limbes, delicate to sight,\nFrom fowles and from beastes for to save.\nBut she none answer of him mighte have;\nHe went his way, as him nothing ne raught,*                       *cared\nBut to Bologna tenderly it brought.\n\nThe marquis wonder'd ever longer more\nUpon her patience; and, if that he\nNot hadde soothly knowen therebefore\nThat perfectly her children loved she,\nHe would have ween'd* that of some subtilty,                    *thought\nAnd of malice, or for cruel corage,*                        *disposition\nShe hadde suffer'd this with sad* visage.            *steadfast, unmoved\n\nBut well he knew, that, next himself, certain\nShe lov'd her children best in every wise.\nBut now of women would I aske fain,\nIf these assayes mighte not suffice?\nWhat could a sturdy* husband more devise                          *stern\nTo prove her wifehood and her steadfastness,\nAnd he continuing ev'r in sturdiness?\n\nBut there be folk of such condition,\nThat, when they have a certain purpose take,\nThiey cannot stint* of their intention,                           *cease\nBut, right as they were bound unto a stake,\nThey will not of their firste purpose slake:*            *slacken, abate\nRight so this marquis fully hath purpos'd\nTo tempt his wife, as he was first dispos'd.\n\nHe waited, if by word or countenance\nThat she to him was changed of corage:*                          *spirit\nBut never could he finde variance,\nShe was aye one in heart and in visage,\nAnd aye the farther that she was in age,\nThe more true (if that it were possible)\nShe was to him in love, and more penible.*      *painstaking in devotion\n\nFor which it seemed thus, that of them two\nThere was but one will; for, as Walter lest,*                   *pleased\nThe same pleasance was her lust* also;                         *pleasure\nAnd, God be thanked, all fell for the best.\nShe shewed well, for no worldly unrest,\nA wife as of herself no thinge should\nWill, in effect, but as her husbaud would.\n\nThe sland'r of Walter wondrous wide sprad,\nThat of a cruel heart he wickedly,\nFor* he a poore woman wedded had,                               *because\nHad murder'd both his children privily:\nSuch murmur was among them commonly.\nNo wonder is: for to the people's ear\nThere came no word, but that they murder'd were.\n\nFor which, whereas his people therebefore\nHad lov'd him well, the sland'r of his diffame*                  *infamy\nMade them that they him hated therefore.\nTo be a murd'rer is a hateful name.\nBut natheless, for earnest or for game,\nHe of his cruel purpose would not stent;\nTo tempt his wife was set all his intent.\n\nWhen that his daughter twelve year was of age,\nHe to the Court of Rome, in subtle wise\nInformed of his will, sent his message,*                      *messenger\nCommanding him such bulles to devise\nAs to his cruel purpose may suffice,\nHow that the Pope, for his people's rest,\nBade him to wed another, if him lest.*                           *wished\n\nI say he bade they shoulde counterfeit\nThe Pope's bulles, making mention\nThat he had leave his firste wife to lete,*                       *leave\nTo stinte* rancour and dissension                         *put an end to\nBetwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull,\nThe which they have published at full.\n\nThe rude people, as no wonder is,\nWeened* full well that it had been right so:          *thought, believed\nBut, when these tidings came to Griseldis.\nI deeme that her heart was full of woe;\nBut she, alike sad* for evermo',                              *steadfast\nDisposed was, this humble creature,\nTh' adversity of fortune all t' endure;\n\nAbiding ever his lust and his pleasance,\nTo whom that she was given, heart and all,\nAs *to her very worldly suffisance.*               *to the utmost extent\nBut, shortly if this story tell I shall,                   of her power*\nThe marquis written hath in special\nA letter, in which he shewed his intent,\nAnd secretly it to Bologna sent.\n\nTo th' earl of Panico, which hadde tho*                           *there\nWedded his sister, pray'd he specially\nTo bringe home again his children two\nIn honourable estate all openly:\nBut one thing he him prayed utterly,\nThat he to no wight, though men would inquere,\nShoulde not tell whose children that they were,\n\nBut say, the maiden should y-wedded be\nUnto the marquis of Saluce anon.\nAnd as this earl was prayed, so did he,\nFor, at day set, he on his way is gone\nToward Saluce, and lorde's many a one\nIn rich array, this maiden for to guide, --\nHer younge brother riding her beside.\n\nArrayed was toward* her marriage                              *as if for\nThis freshe maiden, full of gemmes clear;\nHer brother, which that seven year was of age,\nArrayed eke full fresh in his mannere:\nAnd thus, in great nobless, and with glad cheer,\nToward Saluces shaping their journey,\nFrom day to day they rode upon their way.\n\n\n*Pars Quinta.*                                              *Fifth Part*\n\n\n*Among all this,* after his wick' usage,             *while all this was\nThe marquis, yet his wife to tempte more                       going on*\nTo the uttermost proof of her corage,\nFully to have experience and lore*                            *knowledge\nIf that she were as steadfast as before,\nHe on a day, in open audience,\nFull boisterously said her this sentence:\n\n\"Certes, Griseld', I had enough pleasance\nTo have you to my wife, for your goodness,\nAnd for your truth, and for your obeisance,\nNot for your lineage, nor for your richess;\nBut now know I, in very soothfastness,\nThat in great lordship, if I well advise,\nThere is great servitude in sundry wise.\n\n\"I may not do as every ploughman may:\nMy people me constraineth for to take\nAnother wife, and cryeth day by day;\nAnd eke the Pope, rancour for to slake,\nConsenteth it, that dare I undertake:\nAnd truely, thus much I will you say,\nMy newe wife is coming by the way.\n\n\"Be strong of heart, and *void anon* her place;     *immediately vacate*\nAnd thilke* dower that ye brought to me,                           *that\nTake it again, I grant it of my grace.\nReturne to your father's house,\" quoth he;\n\"No man may always have prosperity;\nWith even heart I rede* you to endure                           *counsel\nThe stroke of fortune or of aventure.\"\n\nAnd she again answer'd in patience:\n\"My Lord,\" quoth she, \"I know, and knew alway,\nHow that betwixte your magnificence\nAnd my povert' no wight nor can nor may\nMake comparison, it *is no nay;*                      *cannot be denied*\nI held me never digne* in no mannere                             *worthy\nTo be your wife, nor yet your chamberere.*                 *chamber-maid\n\n\"And in this house, where ye me lady made,\n(The highe God take I for my witness,\nAnd all so wisly* he my soule glade),**              *surely **gladdened\nI never held me lady nor mistress,\nBut humble servant to your worthiness,\nAnd ever shall, while that my life may dure,\nAboven every worldly creature.\n\n\"That ye so long, of your benignity,\nHave holden me in honour and nobley,*                          *nobility\nWhere as I was not worthy for to be,\nThat thank I God and you, to whom I pray\nForyield* it you; there is no more to say:                       *reward\nUnto my father gladly will I wend,*                                  *go\nAnd with him dwell, unto my lifes end,\n\n\"Where I was foster'd as a child full small,\nTill I be dead my life there will I lead,\nA widow clean in body, heart, and all.\nFor since I gave to you my maidenhead,\nAnd am your true wife, it is no dread,*                           *doubt\nGod shielde* such a lordes wife to take                          *forbid\nAnother man to husband or to make.*                                *mate\n\n\"And of your newe wife, God of his grace\nSo grant you weal and all prosperity:\nFor I will gladly yield to her my place,\nIn which that I was blissful wont to be.\nFor since it liketh you, my Lord,\" quoth she,\n\"That whilom weren all mine hearte's rest,\nThat I shall go, I will go when you lest.\n\n\"But whereas ye me proffer such dowaire\nAs I first brought, it is well in my mind,\nIt was my wretched clothes, nothing fair,\nThe which to me were hard now for to find.\nO goode God! how gentle and how kind\nYe seemed by your speech and your visage,\nThe day that maked was our marriage!\n\n\"But sooth is said, -- algate* I find it true,            *at all events\nFor in effect it proved is on me, --\nLove is not old as when that it is new.\nBut certes, Lord, for no adversity,\nTo dien in this case, it shall not be\nThat e'er in word or work I shall repent\nThat I you gave mine heart in whole intent.\n\n\"My Lord, ye know that in my father's place\nYe did me strip out of my poore weed,*                          *raiment\nAnd richely ye clad me of your grace;\nTo you brought I nought elles, out of dread,\nBut faith, and nakedness, and maidenhead;\nAnd here again your clothing I restore,\nAnd eke your wedding ring for evermore.\n\n\"The remnant of your jewels ready be\nWithin your chamber, I dare safely sayn:\nNaked out of my father's house,\" quoth she,\n\"I came, and naked I must turn again.\nAll your pleasance would I follow fain:*                     *cheerfully\nBut yet I hope it be not your intent\nThat smockless* I out of your palace went.                        *naked\n\n\"Ye could not do so dishonest* a thing,                   *dishonourable\nThat thilke* womb, in which your children lay,                     *that\nShoulde before the people, in my walking,\nBe seen all bare: and therefore I you pray,\nLet me not like a worm go by the way:\nRemember you, mine owen Lord so dear,\nI was your wife, though I unworthy were.\n\n\"Wherefore, in guerdon* of my maidenhead,                        *reward\nWhich that I brought and not again I bear,\nAs vouchesafe to give me to my meed*                             *reward\nBut such a smock as I was wont to wear,\nThat I therewith may wrie* the womb of her                        *cover\nThat was your wife: and here I take my leave\nOf you, mine owen Lord, lest I you grieve.\"\n\n\"The smock,\" quoth he, \"that thou hast on thy back,\nLet it be still, and bear it forth with thee.\"\nBut well unnethes* thilke word he spake,                *with difficulty\nBut went his way for ruth and for pity.\nBefore the folk herselfe stripped she,\nAnd in her smock, with foot and head all bare,\nToward her father's house forth is she fare.*                      *gone\n\nThe folk her follow'd weeping on her way,\nAnd fortune aye they cursed as they gon:*                            *go\nBut she from weeping kept her eyen drey,*                           *dry\nNor in this time worde spake she none.\nHer father, that this tiding heard anon,\nCursed the day and time, that nature\nShope* him to be a living creature.                    *formed, ordained\n\nFor, out of doubt, this olde poore man\nWas ever in suspect of her marriage:\nFor ever deem'd he, since it first began,\nThat when the lord *fulfill'd had his corage,*  *had gratified his whim*\nHe woulde think it were a disparage*                      *disparagement\nTo his estate, so low for to alight,\nAnd voide* her as soon as e'er he might.                        *dismiss\n\nAgainst* his daughter hastily went he                           *to meet\n(For he by noise of folk knew her coming),\nAnd with her olde coat, as it might be,\nHe cover'd her, full sorrowfully weeping:\nBut on her body might he it not bring,\nFor rude was the cloth, and more of age\nBy dayes fele* than at her marriage.                          *many <11>\n\nThus with her father for a certain space\nDwelled this flow'r of wifely patience,\nThat neither by her words nor by her face,\nBefore the folk nor eke in their absence,\nNe shewed she that her was done offence,\nNor of her high estate no remembrance\nNe hadde she, *as by* her countenance.                   *to judge from*\n\nNo wonder is, for in her great estate\nHer ghost* was ever in plein** humility;                  *spirit **full\nNo tender mouth, no hearte delicate,\nNo pomp, and no semblant of royalty;\nBut full of patient benignity,\nDiscreet and prideless, aye honourable,\nAnd to her husband ever meek and stable.\n\nMen speak of Job, and most for his humbless,\nAs clerkes, when them list, can well indite,\nNamely* of men; but, as in soothfastness,                  *particularly\nThough clerkes praise women but a lite,*                         *little\nThere can no man in humbless him acquite\nAs women can, nor can be half so true\nAs women be, *but it be fall of new.*              *unless it has lately\n                                                           come to pass*\n\n*Pars Sexta*                                                *Sixth Part*\n\nFrom Bologn' is the earl of Panic' come,\nOf which the fame up sprang to more and less;\nAnd to the people's eares all and some\nWas know'n eke, that a newe marchioness\nHe with him brought, in such pomp and richess\nThat never was there seen with manne's eye\nSo noble array in all West Lombardy.\n\nThe marquis, which that shope* and knew all this,              *arranged\nEre that the earl was come, sent his message*                 *messenger\nFor thilke poore sely* Griseldis;                              *innocent\nAnd she, with humble heart and glad visage,\nNor with no swelling thought in her corage,*                       *mind\nCame at his hest,* and on her knees her set,                    *command\nAnd rev'rently and wisely she him gret.*                        *greeted\n\n\"Griseld',\" quoth he, \"my will is utterly,\nThis maiden, that shall wedded be to me,\nReceived be to-morrow as royally\nAs it possible is in my house to be;\nAnd eke that every wight in his degree\nHave *his estate* in sitting and service,               *what befits his\nAnd in high pleasance, as I can devise.                       condition*\n\n\"I have no women sufficient, certain,\nThe chambers to array in ordinance\nAfter my lust;* and therefore would I fain                     *pleasure\nThat thine were all such manner governance:\nThou knowest eke of old all my pleasance;\nThough thine array be bad, and ill besey,*              *poor to look on\n*Do thou thy devoir at the leaste  way.\"*          * do your duty in the\n                                                        quickest manner*\n\"Not only, Lord, that I am glad,\" quoth she,\n\"To do your lust, but I desire also\nYou for to serve and please in my degree,\nWithoute fainting, and shall evermo':\nNor ever for no weal, nor for no woe,\nNe shall the ghost* within mine hearte stent**           *spirit **cease\nTo love you best with all my true intent.\"\n\nAnd with that word she gan the house to dight,*                 *arrange\nAnd tables for to set, and beds to make,\nAnd *pained her* to do all that she might,              *she took pains*\nPraying the chambereres* for Godde's sake                 *chamber-maids\nTo hasten them, and faste sweep and shake,\nAnd she the most serviceable of all\nHath ev'ry chamber arrayed, and his hall.\n\nAboute undern* gan the earl alight,                       *afternoon <5>\nThat with him brought these noble children tway;\nFor which the people ran to see the sight\nOf their array, so *richely besey;*                     *rich to behold*\nAnd then *at erst* amonges them they say,           *for the first time*\nThat Walter was no fool, though that him lest*                  *pleased\nTo change his wife; for it was for the best.\n\nFor she is fairer, as they deemen* all,                           *think\nThan is Griseld', and more tender of age,\nAnd fairer fruit between them shoulde fall,\nAnd more pleasant, for her high lineage:\nHer brother eke so fair was of visage,\nThat them to see the people hath caught pleasance,\nCommending now the marquis' governance.\n\n\"O stormy people, unsad* and ev'r untrue,                      *variable\nAnd undiscreet, and changing as a vane,\nDelighting ev'r in rumour that is new,\nFor like the moon so waxe ye and wane:\nAye full of clapping, *dear enough a jane,*         *worth nothing <12>*\nYour doom* is false, your constance evil preveth,**  *judgment **proveth\nA full great fool is he that you believeth.\"\n\nThus saide the sad* folk in that city,                           *sedate\nWhen that the people gazed up and down;\nFor they were glad, right for the novelty,\nTo have a newe lady of their town.\nNo more of this now make I mentioun,\nBut to Griseld' again I will me dress,\nAnd tell her constancy and business.\n\nFull busy was Griseld' in ev'ry thing\nThat to the feaste was appertinent;\nRight nought was she abash'd* of her clothing,                  *ashamed\nThough it were rude, and somedeal eke to-rent;*                *tattered\nBut with glad cheer* unto the gate she went                  *expression\nWith other folk, to greet the marchioness,\nAnd after that did forth her business.\n\nWith so glad cheer* his guestes she receiv'd                 *expression\nAnd so conningly* each in his degree,               *cleverly, skilfully\nThat no defaulte no man apperceiv'd,\nBut aye they wonder'd what she mighte be\nThat in so poor array was for to see,\nAnd coude* such honour and reverence;                  *knew, understood\nAnd worthily they praise her prudence.\n\nIn all this meane while she not stent*                           *ceased\nThis maid, and eke her brother, to commend\nWith all her heart in full benign intent,\nSo well, that no man could her praise amend:\nBut at the last, when that these lordes wend*                        *go\nTo sitte down to meat, he gan to call\nGriseld', as she was busy in the hall.\n\n\"Griseld',\" quoth he, as it were in his play,\n\"How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?\"\n\"Right well, my Lord,\" quoth she, \"for, in good fay,*             *faith\nA fairer saw I never none than she:\nI pray to God give you prosperity;\nAnd so I hope, that he will to you send\nPleasance enough unto your lives end.\n\n\"One thing beseech I you, and warn also,\nThat ye not pricke with no tormenting\nThis tender maiden, as ye have done mo:*                        *me <13>\nFor she is foster'd in her nourishing\nMore tenderly, and, to my supposing,\nShe mighte not adversity endure\nAs could a poore foster'd creature.\"\n\nAnd when this Walter saw her patience,\nHer gladde cheer, and no malice at all,\nAnd* he so often had her done offence,                         *although\nAnd she aye sad* and constant as a wall,                      *steadfast\nContinuing ev'r her innocence o'er all,\nThe sturdy marquis gan his hearte dress*                        *prepare\nTo rue upon her wifely steadfastness.\n\n\"This is enough, Griselda mine,\" quoth he,\n\"Be now no more *aghast, nor evil paid,*        *afraid, nor displeased*\nI have thy faith and thy benignity\nAs well as ever woman was, assay'd,\nIn great estate and poorely array'd:\nNow know I, deare wife, thy steadfastness;\"\nAnd her in arms he took, and gan to kiss.\n\nAnd she for wonder took of it no keep;*                          *notice\nShe hearde not what thing he to her said:\nShe far'd as she had start out of a sleep,\nTill she out of her mazedness abraid.*                            *awoke\n\"Griseld',\" quoth he, \"by God that for us died,\nThou art my wife, none other I have,\nNor ever had, as God my soule save.\n\n\"This is thy daughter, which thou hast suppos'd\nTo be my wife; that other faithfully\nShall be mine heir, as I have aye dispos'd;\nThou bare them of thy body truely:\nAt Bologna kept I them privily:\nTake them again, for now may'st thou not say\nThat thou hast lorn* none of thy children tway.                    *lost\n\n\"And folk, that otherwise have said of me,\nI warn them well, that I have done this deed\nFor no malice, nor for no cruelty,\nBut to assay in thee thy womanhead:\nAnd not to slay my children (God forbid),\nBut for to keep them privily and still,\nTill I thy purpose knew, and all thy will.\"\n\nWhen she this heard, in swoon adown she falleth\nFor piteous joy; and after her swooning,\nShe both her younge children to her calleth,\nAnd in her armes piteously weeping\nEmbraced them, and tenderly kissing,\nFull like a mother, with her salte tears\nShe bathed both their visage and their hairs.\n\nO, what a piteous thing it was to see\nHer swooning, and her humble voice to hear!\n\"Grand mercy, Lord, God thank it you,\" quoth she,\nThat ye have saved me my children dear;\nNow reck* I never to be dead right here;                           *care\nSince I stand in your love, and in your grace,\nNo *force of* death, nor when my spirit pace.*     *no matter for* *pass\n\n\"O tender, O dear, O young children mine,\nYour woeful mother *weened steadfastly*                *believed firmly*\nThat cruel houndes, or some foul vermine,\nHad eaten you; but God of his mercy,\nAnd your benigne father tenderly\nHave *done you keep:\"* and in that same stound*           *caused you to\nAll suddenly she swapt** down to the ground.               be preserved*\n                                                            *hour **fell\nAnd in her swoon so sadly* holdeth she                           *firmly\nHer children two, when she gan them embrace,\nThat with great sleight* and great difficulty                       *art\nThe children from her arm they can arace,*                    *pull away\nO! many a tear on many a piteous face\nDown ran of them that stoode her beside,\nUnneth'* aboute her might they abide.                          *scarcely\n\nWalter her gladdeth, and her sorrow slaketh:*                  *assuages\nShe riseth up abashed* from her trance,                      *astonished\nAnd every wight her joy and feaste maketh,\nTill she hath caught again her countenance.\nWalter her doth so faithfully pleasance,\nThat it was dainty for to see the cheer\nBetwixt them two, since they be met in fere.*                  *together\n\nThe ladies, when that they their time sey,*                         *saw\nHave taken her, and into chamber gone,\nAnd stripped her out of her rude array,\nAnd in a cloth of gold that brightly shone,\nAnd with a crown of many a riche stone\nUpon her head, they into hall her brought:\nAnd there she was honoured as her ought.\n\nThus had this piteous day a blissful end;\nFor every man and woman did his might\nThis day in mirth and revel to dispend,\nTill on the welkin* shone the starres bright:                 *firmament\nFor more solemn in every mannes sight\nThis feaste was, and greater of costage,*                       *expense\nThan was the revel of her marriage.\n\nFull many a year in high prosperity\nLived these two in concord and in rest;\nAnd richely his daughter married he\nUnto a lord, one of the worthiest\nOf all Itale; and then in peace and rest\nHis wife's father in his court he kept,\nTill that the soul out of his body crept.\n\nHis son succeeded in his heritage,\nIn rest and peace, after his father's day:\nAnd fortunate was eke in marriage,\nAll* he put not his wife in great assay:                       *although\nThis world is not so strong, it *is no nay,*          *not to be denied*\nAs it hath been in olde times yore;\nAnd hearken what this author saith, therefore;\n\nThis story is said, <14> not for that wives should\nFollow Griselda in humility,\nFor it were importable* though they would;              *not to be borne\nBut for that every wight in his degree\nShoulde be constant in adversity,\nAs was Griselda; therefore Petrarch writeth\nThis story, which with high style he inditeth.\n\nFor, since a woman was so patient\nUnto a mortal man, well more we ought\nReceiven all in gree* that God us sent.                        good-will\n*For great skill is he proved that he wrought:*          *see note <15>*\nBut he tempteth no man that he hath bought,\nAs saith Saint James, if ye his 'pistle read;\nHe proveth folk all day, it is no dread.*                         *doubt\n\nAnd suffereth us, for our exercise,\nWith sharpe scourges of adversity\nFull often to be beat in sundry wise;\nNot for to know our will, for certes he,\nEre we were born, knew all our frailty;\nAnd for our best is all his governance;\nLet us then live in virtuous sufferance.\n\nBut one word, lordings, hearken, ere I go:\nIt were full hard to finde now-a-days\nIn all a town Griseldas three or two:\nFor, if that they were put to such assays,\nThe gold of them hath now so bad allays*                         *alloys\nWith brass, that though the coin be fair *at eye,*              *to see*\nIt woulde rather break in two than ply.*                           *bend\n\nFor which here, for the Wife's love of Bath, --\nWhose life and all her sex may God maintain\nIn high mast'ry, and elles were it scath,* --              *damage, pity\nI will, with lusty hearte fresh and green,\nSay you a song to gladden you, I ween:\nAnd let us stint of earnestful mattere.\nHearken my song, that saith in this mannere.\n\n\nL'Envoy of Chaucer.\n\n\n\"Griseld' is dead, and eke her patience,\nAnd both at once are buried in Itale:\nFor which I cry in open audience,\nNo wedded man so hardy be t' assail\nHis wife's patience, in trust to find\nGriselda's, for in certain he shall fail.\n\n\"O noble wives, full of high prudence,\nLet no humility your tongues nail:\nNor let no clerk have cause or diligence\nTo write of you a story of such marvail,\nAs of Griselda patient and kind,\nLest Chichevache<16> you swallow in her entrail.\n\n\"Follow Echo, that holdeth no silence,\nBut ever answereth at the countertail;*              *counter-tally <17>\nBe not bedaffed* for your innocence,                           *befooled\nBut sharply take on you the governail;*                            *helm\nImprinte well this lesson in your mind,\nFor common profit, since it may avail.\n\n\"Ye archiwives,* stand aye at defence,                    *wives of rank\nSince ye be strong as is a great camail,*                         *camel\nNor suffer not that men do you offence.\nAnd slender wives, feeble in battail,\nBe eager as a tiger yond in Ind;\nAye clapping as a mill, I you counsail.\n\n\"Nor dread them not, nor do them reverence;\nFor though thine husband armed be in mail,\nThe arrows of thy crabbed eloquence\nShall pierce his breast, and eke his aventail;<18>\nIn jealousy I rede* eke thou him bind,                           *advise\nAnd thou shalt make him couch* as doth a quail.          *submit, shrink\n\n\"If thou be fair, where folk be in presence\nShew thou thy visage and thine apparail:\nIf thou be foul, be free of thy dispence;\nTo get thee friendes aye do thy travail:\nBe aye of cheer as light as leaf on lind,*            *linden, lime-tree\nAnd let him care, and weep, and wring, and wail.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Clerk's Tale\n\n\n1. Petrarch, in his Latin romance, \"De obedientia et fide uxoria\nMythologia,\" (Of obedient and faithful wives in Mythology)\ntranslated the charming story of \"the patient Grizel\" from the\nItalian of Bocaccio's \"Decameron;\" and Chaucer has closely\nfollowed Petrarch's translation, made in 1373, the year before\nthat in which he died.  The fact that the embassy to Genoa, on\nwhich Chaucer was sent, took place in 1372-73, has lent\ncountenance to the opinion that the English poet did actually\nvisit the Italian bard at Padua, and hear the story from his own\nlips.  This, however, is only a probability; for it is a moot point\nwhether the two poets ever met.\n\n2. Vesulus:  Monte Viso, a lofty peak at the junction of the\nMaritime and Cottian Alps; from two springs on its east side\nrises the Po.\n\n3. Buxomly: obediently; Anglo-Saxon, \"bogsom,\" old English,\n\"boughsome,\" that can be easily bent or bowed; German,\n\"biegsam,\" pliant, obedient.\n\n4. Well ofter of the well than of the tun she drank: she drank\nwater much more often than wine.\n\n5. Undern: afternoon, evening, though by some \"undern\"\nis understood as dinner-time -- 9 a. m. See note 4 to the Wife of\nBath's Tale.\n\n6. Very: true; French \"vrai\".\n\n7. Nouches: Ornaments of some kind not precisely known;\nsome editions read \"ouches,\" studs, brooches. (Transcriber's\nnote: The OED gives \"nouches\" as a form of \"ouches,\"\nbuckles)\n\n8. A furlong way or two: a short time; literally, as long as it\ntakes to walk one or two furlongs (a furlong is 220 yards)\n\n9. Lordes' hestes may not be y-feign'd: it will not do merely to\nfeign compliance with a lord's commands.\n\n10. Arace: tear; French, \"arracher.\"\n\n11. Fele: many; German, \"viel.\"\n\n12. Dear enough a jane: worth nothing.  A jane was a small coin\nof little worth, so the meaning is \"not worth a red cent\".\n\n13. Mo: me.  \"This is one of the most licentious corruptions of\northography,\" says Tyrwhitt, \"that I remember to have observed\nin Chaucer;\" but such liberties were common among the\nEuropean poets of his time,  when there was an extreme lack of\ncertainty in orthography.\n\n14. The fourteen lines that follow are translated almost literally\nfrom Petrarch's Latin.\n\n15. For great skill is he proved that he wrought: for it is most\nreasonable that He should prove or test that which he made.\n\n16. Chichevache, in old popular fable, was a monster that fed\nonly on good women, and was always very thin from scarcity of\nsuch food; a corresponding monster, Bycorne, fed only on\nobedient and kind husbands, and was always fat. The origin of\nthe fable was French; but Lydgate has a ballad on the subject.\n\"Chichevache\" literally means \"niggardly\" or \"greedy cow.\"\n\n17. Countertail: Counter-tally or counter-foil; something exactly\ncorresponding.\n\n18. Aventail: forepart of a helmet, vizor.\n\n\n\nTHE MERCHANT'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.<l>\n\n\n\"Weeping and wailing, care and other sorrow,\nI have enough, on even and on morrow,\"\nQuoth the Merchant, \"and so have other mo',\nThat wedded be; I trow* that it be so;                          *believe\nFor well I wot it fareth so by me.\nI have a wife, the worste that may be,\nFor though the fiend to her y-coupled were,\nShe would him overmatch, I dare well swear.\nWhy should I you rehearse in special\nHer high malice? she is *a shrew at all.*                *thoroughly, in\nThere is a long and large difference                  everything wicked*\nBetwixt Griselda's greate patience,\nAnd of my wife the passing cruelty.\nWere I unbounden, all so may I the,*                             *thrive\nI woulde never eft* come in the snare.                            *again\nWe wedded men live in sorrow and care;\nAssay it whoso will, and he shall find\nThat I say sooth, by Saint Thomas of Ind,<2>\nAs for the more part; I say not all, --\nGod shielde* that it shoulde so befall.                          *forbid\nAh! good Sir Host, I have y-wedded be\nThese moneths two, and more not, pardie;\nAnd yet I trow* that he that all his life                       *believe\nWifeless hath been, though that men would him rive*               *wound\nInto the hearte, could in no mannere\nTelle so much sorrow, as I you here\nCould tellen of my wife's cursedness.\"*                      *wickedness\n\n\"Now,\" quoth our Host, \"Merchant, so God you bless,\nSince ye so muche knowen of that art,\nFull heartily I pray you tell us part.\"\n\"Gladly,\" quoth he; \"but of mine owen sore,\nFor sorry heart, I telle may no more.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Merchant's Tale\n\n\n1.  Though the manner in which the Merchant takes up the\nclosing words of the Envoy to the Clerk's Tale, and refers to\nthe patience of Griselda, seems to prove beyond doubt that\nthe order of the Tales in the text is the right one, yet in\nsome manuscripts of good authority the Franklin's Tale\nfollows the Clerk's, and the Envoy is concluded by this\nstanza: --\n\"This worthy Clerk when ended was his tale,\nOur Hoste said, and swore by cocke's bones\n'Me lever were than a barrel of ale\nMy wife at home had heard this legend once;\nThis is a gentle tale for the nonce;\nAs, to my purpose, wiste ye my will.\nBut thing that will not be, let it be still.'\"\n\nIn other manuscripts of less authority the Host proceeds, in\ntwo similar stanzas, to impose a Tale on the Franklin; but\nTyrwhitt is probably right in setting them aside as spurious,\nand in admitting the genuineness of the first only, if it be\nsupposed that Chaucer forgot to cancel it when he had\ndecided on another mode of connecting the Merchant's with\nthe Clerk's Tale.\n\n2. Saint Thomas of Ind: St. Thomas the Apostle, who was\nbelieved to have travelled in India.\n\n\nTHE TALE.<l>\n\n\nWhilom there was dwelling in Lombardy\nA worthy knight, that born was at Pavie,\nIn which he liv'd in great prosperity;\nAnd forty years a wifeless man was he,\nAnd follow'd aye his bodily delight\nOn women, where as was his appetite,\nAs do these fooles that be seculeres.<2>\nAnd, when that he was passed sixty years,\nWere it for holiness, or for dotage,\nI cannot say, but such a great corage*                      *inclination\nHadde this knight to be a wedded man,\nThat day and night he did all that he can\nTo espy where that he might wedded be;\nPraying our Lord to grante him, that he\nMighte once knowen of that blissful life\nThat is betwixt a husband and his wife,\nAnd for to live under that holy bond\nWith which God firste man and woman bond.\n\"None other life,\" said he, \"is worth a bean;\nFor wedlock is so easy, and so clean,\nThat in this world it is a paradise.\"\nThus said this olde knight, that was so wise.\nAnd certainly, as sooth* as God is king,                           *true\nTo take a wife it is a glorious thing,\nAnd namely* when a man is old and hoar,                      *especially\nThen is a wife the fruit of his treasor;\nThen should he take a young wife and a fair,\nOn which he might engender him an heir,\nAnd lead his life in joy and in solace;*                 *mirth, delight\nWhereas these bachelors singen \"Alas!\"\nWhen that they find any adversity\nIn love, which is but childish vanity.\nAnd truely it sits* well to be so,                      *becomes, befits\nThat bachelors have often pain and woe:\nOn brittle ground they build, and brittleness\nThey finde when they *weene sickerness:*               *think that there\nThey live but as a bird or as a beast,                      is security*\nIn liberty, and under no arrest;*                        *check, control\nWhereas a wedded man in his estate\nLiveth a life blissful and ordinate,\nUnder the yoke of marriage y-bound;\nWell may his heart in joy and bliss abound.\nFor who can be so buxom* as a wife?                            *obedient\nWho is so true, and eke so attentive\nTo keep* him, sick and whole, as is his make?**         *care for **mate\nFor weal or woe she will him not forsake:\nShe is not weary him to love and serve,\nThough that he lie bedrid until he sterve.*                         *die\nAnd yet some clerkes say it is not so;\nOf which he, Theophrast, is one of tho:*                          *those\n*What force* though Theophrast list for to lie?            *what matter*\n\n\"Take no wife,\" quoth he, <3> \"for husbandry,*                   *thrift\nAs for to spare in household thy dispence;\nA true servant doth more diligence\nThy good to keep, than doth thine owen wife,\nFor she will claim a half part all her life.\nAnd if that thou be sick, so God me save,\nThy very friendes, or a true knave,*                            *servant\nWill keep thee bet than she, that *waiteth aye          *ahways waits to\nAfter thy good,* and hath done many a day.\"       inherit your property*\nThis sentence, and a hundred times worse,\nWriteth this man, there God his bones curse.\nBut take no keep* of all such vanity,                            *notice\nDefy* Theophrast, and hearken to me.                           *distrust\n\nA wife is Godde's gifte verily;\nAll other manner giftes hardily,*                                 *truly\nAs handes, rentes, pasture, or commune,*                    *common land\nOr mebles,* all be giftes of fortune,                     *furniture <4>\nThat passen as a shadow on the wall:\nBut dread* thou not, if plainly speak I shall,                    *doubt\nA wife will last, and in thine house endure,\nWell longer than thee list, paraventure.*                       *perhaps\nMarriage is a full great sacrament;\nHe which that hath no wife, I hold him shent;*                   *ruined\nHe liveth helpless, and all desolate\n(I speak of folk *in secular estate*):                      *who are not\nAnd hearken why, I say not this for nought, --            of the clergy*\nThat woman is for manne's help y-wrought.\nThe highe God, when he had Adam maked,\nAnd saw him all alone belly naked,\nGod of his greate goodness saide then,\nLet us now make a help unto this man\nLike to himself; and then he made him Eve.\nHere may ye see, and hereby may ye preve,*                        *prove\nThat a wife is man s help and his comfort,\nHis paradise terrestre and his disport.\nSo buxom* and so virtuous is she,                   *obedient, complying\nThey muste needes live in unity;\nOne flesh they be, and one blood, as I guess,\nWith but one heart in weal and in distress.\nA wife? Ah! Saint Mary, ben'dicite,\nHow might a man have any adversity\nThat hath a wife? certes I cannot say\nThe bliss the which that is betwixt them tway,\nThere may no tongue it tell, or hearte think.\nIf he be poor, she helpeth him to swink;*                        *labour\nShe keeps his good, and wasteth never a deal;*                     *whit\nAll that her husband list, her liketh* well;                   *pleaseth\nShe saith not ones Nay, when he saith Yea;\n\"Do this,\" saith he; \"All ready, Sir,\" saith she.\nO blissful order, wedlock precious!\nThou art so merry, and eke so virtuous,\nAnd so commended and approved eke,\nThat every man that holds him worth a leek\nUpon his bare knees ought all his life\nTo thank his God, that him hath sent a wife;\nOr elles pray to God him for to send\nA wife, to last unto his life's end.\nFor then his life is set in sickerness,*                       *security\nHe may not be deceived, as I guess,\nSo that he work after his wife's rede;*                         *counsel\nThen may he boldely bear up his head,\nThey be so true, and therewithal so wise.\nFor which, if thou wilt worken as the wise,\nDo alway so as women will thee rede. *                          *counsel\nLo how that Jacob, as these clerkes read,\nBy good counsel of his mother Rebecc'\nBounde the kiddes skin about his neck;\nFor which his father's benison* he wan.                     *benediction\nLo Judith, as the story telle can,\nBy good counsel she Godde's people kept,\nAnd slew him, Holofernes, while he slept.\nLo Abigail, by good counsel, how she\nSaved her husband Nabal, when that he\nShould have been slain.  And lo, Esther also\nBy counsel good deliver'd out of woe\nThe people of God, and made him, Mardoche,\nOf Assuere enhanced* for to be.                     *advanced in dignity\nThere is nothing *in gree superlative*                *of higher esteem*\n(As saith Senec) above a humble wife.\nSuffer thy wife's tongue, as Cato bit;*                             *bid\nShe shall command, and thou shalt suffer it,\nAnd yet she will obey of courtesy.\nA wife is keeper of thine husbandry:\nWell may the sicke man bewail and weep,\nThere as there is no wife the house to keep.\nI warne thee, if wisely thou wilt wirch,*                          *work\nLove well thy wife, as Christ loveth his church:\nThou lov'st thyself, if thou lovest thy wife.\nNo man hateth his flesh, but in his life\nHe fost'reth it; and therefore bid I thee\nCherish thy wife, or thou shalt never the.*                      *thrive\nHusband and wife, what *so men jape or play,*         *although men joke\nOf worldly folk holde the sicker* way;               and jeer*  *certain\nThey be so knit there may no harm betide,\nAnd namely* upon the wife's side.                           * especially\n\nFor which this January, of whom I told,\nConsider'd hath within his dayes old,\nThe lusty life, the virtuous quiet,\nThat is in marriage honey-sweet.\nAnd for his friends upon a day he sent\nTo tell them the effect  of his intent.\nWith face sad,* his tale he hath them told:              *grave, earnest\nHe saide, \"Friendes, I am hoar and old,\nAnd almost (God wot) on my pitte's* brink,                      *grave's\nUpon my soule somewhat must I think.\nI have my body foolishly dispended,\nBlessed be God that it shall be amended;\nFor I will be certain a wedded man,\nAnd that anon in all the haste I can,\nUnto some maiden, fair and tender of age;\nI pray you shape* for my marriage                    * arrange, contrive\nAll suddenly, for I will not abide:\nAnd I will fond* to espy, on my side,                               *try\nTo whom I may be wedded hastily.\nBut forasmuch as ye be more than,\nYe shalle rather* such a thing espy\nThan I, and where me best were to ally.\nBut one thing warn I you, my friendes dear,\nI will none old wife have in no mannere:\nShe shall not passe sixteen year certain.\nOld fish and younge flesh would I have fain.\nBetter,\" quoth he, \"a pike than a pickerel,*                 *young pike\nAnd better than old beef is tender veal.\nI will no woman thirty year of age,\nIt is but beanestraw and great forage.\nAnd eke these olde widows (God it wot)\nThey conne* so much craft on Wade's boat,<5>                       *know\n*So muche brooke harm when that them lest,*         *they can do so much\nThat with them should I never live in rest.         harm when they wish*\nFor sundry schooles make subtle clerkes;\nWoman of many schooles half a clerk is.\nBut certainly a young thing men may guy,*                         *guide\nRight as men may warm wax with handes ply.*                  *bend,mould\nWherefore I say you plainly in a clause,\nI will none old wife have, right for this cause.\nFor if so were I hadde such mischance,\nThat I in her could have no pleasance,\nThen should I lead my life in avoutrie,*                       *adultery\nAnd go straight to the devil when I die.\nNor children should I none upon her getten:\nYet *were me lever* houndes had me eaten                *I would rather*\nThan that mine heritage shoulde fall\nIn strange hands: and this I tell you all.\nI doubte not I know the cause why\nMen shoulde wed: and farthermore know I\nThere speaketh many a man of marriage\nThat knows no more of it than doth my page,\nFor what causes a man should take a wife.\nIf he ne may not live chaste his life,\nTake him a wife with great devotion,\nBecause of lawful procreation\nOf children, to th' honour of God above,\nAnd not only for paramour or love;\nAnd for they shoulde lechery eschew,\nAnd yield their debte when that it is due:\nOr for that each of them should help the other\nIn mischief,* as a sister shall the brother,                    *trouble\nAnd live in chastity full holily.\nBut, Sires, by your leave, that am not I,\nFor, God be thanked, I dare make avaunt,*                         *boast\nI feel my limbes stark* and suffisant                            *strong\nTo do all that a man belongeth to:\nI wot myselfe best what I may do.\nThough I be hoar, I fare as doth a tree,\nThat blossoms ere the fruit y-waxen* be;                          *grown\nThe blossomy tree is neither dry nor dead;\nI feel me now here hoar but on my head.\nMine heart and all my limbes are as green\nAs laurel through the year is for to seen.*                         *see\nAnd, since that ye have heard all mine intent,\nI pray you to my will ye would assent.\"\n\nDiverse men diversely him told\nOf marriage many examples old;\nSome blamed it, some praised it, certain;\nBut at the haste, shortly for to sayn\n(As all day* falleth altercation                  *constantly, every day\nBetwixte friends in disputation),\nThere fell a strife betwixt his brethren two,\nOf which that one was called Placebo,\nJustinus soothly called was that other.\n\nPlacebo said; \"O January, brother,\nFull little need have ye, my lord so dear,\nCounsel to ask of any that is here:\nBut that ye be so full of sapience,\nThat you not liketh, for your high prudence,\nTo waive* from the word of Solomon.                     *depart, deviate\nThis word said he unto us every one;\nWork alle thing by counsel, -- thus said he, --\nAnd thenne shalt thou not repente thee\nBut though that Solomon spake such a word,\nMine owen deare brother and my lord,\nSo wisly* God my soule bring at rest,                            *surely\nI hold your owen counsel is the best.\nFor, brother mine, take of me this motive; *     *advice, encouragement\nI have now been a court-man all my life,\nAnd, God it wot, though I unworthy be,\nI have standen in full great degree\nAboute lordes of full high estate;\nYet had I ne'er with none of them debate;\nI never them contraried truely.\nI know well that my lord can* more than I;                        *knows\nWhat that he saith I hold it firm and stable,\nI say the same, or else a thing semblable.\nA full great fool is any counsellor\nThat serveth any lord of high honour\nThat dare presume, or ones thinken it;\nThat his counsel should pass his lorde's wit.\nNay, lordes be no fooles by my fay.\nYe have yourselfe shewed here to day\nSo high sentence,* so holily and well               *judgment, sentiment\nThat I consent, and confirm *every deal*                *in every point*\nYour wordes all, and your opinioun\nBy God, there is no man in all this town\nNor in Itale, could better have y-said.\nChrist holds him of this counsel well apaid.*                 *satisfied\nAnd truely it is a high courage\nOf any man that stopen* is in age,                         *advanced <6>\nTo take a young wife, by my father's kin;\nYour hearte hangeth on a jolly pin.\nDo now in this matter right as you lest,\nFor finally I hold it for the best.\"\n\nJustinus, that aye stille sat and heard,\nRight in this wise to Placebo answer'd.\n\"Now, brother mine, be patient I pray,\nSince ye have said, and hearken what I say.\nSenec, among his other wordes wise,\nSaith, that a man ought him right well advise,*                *consider\nTo whom he gives his hand or his chattel.\nAnd since I ought advise me right well\nTo whom I give my good away from me,\nWell more I ought advise me, pardie,\nTo whom I give my body: for alway\nI warn you well it is no childe's play\nTo take a wife without advisement.\nMen must inquire (this is mine assent)\nWhe'er she be wise, or sober, or dronkelew,*             *given to drink\nOr proud, or any other ways a shrew,\nA chidester,* or a waster of thy good,                          *a scold\nOr rich or poor; or else a man is wood.*                            *mad\nAlbeit so, that no man finde shall\nNone in this world, that *trotteth whole in all,*           *is sound in\nNo man, nor beast, such as men can devise,*     every point*  *describe\nBut nathehess it ought enough suffice\nWith any wife, if so were that she had\nMore goode thewes* than her vices bad:                       * qualities\nAnd all this asketh leisure to inquere.\nFor, God it wot, I have wept many a tear\nFull privily, since I have had a wife.\nPraise whoso will a wedded manne's life,\nCertes, I find in it but cost and care,\nAnd observances of all blisses bare.\nAnd yet, God wot, my neighebours about,\nAnd namely* of women many a rout,**                *especially **company\nSay that I have the moste steadfast wife,\nAnd eke the meekest one, that beareth life.\nBut I know best where wringeth* me my shoe,                     *pinches\nYe may for me right as you like do\nAdvise you, ye be a man of age,\nHow that ye enter into marriage;\nAnd namely* with a young wife and a fair,                   * especially\nBy him that made water, fire, earth, air,\nThe youngest man that is in all this rout*                      *company\nIs busy enough to bringen it about\nTo have his wife alone, truste me:\nYe shall not please her fully yeares three,\nThis is to say, to do her full pleasance.\nA wife asketh full many an observance.\nI pray you that ye be not *evil apaid.\"*                    *displeased*\n\n\"Well,\" quoth this January, \"and hast thou said?\nStraw for thy Senec, and for thy proverbs,\nI counte not a pannier full of herbs\nOf schoole termes; wiser men than thou,\nAs thou hast heard, assented here right now\nTo my purpose: Placebo, what say ye?\"\n\"I say it is a cursed* man,\" quoth he,              *ill-natured, wicked\n\"That letteth* matrimony, sickerly.\"                          *hindereth\nAnd with that word they rise up suddenly,\nAnd be assented fully, that he should\nBe wedded when him list, and where he would.\n\nHigh fantasy and curious business\nFrom day to day gan in the soul impress*             *imprint themselves\nOf January about his marriage\nMany a fair  shape, and many a fair visage\nThere passed through his hearte night by night.\nAs whoso took a mirror polish'd bright,\nAnd set it in a common market-place,\nThen should he see many a figure pace\nBy his mirror; and in the same wise\nGan January in his thought devise\nOf maidens, which that dwelte him beside:\nHe wiste not where that he might abide.*           *stay, fix his choice\nFor if that one had beauty in her face,\nAnother stood so in the people's grace\nFor her sadness* and her benignity,                          *sedateness\nThat of the people greatest voice had she:\nAnd some were rich and had a badde name.\nBut natheless, betwixt earnest and game,\nHe at the last appointed him on one,\nAnd let all others from his hearte gon,\nAnd chose her of his own authority;\nFor love is blind all day, and may not see.\nAnd when that he was into bed y-brought,\nHe pourtray'd in his heart and in his thought\nHer freshe beauty, and her age tender,\nHer middle small, her armes long and slender,\nHer wise governance, her gentleness,\nHer womanly bearing, and her sadness.*                       *sedateness\nAnd when that he *on her was condescended,*           *had selected her*\nHe thought his choice might not be amended;\nFor when that he himself concluded had,\nHe thought each other manne' s wit so bad,\nThat impossible it were to reply\nAgainst his choice; this was his fantasy.\nHis friendes sent he to, at his instance,\nAnd prayed them to do him that pleasance,\nThat hastily they would unto him come;\nHe would abridge their labour all and some:\nNeeded no more for them to go nor ride,<7>\n*He was appointed where he would abide.*            *he had definitively\n\nPlacebo came, and eke his friendes soon,                made his choice*\nAnd *alderfirst he bade them all a boon,*         *first of all he asked\nThat none of them no arguments would make              a favour of them*\nAgainst the purpose that he had y-take:\nWhich purpose was pleasant to God, said he,\nAnd very ground of his prosperity.\nHe said, there was a maiden in the town,\nWhich that of beauty hadde great renown;\nAll* were it so she were of small degree,                      *although\nSufficed him her youth and her beauty;\nWhich maid, he said, he would have to his wife,\nTo lead in ease and holiness his life;\nAnd thanked God, that he might have her all,\nThat no wight with his blisse parte* shall;                *have a share\nAnd prayed them to labour in this need,\nAnd shape that he faile not to speed:\nFor then, he said, his spirit was at ease.\n\"Then is,\" quoth he, \"nothing may me displease,\nSave one thing pricketh in my conscience,\nThe which I will rehearse in your presence.\nI have,\" quoth he, \"heard said, full yore* ago,                    *long\nThere may no man have perfect blisses two,\nThis is to say, on earth and eke in heaven.\nFor though he keep him from the sinne's seven,\nAnd eke from every branch of thilke tree,<8>\nYet is there so perfect felicity,\nAnd so great *ease and lust,* in marriage,        *comfort and pleasure*\nThat ev'r I am aghast,* now in mine age                 *ashamed, afraid\nThat I shall head now so merry a life,\nSo delicate, withoute woe or strife,\nThat I shall have mine heav'n on earthe here.\nFor since that very heav'n is bought so dear,\nWith tribulation and great penance,\nHow should I then, living in such pleasance\nAs alle wedded men do with their wives,\nCome to the bliss where Christ *etern on live is?*    *lives eternally*\nThis is my dread;* and ye, my brethren tway,                      *doubt\nAssoile* me this question, I you pray.\"                 *resolve, answer\n\nJustinus, which that hated his folly,\nAnswer'd anon right in his japery;*                *mockery, jesting way\nAnd, for he would his longe tale abridge,\nHe woulde no authority* allege,                           *written texts\nBut saide; \"Sir, so there be none obstacle\nOther than this, God of his high miracle,\nAnd of his mercy, may so for you wirch,*                           *work\nThat, ere ye have your rights of holy church,\nYe may repent of wedded manne's life,\nIn which ye say there is no woe nor strife:\nAnd elles God forbid, *but if* he sent                           *unless\nA wedded man his grace him to repent\nWell often, rather than a single man.\nAnd therefore, Sir, *the beste rede I can,*   *this is the best counsel\nDespair you not, but have in your memory,                   that I know*\nParaventure she may be your purgatory;\nShe may be Godde's means, and Godde's whip;\nAnd then your soul shall up to heaven skip\nSwifter than doth an arrow from a bow.\nI hope to God hereafter ye shall know\nThat there is none so great felicity\nIn marriage, nor ever more shall be,\nThat you shall let* of your salvation;                           *hinder\nSo that ye use, as skill is and reason,\nThe lustes* of your wife attemperly,**           *pleasures **moderately\nAnd that ye please her not too amorously,\nAnd that ye keep you eke from other sin.\nMy tale is done, for my wit is but thin.\nBe not aghast* hereof, my brother dear,                 *aharmed, afraid\nBut let us waden out of this mattere,\nThe Wife of Bath, if ye have understand,\nOf marriage, which ye have now in hand,\nDeclared hath full well in little space;\nFare ye now well, God have you in his grace.\"\n\nAnd with this word this Justin' and his brother\nHave ta'en their leave, and each of them of other.\nAnd when they saw that it must needes be,\nThey wroughte so, by sleight and wise treaty,\nThat she, this maiden, which that *Maius hight,*         *was named May*\nAs hastily as ever that she might,\nShall wedded be unto this January.\nI trow it were too longe you to tarry,\nIf I told you of every *script and band*                  *written bond*\nBy which she was feoffed in his hand;\nOr for to reckon of her rich array\nBut finally y-comen is the day\nThat to the churche bothe be they went,\nFor to receive the holy sacrament,\nForth came the priest, with stole about his neck,\nAnd bade her be like Sarah and Rebecc'\nIn wisdom and in truth of marriage;\nAnd said his orisons, as is usage,\nAnd crouched* them, and prayed God should them bless,           *crossed\nAnd made all sicker* enough with holiness.                      *certain\n\nThus be they wedded with solemnity;\nAnd at the feaste sat both he and she,\nWith other worthy folk, upon the dais.\nAll full of joy and bliss is the palace,\nAnd full of instruments, and of vitaille, *              *victuals, food\nThe moste dainteous* of all Itale.                             *delicate\nBefore them stood such instruments of soun',\nThat Orpheus, nor of Thebes Amphioun,\nNe made never such a melody.\nAt every course came in loud minstrelsy,\nThat never Joab trumped for to hear,\nNor he, Theodomas, yet half so clear\nAt Thebes, when the city was in doubt.\nBacchus the wine them skinked* all about.                    *poured <9>\nAnd Venus laughed upon every wight\n(For January was become her knight,\nAnd woulde both assaye his courage\nIn liberty, and eke in marriage),\nAnd with her firebrand in her hand about\nDanced before the bride and all the rout.\nAnd certainly I dare right well say this,\nHymeneus, that god of wedding is,\nSaw never his life so merry a wedded man.\nHold thou thy peace, thou poet Marcian,<10>\nThat writest us that ilke* wedding merry                           *same\nOf her Philology and him Mercury,\nAnd of the songes that the Muses sung;\nToo small is both thy pen, and eke thy tongue\nFor to describen of this marriage.\nWhen tender youth hath wedded stooping age,\nThere is such mirth that it may not be writ;\nAssay it youreself, then may ye wit*                               *know\nIf that I lie or no in this mattere.\n\nMaius, that sat with so benign a cheer,*                    *countenance\nHer to behold it seemed faerie;\nQueen Esther never look'd with such an eye\nOn Assuere, so meek a look had she;\nI may you not devise all her beauty;\nBut thus much of her beauty tell I may,\nThat she was hike the bright morrow of May\nFull filled of all beauty and pleasance.\nThis January is ravish'd in a trance,\nAt every time he looked in her face;\nBut in his heart he gan her to menace,\nThat he that night in armes would her strain\nHarder than ever Paris did Helene.\nBut natheless yet had he great pity\nThat thilke night offende her must he,\nAnd thought, \"Alas, O tender creature,\nNow woulde God ye mighte well endure\nAll my courage, it is so sharp and keen;\nI am aghast* ye shall it not sustene.                            *afraid\nBut God forbid that I did all my might.\nNow woulde God that it were waxen night,\nAnd that the night would lasten evermo'.\nI would that all this people were y-go.\"*                     *gone away\nAnd finally he did all his labour,\nAs he best mighte, saving his honour,\nTo haste them from the meat in subtle wise.\n\nThe time came that reason was to rise;\nAnd after that men dance, and drinke fast,\nAnd spices all about the house they cast,\nAnd full of joy and bliss is every man,\nAll but a squire, that highte Damian,\nWho carv'd before the knight full many a day;\nHe was so ravish'd on his lady May,\nThat for the very pain he was nigh wood;*                           *mad\nAlmost he swelt* and swooned where he stood,                    *fainted\nSo sore had Venus hurt him with her brand,\nAs that she bare it dancing in her hand.\nAnd to his bed he went him hastily;\nNo more of him as at this time speak I;\nBut there I let him weep enough and plain,*                      *bewail\nTill freshe May will rue upon his pain.\nO perilous fire, that in the bedstraw breedeth!\nO foe familiar,* that his service bedeth!**     *domestic <11> **offers\nO servant traitor, O  false homely hewe,*                  *servant <12>\nLike to the adder in bosom shy untrue,\nGod shield us alle from your acquaintance!\nO January, drunken in pleasance\nOf marriage, see how thy Damian,\nThine owen squier and thy boren* man,                         *born <13>\nIntendeth for to do thee villainy:*                  *dishonour, outrage\nGod grante thee thine *homehy foe* t' espy.     *enemy in the household*\nFor in this world is no worse pestilence\nThan homely foe, all day in thy presence.\n\nPerformed hath the sun his arc diurn,*                            *daily\nNo longer may the body of him sojourn\nOn the horizon, in that latitude:\nNight with his mantle, that is dark and rude,\nGan overspread the hemisphere about:\nFor which departed is this *lusty rout*               *pleasant company*\nFrom January, with thank on every side.\nHome to their houses lustily they ride,\nWhere as they do their thinges as them lest,\nAnd when they see their time they go to rest.\nSoon after that this hasty* January                               *eager\nWill go to bed, he will no longer tarry.\nHe dranke hippocras, clarre, and vernage <14>\nOf spices hot, to increase his courage;\nAnd many a lectuary* had he full fine,                           *potion\nSuch as the cursed monk Dan Constantine<15>\nHath written in his book *de Coitu;*             *of sexual intercourse*\nTo eat them all he would nothing eschew:\nAnd to his privy friendes thus said he:\n\"For Godde's love, as soon as it may be,\nLet *voiden all* this house in courteous wise.\"         *everyone leave*\nAnd they have done right as he will devise.\nMen drinken, and the travers* draw anon;                       *curtains\nThe bride is brought to bed as still as stone;\nAnd when the bed was with the priest y-bless'd,\nOut of the chamber every wight him dress'd,\nAnd January hath fast in arms y-take\nHis freshe May, his paradise, his make.*                           *mate\nHe lulled her, he kissed her full oft;\nWith thicke bristles of his beard unsoft,\nLike to the skin of houndfish,* sharp as brere**        *dogfish **briar\n(For he was shav'n all new in his mannere),\nHe rubbed her upon her tender face,\nAnd saide thus; \"Alas! I must trespace\nTo you, my spouse, and you greatly offend,\nEre time come that I will down descend.\nBut natheless consider this,\" quoth he,\n\"There is no workman, whatsoe'er he be,\nThat may both worke well and hastily:\nThis will be done at leisure perfectly.\nIt is *no force* how longe that we play;                     *no matter*\nIn true wedlock coupled be we tway;\nAnd blessed be the yoke that we be in,\nFor in our actes may there be no sin.\nA man may do no sinne with his wife,\nNor hurt himselfe with his owen knife;\nFor we have leave to play us by the law.\"\n\nThus labour'd he, till that the day gan daw,\nAnd then he took a sop in fine clarre,\nAnd upright in his bedde then sat he.\nAnd after that he sang full loud and clear,\nAnd kiss'd his wife, and made wanton cheer.\nHe was all coltish, full of ragerie *                        *wantonness\nAnd full of jargon as a flecked pie.<16>\nThe slacke skin about his necke shaked,\nWhile that he sang, so chanted he and craked.*                 *quavered\nBut God wot what that May thought in her heart,\nWhen she him saw up sitting in his shirt\nIn his night-cap, and with his necke lean:\nShe praised not his playing worth a bean.\nThen said he thus; \"My reste will I take\nNow day is come, I may no longer wake;\nAnd down he laid his head and slept till prime.\nAnd afterward, when that he saw his time,\nUp rose January, but freshe May\nHelde her chamber till the fourthe day,\nAs usage is of wives for the best.\nFor every labour some time must have rest,\nOr elles longe may he not endure;\nThis is to say, no life of creature,\nBe it of fish, or bird, or beast, or man.\n\nNow will I speak of woeful Damian,\nThat languisheth for love, as ye shall hear;\nTherefore I speak to him in this manneare.\nI say. \"O silly Damian, alas!\nAnswer to this demand, as in this case,\nHow shalt thou to thy lady, freshe May,\nTelle thy woe? She will alway say nay;\nEke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray; *                    *betray\nGod be thine help, I can no better say.\nThis sicke Damian in Venus' fire\nSo burned that he died for desire;\nFor which he put his life *in aventure,*                       *at risk*\nNo longer might he in this wise endure;\nBut privily a penner* gan he borrow,                       *writing-case\nAnd in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,\nIn manner of a complaint or a lay,\nUnto his faire freshe lady May.\nAnd in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt,\nHe hath it put, and laid it at his heart.\n\nThe moone, that at noon was thilke* day                            *that\nThat January had wedded freshe May,\nIn ten of Taure, was into Cancer glided;<17>\nSo long had Maius in her chamber abided,\nAs custom is unto these nobles all.\nA bride shall not eaten in the ball\nTill dayes four, or three days at the least,\nY-passed be; then let her go to feast.\nThe fourthe day complete from noon to noon,\nWhen that the highe masse was y-done,\nIn halle sat this January, and May,\nAs fresh as is the brighte summer's day.\nAnd so befell, how that this goode man\nRemember'd him upon this Damian.\nAnd saide; \"Saint Mary, how may this be,\nThat Damian attendeth not to me?\nIs he aye sick? or how may this betide?\"\nHis squiers, which that stoode there beside,\nExcused him, because of his sickness,\nWhich letted* him to do his business:                          *hindered\nNone other cause mighte make him tarry.\n\"That me forthinketh,\"* quoth this January              *grieves, causes\n\"He is a gentle squier, by my truth;                          uneasiness\nIf that he died, it were great harm and ruth.\nHe is as wise, as discreet, and secre',*                 *secret, trusty\nAs any man I know of his degree,\nAnd thereto manly and eke serviceble,\nAnd for to be a thrifty man right able.\nBut after meat, as soon as ever I may\nI will myself visit him, and eke May,\nTo do him all the comfort that I can.\"\nAnd for that word him blessed every man,\nThat of his bounty and his gentleness\nHe woulde so comforten in sickness\nHis squier, for it was a gentle deed.\n\n\"Dame,\" quoth this January, \"take good heed,\nAt after meat, ye with your women all\n(When that ye be in chamb'r out of this hall),\nThat all ye go to see this Damian:\nDo him disport, he is a gentle man;\nAnd telle him that I will him visite,\n*Have I nothing but rested me a lite:*          *when only I have rested\nAnd speed you faste, for I will abide                       me a little*\nTill that ye sleepe faste by my side.\"\nAnd with that word he gan unto him call\nA squier, that was marshal of his hall,\nAnd told him certain thinges that he wo'ld.\nThis freshe May hath straight her way y-hold,\nWith all her women, unto Damian.\nDown by his beddes side sat she than,*                             *then\nComforting him as goodly as she may.\nThis Damian, when that his time he say,*                            *saw\nIn secret wise his purse, and eke his bill,\nIn which that he y-written had his will,\nHath put into her hand withoute more,\nSave that he sighed wondrous deep and sore,\nAnd softely to her right thus said he:\n\"Mercy, and that ye not discover me:\nFor I am dead if that this thing be kid.\"*              *discovered <18>\nThe purse hath she in her bosom hid,\nAnd went her way; ye get no more of me;\nBut unto January come is she,\nThat on his bedde's side sat full soft.\nHe took her, and he kissed her full oft,\nAnd laid him down to sleep, and that anon.\nShe feigned her as that she muste gon\nThere as ye know that every wight must need;\nAnd when she of this bill had taken heed,\nShe rent it all to cloutes* at the last,                      *fragments\nAnd in the privy softely it cast.\nWho studieth* now but faire freshe May?                   *is thoughtful\nAdown by olde January she lay,\nThat slepte, till the cough had him awaked:\nAnon he pray'd her strippe her all naked,\nHe would of her, he said, have some pleasance;\nAnd said her clothes did him incumbrance.\nAnd she obey'd him, be her *lefe or loth.*        *willing or unwilling*\nBut, lest that precious* folk be with me wroth,          *over-nice <19>\nHow that he wrought I dare not to you tell,\nOr whether she thought it paradise or hell;\nBut there I let them worken in their wise\nTill evensong ring, and they must arise.\n\nWere it by destiny, or aventure,*                               * chance\nWere it by influence, or by nature,\nOr constellation, that in such estate\nThe heaven stood at that time fortunate\nAs for to put a bill of Venus' works\n(For alle thing hath time, as say these clerks),\nTo any woman for to get her love,\nI cannot say; but greate God above,\nThat knoweth that none act is causeless,\n*He deem* of all, for I will hold my peace.              *let him judge*\nBut sooth is this, how that this freshe May\nHath taken such impression that day\nOf pity on this sicke Damian,\nThat from her hearte she not drive can\nThe remembrance for *to do him ease.*                        *to satisfy\n\"Certain,\" thought she, \"whom that this thing displease      his desire*\nI recke not, for here I him assure,\nTo love him best of any creature,\nThough he no more haddee than his shirt.\"\nLo, pity runneth soon in gentle heart.\nHere may ye see, how excellent franchise*                    *generosity\nIn women is when they them *narrow advise.*           *closely consider*\nSome tyrant is, -- as there be many a one, --\nThat hath a heart as hard as any stone,\nWhich would have let him sterven* in the place                      *die\nWell rather than have granted him her grace;\nAnd then rejoicen in her cruel pride.\nAnd reckon not to be a homicide.\nThis gentle May, full filled of pity,\nRight of her hand a letter maked she,\nIn which she granted him her very grace;\nThere lacked nought, but only day and place,\nWhere that she might unto his lust suffice:\nFor it shall be right as he will devise.\nAnd when she saw her time upon a day\nTo visit this Damian went this May,\nAnd subtilly this letter down she thrust\nUnder his pillow, read it if him lust.*                         *pleased\nShe took him by the hand, and hard him twist\nSo secretly, that no wight of it wist,\nAnd bade him be all whole; and forth she went\nTo January, when he for her sent.\nUp rose Damian the nexte morrow,\nAll passed was his sickness and his sorrow.\nHe combed him, he proined <20> him and picked,\nHe did all that unto his lady liked;\nAnd eke to January he went as low\nAs ever did a dogge for the bow.<21>\nHe is so pleasant unto every man\n(For craft is all, whoso that do it can),\nEvery wight is fain to speak him good;\nAnd fully in his lady's grace he stood.\nThus leave I Damian about his need,\nAnd in my tale forth I will proceed.\n\nSome clerke* holde that felicity                      *writers, scholars\nStands in delight; and therefore certain he,\nThis noble January, with all his might\nIn honest wise as longeth* to a knight,                       *belongeth\nShope* him to live full deliciously:                 *prepared, arranged\nHis housing, his array, as honestly*               *honourably, suitably\nTo his degree was maked as a king's.\nAmonges other of his honest things\nHe had a garden walled all with stone;\nSo fair a garden wot I nowhere none.\nFor out of doubt I verily suppose\nThat he that wrote the Romance of the Rose <22>\nCould not of it the beauty well devise;*                       *describe\nNor Priapus <23> mighte not well suffice,\nThough he be god of gardens, for to tell\nThe beauty of the garden, and the well*                        *fountain\nThat stood under a laurel always green.\nFull often time he, Pluto, and his queen\nProserpina, and all their faerie,\nDisported them and made melody\nAbout that well, and danced, as men told.\nThis noble knight, this January old\nSuch dainty* had in it to walk and play,                       *pleasure\nThat he would suffer no wight to bear the key,\nSave he himself, for of the small wicket\nHe bare always of silver a cliket,*                                 *key\nWith which, when that him list, he it unshet.*                   *opened\nAnd when that he would pay his wife's debt,\nIn summer season, thither would he go,\nAnd May his wife, and no wight but they two;\nAnd thinges which that were not done in bed,\nHe in the garden them perform'd and sped.\nAnd in this wise many a merry day\nLived this January and fresh May,\nBut worldly joy may not always endure\nTo January, nor to no creatucere.\n\nO sudden hap! O thou fortune unstable!\nLike to the scorpion so deceivable,*                          *deceitful\nThat fhatt'rest with thy head when thou wilt sting;\nThy tail is death, through thine envenoming.\nO brittle joy! O sweete poison quaint!*                         *strange\nO monster, that so subtilly canst paint\nThy giftes, under hue of steadfastness,\nThat thou deceivest bothe *more and less!*             *great and small*\nWhy hast thou January thus deceiv'd,\nThat haddest him for thy full friend receiv'd?\nAnd now thou hast bereft him both his eyen,\nFor sorrow of which desireth he to dien.\nAlas! this noble January free,\nAmid his lust* and his prosperity                              *pleasure\nIs waxen blind, and that all suddenly.\nHe weeped and he wailed piteously;\nAnd therewithal the fire of jealousy\n(Lest that his wife should fall in some folly)\nSo burnt his hearte, that he woulde fain,\nThat some man bothe him and her had slain;\nFor neither after his death, nor in his life,\nNe would he that she were no love nor wife,\nBut ever live as widow in clothes black,\nSole as the turtle that hath lost her make.*                       *mate\nBut at the last, after a month or tway,\nHis sorrow gan assuage, soothe to say.\nFor, when he wist it might none other be,\nHe patiently took his adversity:\nSave out of doubte he may not foregon\nThat he was jealous evermore-in-one:*                       *continually\nWhich jealousy was so outrageous,\nThat neither in hall, nor in none other house,\nNor in none other place never the mo'\nHe woulde suffer her to ride or go,\n*But if* that he had hand on her alway.                          *unless\nFor which full often wepte freshe May,\nThat loved Damian so burningly\nThat she must either dien suddenly,\nOr elles she must have him as her lest:*                        *pleased\nShe waited* when her hearte woulde brest.**            *expected **burst\nUpon that other side Damian\nBecomen is the sorrowfullest man\nThat ever was; for neither night nor day\nHe mighte speak a word to freshe May,\nAs to his purpose, of no such mattere,\n*But if* that January must it hear,                             *unless*\nThat had a hand upon her evermo'.\nBut natheless, by writing to and fro,\nAnd privy signes, wist he what she meant,\nAnd she knew eke the fine* of his intent.                      *end, aim\n\nO January, what might it thee avail,\nThough thou might see as far as shippes sail?\nFor as good is it blind deceiv'd to be,\nAs be deceived when a man may see.\nLo, Argus, which that had a hundred eyen, <24>\nFor all that ever he could pore or pryen,\nYet was he blent;* and, God wot, so be mo',                    *deceived\nThat *weene wisly* that it be not so:                *think confidently*\nPass over is an ease, I say no more.\nThis freshe May, of which I spake yore,*                     *previously\nIn warm wax hath *imprinted the cliket*             *taken an impression\nThat January bare of the small wicket                        of the key*\nBy which into his garden oft he went;\nAnd Damian, that knew all her intent,\nThe cliket counterfeited privily;\nThere is no more to say, but hastily\nSome wonder by this cliket shall betide,\nWhich ye shall hearen, if ye will abide.\n\nO noble Ovid, sooth say'st thou, God wot,\nWhat sleight is it, if love be long and hot,\nThat he'll not find it out in some mannere?\nBy Pyramus and Thisbe may men lear;*                              *learn\nThough they were kept full long and strait o'er all,\nThey be accorded,* rowning** through a wall,        *agreed\t**whispering\nWhere no wight could have found out such a sleight.\nBut now to purpose; ere that dayes eight\nWere passed of the month of July, fill*                       *it befell\nThat January caught so great a will,\nThrough egging* of his wife, him for to play                   *inciting\nIn his garden, and no wight but they tway,\nThat in a morning to this May said he: <25>\n\"Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free;\nThe turtle's voice is heard, mine owen sweet;\nThe winter is gone, with all his raines weet.*                      *wet\nCome forth now with thine *eyen columbine*         *eyes like the doves*\nWell fairer be thy breasts than any wine.\nThe garden is enclosed all about;\nCome forth, my white spouse; for, out of doubt,\nThou hast me wounded in mine heart, O wife:\nNo spot in thee was e'er in all thy life.\nCome forth, and let us taken our disport;\nI choose thee for my wife and my comfort.\"\nSuch olde lewed* wordes used he.                      *foolish, ignorant\nOn Damian a signe made she,\nThat he should go before with his cliket.\nThis Damian then hath opened the wicket,\nAnd in he start, and that in such mannere\nThat no wight might him either see or hear;\nAnd still he sat under a bush. Anon\nThis January, as blind as is a stone,\nWith Maius in his hand, and no wight mo',\nInto this freshe garden is y-go,\nAnd clapped to the wicket suddenly.\n\"Now, wife,\" quoth he, \"here is but thou and I;\nThou art the creature that I beste love:\nFor, by that Lord that sits in heav'n above,\nLever* I had to dien on a knife,                                 *rather\nThan thee offende, deare true wife.\nFor Godde's sake, think how I thee chees,*                        *chose\nNot for no covetise* doubteless,                          * covetousness\nBut only for the love I had to thee.\nAnd though that I be old, and may not see,\nBe to me true, and I will tell you why.\nCertes three thinges shall ye win thereby:\nFirst, love of Christ, and to yourself honour,\nAnd all mine heritage, town and tow'r.\nI give it you, make charters as you lest;\nThis shall be done to-morrow ere sun rest,\nSo wisly* God my soule bring to bliss!                           *surely\nI pray you, on this covenant me kiss.\nAnd though that I be jealous, wite* me not;                       *blame\nYe be so deep imprinted in my thought,\nThat when that I consider your beauty,\nAnd therewithal *th'unlikely eld* of me,                *dissimilar age*\nI may not, certes, though I shoulde die,\nForbear to be out of your company,\nFor very love; this is withoute doubt:\nNow kiss me, wife, and let us roam about.\"\n\nThis freshe May, when she these wordes heard,\nBenignely to January answer'd;\nBut first and forward she began to weep:\n\"I have,\" quoth she, \"a soule for to keep\nAs well as ye, and also mine honour,\nAnd of my wifehood thilke* tender flow'r                      *that same\nWhich that I have assured in your hond,\nWhen that the priest to you my body bond:\nWherefore I will answer in this mannere,\nWith leave of you mine owen lord so dear.\nI pray to God, that never dawn the day\nThat I *no sterve,* as foul as woman may,                   *do not die*\nIf e'er I do unto my kin that shame,\nOr elles I impaire so my name,\nThat I bee false; and if I do that lack,\nDo strippe me, and put me in a sack,\nAnd in the nexte river do me drench:*                             *drown\nI am a gentle woman, and no wench.\nWhy speak ye thus? but men be e'er untrue,\nAnd women have reproof of you aye new.\nYe know none other dalliance, I believe,\nBut speak to us of untrust and repreve.\"*                       *reproof\n\nAnd with that word she saw where Damian\nSat in the bush, and coughe she began;\nAnd with her finger signe made she,\nThat Damian should climb upon a tree\nThat charged was with fruit; and up he went:\nFor verily he knew all her intent,\nAnd every signe that she coulde make,\nBetter than January her own make.*                                 *mate\nFor in a letter she had told him all\nOf this matter, how that he worke shall.\nAnd thus I leave him sitting in the perry,*                   *pear-tree\nAnd January and May roaming full merry.\n\nBright was the day, and blue the firmament;\nPhoebus of gold his streames down had sent\nTo gladden every flow'r with his warmness;\nHe was that time in Geminis, I guess,\nBut little from his declination\nOf Cancer, Jove's exaltation.\nAnd so befell, in that bright morning-tide,\nThat in the garden, on the farther side,\nPluto, that is the king of Faerie,\nAnd many a lady in his company\nFollowing his wife, the queen Proserpina, --\nWhich that he ravished out of Ethna,<26>\nWhile that she gather'd flowers in the mead\n(In Claudian ye may the story read,\nHow in his grisly chariot he her fet*), --                      *fetched\nThis king of Faerie adown him set\nUpon a bank of turfes fresh and green,\nAnd right anon thus said he to his queen.\n\"My wife,\" quoth he, \"there may no wight say nay, --\nExperience so proves it every day, --\nThe treason which that woman doth to man.\nTen hundred thousand stories tell I can\nNotable of your untruth and brittleness *                   *inconstancy\nO Solomon, richest of all richess,\nFull fill'd of sapience and worldly glory,\nFull worthy be thy wordes of memory\nTo every wight that wit and reason can. *                         *knows\nThus praised he yet the bounte* of man:                        *goodness\n'Among a thousand men yet found I one,\nBut of all women found I never none.' <27>\nThus said this king, that knew your wickedness;\nAnd Jesus, Filius Sirach, <28> as I guess,\nHe spake of you but seldom reverence.\nA wilde fire and corrupt pestilence\nSo fall upon your bodies yet to-night!\nNe see ye not this honourable knight?\nBecause, alas! that he is blind and old,\nHis owen man shall make him cuckold.\nLo, where he sits, the lechour, in the tree.\nNow will I granten, of my majesty,\nUnto this olde blinde worthy knight,\nThat he shall have again his eyen sight,\nWhen that his wife will do him villainy;\nThen shall be knowen all her harlotry,\nBoth in reproof of her and other mo'.\"\n\"Yea, Sir,\" quoth Proserpine,\" and will ye so?\nNow by my mother Ceres' soul I swear\nThat I shall give her suffisant answer,\nAnd alle women after, for her sake;\nThat though they be in any guilt y-take,\nWith face bold they shall themselves excuse,\nAnd bear them down that woulde them accuse.\nFor lack of answer, none of them shall dien.\n\nAll* had ye seen a thing with both your eyen,                  *although\nYet shall *we visage it* so hardily,                       *confront it*\nAnd weep, and swear, and chide subtilly,\nThat ye shall be as lewed* as be geese.            *ignorant, confounded\nWhat recketh me of your authorities?\nI wot well that this Jew, this Solomon,\nFound of us women fooles many one:\nBut though that he founde no good woman,\nYet there hath found many another man\nWomen full good, and true, and virtuous;\nWitness on them that dwelt in Christes house;\nWith martyrdom they proved their constance.\nThe Roman gestes <29> make remembrance\nOf many a very true wife also.\nBut, Sire, be not wroth, albeit so,\nThough that he said he found no good woman,\nI pray you take the sentence* of the man:         *opinion, real meaning\nHe meant thus, that in *sovereign bounte*              *perfect goodness\nIs none but God, no, neither *he nor she.*               *man nor woman*\nHey, for the very God that is but one,\nWhy make ye so much of Solomon?\nWhat though he made a temple, Godde's house?\nWhat though he were rich and glorious?\nSo made he eke a temple of false goddes;\nHow might he do a thing that more forbode* is?                *forbidden\nPardie, as fair as ye his name emplaster,*   *plaster over, \"whitewash\"\nHe was a lechour, and an idolaster,*                           *idohater\nAnd in his eld he very* God forsook.                           *the true\nAnd if that God had not (as saith the book)\nSpared him for his father's sake, he should\nHave lost his regne* rather** than he would.           *kingdom **sooner\nI *sette not of*  all the villainy                           *value not*\nThat he of women wrote, a butterfly.\nI am a woman, needes must I speak,\nOr elles swell until mine hearte break.\nFor since he said that we be jangleresses,*                  *chatterers\nAs ever may I brooke* whole my tresses,                        *preserve\nI shall not spare for no courtesy\nTo speak him harm, that said us villainy.\"\n\"Dame,\" quoth this Pluto, \"be no longer wroth;\nI give it up: but, since I swore mine oath\nThat I would grant to him his sight again,\nMy word shall stand, that warn I you certain:\nI am a king; it sits* me not to lie.\"                   *becomes, befits\n\"And I,\" quoth she, \"am queen of Faerie.\nHer answer she shall have, I undertake,\nLet us no more wordes of it make.\nForsooth, I will no longer you contrary.\"\n\nNow let us turn again to January,\nThat in the garden with his faire May\nSingeth well merrier than the popinjay:*                         *parrot\n\"You love I best, and shall, and other none.\"\nSo long about the alleys is he gone,\nTill he was come to *that ilke perry,*              *the same pear-tree*\nWhere as this Damian satte full merry\nOn high, among the freshe leaves green.\nThis freshe May, that is so bright and sheen,\nGan for to sigh, and said, \"Alas my side!\nNow, Sir,\" quoth she, \"for aught that may betide,\nI must have of the peares that I see,\nOr I must die, so sore longeth me\nTo eaten of the smalle peares green;\nHelp, for her love that is of heaven queen!\nI tell you well, a woman in my plight <30>\nMay have to fruit so great an appetite,\nThat she may dien, but* she of it have. \"                        *unless\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"that I had here a knave*                     *servant\nThat coulde climb; alas! alas!\" quoth he,\n\"For I am blind.\"  \"Yea, Sir, *no force,\"* quoth she;        *no matter*\n\"But would ye vouchesafe, for Godde's sake,\nThe perry in your armes for to take\n(For well I wot that ye mistruste me),\nThen would I climbe well enough,\" quoth she,\n\"So I my foot might set upon your back.\"\n\"Certes,\" said he, \"therein shall be no lack,\nMight I you helpe with mine hearte's blood.\"\nHe stooped down, and on his back she stood,\nAnd caught her by a twist,* and up she go'th.               *twig, bough\n(Ladies, I pray you that ye be not wroth,\nI cannot glose,* I am a rude man):                        *mince matters\nAnd suddenly anon this Damian\nGan pullen up the smock, and in he throng.*                 *rushed <31>\nAnd when that Pluto saw this greate wrong,\nTo January he gave again his sight,\nAnd made him see as well as ever he might.\nAnd when he thus had caught his sight again,\nWas never man of anything so fain:\nBut on his wife his thought was evermo'.\nUp to the tree he cast his eyen two,\nAnd saw how Damian his wife had dress'd,\nIn such mannere, it may not be express'd,\n*But if* I woulde speak uncourteously.                          *unless*\nAnd up he gave a roaring and a cry,\nAs doth the mother when the child shall die;\n\"Out! help! alas! harow!\" he gan to cry;\n\"O stronge, lady, stowre! <32> what doest thou?\"\n\nAnd she answered: \"Sir, what aileth you?\nHave patience and reason in your mind,\nI have you help'd on both your eyen blind.\nOn peril of my soul, I shall not lien,\nAs me was taught to helpe with your eyen,\nWas nothing better for to make you see,\nThan struggle with a man upon a tree:\nGod wot, I did it in full good intent.\"\n\"Struggle!\" quoth he, \"yea, algate* in it went.            *whatever way\nGod give you both one shame's death to dien!\nHe swived* thee; I saw it with mine eyen;              *enjoyed carnally\nAnd elles be I hanged by the halse.\"*                              *neck\n\"Then is,\" quoth she, \"my medicine all false;\nFor certainly, if that ye mighte see,\nYe would not say these wordes unto me.\nYe have some glimpsing,* and no perfect sight.\"              *glimmering\n\"I see,\" quoth he, \"as well as ever I might,\n(Thanked be God!) with both mine eyen two,\nAnd by my faith me thought he did thee so.\"\n\"Ye maze,*  ye maze, goode Sir,\" quoth she;          *rave, are confused\n\"This thank have I for I have made you see:\nAlas!\" quoth she, \"that e'er I was so kind.\"\n\"Now, Dame,\" quoth he, \"let all pass out of mind;\nCome down, my lefe,* and if I have missaid,                        *love\nGod help me so, as I am *evil apaid.*                     *dissatisfied*\nBut, by my father's soul, I ween'd have seen\nHow that this Damian had by thee lain,\nAnd that thy smock had lain upon his breast.\"\n\"Yea, Sir,\" quoth she, \"ye may *ween as ye lest:*          *think as you\nBut, Sir, a man that wakes out of his sleep,                     please*\nHe may not suddenly well take keep*                              *notice\nUpon a thing, nor see it perfectly,\nTill that he be adawed* verily.                                *awakened\nRight so a man, that long hath blind y-be,\nHe may not suddenly so well y-see,\nFirst when his sight is newe come again,\nAs he that hath a day or two y-seen.\nTill that your sight establish'd be a while,\nThere may full many a sighte you beguile.\nBeware, I pray you, for, by heaven's king,\nFull many a man weeneth to see a thing,\nAnd it is all another than it seemeth;\nHe which that misconceiveth oft misdeemeth.\"\nAnd with that word she leapt down from the tree.\nThis January, who is glad but he?\nHe kissed her, and clipped* her full oft,                      *embraced\nAnd on her womb he stroked her full soft;\nAnd to his palace home he hath her lad.*                            *led\nNow, goode men, I pray you to be glad.\nThus endeth here my tale of January,\nGod bless us, and his mother, Sainte Mary.\n\n\nNotes to The Merchant's Tale\n\n\n1. If, as is probable, this Tale was translated from the French,\nthe original is not now extant. Tyrwhitt remarks that the scene\n\"is laid in Italy, but none of the names, except Damian and\nJustin, seem to be Italian,  but rather made at pleasure; so that I\ndoubt whether the story be really of Italian growth. The\nadventure of the pear-tree I find in a small collection of Latin\nfables, written by one Adoiphus, in elegiac verses of his fashion,\nin the year 1315. . . . Whatever was the real origin of the Tale,\nthe machinery of the fairies, which Chaucer has used so happily,\nwas probably added by himself; and, indeed, I cannot help\nthinking that his Pluto and Proserpina were the true progenitors\nof Oberon and Titania; or rather, that they themselves have,\nonce at least, deigned to revisit our poetical system under the\nlatter names.\"\n\n2. Seculeres: of the laity; but perhaps, since the word is of two-\nfold meaning, Chaucer intends a hit at the secular clergy, who,\nunlike the regular orders, did not live separate from the world,\nbut shared in all its interests and pleasures -- all the more easily\nand freely, that they had not the civil restraint of marriage.\n\n3. This and the next eight lines are taken from the \"Liber\naureolus Theophrasti de nuptiis,\" (\"Theophrastus's Golden\nBook of Marriage\") quoted by Hieronymus, \"Contra\nJovinianum,\" (\"Against Jovinian\") and thence again by John of\nSalisbury.\n\n4. Mebles: movables, furniture, &c.; French, \"meubles.\"\n\n5. \"Wade's boat\" was called Guingelot; and in it, according to\nthe old romance, the owner underwent a long series of wild\nadventures, and performed many strange exploits.  The romance\nis lost, and therefore  the exact force of the phrase in the text is\nuncertain; but Mr Wright seems to be warranted in supposing\nthat Wade's adventures were cited as examples of craft and\ncunning -- that the hero, in fact, was a kind of Northern\nUlysses,  It is possible that to the same source we may trace the\nproverbial phrase, found in Chaucer's \"Remedy of Love,\" to\n\"bear Wattis pack\" signifying to be duped or beguiled.\n\n6. Stopen: advanced; past participle of \"step.\" Elsewhere\n\"y-stept in age\" is used by Chaucer.\n\n7. They did not need to go in quest of a wife for him, as they\nhad promised.\n\n8. Thilke tree: that tree of original sin, of which the special sins\nare the branches.\n\n9. Skinked:  poured out; from Anglo-Saxon, \"scencan.\"\n\n10. Marcianus Capella, who wrote a kind of philosophical\nromance, \"De Nuptiis Mercurii et Philologiae\" (Of the Marriage\nof Mercury and Philology) . \"Her\" and \"him,\" two lines after,\nlike \"he\" applied to Theodomas, are prefixed to the proper\nnames for emphasis, according to the Anglo- Saxon usage.\n\n11. Familiar: domestic; belonging to the \"familia,\" or household.\n\n12. Hewe: domestic servant; from Anglo-Saxon, \"hiwa.\"\nTyrwhitt reads \"false of holy hue;\" but Mr Wright has properly\nrestored the reading adopted in the text.\n\n13. Boren man: born; owing to January faith and loyalty\nbecause born in his household.\n\n14. Hippocras: spiced wine. Clarre: also a kind of spiced wine.\nVernage: a wine believed to have come from Crete, although its\nname -- Italian,  \"Vernaccia\" -- seems to be derived from\nVerona.\n\n15. Dan Constantine: a medical author who wrote about 1080;\nhis works were printed at Basle in 1536.\n\n16. Full of jargon as a flecked pie: he chattered like a magpie\n\n17. Nearly all the manuscripts read \"in two of Taure;\" but\nTyrwhitt has shown that, setting out from the second degree of\nTaurus, the moon, which in the four complete days that Maius\nspent in her chamber could not have advanced more than fifty-\nthree degrees, would only have been at the twenty-fifth degree\nof Gemini -- whereas, by reading \"ten,\" she is brought to the\nthird degree of Cancer.\n\n18. Kid; or \"kidde,\" past participle of  \"kythe\" or \"kithe,\" to\nshow or discover.\n\n19. Precious:  precise, over-nice; French, \"precieux,\" affected.\n\n20. Proined: or \"pruned;\" carefully trimmed and dressed\nhimself. The word is used in falconry of a hawk when she picks\nand trims her feathers.\n\n21. A dogge for the bow: a dog attending a hunter with the\nbow.\n\n22  The Romance of the Rose: a very popular mediaeval\nromance, the English version of which is partly by Chaucer. It\nopens with a description of a beautiful garden.\n\n23. Priapus:  Son of Bacchus and Venus: he was regarded as\nthe promoter of fertility in all agricultural life, vegetable and\nanimal; while not only gardens, but fields, flocks, bees -- and\neven fisheries -- were supposed to be under his protection.\n\n24. Argus was employed by Juno to watch Io with his hundred\neyes but he was sent to sleep by the flute of Mercury, who then\ncut off his head.\n\n25. \"My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my\nfair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is\nover and gone: The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the\nsinging of the birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard\nin our land.\"\n-- Song of Solomon, ii. 10-12.\n\n26.                \"That fair field,\nOf Enna, where Proserpine, gath'ring flowers,\nHerself a fairer flow'r, by gloomy Dis\nWas gather'd.\"\n-- Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 268\n\n27. \"Behold, this have I found, saith the preacher, counting one\nby one, to find out the account:\nWhich yet my soul seeketh, but I find not: one man amongst a\nthousand have I found, but a woman among all those I have not\nfound.\nLo, this only have I found, that God hath made man upright.\"\nEcclesiastes vii. 27-29.\n\n28. Jesus, the son of Sirach, to whom is ascribed one of the\nbooks of the Apochrypha -- that called the \"Wisdom of Jesus\nthe Son of Sirach, or Ecclesiasticus;\"  in which, especially in the\nninth and twenty-fifth chapters, severe cautions are given\nagainst women.\n\n29. Roman gestes: histories; such as those of Lucretia, Porcia,\n&c.\n\n30. May means January to believe that she is pregnant, and that\nshe has a craving for unripe pears.\n\n31. At this point, and again some twenty lines below, several\nverses of a very coarse character had been inserted in later\nmanuscripts; but they are evidently spurious, and are omitted in\nthe best editions.\n\n32. \"Store\" is the general reading here, but its meaning is not\nobvious.  \"Stowre\" is found in several manuscripts; it signifies\n\"struggle\" or \"resist;\" and both for its own appropriateness, and\nfor the force which it gives the word \"stronge,\" the reading in\nthe text seems the better.\n\n\n\nTHE SQUIRE'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\"HEY! Godde's mercy!\" said our Hoste tho,*                         *then\n\"Now such a wife I pray God keep me fro'.\nLo, suche sleightes and subtilities\nIn women be; for aye as busy as bees\nAre they us silly men for to deceive,\nAnd from the soothe* will they ever weive,**     *truth **swerve, depart\nAs this Merchante's tale it proveth well.\nBut natheless, as true as any steel,\nI have a wife, though that she poore be;\nBut of her tongue a labbing* shrew is she;                   *chattering\nAnd yet* she hath a heap of vices mo'.                         *moreover\nThereof *no force;* let all such thinges go.                 *no matter*\nBut wit* ye what? in counsel** be it said,    *know **secret, confidence\nMe rueth sore I am unto her tied;\nFor, an'* I shoulde reckon every vice                                *if\nWhich that she hath, y-wis* I were too nice;**      *certainly **foolish\nAnd cause why, it should reported be\nAnd told her by some of this company\n(By whom, it needeth not for to declare,\nSince women connen utter such chaffare <1>),\nAnd eke my wit sufficeth not thereto\nTo tellen all; wherefore my tale is do.*                           *done\nSquier, come near, if it your wille be,\nAnd say somewhat of love, for certes ye\n*Conne thereon* as much as any man.\"                     *know about it*\n\"Nay, Sir,\" quoth he; \"but such thing as I can,\nWith hearty will, -- for I will not rebel\nAgainst your lust,* -- a tale will I tell.                     *pleasure\nHave me excused if I speak amiss;\nMy will is good; and lo, my tale is this.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Squire's Tale\n\n\n1. Women connen utter such chaffare: women are adepts at\ngiving circulation to such wares.  The Host evidently means that\nhis wife would be sure to hear of his confessions from some\nfemale member of the company.\n\n\nTHE TALE.<1>\n\n\n*Pars Prima.*                                               *First part*\n\nAt Sarra, in the land of Tartary,\nThere dwelt a king that warrayed* Russie, <2>               *made war on\nThrough which there died many a doughty man;\nThis noble king was called Cambuscan,<3>\nWhich in his time was of so great renown,\nThat there was nowhere in no regioun\nSo excellent a lord in alle thing:\nHim lacked nought that longeth to a king,\nAs of the sect of which that he was born.\nHe kept his law to which he was y-sworn,\nAnd thereto* he was hardy, wise, and rich,            *moreover, besides\nAnd piteous and just, always y-lich;*              *alike, even-tempered\nTrue of his word, benign and honourable;\n*Of his corage as any centre stable;*        *firm, immovable of spirit*\nYoung, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous\nAs any bachelor of all his house.\nA fair person he was, and fortunate,\nAnd kept alway so well his royal estate,\nThat there was nowhere such another man.\nThis noble king, this Tartar Cambuscan,\nHadde two sons by Elfeta his wife,\nOf which the eldest highte Algarsife,\nThe other was y-called Camballo.\nA daughter had this worthy king also,\nThat youngest was, and highte Canace:\nBut for to telle you all her beauty,\nIt lies not in my tongue, nor my conning;*                        *skill\nI dare not undertake so high a thing:\nMine English eke is insufficient,\nIt muste be a rhetor* excellent,                                 *orator\n*That couth his colours longing for that art,*                * see <4>*\nIf he should her describen any part;\nI am none such, I must speak as I can.\n\nAnd so befell, that when this Cambuscan\nHad twenty winters borne his diadem,\nAs he was wont from year to year, I deem,\nHe let *the feast of his nativity*                  *his birthday party*\n*Do crye,* throughout Sarra his city,                    *be proclaimed*\nThe last Idus of March, after the year.\nPhoebus the sun full jolly was and clear,\nFor he was nigh his exaltation\nIn Marte's face, and in his mansion <5>\nIn Aries, the choleric hot sign:\nFull lusty* was the weather and benign;                        *pleasant\nFor which the fowls against the sunne sheen,*                    *bright\nWhat for the season and the younge green,\nFull loude sange their affections:\nThem seemed to have got protections\nAgainst the sword of winter keen and cold.\nThis Cambuscan, of which I have you told,\nIn royal vesture, sat upon his dais,\nWith diadem, full high in his palace;\nAnd held his feast so solemn and so rich,\nThat in this worlde was there none it lich.*                       *like\nOf which if I should tell all the array,\nThen would it occupy a summer's day;\nAnd eke it needeth not for to devise*                          *describe\nAt every course the order of service.\nI will not tellen of their strange sewes,*                   *dishes <6>\nNor of their swannes, nor their heronsews.*            *young herons <7>\nEke in that land, as telle knightes old,\nThere is some meat that is full dainty hold,\nThat in this land men *reck of* it full small:                *care for*\nThere is no man that may reporten all.\nI will not tarry you, for it is prime,\nAnd for it is no fruit, but loss of time;\nUnto my purpose* I will have recourse.                        *story <8>\nAnd so befell that, after the third course,\nWhile that this king sat thus in his nobley,*               *noble array\nHearing his ministreles their thinges play\nBefore him at his board deliciously,\nIn at the halle door all suddenly\nThere came a knight upon a steed of brass,\nAnd in his hand a broad mirror of glass;\nUpon his thumb he had of gold a ring,\nAnd by his side a naked sword hanging:\nAnd up he rode unto the highe board.\nIn all the hall was there not spoke a word,\nFor marvel of this knight; him to behold\nFull busily they waited,* young and old.                        *watched\n\nThis strange knight, that came thus suddenly,\nAll armed, save his head, full richely,\nSaluted king, and queen, and lordes all,\nBy order as they satten in the hall,\nWith so high reverence and observance,\nAs well in speech as in his countenance,\nThat Gawain <9> with his olde courtesy,\nThough he were come again out of Faerie,\nHim *coulde not amende with a word.*               *could not better him\nAnd after this, before the highe board,                     by one word*\nHe with a manly voice said his message,\nAfter the form used in his language,\nWithoute vice* of syllable or letter.                             *fault\nAnd, for his tale shoulde seem the better,\nAccordant to his worde's was his cheer,*                      *demeanour\nAs teacheth art of speech them that it lear.*                     *learn\nAlbeit that I cannot sound his style,\nNor cannot climb over so high a stile,\nYet say I this, as to *commune intent,*       *general sense or meaning*\n*Thus much amounteth* all that ever he meant,       *this is the sum of*\nIf it so be that I have it in mind.\nHe said; \"The king of Araby and Ind,\nMy liege lord, on this solemne day\nSaluteth you as he best can and may,\nAnd sendeth you, in honour of your feast,\nBy me, that am all ready at your hest,*                         *command\nThis steed of brass, that easily and well\nCan in the space of one day naturel\n(This is to say, in four-and-twenty hours),\nWhereso you list, in drought or else in show'rs,\nBeare your body into every place\nTo which your hearte willeth for to pace,*                     *pass, go\nWithoute wem* of you, through foul or fair.                *hurt, injury\nOr if you list to fly as high in air\nAs doth an eagle, when him list to soar,\nThis same steed shall bear you evermore\nWithoute harm, till ye be where *you lest*              *it pleases you*\n(Though that ye sleepen on his back, or rest),\nAnd turn again, with writhing* of a pin.                       *twisting\nHe that it wrought, he coude* many a gin;**     *knew **contrivance <10>\nHe waited* in any a constellation,                             *observed\nEre he had done this operation,\nAnd knew full many a seal <11> and many a bond\nThis mirror eke, that I have in mine hond,\nHath such a might, that men may in it see\nWhen there shall fall any adversity\nUnto your realm, or to yourself also,\nAnd openly who is your friend or foe.\nAnd over all this, if any lady bright\nHath set her heart on any manner wight,\nIf he be false, she shall his treason see,\nHis newe love, and all his subtlety,\nSo openly that there shall nothing hide.\nWherefore, against this lusty summer-tide,\nThis mirror, and this ring that ye may see,\nHe hath sent to my lady Canace,\nYour excellente daughter that is here.\nThe virtue of this ring, if ye will hear,\nIs this, that if her list it for to wear\nUpon her thumb, or in her purse it bear,\nThere is no fowl that flyeth under heaven,\nThat she shall not well understand his steven,*           *speech, sound\nAnd know his meaning openly and plain,\nAnd answer him in his language again:\nAnd every grass that groweth upon root\nShe shall eke know, to whom it will do boot,*                    *remedy\nAll be his woundes ne'er so deep and wide.\nThis naked sword, that hangeth by my side,\nSuch virtue hath, that what man that it smite,\nThroughout his armour it will carve and bite,\nWere it as thick as is a branched oak:\nAnd what man is y-wounded with the stroke\nShall ne'er be whole, till that you list, of grace,\nTo stroke him with the flat in thilke* place                   *the same\nWhere he is hurt; this is as much to sayn,\nYe muste with the flatte sword again\nStroke him upon the wound, and it will close.\nThis is the very sooth, withoute glose;*                         *deceit\nIt faileth not, while it is in your hold.\"\n\nAnd when this knight had thus his tale told,\nHe rode out of the hall, and down he light.\nHis steede, which that shone as sunne bright,\nStood in the court as still as any stone.\nThe knight is to his chamber led anon,\nAnd is unarmed, and to meat y-set.*                              *seated\nThese presents be full richely y-fet,* --                       *fetched\nThis is to say, the sword and the mirrour, --\nAnd borne anon into the highe tow'r,\nWith certain officers ordain'd therefor;\nAnd unto Canace the ring is bore\nSolemnely, where she sat at the table;\nBut sickerly, withouten any fable,\nThe horse of brass, that may not be remued.*               *removed <12>\nIt stood as it were to the ground y-glued;\nThere may no man out of the place it drive\nFor no engine of windlass or polive; *                           *pulley\nAnd cause why, for they *can not the craft;*       *know not the cunning\nAnd therefore in the place they have it laft,          of the mechanism*\nTill that the knight hath taught them the mannere\nTo voide* him, as ye shall after hear.                           *remove\n\nGreat was the press, that swarmed to and fro\nTo gauren* on this horse that stoode so:                           *gaze\nFor it so high was, and so broad and long,\nSo well proportioned for to be strong,\nRight as it were a steed of Lombardy;\nTherewith so horsely, and so quick of eye,\nAs it a gentle Poileis <13> courser were:\nFor certes, from his tail unto his ear\nNature nor art ne could him not amend\nIn no degree, as all the people wend.*                  *weened, thought\nBut evermore their moste wonder was\nHow that it coulde go, and was of brass;\nIt was of Faerie, as the people seem'd.\nDiverse folk diversely they deem'd;\nAs many heads, as many wittes been.\nThey murmured, as doth a swarm of been,*                           *bees\nAnd made skills* after their fantasies,                         *reasons\nRehearsing of the olde poetries,\nAnd said that it was like the Pegasee,*                         *Pegasus\nThe horse that hadde winges for to flee;*                           *fly\nOr else it was the Greeke's horse Sinon,<14>\nThat broughte Troye to destruction,\nAs men may in the olde gestes* read.                *tales of adventures\nMine heart,\" quoth one, \"is evermore in dread;\nI trow some men of armes be therein,\nThat shape* them this city for to win:                  *design, prepare\nIt were right good that all such thing were know.\"\nAnother rowned* to his fellow low,                            *whispered\nAnd said, \"He lies; for it is rather like\nAn apparence made by some magic,\nAs jugglers playen at these feastes great.\"\nOf sundry doubts they jangle thus and treat.\nAs lewed* people deeme commonly                                *ignorant\nOf thinges that be made more subtilly\nThan they can in their lewdness comprehend;\nThey *deeme gladly to the badder end.*               *are ready to think\nAnd some of them wonder'd on the mirrour,                     the worst*\nThat borne was up into the master* tow'r,                    *chief <15>\nHow men might in it suche thinges see.\nAnother answer'd and said, it might well be\nNaturally by compositions\nOf angles, and of sly reflections;\nAnd saide that in Rome was such a one.\nThey speak of Alhazen and Vitellon,<16>\nAnd Aristotle, that wrote in their lives\nOf quainte* mirrors, and of prospectives,                       *curious\nAs knowe they that have their bookes heard.\nAnd other folk have wonder'd on the swerd,*                       *sword\nThat woulde pierce throughout every thing;\nAnd fell in speech of Telephus the king,\nAnd of Achilles for his quainte spear, <17>\nFor he could with it bothe heal and dere,*                        *wound\nRight in such wise as men may with the swerd\nOf which right now ye have yourselves heard.\nThey spake of sundry hard'ning of metal,\nAnd spake of medicines therewithal,\nAnd how, and when, it shoulde harden'd be,\nWhich is unknowen algate* unto me.                              *however\nThen spake they of Canacee's ring,\nAnd saiden all, that such a wondrous thing\nOf craft of rings heard they never none,\nSave that he, Moses, and King Solomon,\nHadden *a name of conning* in such art.                *a reputation for\nThus said the people, and drew them apart.                    knowledge*\nPut natheless some saide that it was\nWonder to maken of fern ashes glass,\nAnd yet is glass nought like ashes of fern;\n*But for* they have y-knowen it so ferne**        *because **before <18>\nTherefore ceaseth their jangling and their wonder.\nAs sore wonder some on cause of thunder,\nOn ebb and flood, on gossamer and mist,\nAnd on all things, till that the cause is wist.*                  *known\nThus jangle they, and deemen and devise,\nTill that the king gan from his board arise.\n\nPhoebus had left the angle meridional,\nAnd yet ascending was the beast royal,\nThe gentle Lion, with his Aldrian, <19>\nWhen that this Tartar king, this Cambuscan,\nRose from the board, there as he sat full high\nBefore him went the loude minstrelsy,\nTill he came to his chamber of parements,<20>\nThere as they sounded diverse instruments,\nThat it was like a heaven for to hear.\nNow danced lusty Venus' children dear:\nFor in the Fish* their lady sat full                             *Pisces\nAnd looked on them with a friendly eye. <21>\nThis noble king is set upon his throne;\nThis strange knight is fetched to him full sone,*                  *soon\nAnd on the dance he goes with Canace.\nHere is the revel and the jollity,\nThat is not able a dull man to devise:*                        *describe\nHe must have knowen love and his service,\nAnd been a feastly* man, as fresh as May,                    *merry, gay\nThat shoulde you devise such array.\nWho coulde telle you the form of dances\nSo uncouth,* and so freshe countenances**          *unfamliar **gestures\nSuch subtle lookings and dissimulances,\nFor dread of jealous men's apperceivings?\nNo man but Launcelot,<22> and he is dead.\nTherefore I pass o'er all this lustihead*                  *pleasantness\nI say no more, but in this jolliness\nI leave them, till to supper men them dress.\nThe steward bids the spices for to hie*                           *haste\nAnd eke the wine, in all this melody;\nThe ushers and the squiers be y-gone,\nThe spices and the wine is come anon;\nThey eat and drink, and when this hath an end,\nUnto the temple, as reason was, they wend;\nThe service done, they suppen all by day\nWhat needeth you rehearse their array?\nEach man wot well, that at a kinge's feast\nIs plenty, to the most*, and to the least,                      *highest\nAnd dainties more than be in my knowing.\n\nAt after supper went this noble king\nTo see the horse of brass, with all a rout\nOf lordes and of ladies him about.\nSuch wond'ring was there on this horse of brass,\nThat, since the great siege of Troye was,\nThere as men wonder'd on a horse also,\nNe'er was there such a wond'ring as was tho.*                     *there\nBut finally the king asked the knight\nThe virtue of this courser, and the might,\nAnd prayed him to tell his governance.*            *mode of managing him\nThe horse anon began to trip and dance,\nWhen that the knight laid hand upon his rein,\nAnd saide, \"Sir, there is no more to sayn,\nBut when you list to riden anywhere,\nYe muste trill* a pin, stands in his ear,                     *turn <23>\nWhich I shall telle you betwixt us two;\nYe muste name him to what place also,\nOr to what country that you list to ride.\nAnd when ye come where you list abide,\nBid him descend, and trill another pin\n(For therein lies th' effect of all the gin*),         *contrivance <10>\nAnd he will down descend and do your will,\nAnd in that place he will abide still;\nThough all the world had the contrary swore,\nHe shall not thence be throwen nor be bore.\nOr, if you list to bid him thennes gon,\nTrill this pin, and he will vanish anon\nOut of the sight of every manner wight,\nAnd come again, be it by day or night,\nWhen that you list to clepe* him again                             *call\nIn such a guise, as I shall to you sayn\nBetwixte you and me, and that full soon.\nRide <24> when you list, there is no more to do'n.'\nInformed when the king was of the knight,\nAnd had conceived in his wit aright\nThe manner and the form of all this thing,\nFull glad and blithe, this noble doughty king\nRepaired to his revel as beforn.\nThe bridle is into the tower borne,\nAnd kept among his jewels lefe* and dear;                     *cherished\nThe horse vanish'd, I n'ot* in what mannere,                   *know not\nOut of their sight; ye get no more of me:\nBut thus I leave in lust and jollity\nThis Cambuscan his lordes feastying,*                 *entertaining <25>\nUntil well nigh the day began to spring.\n\n\n*Pars Secunda.*                                            *Second Part*\n\n\nThe norice* of digestion, the sleep,                              *nurse\nGan on them wink, and bade them take keep,*                        *heed\nThat muche mirth and labour will have rest.\nAnd with a gaping* mouth he all them kest,**           *yawning **kissed\nAnd said, that it was time to lie down,\nFor blood was in his dominatioun: <26>\n\"Cherish the blood, nature's friend,\" quoth he.\nThey thanked him gaping, by two and three;\nAnd every wight gan draw him to his rest;\nAs sleep them bade, they took it for the best.\nTheir dreames shall not now be told for me;\nFull are their heades of fumosity,<27>\nThat caused dreams *of which there is no charge:*   *of no significance*\nThey slepte; till that, it was *prime large,*             *late morning*\nThe moste part, but* it was Canace;                              *except\nShe was full measurable,* as women be:                         *moderate\nFor of her father had she ta'en her leave\nTo go to rest, soon after it was eve;\nHer liste not appalled* for to be;                         *to look pale\nNor on the morrow *unfeastly for to see;*       *to look sad, depressed*\nAnd slept her firste sleep; and then awoke.\nFor such a joy she in her hearte took\nBoth of her quainte a ring and her mirrour,.\nThat twenty times she changed her colour;\nAnd in her sleep, right for th' impression\nOf her mirror, she had a vision.\nWherefore, ere that the sunne gan up glide,\nShe call'd upon her mistress'* her beside,                  *governesses\nAnd saide, that her liste for to rise.\n\nThese olde women, that be gladly wise\nAs are her mistresses answer'd anon,\nAnd said; \"Madame, whither will ye gon\nThus early? for the folk be all in rest.\"\n\"I will,\" quoth she, \"arise; for me lest\nNo longer for to sleep, and walk about.\"\nHer mistresses call'd women a great rout,\nAnd up they rose, well a ten or twelve;\nUp rose freshe Canace herselve,\nAs ruddy and bright as is the yonnge sun\nThat in the Ram is four degrees y-run;\nNo higher was he, when she ready was;\nAnd forth she walked easily a pace,\nArray'd after the lusty* season swoot,**               *pleasant **sweet\nLightely for to play, and walk on foot,\nNought but with five or six of her meinie;\nAnd in a trench* forth in the park went she.                *sunken path\nThe vapour, which up from the earthe glode,*                     *glided\nMade the sun to seem ruddy and broad:\nBut, natheless, it was so fair a sight\nThat it made all their heartes for to light,*        *be lightened, glad\nWhat for the season and the morrowning,\nAnd for the fowles that she hearde sing.\nFor right anon she wiste* what they meant                          *knew\nRight by their song, and knew all their intent.\nThe knotte,* why that every tale is told,         *nucleus, chief matter\nIf it be tarried* till the list* be cold         *delayed  **inclination\nOf them that have it hearken'd *after yore,*           *for a long time*\nThe savour passeth ever longer more;\nFor fulsomness of the prolixity:\nAnd by that same reason thinketh me.\nI shoulde unto the knotte condescend,\nAnd maken of her walking soon an end.\n\nAmid a tree fordry*, as white as chalk,             *thoroughly dried up\nThere sat a falcon o'er her head full high,\nThat with a piteous voice so gan to cry;\nThat all the wood resounded of her cry,\nAnd beat she had herself so piteously\nWith both her winges, till the redde blood\nRan endelong* the tree, there as she stood           *from top to bottom\nAnd ever-in-one* alway she cried and shright;**  *incessantly **shrieked\nAnd with her beak herselfe she so pight,*                       *wounded\nThat there is no tiger, nor cruel beast,\nThat dwelleth either in wood or in forest;\nBut would have wept, if that he weepe could,\nFor sorrow of her; she shriek'd alway so loud.\nFor there was never yet no man alive,\nIf that he could a falcon well descrive;*                      *describe\nThat heard of such another of fairness\nAs well of plumage, as of gentleness;\nOf shape, of all that mighte reckon'd be.\nA falcon peregrine seemed she,\nOf fremde* land; and ever as she stood                     *foreign <28>\nShe swooned now and now for lack of blood;\nTill well-nigh is she fallen from the tree.\n\nThis faire kinge's daughter Canace,\nThat on her finger bare the quainte ring,\nThrough which she understood well every  thing\nThat any fowl may in his leden* sayn,                    **language <29>\nAnd could him answer in his leden again;\nHath understoode what this falcon said,\nAnd well-nigh for the ruth* almost she died;.                      *pity\nAnd to the tree she went, full hastily,\nAnd on this falcon looked piteously;\nAnd held her lap abroad; for well she wist\nThe falcon muste falle from the twist*                      *twig, bough\nWhen that she swooned next, for lack of blood.\nA longe while to waite her she stood;\nTill at the last she apake in this mannere\nUnto the hawk, as ye shall after hear:\n\"What is the cause, if it be for to tell,\nThat ye be in this furial* pain of hell?\"               *raging, furious\nQuoth Canace unto this hawk above;\n\"Is this for sorrow of of death; or loss of love?\nFor; as I trow,* these be the causes two;                       *believe\nThat cause most a gentle hearte woe:\nOf other harm it needeth not to speak.\nFor ye yourself upon yourself awreak;*                          *inflict\nWhich proveth well, that either ire or dread*                      *fear\nMust be occasion of your cruel deed,\nSince that I see none other wight you chase:\nFor love of God, as *do yourselfe grace;*                 *have mercy on\nOr what may be your help? for, west nor east,                  yourself*\nI never saw ere now no bird nor beast\nThat fared with himself so piteously\nYe slay me with your sorrow verily;\nI have of you so great compassioun.\nFor Godde's love come from the tree adown\nAnd, as I am a kinge's daughter true,\nIf that I verily the causes knew\nOf your disease,* if it lay in my might,                       *distress\nI would amend it, ere that it were night,\nSo wisly help me the great God of kind.**               *surely **nature\nAnd herbes shall I right enoughe find,\nTo heale with your hurtes hastily.\"\nThen shriek'd this falcon yet more piteously\nThan ever she did, and fell to ground anon,\nAnd lay aswoon, as dead as lies a stone,\nTill Canace had in her lap her take,\nUnto that time she gan of swoon awake:\nAnd, after that she out of swoon abraid,*                         *awoke\nRight in her hawke's leden thus she said:\n\n\"That pity runneth soon in gentle heart\n(Feeling his simil'tude in paines smart),\nIs proved every day, as men may see,\nAs well *by work as by authority;*        *by experience as by doctrine*\nFor gentle hearte kitheth* gentleness.                          *sheweth\nI see well, that ye have on my distress\nCompassion, my faire Canace,\nOf very womanly benignity\nThat nature in your princples hath set.\nBut for no hope for to fare the bet,*                            *better\nBut for t' obey unto your hearte free,\nAnd for to make others aware by me,\nAs by the whelp chastis'd* is the lion,           *instructed, corrected\nRight for that cause and that conclusion,\nWhile that I have a leisure and a space,\nMine harm I will confessen ere I pace.\"*                         *depart\nAnd ever while the one her sorrow told,\nThe other wept, *as she to water wo'ld,*       *as if she would dissolve\nTill that the falcon bade her to be still,                   into water*\nAnd with a sigh right thus she said *her till:*                 *to her*\n\"Where I was bred (alas that ilke* day!)                           *same\nAnd foster'd in a rock of marble gray\nSo tenderly, that nothing ailed me,\nI wiste* not what was adversity,                                   *knew\nTill I could flee* full high under the sky.                         *fly\nThen dwell'd a tercelet <30> me faste by,\nThat seem'd a well of alle gentleness;\n*All were he* full of treason and falseness,           *although he was*\nIt was so wrapped *under humble cheer,*                 *under an aspect\nAnd under hue of truth, in such mannere,                    of humility*\nUnder pleasance, and under busy pain,\nThat no wight weened that he coulde feign,\nSo deep in grain he dyed his colours.\nRight as a serpent hides him under flow'rs,\nTill he may see his time for to bite,\nRight so this god of love's hypocrite\nDid so his ceremonies and obeisances,\nAnd kept in semblance all his observances,\nThat *sounden unto* gentleness of love.               *are consonant to*\nAs on a tomb is all the fair above,\nAnd under is the corpse, which that ye wet,\nSuch was this hypocrite, both cold and hot;\nAnd in this wise he served his intent,\nThat, save the fiend, none wiste what he meant:\nTill he so long had weeped and complain'd,\nAnd many a year his service to me feign'd,\nTill that mine heart, too piteous and too nice,*        *foolish, simple\nAll innocent of his crowned malice,\n*Forfeared of his death,* as thoughte me,           *greatly afraid lest\nUpon his oathes and his surety                            he should die*\nGranted him love, on this conditioun,\nThat evermore mine honour and renown\nWere saved, bothe *privy and apert;*           *privately and in public*\nThis is to say, that, after his desert,\nI gave him all my heart and all my thought\n(God wot, and he, that *other wayes nought*),          *in no other way*\nAnd took his heart in change of mine for aye.\nBut sooth is said, gone since many a day,\nA true wight and a thiefe *think not one.*          *do not think alike*\nAnd when he saw the thing so far y-gone,\nThat I had granted him fully my love,\nIn such a wise as I have said above,\nAnd given him my true heart as free\nAs he swore that he gave his heart to me,\nAnon this tiger, full of doubleness,\nFell on his knees with so great humbleness,\nWith so high reverence, as by his cheer,*                          *mien\nSo like a gentle lover in mannere,\nSo ravish'd, as it seemed, for the joy,\nThat never Jason, nor Paris of Troy, --\nJason? certes, nor ever other man,\nSince Lamech <31> was, that alderfirst* began              *first of all\nTo love two, as write folk beforn,\nNor ever since the firste man was born,\nCoulde no man, by twenty thousand\nCounterfeit the sophimes* of his art;         *sophistries, beguilements\nWhere doubleness of feigning should approach,\nNor worthy were t'unbuckle his galoche,*                      *shoe <32>\nNor could so thank a wight, as he did me.\nHis manner was a heaven for to see\nTo any woman, were she ne'er so wise;\nSo painted he and kempt,* *at point devise,*            *combed, studied\nAs well his wordes as his countenance.          *with perfect precision*\nAnd I so lov'd him for his obeisance,\nAnd for the truth I deemed in his heart,\nThat, if so were that any thing him smart,*                      *pained\nAll were it ne'er so lite,* and I it wist,                       *little\nMethought I felt death at my hearte twist.\nAnd shortly, so farforth this thing is went,*                      *gone\nThat my will was his wille's instrument;\nThat is to say, my will obey'd his will\nIn alle thing, as far as reason fill,*                    *fell; allowed\nKeeping the boundes of my worship ever;\nAnd never had I thing *so lefe, or lever,*          *so dear, or dearer*\nAs him, God wot, nor never shall no mo'.\n\n\"This lasted longer than a year or two,\nThat I supposed of him naught but good.\nBut finally, thus at the last it stood,\nThat fortune woulde that he muste twin*                *depart, separate\nOut of that place which that I was in.\nWhe'er* me was woe, it is no question;                          *whether\nI cannot make of it description.\nFor one thing dare I telle boldely,\nI know what is the pain of death thereby;\nSuch harm I felt, for he might not byleve.*                   *stay <33>\nSo on a day of me he took his leave,\nSo sorrowful eke, that I ween'd verily,\nThat he had felt as muche harm as I,\nWhen that I heard him speak, and saw his hue.\nBut natheless, I thought he was so true,\nAnd eke that he repaire should again\nWithin a little while, sooth to sayn,\nAnd reason would eke that he muste go\nFor his honour, as often happ'neth so,\nThat I made virtue of necessity,\nAnd took it well, since that it muste be.\nAs I best might, I hid from him my sorrow,\nAnd took him by the hand, Saint John to borrow,*        *witness, pledge\nAnd said him thus; 'Lo, I am youres all;\nBe such as I have been to you, and shall.'\nWhat he answer'd, it needs not to rehearse;\nWho can say bet* than he, who can do worse?                      *better\nWhen he had all well said, then had he done.\nTherefore behoveth him a full long spoon,\nThat shall eat with a fiend; thus heard I say.\nSo at the last he muste forth his way,\nAnd forth he flew, till he came where him lest.\nWhen it came him to purpose for to rest,\nI trow that he had thilke text in mind,\nThat alle thing repairing to his kind\nGladdeth himself; <34> thus say men, as I guess;\n*Men love of [proper] kind newfangleness,*               *see note <35>*\nAs birdes do, that men in cages feed.\nFor though thou night and day take of them heed,\nAnd strew their cage fair and soft as silk,\nAnd give them sugar, honey, bread, and milk,\nYet, *right anon as that his door is up,*            *immediately on his\nHe with his feet will spurne down his cup,            door being opened*\nAnd to the wood he will, and wormes eat;\nSo newefangle be they of their meat,\nAnd love novelties, of proper kind;\nNo gentleness of bloode may them bind.\nSo far'd this tercelet, alas the day!\nThough he were gentle born, and fresh, and gay,\nAnd goodly for to see, and humble, and free,\nHe saw upon a time a kite flee,*                                    *fly\nAnd suddenly he loved this kite so,\nThat all his love is clean from me y-go:\nAnd hath his trothe falsed in this wise.\nThus hath the kite my love in her service,\nAnd I am lorn* withoute remedy.\"                           *lost, undone\n\nAnd with that word this falcon gan to cry,\nAnd swooned eft* in Canacee's barme**                       *again **lap\nGreat was the sorrow, for that hawke's harm,\nThat Canace and all her women made;\nThey wist not how they might the falcon glade.*                 *gladden\nBut Canace home bare her in her lap,\nAnd softely in plasters gan her wrap,\nThere as she with her beak had hurt herselve.\nNow cannot Canace but herbes delve\nOut of the ground, and make salves new\nOf herbes precious and fine of hue,\nTo heale with this hawk; from day to night\nShe did her business, and all her might.\nAnd by her bedde's head she made a mew,*                      *bird cage\nAnd cover'd it with velouettes* blue,<36>                       *velvets\nIn sign of truth that is in woman seen;\nAnd all without the mew is painted green,\nIn which were painted all these false fowls,\nAs be these tidifes,* tercelets, and owls;                      *titmice\nAnd pies, on them for to cry and chide,\nRight for despite were painted them beside.\n\nThus leave I Canace her hawk keeping.\nI will no more as now speak of her ring,\nTill it come eft* to purpose for to sayn                          *again\nHow that this falcon got her love again\nRepentant, as the story telleth us,\nBy mediation of Camballus,\nThe kinge's son of which that I you told.\nBut henceforth I will my process hold\nTo speak of aventures, and of battailes,\nThat yet was never heard so great marvailles.\nFirst I will telle you of Cambuscan,\nThat in his time many a city wan;\nAnd after will I speak of Algarsife,\nHow he won Theodora to his wife,\nFor whom full oft in great peril he was,\n*N'had he* been holpen by the horse of brass.               *had he not*\nAnd after will I speak of Camballo, <37>\nThat fought in listes with the brethren two\nFor Canace, ere that he might her win;\nAnd where I left I will again begin.\n        .        .        .        .     <38>\n\n\nNotes to the Squire's Tale\n\n\n1. The Squire's Tale has not been found under any other form\namong the literary remains of the Middle Ages; and it is\nunknown from what original it was derived, if from any. The\nTale is unfinished, not because the conclusion has been lost, but\nbecause the author left it so.\n\n2. The Russians and Tartars waged constant hostilities between\nthe thirteenth and sixteenth centuries.\n\n3. In the best manuscripts the name is \"Cambynskan,\" and thus,\nno doubt, it should strictly be read. But it is a most pardonable\noffence against literal accuracy to use the word which Milton\nhas made classical, in \"Il Penseroso,\" speaking of\n\n           \"him that left half-told\nThe story of Cambuscan bold,\nOf Camball, and of Algarsife,\nAnd who had Canace to wife,\nThat owned the virtuous Ring and Glass,\nAnd of the wondrous Horse of Brass,\nOn which the Tartar King did ride\"\n\nSurely the admiration of Milton might well seem to the spirit of\nChaucer to condone a much greater transgression on his domain\nthan this verbal change -- which to both eye and ear is an\nunquestionable improvement on the uncouth original.\n\n4. Couth his colours longing for that art: well skilled in using\nthe colours -- the word-painting -- belonging to his art.\n\n5. Aries was the mansion of Mars -- to whom \"his\" applies.\nLeo was the mansion of the Sun.\n\n6. Sewes:  Dishes, or soups. The precise force of the word is\nuncertain; but it may be connected with \"seethe,\" to boil, and it\nseems to describe a dish in which the flesh was served up amid a\nkind of broth or gravy. The \"sewer,\" taster or assayer of the\nviands served at great tables, probably derived his name from\nthe verb to \"say\" or \"assay;\" though Tyrwhitt would connect\nthe two words, by taking both from the French, \"asseoir,\" to\nplace -- making the arrangement of the table the leading duty of\nthe \"sewer,\" rather than the testing of the food.\n\n7. Heronsews: young herons; French, \"heronneaux.\"\n\n8. Purpose: story, discourse; French, \"propos.\"\n\n9. Gawain was celebrated in mediaeval romance as the most\ncourteous among King Arthur's knights.\n\n10. Gin: contrivance; trick; snare. Compare Italian, \"inganno,\"\ndeception; and our own \"engine.\"\n\n11. Mr Wright remarks that \"the making and arrangement of\nseals was one of the important operations of mediaeval magic.\"\n\n12. Remued: removed; French, \"remuer,\" to stir.\n\n13. Polies:  Apulian. The horses of Apulia -- in old French\n\"Poille,\" in Italian \"Puglia\" -- were held in high value.\n\n14. The Greeke's horse Sinon: the wooden horse of the Greek\nSinon, introduced  into Troy by the stratagem of its maker.\n\n15. Master tower: chief tower; as, in the Knight's Tale, the\nprincipal street is called the \"master street.\"  See note 86 to the\nKnight's Tale.\n\n16. Alhazen and Vitellon: two writers on optics -- the first\nsupposed to have lived about 1100, the other about 1270.\nTyrwhitt says that their works were printed at Basle in 1572,\nunder the title \"Alhazeni et Vitellonis Opticae.\"\n\n17. Telephus, a son of Hercules, reigned over Mysia when the\nGreeks came to besiege Troy, and he sought to prevent their\nlanding.  But, by the art of Dionysus, he was made to stumble\nover a vine, and Achilles wounded him with his spear.  The\noracle informed Telephus that the hurt could be healed only by\nhim, or by the weapon, that inflicted it; and the king, seeking\nthe Grecian camp, was healed by Achilles with the rust of the\ncharmed spear.\n\n18. Ferne: before; a corruption of \"forne,\" from Anglo-Saxon,\n\"foran.\"\n\n19. Aldrian: or Aldebaran; a star in the neck of the constellation\nLeo.\n\n20. Chamber of parements:  Presence-chamber, or chamber of\nstate, full of  splendid furniture and ornaments. The same\nexpression is used in French and Italian.\n\n21. In Pisces, Venus was said to be at her exaltation or greatest\npower. A planet, according to the old astrologers, was in\n\"exaltation\" when in the sign of the Zodiac in which it exerted\nits strongest influence; the opposite sign, in which it was\nweakest, was called its \"dejection.\"\n\n22. Launcelot:  Arthur's famous knight, so accomplished and\ncourtly, that he was held the very pink of chivalry.\n\n23. Trill: turn;  akin to \"thirl\", \"drill.\"\n\n24. Ride: another reading is \"bide,\" alight or remain.\n\n25. Feastying: entertaining; French, \"festoyer,\"  to feast.\n\n26. The old physicians held that blood dominated in  the human\nbody late at night and in the early morning.  Galen says that the\ndomination lasts for seven hours.\n\n27. Fumosity: fumes of wine rising from the stomach to the\nhead.\n\n28. Fremde: foreign, strange; German, \"fremd\" in the northern\ndialects, \"frem,\" or \"fremmed,\" is used in the same sense.\n\n29. Leden: Language, dialect; from Anglo-Saxon, \"leden\" or\n\"laeden,\" a corruption from \"Latin.\"\n\n30. Tercelet: the \"tassel,\" or male of any species of hawk; so\ncalled, according to Cotgrave, because he is one third (\"tiers\")\nsmaller than the female.\n\n31. \"And Lamech took unto him two wives: the name of the\none Adah, and the name of the other Zillah\" (Gen. iv. 19).\n\n32. Galoche:  shoe; it seems to have been used in France, of a\n\"sabot,\" or wooden shoe.  The reader cannot fail to recall the\nsame illustration in John i. 27, where the Baptist says of Christ:\n\"He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me; whose\nshoe's latchet I am not worthy to unloose.\"\n\n33. Byleve; stay; another form is \"bleve;\" from Anglo-Saxon,\n\"belitan,\" to remain.  Compare German, \"bleiben.\"\n\n34. This sentiment, as well as the illustration of the bird which\nfollows, is taken from the third book of Boethius, \"De\nConsolatione Philosophiae,\" metrum 2. It has thus been\nrendered in Chaucer's translation: \"All things seek aye to their\nproper course, and all things rejoice on their returning again to\ntheir nature.\"\n\n35. Men love of proper kind newfangleness: Men, by their own\n-- their very -- nature, are fond of novelty, and prone to\ninconstancy.\n\n36. Blue was the colour of truth, as green was that of\ninconstancy.  In John Stowe's additions to Chaucer's works,\nprinted in 1561, there is \"A balade whiche Chaucer made\nagainst women inconstaunt,\" of which the refrain is, \"In stead of\nblue, thus may ye wear all green.\"\n\n37. Unless we suppose this to be a namesake of the Camballo\nwho was Canace's brother -- which is not at all probable -- we\nmust agree with Tyrwhitt that there is a mistake here; which no\ndoubt Chaucer would have rectified, if the tale had not been\n\"left half-told,\" One manuscript reads \"Caballo;\" and though not\nmuch authority need be given to a difference that may be due to\nmere omission of the mark of contraction over the \"a,\" there is\nenough in the text to show that another person than the king's\nyounger son is intended.  The Squire promises to tell the\nadventures that befell each member of Cambuscan's family; and\nin thorough consistency with this plan, and with the canons of\nchivalric story, would be \"the marriage of Canace to some\nknight who was first obliged to fight for her with her two\nbrethren; a method of courtship,\" adds Tyrwhitt, \"very\nconsonant to the spirit of ancient chivalry.\"\n\n38. (Trancriber's note) In some manuscripts the following two\nlines, being the beginning of the third part, are found: -\n\nApollo whirleth up his chair so high,\nTill that Mercurius' house, the sly...\n\n\n\nTHE FRANKLIN'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE. <1>\n\n\n\"IN faith, Squier, thou hast thee well acquit,\nAnd gentilly; I praise well thy wit,\"\nQuoth the Franklin; \"considering thy youthe\nSo feelingly thou speak'st, Sir, I aloue* thee,          *allow, approve\n*As to my doom,* there is none that is here       *so far as my judgment\nOf eloquence that shall be thy peer,                               goes*\nIf that thou live; God give thee goode chance,\nAnd in virtue send thee continuance,\nFor of thy speaking I have great dainty.*                 *value, esteem\nI have a son, and, by the Trinity;\n*It were me lever* than twenty pound worth land,        *I would rather*\nThough it right now were fallen in my hand,\nHe were a man of such discretion\nAs that ye be: fy on possession,\n*But if* a man be virtuous withal.                               *unless\nI have my sone snibbed* and yet shall,              *rebuked; \"snubbed.\"\nFor he to virtue *listeth not t'intend,*               *does not wish to\nBut for to play at dice, and to dispend,                  apply himself*\nAnd lose all that he hath, is his usage;\nAnd he had lever talke with a page,\nThan to commune with any gentle wight,\nThere he might learen gentilless aright.\"\n\nStraw for your gentillesse!\" quoth our Host.\n\"What? Frankelin, pardie, Sir, well thou wost*                  *knowest\nThat each of you must tellen at the least\nA tale or two, or breake his behest.\"*                          *promise\n\"That know I well, Sir,\" quoth the Frankelin;\n\"I pray you have me not in disdain,\nThough I to this man speak a word or two.\"\n\"Tell on thy tale, withoute wordes mo'.\"\n\"Gladly, Sir Host,\" quoth he, \"I will obey\nUnto your will; now hearken what I say;\nI will you not contrary* in no wise,                            *disobey\nAs far as that my wittes may suffice.\nI pray to God that it may please you,\nThen wot I well that it is good enow.\n\n\"These olde gentle Bretons, in their days,\nOf divers aventures made lays,<2>\nRhymeden in their firste Breton tongue;\nWhich layes with their instruments they sung,\nOr elles reade them for their pleasance;\nAnd one of them have I in remembrance,\nWhich I shall say with good will as I can.\nBut, Sirs, because I am a borel* man,                   *rude, unlearned\nAt my beginning first I you beseech\nHave me excused of my rude speech.\nI learned never rhetoric, certain;\nThing that I speak, it must be bare and plain.\nI slept never on the mount of Parnasso,\nNor learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.\nColoures know I none, withoute dread,*                            *doubt\nBut such colours as growen in the mead,\nOr elles such as men dye with or paint;\nColours of rhetoric be to me quaint;*                           *strange\nMy spirit feeleth not of such mattere.\nBut, if you list, my tale shall ye hear.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Franklin's Tale\n\n\n1. In the older editions, the verses here given as the prologue\nwere prefixed to the Merchant's Tale, and put into his mouth.\nTyrwhitt was abundantly justified, by the internal evidence\nafforded by the lines themselves, in transferring them to their\npresent place.\n\n2. The \"Breton Lays\" were an important and curious element in\nthe literature of the Middle Ages; they were originally\ncomposed in the Armorican language, and the chief collection\nof them extant was translated into French verse by a poetess\ncalling herself \"Marie,\" about the middle of the thirteenth\ncentury.  But though this collection was the most famous, and\nhad doubtless been read by Chaucer, there were other British or\nBreton lays, and from one of those the Franklin's Tale is taken.\nBoccaccio has dealt with the same story in the \"Decameron\"\nand the \"Philocopo,\"  altering the circumstances to suit the\nremoval of its scene to a southern clime.\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nIn Armoric', that called is Bretagne,\nThere was a knight, that lov'd and *did his pain*      *devoted himself,\nTo serve a lady in his beste wise;                               strove*\nAnd many a labour, many a great emprise,*                    *enterprise\nHe for his lady wrought, ere she were won:\nFor she was one the fairest under sun,\nAnd eke thereto come of so high kindred,\nThat *well unnethes durst this knight for dread,*         *see note <1>*\nTell her his woe, his pain, and his distress\nBut, at the last, she for his worthiness,\nAnd namely* for his meek obeisance,                          *especially\nHath such a pity caught of his penance,*            *suffering, distress\nThat privily she fell of his accord\nTo take him for her husband and her lord\n(Of such lordship as men have o'er their wives);\nAnd, for to lead the more in bliss their lives,\nOf his free will he swore her as a knight,\nThat never in all his life he day nor night\nShould take upon himself no mastery\nAgainst her will, nor kithe* her jealousy,                         *show\nBut her obey, and follow her will in all,\nAs any lover to his lady shall;\nSave that the name of sovereignety\nThat would he have, for shame of his degree.\nShe thanked him, and with full great humbless\nShe saide; \"Sir, since of your gentleness\nYe proffer me to have so large a reign,\n*Ne woulde God never betwixt us twain,\nAs in my guilt, were either war or strife:*               *see note <2>*\nSir, I will be your humble true wife,\nHave here my troth, till that my hearte brest.\"*                  *burst\nThus be they both in quiet and in rest.\n\nFor one thing, Sires, safely dare I say,\nThat friends ever each other must obey,\nIf they will longe hold in company.\nLove will not be constrain'd by mastery.\nWhen mast'ry comes, the god of love anon\nBeateth <3> his wings, and, farewell, he is gone.\nLove is a thing as any spirit free.\nWomen *of kind* desire liberty,                              *by nature*\nAnd not to be constrained as a thrall,*                           *slave\nAnd so do men, if soothly I say shall.\nLook who that is most patient in love,\nHe *is at his advantage all above.*                  *enjoys the highest\nPatience is a high virtue certain,                    advantages of all*\nFor it vanquisheth, as these clerkes sayn,\nThinges that rigour never should attain.\nFor every word men may not chide or plain.\nLearne to suffer, or, so may I go,*                             *prosper\nYe shall it learn whether ye will or no.\nFor in this world certain no wight there is,\nThat he not doth or saith sometimes amiss.\nIre, or sickness, or constellation,*                   *the influence of\nWine, woe, or changing of complexion,                       the planets*\nCauseth full oft to do amiss or speaken:\nOn every wrong a man may not be wreaken.*                      *revenged\nAfter* the time must be temperance                         *according to\nTo every wight that *can of* governance.                 *is capable of*\nAnd therefore hath this worthy wise knight\n(To live in ease) sufferance her behight;*                     *promised\nAnd she to him full wisly* gan to swear                          *surely\nThat never should there be default in her.\nHere may men see a humble wife accord;\nThus hath she ta'en her servant and her lord,\nServant in love, and lord in marriage.\nThen was he both in lordship and servage?\nServage? nay, but in lordship all above,\nSince he had both his lady and his love:\nHis lady certes, and his wife also,\nThe which that law of love accordeth to.\nAnd when he was in this prosperrity,\nHome with his wife he went to his country,\nNot far from Penmark,<4> where his dwelling was,\nAnd there he liv'd in bliss and in solace.*                     *delight\nWho coulde tell, but* he had wedded be,                          *unless\nThe joy, the ease, and the prosperity,\nThat is betwixt a husband and his wife?\nA year and more lasted this blissful life,\nTill that this knight, of whom I spake thus,\nThat of Cairrud <5> was call'd Arviragus,\nShope* him to go and dwell a year or twain           *prepared, arranged\nIn Engleland, that call'd was eke Britain,\nTo seek in armes worship and honour\n(For all his lust* he set in such labour);                     *pleasure\nAnd dwelled there two years; the book saith thus.\n\nNow will I stint* of this Arviragus,                     *cease speaking\nAnd speak I will of Dorigen his wife,\nThat lov'd her husband as her hearte's life.\nFor his absence weepeth she and siketh,*                        *sigheth\nAs do these noble wives when them liketh;\nShe mourneth, waketh, waileth, fasteth, plaineth;\nDesire of his presence her so distraineth,\nThat all this wide world she set at nought.\nHer friendes, which that knew her heavy thought,\nComforte her in all that ever they may;\nThey preache her, they tell her night and day,\nThat causeless she slays herself, alas!\nAnd every comfort possible in this case\nThey do to her, with all their business,*                     *assiduity\nAnd all to make her leave her heaviness.\nBy process, as ye knowen every one,\nMen may so longe graven in a stone,\nTill some figure therein imprinted be:\nSo long have they comforted her, till she\nReceived hath, by hope and by reason,\nTh' imprinting of their consolation,\nThrough which her greate sorrow gan assuage;\nShe may not always duren in such rage.\nAnd eke Arviragus, in all this care,\nHath sent his letters home of his welfare,\nAnd that he will come hastily again,\nOr elles had this sorrow her hearty-slain.\nHer friendes saw her sorrow gin to slake,*            *slacken, diminish\nAnd prayed her on knees for Godde's sake\nTo come and roamen in their company,\nAway to drive her darke fantasy;\nAnd finally she granted that request,\nFor well she saw that it was for the best.\n\nNow stood her castle faste by the sea,\nAnd often with her friendes walked she,\nHer to disport upon the bank on high,\nThere as many a ship and barge sigh,*                               *saw\nSailing their courses, where them list to go.\nBut then was that a parcel* of her woe,                            *part\nFor to herself full oft, \"Alas!\" said she,\nIs there no ship, of so many as I see,\nWill bringe home my lord? then were my heart\nAll warish'd* of this bitter paine's smart.\"                  *cured <6>\nAnother time would she sit and think,\nAnd cast her eyen downward from the brink;\nBut when she saw the grisly rockes blake,*                        *black\nFor very fear so would her hearte quake,\nThat on her feet she might her not sustene*                     *sustain\nThen would she sit adown upon the green,\nAnd piteously *into the sea behold,*               *look out on the sea*\nAnd say right thus, with *careful sikes* cold:           *painful sighs*\n\"Eternal God! that through thy purveyance\nLeadest this world by certain governance,\n*In idle,* as men say, ye nothing make;                  *idly, in vain*\nBut, Lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake,\nThat seem rather a foul confusion\nOf work, than any fair creation\nOf such a perfect wise God and stable,\nWhy have ye wrought this work unreasonable?\nFor by this work, north, south, or west, or east,\nThere is not foster'd man, nor bird, nor beast:\nIt doth no good, to my wit, but *annoyeth.*         *works mischief* <7>\nSee ye not, Lord, how mankind it destroyeth?\nA hundred thousand bodies of mankind\nHave rockes slain, *all be they not in mind;*           *though they are\nWhich mankind is so fair part of thy work,                    forgotten*\nThou madest it like to thine owen mark.*                          *image\nThen seemed it ye had a great cherte*                   *love, affection\nToward mankind; but how then may it be\nThat ye such meanes make it to destroy?\nWhich meanes do no good, but ever annoy.\nI wot well, clerkes will say as them lest,*                      *please\nBy arguments, that all is for the best,\nAlthough I can the causes not y-know;\nBut thilke* God that made the wind to blow,                        *that\nAs keep my lord, this is my conclusion:\nTo clerks leave I all disputation:\nBut would to God that all these rockes blake\nWere sunken into helle for his sake\nThese rockes slay mine hearte for the fear.\"\nThus would she say, with many a piteous tear.\n\nHer friendes saw that it was no disport\nTo roame by the sea, but discomfort,\nAnd shope* them for to playe somewhere else.                   *arranged\nThey leade her by rivers and by wells,\nAnd eke in other places delectables;\nThey dancen, and they play at chess and tables.*             *backgammon\nSo on a day, right in the morning-tide,\nUnto a garden that was there beside,\nIn which that they had made their ordinance*     *provision, arrangement\nOf victual, and of other purveyance,\nThey go and play them all the longe day:\nAnd this was on the sixth morrow of May,\nWhich May had painted with his softe showers\nThis garden full of leaves and of flowers:\nAnd craft of manne's hand so curiously\nArrayed had this garden truely,\nThat never was there garden of such price,*               *value, praise\n*But if* it were the very Paradise.                             *unless*\nTh'odour of flowers, and the freshe sight,\nWould have maked any hearte light\nThat e'er was born, *but if* too great sickness                 *unless*\nOr too great sorrow held it in distress;\nSo full it was of beauty and pleasance.\nAnd after dinner they began to dance\nAnd sing also, save Dorigen alone\nWho made alway her complaint and her moan,\nFor she saw not him on the dance go\nThat was her husband, and her love also;\nBut natheless she must a time abide\nAnd with good hope let her sorrow slide.\n\nUpon this dance, amonge other men,\nDanced a squier before Dorigen\nThat fresher was, and jollier of array\n*As to my doom,* than is the month of May.              *in my judgment*\nHe sang and danced, passing any man,\nThat is or was since that the world began;\nTherewith he was, if men should him descrive,\nOne of the *beste faring* men alive,                 *most accomplished*\nYoung, strong, and virtuous, and rich, and wise,\nAnd well beloved, and holden in great price.*             *esteem, value\nAnd, shortly if the sooth I telle shall,\n*Unweeting of* this Dorigen at all,                         *unknown to*\nThis lusty squier, servant to Venus,\nWhich that y-called was Aurelius,\nHad lov'd her best of any creature\nTwo year and more, as was his aventure;*                        *fortune\nBut never durst he tell her his grievance;\nWithoute cup he drank all his penance.\nHe was despaired, nothing durst he say,\nSave in his songes somewhat would he wray*                       *betray\nHis woe, as in a general complaining;\nHe said, he lov'd, and was belov'd nothing.\nOf suche matter made he many lays,\nSonges, complaintes, roundels, virelays <8>\nHow that he durste not his sorrow tell,\nBut languished, as doth a Fury in hell;\nAnd die he must, he said, as did Echo\nFor Narcissus, that durst not tell her woe.\nIn other manner than ye hear me say,\nHe durste not to her his woe bewray,\nSave that paraventure sometimes at dances,\nWhere younge folke keep their observances,\nIt may well be he looked on her face\nIn such a wise, as man that asketh grace,\nBut nothing wiste she of his intent.\nNath'less it happen'd, ere they thennes* went,         *thence (from the\nBecause that he was her neighebour,                             garden)*\nAnd was a man of worship and honour,\nAnd she had knowen him *of time yore,*                 *for a long time*\nThey fell in speech, and forth aye more and more\nUnto his purpose drew Aurelius;\nAnd when he saw his time, he saide thus:\nMadam,\" quoth he, \"by God that this world made,\nSo that I wist it might your hearte glade,*                     *gladden\nI would, that day that your Arviragus\nWent over sea, that I, Aurelius,\nHad gone where I should never come again;\nFor well I wot my service is in vain.\nMy guerdon* is but bursting of mine heart.                       *reward\nMadame, rue upon my paine's smart,\nFor with a word ye may me slay or save.\nHere at your feet God would that I were grave.\nI have now no leisure more to say:\nHave mercy, sweet, or you will *do me dey.\"*           *cause me to die*\n\nShe gan to look upon Aurelius;\n\"Is this your will,\" quoth she, \"and say ye thus?\nNe'er erst,\"* quoth she, \"I wiste what ye meant:                 *before\nBut now, Aurelius, I know your intent.\nBy thilke* God that gave me soul and life,                         *that\nNever shall I be an untrue wife\nIn word nor work, as far as I have wit;\nI will be his to whom that I am knit;\nTake this for final answer as of me.\"\nBut after that *in play* thus saide she.            *playfully, in jest*\n\"Aurelius,\" quoth she, \"by high God above,\nYet will I grante you to be your love\n(Since I you see so piteously complain);\nLooke, what day that endelong* Bretagne              *from end to end of\nYe remove all the rockes, stone by stone,\nThat they not lette* ship nor boat to gon,                      *prevent\nI say, when ye have made this coast so clean\nOf rockes, that there is no stone seen,\nThen will I love you best of any man;\nHave here my troth, in all that ever I can;\nFor well I wot that it shall ne'er betide.\nLet such folly out of your hearte glide.\nWhat dainty* should a man have in his life              *value, pleasure\nFor to go love another manne's wife,\nThat hath her body when that ever him liketh?\"\nAurelius full often sore siketh;*                               *sigheth\nIs there none other grace in you?\" quoth he,\n\"No, by that Lord,\" quoth she, \"that maked me.\nWoe was Aurelius when that he this heard,\nAnd with a sorrowful heart he thus answer'd.\n\"Madame, quoth he, \"this were an impossible.\nThen must I die of sudden death horrible.\"\nAnd with that word he turned him anon.\n\nThen came her other friends many a one,\nAnd in the alleys roamed up and down,\nAnd nothing wist of this conclusion,\nBut suddenly began to revel new,\nTill that the brighte sun had lost his hue,\nFor th' horizon had reft the sun his light\n(This is as much to say as it was night);\nAnd home they go in mirth and in solace;\nSave only wretch'd Aurelius, alas\nHe to his house is gone with sorrowful heart.\nHe said, he may not from his death astart.*                      *escape\nHim seemed, that he felt his hearte cold.\nUp to the heav'n his handes gan he hold,\nAnd on his knees bare he set him down.\nAnd in his raving said his orisoun.*                             *prayer\nFor very woe out of his wit he braid;*                         *wandered\nHe wist not what he spake, but thus he said;\nWith piteous heart his plaint hath he begun\nUnto the gods, and first unto the Sun.\nHe said; \"Apollo God and governour\nOf every plante, herbe, tree, and flower,\nThat giv'st, after thy declination,\nTo each of them his time and his season,\nAs thine herberow* changeth low and high;           *dwelling, situation\nLord Phoebus: cast thy merciable eye\nOn wretched Aurelius, which that am but lorn.*                   *undone\nLo, lord, my lady hath my death y-sworn,\nWithoute guilt, but* thy benignity                               *unless\nUpon my deadly heart have some pity.\nFor well I wot, Lord Phoebus, if you lest,*                      *please\nYe may me helpe, save my lady, best.\nNow vouchsafe, that I may you devise*                     *tell, explain\nHow that I may be holp,* and in what wise.                       *helped\nYour blissful sister, Lucina the sheen, <9>\nThat of the sea is chief goddess and queen, --\nThough Neptunus have deity in the sea,\nYet emperess above him is she;  --\nYe know well, lord, that, right as her desire\nIs to be quick'd* and lighted of your fire,                   *quickened\nFor which she followeth you full busily,\nRight so the sea desireth naturally\nTo follow her, as she that is goddess\nBoth in the sea and rivers more and less.\nWherefore, Lord Phoebus, this is my request,\nDo this miracle, or *do mine hearte brest;*              *cause my heart\nThat flow, next at this opposition,                            to burst*\nWhich in the sign shall be of the Lion,\nAs praye her so great a flood to bring,\nThat five fathom at least it overspring\nThe highest rock in Armoric Bretagne,\nAnd let this flood endure yeares twain:\nThen certes to my lady may I say,\n\"Holde your hest,\" the rockes be away.\nLord Phoebus, this miracle do for me,\nPray her she go no faster course than ye;\nI say this, pray your sister that she go\nNo faster course than ye these yeares two:\nThen shall she be even at full alway,\nAnd spring-flood laste bothe night and day.\nAnd *but she* vouchesafe in such mannere                 *if she do not*\nTo grante me my sov'reign lady dear,\nPray her to sink every rock adown\nInto her owen darke regioun\nUnder the ground, where Pluto dwelleth in\nOr nevermore shall I my lady win.\nThy temple in Delphos will I barefoot seek.\nLord Phoebus! see the teares on my cheek\nAnd on my pain have some compassioun.\"\nAnd with that word in sorrow he fell down,\nAnd longe time he lay forth in a trance.\nHis brother, which that knew of his penance,*                  *distress\nUp caught him, and to bed he hath him brought,\nDespaired in this torment and this thought\nLet I this woeful creature lie;\nChoose he for me whe'er* he will live or die.                   *whether\n\nArviragus with health and great honour\n(As he that was of chivalry the flow'r)\nIs come home, and other worthy men.\nOh, blissful art thou now, thou Dorigen!\nThou hast thy lusty husband in thine arms,\nThe freshe knight, the worthy man of arms,\nThat loveth thee as his own hearte's life:\n*Nothing list him to be imaginatif*              *he cared not to fancy*\nIf any wight had spoke, while he was out,\nTo her of love; he had of that no doubt;*               *fear, suspicion\nHe not intended* to no such mattere,              *occupied himself with\nBut danced, jousted, and made merry cheer.\nAnd thus in joy and bliss I let them dwell,\nAnd of the sick Aurelius will I tell\nIn languor and in torment furious\nTwo year and more lay wretch'd Aurelius,\nEre any foot on earth he mighte gon;\nNor comfort in this time had he none,\nSave of his brother, which that was a clerk.*                   *scholar\nHe knew of all this woe and all this work;\nFor to none other creature certain\nOf this matter he durst no worde sayn;\nUnder his breast he bare it more secree\nThan e'er did Pamphilus for Galatee.<10>\nHis breast was whole withoute for to seen,\nBut in his heart aye was the arrow keen,\nAnd well ye know that of a sursanure <11>\nIn surgery is perilous the cure,\nBut* men might touch the arrow or come thereby.                  *except\nHis brother wept and wailed privily,\nTill at the last him fell in remembrance,\nThat while he was at Orleans <12> in France, --\nAs younge clerkes, that be likerous* --                           *eager\nTo readen artes that be curious,\nSeeken in every *halk and every hern*             *nook and corner* <13>\nParticular sciences for to learn,--\nHe him remember'd, that upon a day\nAt Orleans in study a book he say*                                  *saw\nOf magic natural, which his fellaw,\nThat was that time a bachelor of law\nAll* were he there to learn another craft,                       *though\nHad privily upon his desk y-laft;\nWhich book spake much of operations\nTouching the eight and-twenty mansions\nThat longe to the Moon, and such folly\nAs in our dayes is not worth a fly;\nFor holy church's faith, in our believe,*                 *belief, creed\nUs suff'reth none illusion to grieve.\nAnd when this book was in his remembrance\nAnon for joy his heart began to dance,\nAnd to himself he saide privily;\n\"My brother shall be warish'd* hastily                            *cured\nFor I am sicker* that there be sciences,                        *certain\nBy which men make divers apparences,\nSuch as these subtle tregetoures play.                  *tricksters <14>\nFor oft at feaste's have I well heard say,\nThat tregetours, within a halle large,\nHave made come in a water and a barge,\nAnd in the halle rowen up and down.\nSometimes hath seemed come a grim lioun,\nAnd sometimes flowers spring as in a mead;\nSometimes a vine, and grapes white and red;\nSometimes a castle all of lime and stone;\nAnd, when them liked, voided* it anon:                         *vanished\nThus seemed it to every manne's sight.\nNow then conclude I thus; if that I might\nAt Orleans some olde fellow find,\nThat hath these Moone's mansions in mind,\nOr other magic natural above.\nHe should well make my brother have his love.\nFor with an appearance a clerk* may make,                   *learned man\nTo manne's sight, that all the rockes blake\nOf Bretagne were voided* every one,                             *removed\nAnd shippes by the brinke come and gon,\nAnd in such form endure a day or two;\nThen were my brother warish'd* of his woe,                        *cured\nThen must she needes *holde her behest,*              *keep her promise*\nOr elles he shall shame her at the least.\"\nWhy should I make a longer tale of this?\nUnto his brother's bed he comen is,\nAnd such comfort he gave him, for to gon\nTo Orleans, that he upstart anon,\nAnd on his way forth-ward then is he fare,*                        *gone\nIn hope for to be lissed* of his care.                    *eased of <15>\n\nWhen they were come almost to that city,\n*But if it were* a two furlong or three,                       *all but*\nA young clerk roaming by himself they met,\nWhich that in Latin *thriftily them gret.*                 *greeted them\nAnd after that he said a wondrous thing;                        civilly*\nI know,\" quoth he, \"the cause of your coming;\"\nAud ere they farther any foote went,\nHe told them all that was in their intent.\nThe Breton clerk him asked of fellaws\nThe which he hadde known in olde daws,*                            *days\nAnd he answer'd him that they deade were,\nFor which he wept full often many a tear.\nDown off his horse Aurelius light anon,\nAnd forth with this magician is be gone\nHome to his house, and made him well at ease;\nThem lacked no vitail* that might them please.           *victuals, food\nSo well-array'd a house as there was one,\nAurelius in his life saw never none.\nHe shewed him, ere they went to suppere,\nForestes, parkes, full of wilde deer.\nThere saw he hartes with their hornes high,\nThe greatest that were ever seen with eye.\nHe saw of them an hundred slain with hounds,\nAnd some with arrows bleed of bitter wounds.\nHe saw, when voided* were the wilde deer,                   *passed away\nThese falconers upon a fair rivere,\nThat with their hawkes have the heron slain.\nThen saw he knightes jousting in a plain.\nAnd after this he did him such pleasance,\nThat he him shew'd his lady on a dance,\nIn which himselfe danced, as him thought.\nAnd when this master, that this magic wrought,\nSaw it was time, he clapp'd his handes two,\nAnd farewell, all the revel is y-go.*                     *gone, removed\nAnd yet remov'd they never out of the house,\nWhile they saw all the sightes marvellous;\nBut in his study, where his bookes be,\nThey satte still, and no wight but they three.\nTo him this master called his squier,\n\nAnd said him thus, \"May we go to supper?\nAlmost an hour it is, I undertake,\nSince I you bade our supper for to make,\nWhen that these worthy men wente with me\nInto my study, where my bookes be.\"\n\"Sir,\" quoth this squier, \"when it liketh you.\nIt is all ready, though ye will right now.\"\n\"Go we then sup,\" quoth he, \"as for the best;\nThese amorous folk some time must have rest.\"\nAt after supper fell they in treaty\nWhat summe should this master's guerdon* be,                     *reward\nTo remove all the rockes of Bretagne,\nAnd eke from Gironde <16> to the mouth of Seine.\nHe made it strange,* and swore, so God him save,            *a matter of\nLess than a thousand pound he would not have,                difficulty*\n*Nor gladly for that sum he would not gon.*              *see note <17>*\nAurelius with blissful heart anon\nAnswered thus; \"Fie on a thousand pound!\nThis wide world, which that men say is round,\nI would it give, if I were lord of it.\nThis bargain is full-driv'n, for we be knit;*                    *agreed\nYe shall be payed truly by my troth.\nBut looke, for no negligence or sloth,\nYe tarry us here no longer than to-morrow.\"\n\"Nay,\" quoth the clerk, *\"have here my faith to borrow.\"*   *I pledge my\nTo bed is gone Aurelius when him lest,                      faith on it*\nAnd well-nigh all that night he had his rest,\nWhat for his labour, and his hope of bliss,\nHis woeful heart *of penance had a liss.*                 *had a respite\n                                                         from suffering*\nUpon the morrow, when that it was day,\nUnto Bretagne they took the righte way,\nAurelius and this magician beside,\nAnd be descended where they would abide:\nAnd this was, as the bookes me remember,\nThe colde frosty season of December.\nPhoebus wax'd old, and hued like latoun,*                         *brass\nThat in his hote declinatioun\nShone as the burned gold, with streames* bright;                  *beams\nBut now in Capricorn adown he light,\nWhere as he shone full pale, I dare well sayn.\nThe bitter frostes, with the sleet and rain,\nDestroyed have the green in every yard.               *courtyard, garden\nJanus sits by the fire with double beard,\nAnd drinketh of his bugle horn the wine:\nBefore him stands the brawn of tusked swine\nAnd \"nowel\"* crieth every lusty man                           *Noel <18>\nAurelius, in all that ev'r he can,\nDid to his master cheer and reverence,\nAnd prayed him to do his diligence\nTo bringe him out of his paines smart,\nOr with a sword that he would slit his heart.\nThis subtle clerk such ruth* had on this man,                      *pity\nThat night and day he sped him, that he can,\nTo wait a time of his conclusion;\nThis is to say, to make illusion,\nBy such an appearance of jugglery\n(I know no termes of astrology),\nThat she and every wight should ween and say,\nThat of Bretagne the rockes were away,\nOr else they were sunken under ground.\nSo at the last he hath a time found\nTo make his japes* and his wretchedness                          *tricks\nOf such a *superstitious cursedness.*              *detestable villainy*\nHis tables Toletanes <19> forth he brought,\nFull well corrected, that there lacked nought,\nNeither his collect, nor his expanse years,\nNeither his rootes, nor his other gears,\nAs be his centres, and his arguments,\nAnd his proportional convenients\nFor his equations in everything.\nAnd by his eighte spheres in his working,\nHe knew full well how far Alnath <20> was shove\nFrom the head of that fix'd Aries above,\nThat in the ninthe sphere consider'd is.\nFull subtilly he calcul'd all this.\nWhen he had found his firste mansion,\nHe knew the remnant by proportion;\nAnd knew the rising of his moone well,\nAnd in whose face, and term, and every deal;\nAnd knew full well the moone's mansion\nAccordant to his operation;\nAnd knew also his other observances,\nFor such illusions and such meschances,*                 *wicked devices\nAs heathen folk used in thilke days.\nFor which no longer made he delays;\nBut through his magic, for a day or tway, <21>\nIt seemed all the rockes were away.\n\nAurelius, which yet despaired is\nWhe'er* he shall have his love, or fare amiss,                  *whether\nAwaited night and day on this miracle:\nAnd when he knew that there was none obstacle,\nThat voided* were these rockes every one,                       *removed\nDown at his master's feet he fell anon,\nAnd said; \"I, woeful wretch'd Aurelius,\nThank you, my Lord, and lady mine Venus,\nThat me have holpen from my cares cold.\"\nAnd to the temple his way forth hath he hold,\nWhere as he knew he should his lady see.\nAnd when he saw his time, anon right he\nWith dreadful* heart and with full humble cheer**        *fearful **mien\nSaluteth hath his sovereign lady dear.\n\"My rightful Lady,\" quoth this woeful man,\n\"Whom I most dread, and love as I best can,\nAnd lothest were of all this world displease,\nWere't not that I for you have such disease,*      *distress, affliction\nThat I must die here at your foot anon,\nNought would I tell how me is woebegone.\nBut certes either must I die or plain;*                          *bewail\nYe slay me guilteless for very pain.\nBut of my death though that ye have no ruth,\nAdvise you, ere that ye break your truth:\nRepente you, for thilke God above,\nEre ye me slay because that I you love.\nFor, Madame, well ye wot what ye have hight;*                  *promised\nNot that I challenge anything of right\nOf you,  my sovereign lady, but of grace:\nBut in a garden yond', in such a place,\nYe wot right well what ye behighte* me,                        *promised\nAnd in mine hand your trothe plighted ye,\nTo love me best; God wot ye saide so,\nAlbeit that I unworthy am thereto;\nMadame, I speak it for th' honour of you,\nMore than to save my hearte's life right now;\nI have done so as ye commanded me,\nAnd if ye vouchesafe, ye may go see.\nDo as you list, have your behest in mind,\nFor, quick or dead, right there ye shall me find;\nIn you hes all to *do me live or dey;*                      *cause me to\nBut well I wot the rockes be away.\"                         live or die*\n\nHe took his leave, and she astonish'd stood;\nIn all her face was not one drop of blood:\nShe never ween'd t'have come in such a trap.\n\"Alas!\" quoth she, \"that ever this should hap!\nFor ween'd I ne'er, by possibility,\nThat such a monster or marvail might be;\nIt is against the process of nature.\"\nAnd home she went a sorrowful creature;\nFor very fear unnethes* may she go.                            *scarcely\nShe weeped, wailed, all a day or two,\nAnd swooned, that it ruthe was to see:\nBut why it was, to no wight tolde she,\nFor out of town was gone Arviragus.\nBut to herself she spake, and saide thus,\nWith face pale, and full sorrowful cheer,\nIn her complaint, as ye shall after hear.\n\"Alas!\" quoth she, \"on thee, Fortune, I plain,*                *complain\nThat unware hast me wrapped in thy chain,\nFrom which to scape, wot I no succour,\nSave only death, or elles dishonour;\nOne of these two behoveth me to choose.\nBut natheless, yet had I lever* lose                     *sooner, rather\nMy life, than of my body have shame,\nOr know myselfe false, or lose my name;\nAnd with my death *I may be quit y-wis.*       *I may certainly purchase\nHath there not many a noble wife, ere this,                my exemption*\nAnd many a maiden, slain herself, alas!\nRather than with her body do trespass?\nYes, certes; lo, these stories bear witness. <22>\nWhen thirty tyrants full of cursedness*                      *wickedness\nHad slain Phidon in Athens at the feast,\nThey commanded his daughters to arrest,\nAnd bringe them before them, in despite,\nAll naked, to fulfil their foul delight;\nAnd in their father's blood they made them dance\nUpon the pavement, -- God give them mischance.\nFor which these woeful maidens, full of dread,\nRather than they would lose their maidenhead,\nThey privily *be start* into a well,                    *suddenly leaped\nAnd drowned themselves, as the bookes tell.\nThey of Messene let inquire and seek\nOf Lacedaemon fifty maidens eke,\nOn which they woulde do their lechery:\nBut there was none of all that company\nThat was not slain, and with a glad intent\nChose rather for to die, than to assent\nTo be oppressed* of her maidenhead.                     *forcibly bereft\nWhy should I then to dien be in dread?\nLo, eke the tyrant Aristoclides,\nThat lov'd a maiden hight Stimphalides,\nWhen that her father slain was on a night,\nUnto Diana's temple went she right,\nAnd hent* the image in her handes two,                  *caught, clasped\nFrom which image she woulde never go;\nNo wight her handes might off it arace,*            *pluck away by force\nTill she was slain right in the selfe* place.                      *same\nNow since that maidens hadde such despite\nTo be defouled with man's foul delight,\nWell ought a wife rather herself to sle,*                          *slay\nThan be defouled, as it thinketh me.\nWhat shall I say of Hasdrubale's wife,\nThat at Carthage bereft herself of life?\nFor, when she saw the Romans win the town,\nShe took her children all, and skipt adown\nInto the fire, and rather chose to die,\nThan any Roman did her villainy.\nHath not Lucretia slain herself, alas!\nAt Rome, when that she oppressed* was                          *ravished\nOf Tarquin? for her thought it was a shame\nTo live, when she hadde lost her name.\nThe seven maidens of Milesie also\nHave slain themselves for very dread and woe,\nRather than folk of Gaul them should oppress.\nMore than a thousand stories, as I guess,\nCould I now tell as touching this mattere.\nWhen Abradate was slain, his wife so dear <23>\nHerselfe slew, and let her blood to glide\nIn Abradate's woundes, deep and wide,\nAnd said, 'My body at the leaste way\nThere shall no wight defoul, if that I may.'\nWhy should I more examples hereof sayn?\nSince that so many have themselves slain,\nWell rather than they would defouled be,\nI will conclude that it is bet* for me                           *better\nTo slay myself, than be defouled thus.\nI will be true unto Arviragus,\nOr elles slay myself in some mannere,\nAs did Demotione's daughter dear,\nBecause she woulde not defouled be.\nO Sedasus, it is full great pity\nTo reade how thy daughters died, alas!\nThat slew themselves *for suche manner cas.*        *in circumstances of\nAs great a pity was it, or well more,                     the same kind*\nThe Theban maiden, that for Nicanor\nHerselfe slew, right for such manner woe.\nAnother Theban maiden did right so;\nFor one of Macedon had her oppress'd,\nShe with her death her maidenhead redress'd.*                *vindicated\nWhat shall I say of Niceratus' wife,\nThat for such case bereft herself her life?\nHow true was eke to Alcibiades\nHis love, that for to dien rather chese,*                         *chose\nThan for to suffer his body unburied be?\nLo, what a wife was Alceste?\" quoth she.\n\"What saith Homer of good Penelope?\nAll Greece knoweth of her chastity.\nPardie, of Laedamia is written thus,\nThat when at Troy was slain Protesilaus, <24>\nNo longer would she live after his day.\nThe same of noble Porcia tell I may;\nWithoute Brutus coulde she not live,\nTo whom she did all whole her hearte give. <25>\nThe perfect wifehood of Artemisie <26>\nHonoured is throughout all Barbarie.\nO Teuta <27> queen, thy wifely chastity\nTo alle wives may a mirror be.\" <28>\n\nThus plained Dorigen a day or tway,\nPurposing ever that she woulde dey;*                                *die\nBut natheless upon the thirde night\nHome came Arviragus, the worthy knight,\nAnd asked her why that she wept so sore.\nAnd she gan weepen ever longer more.\n\"Alas,\" quoth she, \"that ever I was born!\nThus have I said,\" quoth she; \"thus have I sworn. \"\nAnd told him all, as ye have heard before:\nIt needeth not rehearse it you no more.\nThis husband with glad cheer,* in friendly wise,              *demeanour\nAnswer'd and said, as I shall you devise.*                       *relate\n\"Is there aught elles, Dorigen, but this?\"\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth she, \"God help me so, *as wis*             *assuredly*\nThis is too much, an* it were Godde's will.\"                         *if\n\"Yea, wife,\" quoth he, \"let sleepe what is still,\nIt may be well par'venture yet to-day.\nYe shall your trothe holde, by my fay.\nFor, God so wisly* have mercy on me,                          *certainly\n*I had well lever sticked for to be,*            *I had rather be slain*\nFor very love which I to you have,\nBut if ye should your trothe keep and save.\nTruth is the highest thing that man may keep.\"\nBut with that word he burst anon to weep,\nAnd said; \"I you forbid, on pain of death,\nThat never, while you lasteth life or breath,\nTo no wight tell ye this misaventure;\nAs I may best, I will my woe endure,\nNor make no countenance of heaviness,\nThat folk of you may deeme harm, or guess.\"\nAnd forth he call'd a squier and a maid.\n\"Go forth anon with Dorigen,\" he said,\n\"And bringe her to such a place anon.\"\nThey take their leave, and on their way they gon:\nBut they not wiste why she thither went;\nHe would to no wight telle his intent.\n\nThis squier, which that hight Aurelius,\nOn Dorigen that was so amorous,\nOf aventure happen'd her to meet\nAmid the town, right in the quickest* street,                   *nearest\nAs she was bound* to go the way forthright         *prepared, going <29>\nToward the garden, there as she had hight.*                    *promised\nAnd he was to the garden-ward also;\nFor well he spied when she woulde go\nOut of her house, to any manner place;\nBut thus they met, of aventure or grace,\nAnd he saluted her with glad intent,\nAnd asked of her whitherward she went.\nAnd she answered, half as she were mad,\n\"Unto the garden, as my husband bade,\nMy trothe for to hold, alas! alas!\"\nAurelius gan to wonder on this case,\nAnd in his heart had great compassion\nOf her, and of her lamentation,\nAnd of Arviragus, the worthy knight,\nThat bade her hold all that she hadde hight;\nSo loth him was his wife should break her truth*    *troth, pledged word\nAnd in his heart he caught of it great ruth,*                      *pity\nConsidering the best on every side,\n*That from his lust yet were him lever abide,*           *see note <30>*\nThan do so high a churlish wretchedness*                     *wickedness\nAgainst franchise,* and alle gentleness;                     *generosity\nFor which in fewe words he saide thus;\n\"Madame, say to your lord Arviragus,\nThat since I see the greate gentleness\nOf him, and eke I see well your distress,\nThat him were lever* have shame (and that were ruth)**    *rather **pity\nThan ye to me should breake thus your truth,\nI had well lever aye* to suffer woe,                            *forever\nThan to depart* the love betwixt you two.              *sunder, split up\nI you release, Madame, into your hond,\nQuit ev'ry surement* and ev'ry bond,                             *surety\nThat ye have made to me as herebeforn,\nSince thilke time that ye were born.\nHave here my truth, I shall you ne'er repreve*                 *reproach\n*Of no behest;* and here I take my leave,             *of no (breach of)\nAs of the truest and the beste wife                             promise*\nThat ever yet I knew in all my life.\nBut every wife beware of her behest;\nOn Dorigen remember at the least.\nThus can a squier do a gentle deed,\nAs well as can a knight, withoute drede.\"*                        *doubt\n\nShe thanked him upon her knees bare,\nAnd home unto her husband is she fare,*                            *gone\nAnd told him all, as ye have hearde said;\nAnd, truste me, he was so *well apaid,*                      *satisfied*\nThat it were impossible me to write.\nWhy should I longer of this case indite?\nArviragus and Dorigen his wife\nIn sov'reign blisse ledde forth their life;\nNe'er after was there anger them between;\nHe cherish'd her as though she were a queen,\nAnd she was to him true for evermore;\nOf these two folk ye get of me no more.\n\nAurelius, that his cost had *all forlorn,*                *utterly lost*\nCursed the time that ever he was born.\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"alas that I behight*                        *promised\nOf pured* gold a thousand pound of weight                       *refined\nTo this philosopher! how shall I do?\nI see no more, but that I am fordo.*                     *ruined, undone\nMine heritage must I needes sell,\nAnd be a beggar; here I will not dwell,\nAnd shamen all my kindred in this place,\nBut* I of him may gette better grace.                            *unless\nBut natheless I will of him assay\nAt certain dayes year by year to pay,\nAnd thank him of his greate courtesy.\nMy trothe will I keep, I will not he.\"\nWith hearte sore he went unto his coffer,\nAnd broughte gold unto this philosopher,\nThe value of five hundred pound, I guess,\nAnd him beseeched, of his gentleness,\nTo grant him *dayes of* the remenant;                   *time to pay up*\nAnd said; \"Master, I dare well make avaunt,\nI failed never of my truth as yet.\nFor sickerly my debte shall be quit\nTowardes you how so that e'er I fare\nTo go a-begging in my kirtle bare:\nBut would ye vouchesafe, upon surety,\nTwo year, or three, for to respite me,\nThen were I well, for elles must I sell\nMine heritage; there is no more to tell.\"\n\nThis philosopher soberly* answer'd,                             *gravely\nAnd saide thus, when he these wordes heard;\n\"Have I not holden covenant to thee?\"\n\"Yes, certes, well and truely,\" quoth he.\n\"Hast thou not had thy lady as thee liked?\"\n\"No, no,\" quoth he, and sorrowfully siked.*                      *sighed\n\"What was the cause? tell me if thou can.\"\nAurelius his tale anon began,\nAnd told him all as ye have heard before,\nIt needeth not to you rehearse it more.\nHe said, \"Arviragus of gentleness\nHad lever* die in sorrow and distress,                           *rather\nThan that his wife were of her trothe false.\"\nThe sorrow of Dorigen he told him als',*                           *also\nHow loth her was to be a wicked wife,\nAnd that she lever had lost that day her life;\nAnd that her troth she swore through innocence;\nShe ne'er erst* had heard speak of apparence**   *before **see note <31>\nThat made me have of her so great pity,\nAnd right as freely as he sent her to me,\nAs freely sent I her to him again:\nThis is all and some, there is no more to sayn.\"\n\nThe philosopher answer'd; \"Leve* brother,                          *dear\nEvereach of you did gently to the other;\nThou art a squier, and he is a knight,\nBut God forbidde, for his blissful might,\nBut if a clerk could do a gentle deed\nAs well as any of you, it is no drede*                            *doubt\nSir, I release thee thy thousand pound,\nAs thou right now were crept out of the ground,\nNor ever ere now haddest knowen me.\nFor, Sir, I will not take a penny of thee\nFor all my craft, nor naught for my travail;*             *labour, pains\nThou hast y-payed well for my vitaille;\nIt is enough; and farewell, have good day.\"\nAnd took his horse, and forth he went his way.\nLordings, this question would I aske now,\nWhich was the moste free,* as thinketh you?               *generous <32>\nNow telle me, ere that ye farther wend.\nI can* no more, my tale is at an end.                    *know, can tell\n\n\nNotes to The Franklin's Tale\n\n\n1. Well unnethes durst this knight for dread: This knight hardly\ndared,  for fear (that she would not entertain his suit.)\n\n2. \"Ne woulde God never betwixt us twain,\n    As in my guilt, were either war or strife\"\nWould to God there may never be war or strife between us,\nthrough my fault.\n\n3. Perhaps the true reading is \"beteth\" -- prepares, makes ready,\nhis wings for flight.\n\n4. Penmark: On the west coast of Brittany, between Brest and\nL'Orient.  The name is composed of two British words, \"pen,\"\nmountain, and \"mark,\" region; it therefore means the\nmountainous country\n\n5. Cairrud: \"The red city;\" it is not known where it was\nsituated.\n\n6. Warished: cured; French, \"guerir,\" to heal, or recover from\nsickness.\n\n7. Annoyeth: works mischief; from Latin, \"nocco,\" I hurt.\n\n8. Virelays:  ballads; the \"virelai\" was an ancient French poem\nof two rhymes.\n\n9. Lucina the sheen:  Diana the bright. See note 54 to the\nKnight's Tale.\n\n10. In a Latin poem, very popular in Chaucer's time, Pamphilus\nrelates his amour with Galatea, setting out with the idea\nadopted by our poet in the lines that follow.\n\n11. Sursanure:  A wound healed on the surface, but festering\nbeneath.\n\n12. Orleans:  Where there was a celebrated and very famous\nuniversity, afterwards eclipsed by that of Paris.  It was founded\nby Philip le Bel in 1312.\n\n13. Every  halk and every hern: Every nook and corner, Anglo-\nSaxon, \"healc,\" a nook; \"hyrn,\" a corner.\n\n14. Tregetoures: tricksters, jugglers. The word is probably\nderived -- in \"treget,\" deceit or imposture -- from the French\n\"trebuchet,\" a military machine; since it is evident that much and\nelaborate machinery must have been employed to produce the\neffects afterwards described. Another derivation is from the\nLow Latin, \"tricator,\" a deceiver.\n\n15. Lissed of: eased of; released from; another form of \"less\" or\n\"lessen.\"\n\n16. Gironde:  The river, formed by the union of the Dordogne\nand Garonne, on which Bourdeaux stands.\n\n17. Nor gladly for that sum he would not gon: And even for\nthat sum he would not willingly go to work.\n\n18. \"Noel,\" the French for Christmas -- derived from \"natalis,\"\nand signifying that on that day Christ was born -- came to be\nused as a festive cry by the people on solemn occasions.\n\n19. Tables Toletanes: Toledan tables; the astronomical tables\ncomposed by order Of Alphonso II, King of Castile, about 1250\nand so called because they were adapted to the city of Toledo.\n\n20. \"Alnath,\" Says Mr Wright, was \"the first star in the horns of\nAries, whence the first mansion of the moon is named.\"\n\n21. Another and better reading is \"a week or two.\"\n\n22. These stories are all taken from the book of St Jerome\n\"Contra Jovinianum,\" from which the Wife of Bath drew so\nmany of her ancient instances. See note 1 to the prologue to the\nWife of Bath's Tale.\n\n23. Panthea.  Abradatas, King of Susa, was an ally of the\nAssyrians against Cyrus; and his wife was taken at the conquest\nof the Assyrian camp.  Struck by the honourable treatment she\nreceived at the captors hands, Abradatas joined Cyrus, and fell\nin battle against his former alhes.  His wife, inconsolable at his\nloss, slew herself immediately.\n\n24. Protesilaus was the husband of Laedamia.  She begged the\ngods, after his death, that but three hours' converse with him\nmight be allowed her; the request was granted; and when her\ndead husband, at the expiry of the time, returned to the world of\nshades, she bore him company.\n\n25. The daughter of Cato of Utica, Porcia married Marcus\nBrutus, the friend and the assassin of Julius Caesar; when her\nhusband died by his own hand after the battle of Philippi, she\ncommitted suicide, it is said, by swallowing live coals -- all\nother means having been removed by her friends.\n\n26. Artemisia, Queen of Caria, who built to her husband\nMausolus, the splendid monument which was accounted among\nthe wonders of the world; and who mingled her husband's ashes\nwith her daily drink. \"Barbarie\" is used in the Greek sense, to\ndesignate the non-Hellenic peoples of Asia.\n\n27. Teuta:  Queen of Illyria, who, after her husband's death,\nmade war on and was conquered by the Romans, B.C 228.\n\n28. At this point, in some manuscripts, occur thefollowing two\nlines: --\n\"The same thing I say of Bilia,\nOf Rhodegone and of Valeria.\"\n\n29. Bound:  prepared; going. To \"boun\" or \"bown\" is a good\nold word, whence comes our word \"bound,\" in the sense of \"on\nthe way.\"\n\n30. That from his lust yet were him lever abide: He would\nrather do without his pleasure.\n\n31. Such apparence: such an ocular deception, or apparition --\nmore properly, disappearance -- as the removal of the rocks.\n\n32. The same question is stated a the end of Boccaccio's version\nof the story in the \"Philocopo,\" where the queen determines in\nfavour of Aviragus. The question is evidently one of those\nwhich it was the fashion to propose for debate in the mediaeval\n\"courts of love.\"\n\n\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE. <1>\n\n\n[\"YEA, let that passe,\" quoth our Host, \"as now.\nSir Doctor of Physik, I praye you,\nTell us a tale of some honest mattere.\"\n\"It shall be done, if that ye will it hear,\"\nSaid this Doctor; and his tale gan anon.\n\"Now, good men,\" quoth he, \"hearken everyone.\"]\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Doctor's Tale\n\n\n1. The authenticity of the prologue is questionable. It is found in\none manuscript only; other manuscripts give other prologues,\nmore plainly not Chaucer's than this; and some manuscripts\nhave merely a colophon to the effect that \"Here endeth the\nFranklin's Tale and beginneth the Physician's Tale without a\nprologue.\" The Tale itself is the well-known story of Virginia,\nwith several departures from the text of Livy. Chaucer probably\nfollowed the \"Romance of the Rose\" and Gower's \"Confessio\nAmantis,\" in both of which the story is found.\n\n\nTHE TALE.\n\n\nThere was, as telleth Titus Livius, <1>\nA knight, that called was Virginius,\nFull filled of honour and worthiness,\nAnd strong of friendes, and of great richess.\nThis knight one daughter hadde by his wife;\nNo children had he more in all his life.\nFair was this maid in excellent beauty\nAboven ev'ry wight that man may see:\nFor nature had with sov'reign diligence\nY-formed her in so great excellence,\nAs though she woulde say, \"Lo, I, Nature,\nThus can I form and paint a creature,\nWhen that me list; who can me counterfeit?\nPygmalion? not though he aye forge and beat,\nOr grave or painte: for I dare well sayn,\nApelles, Zeuxis, shoulde work in vain,\nEither to grave, or paint, or forge, or beat,\nIf they presumed me to counterfeit.\nFor he that is the former principal,\nHath made me his vicar-general\nTo form and painten earthly creatures\nRight as me list, and all thing in my cure* is,                    *care\nUnder the moone, that may wane and wax.\nAnd for my work right nothing will I ax*                            *ask\nMy lord and I be full of one accord.\nI made her to the worship* of my lord;\nSo do I all mine other creatures,\nWhat colour that they have, or what figures.\"\nThus seemeth me that Nature woulde say.\n\nThis maiden was of age twelve year and tway,*                       *two\nIn which that Nature hadde such delight.\nFor right as she can paint a lily white,\nAnd red a rose, right with such painture\nShe painted had this noble creature,\nEre she was born, upon her limbes free,\nWhere as by right such colours shoulde be:\nAnd Phoebus dyed had her tresses great,\nLike to the streames* of his burned heat.                   *beams, rays\nAnd if that excellent was her beauty,\nA thousand-fold more virtuous was she.\nIn her there lacked no condition,\nThat is to praise, as by discretion.\nAs well in ghost* as body chaste was she:                  *mind, spirit\nFor which she flower'd in virginity,\nWith all humility and abstinence,\nWith alle temperance and patience,\nWith measure* eke of bearing and array.                      *moderation\nDiscreet she was in answering alway,\nThough she were wise as Pallas, dare I sayn;\nHer faconde* eke full womanly and plain,                     *speech <2>\nNo counterfeited termes hadde she\nTo seeme wise; but after her degree\nShe spake, and all her worde's more and less\nSounding in virtue and in gentleness.\nShamefast she was in maiden's shamefastness,\nConstant in heart, and ever *in business*              *diligent, eager*\nTo drive her out of idle sluggardy:\nBacchus had of her mouth right no mast'ry.\nFor wine and slothe <3> do Venus increase,\nAs men in fire will casten oil and grease.\nAnd of her owen virtue, unconstrain'd,\nShe had herself full often sick y-feign'd,\nFor that she woulde flee the company,\nWhere likely was to treaten of folly,\nAs is at feasts, at revels, and at dances,\nThat be occasions of dalliances.\nSuch thinges make children for to be\nToo soone ripe and bold, as men may see,\nWhich is full perilous, and hath been yore;*                     *of old\nFor all too soone may she learne lore\nOf boldeness, when that she is a wife.\n\nAnd ye mistresses,* in your olde life              *governesses, duennas\nThat lordes' daughters have in governance,\nTake not of my wordes displeasance\nThinke that ye be set in governings\nOf lordes' daughters only for two things;\nEither for ye have kept your honesty,\nOr else for ye have fallen in frailty\nAnd knowe well enough the olde dance,\nAnd have forsaken fully such meschance*                  *wickedness <4>\nFor evermore; therefore, for Christe's sake,\nTo teach them virtue look that ye not slake.*            *be slack, fail\nA thief of venison, that hath forlaft*                   *forsaken, left\nHis lik'rousness,* and all his olde craft,                     *gluttony\nCan keep a forest best of any man;\nNow keep them well, for if ye will ye can.\nLook well, that ye unto no vice assent,\nLest ye be damned for your wick'*  intent,                 *wicked, evil\nFor whoso doth, a traitor is certain;\nAnd take keep* of that I shall you sayn;                           *heed\nOf alle treason, sov'reign pestilence\nIs when a wight betrayeth innocence.\nYe fathers, and ye mothers eke also,\nThough ye have children, be it one or mo',\nYours is the charge of all their surveyance,*               *supervision\nWhile that they be under your governance.\nBeware, that by example of your living,\nOr by your negligence in chastising,\nThat they not perish for I dare well say,\nIf that they do, ye shall it dear abeye.*           *pay for, suffer for\nUnder a shepherd soft and negligent\nThe wolf hath many a sheep and lamb to-rent.\nSuffice this example now as here,\nFor I must turn again to my mattere.\n\nThis maid, of which I tell my tale express,\nShe kept herself, her needed no mistress;\nFor in her living maidens mighte read,\nAs in a book, ev'ry good word and deed\nThat longeth to a maiden virtuous;\nShe was so prudent and so bounteous.\nFor which the fame out sprang on every side\nBoth of her beauty and her bounte* wide:                       *goodness\nThat through the land they praised her each one\nThat loved virtue, save envy alone,\nThat sorry is of other manne's weal,\nAnd glad is of his sorrow and unheal* --                     *misfortune\nThe Doctor maketh this descriptioun. -- <5>\nThis maiden on a day went in the town\nToward a temple, with her mother dear,\nAs is of younge maidens the mannere.\nNow was there then a justice in that town,\nThat governor was of that regioun:\nAnd so befell, this judge his eyen cast\nUpon this maid, avising* her full fast,                       *observing\nAs she came forth by where this judge stood;\nAnon his hearte changed and his mood,\nSo was he caught with beauty of this maid\nAnd to himself full privily he said,\n\"This maiden shall be mine *for any man.\"*             *despite what any\nAnon the fiend into his hearte ran,                          man may do*\nAnd taught him suddenly, that he by sleight\nThis maiden to his purpose winne might.\nFor certes, by no force, nor by no meed,*                 *bribe, reward\nHim thought he was not able for to speed;\nFor she was strong of friendes, and eke she\nConfirmed was in such sov'reign bounte,\nThat well he wist he might her never win,\nAs for to make her with her body sin.\nFor which, with great deliberatioun,\nHe sent after a clerk <6>  was in the town,\nThe which he knew for subtle and for bold.\nThis judge unto this clerk his tale told\nIn secret wise, and made him to assure\nHe shoulde tell it to no creature,\nAnd if he did, he shoulde lose his head.\nAnd when assented was this cursed rede,*                  *counsel, plot\nGlad was the judge, and made him greate cheer,\nAnd gave him giftes precious and dear.\nWhen shapen* was all their conspiracy                          *arranged\nFrom point to point, how that his lechery\nPerformed shoulde be full subtilly,\nAs ye shall hear it after openly,\nHome went this clerk, that highte Claudius.\nThis false judge, that highte Appius, --\n(So was his name, for it is no fable,\nBut knowen for a storial*  thing notable;         *historical, authentic\nThe sentence* of it sooth** is out of doubt); --         *account **true\nThis false judge went now fast about\nTo hasten his delight all that he may.\nAnd so befell, soon after on a day,\nThis false judge, as telleth us the story,\nAs he was wont, sat in his consistory,\nAnd gave his doomes* upon sundry case';                       *judgments\nThis false clerk came forth *a full great pace,*               *in haste\nAnd saide; Lord, if that it be your will,\nAs do me right upon this piteous bill,*                        *petition\nIn which I plain upon Virginius.\nAnd if that he will say it is not thus,\nI will it prove, and finde good witness,\nThat sooth is what my bille will express.\"\nThe judge answer'd, \"Of this, in his absence,\nI may not give definitive sentence.\nLet do* him call, and I will gladly hear;                         *cause\nThou shalt have alle right, and no wrong here.\"\nVirginius came to weet* the judge's will,                   *know, learn\nAnd right anon was read this cursed bill;\nThe sentence of it was as ye shall hear\n\"To you, my lord, Sir Appius so clear,\nSheweth your poore servant Claudius,\nHow that a knight called Virginius,\nAgainst the law, against all equity,\nHoldeth, express against the will of me,\nMy servant, which that is my thrall* by right,                    *slave\nWhich from my house was stolen on a night,\nWhile that she was full young; I will it preve*                   *prove\nBy witness, lord, so that it you *not grieve;*      *be not displeasing*\nShe is his daughter not, what so he say.\nWherefore to you, my lord the judge, I pray,\nYield me my thrall, if that it be your will.\"\nLo, this was all the sentence of the bill.\nVirginius gan upon the clerk behold;\nBut hastily, ere he his tale told,\nAnd would have proved it, as should a knight,\nAnd eke by witnessing of many a wight,\nThat all was false that said his adversary,\nThis cursed judge would no longer tarry,\nNor hear a word more of Virginius,\nBut gave his judgement, and saide thus:\n\"I deem* anon this clerk his servant have;         *pronounce, determine\nThou shalt no longer in thy house her save.\nGo, bring her forth, and put her in our ward\nThe clerk shall have his thrall: thus I award.\"\n\nAnd when this worthy knight, Virginius,\nThrough sentence of this justice Appius,\nMuste by force his deare daughter give\nUnto the judge, in lechery to live,\nHe went him home, and sat him in his hall,\nAnd let anon his deare daughter call;\nAnd with a face dead as ashes cold\nUpon her humble face he gan behold,\nWith father's pity sticking* through his heart,                *piercing\nAll* would he from his purpose not convert.**     *although **turn aside\n\"Daughter,\" quoth he, \"Virginia by name,\nThere be two wayes, either death or shame,\nThat thou must suffer, -- alas that I was bore!*                   *born\nFor never thou deservedest wherefore\nTo dien with a sword or with a knife,\nO deare daughter, ender of my life,\nWhom I have foster'd up with such pleasance\nThat thou were ne'er out of my remembrance;\nO daughter, which that art my laste woe,\nAnd in this life my laste joy also,\nO gem of chastity, in patience\nTake thou thy death, for this is my sentence:\nFor love and not for hate thou must be dead;\nMy piteous hand must smiten off thine head.\nAlas, that ever Appius thee say!*                                   *saw\nThus hath he falsely judged thee to-day.\"\nAnd told her all the case, as ye before\nHave heard; it needeth not to tell it more.\n\n\"O mercy, deare father,\" quoth the maid.\nAnd with that word she both her armes laid\nAbout his neck, as she was wont to do,\n(The teares burst out of her eyen two),\nAnd said, \"O goode father, shall I die?\nIs there no grace? is there no remedy?\"\n\"No, certes, deare daughter mine,\" quoth he.\n\"Then give me leisure, father mine, quoth she,\n\"My death for to complain* a little space                        *bewail\nFor, pardie, Jephthah gave his daughter grace\nFor to complain, ere he her slew, alas! <7>\nAnd, God it wot, nothing was her trespass,*                     *offence\nBut for she ran her father first to see,\nTo welcome him with great solemnity.\"\nAnd with that word she fell a-swoon anon;\nAnd after, when her swooning was y-gone,\nShe rose up, and unto her father said:\n\"Blessed be God, that I shall die a maid.\nGive me my death, ere that I have shame;\nDo with your child your will, in Godde's name.\"\nAnd with that word she prayed him full oft\nThat with his sword he woulde smite her soft;\nAnd with that word, a-swoon again she fell.\nHer father, with full sorrowful heart and fell,*           *stern, cruel\nHer head off smote, and by the top it hent,*                       *took\nAnd to the judge he went it to present,\nAs he sat yet in doom* in consistory.                          *judgment\n\nAnd when the judge it saw, as saith the story,\nHe bade to take him, and to hang him fast.\nBut right anon a thousand people *in thrast*                 *rushed in*\nTo save the knight, for ruth and for pity\nFor knowen was the false iniquity.\nThe people anon had suspect* in this thing,                   *suspicion\nBy manner of the clerke's challenging,\nThat it was by th'assent of Appius;\nThey wiste well that he was lecherous.\nFor which unto this Appius they gon,\nAnd cast him in a prison right anon,\nWhere as he slew himself: and Claudius,\nThat servant was unto this Appius,\nWas doomed for to hang upon a tree;\nBut that Virginius, of his pity,\nSo prayed for him, that he was exil'd;\nAnd elles certes had he been beguil'd;*                    *see note <8>\nThe remenant were hanged, more and less,\nThat were consenting to this cursedness.*                      *villainy\nHere men may see how sin hath his merite:*                      *deserts\nBeware, for no man knows how God will smite\nIn no degree, nor in which manner wise\nThe worm of conscience may agrise*                     frighten, horrify\nOf  wicked life, though it so privy be,\nThat no man knows thereof, save God and he;\nFor be he lewed* man or elles lear'd,**              *ignorant **learned\nHe knows not how soon he shall be afear'd;\nTherefore I rede* you this counsel take,                         *advise\nForsake sin, ere sinne you forsake.\n\n\nNotes to the Doctor's Tale\n\n\n1. Livy, Book iii. cap. 44, et seqq.\n\n2. Faconde: utterance, speech; from Latin, \"facundia,\"\neloquence.\n\n3. Slothe: other readings are \"thought\" and \"youth.\"\n\n4. Meschance: wickedness; French, \"mechancete.\"\n\n5. This line seems to be a kind of aside thrown in by Chaucer\nhimself.\n\n6. The various readings of this word are \"churl,\" or \"cherl,\" in\nthe best manuscripts; \"client\" in the common editions, and\n\"clerk\" supported by two important manuscripts. \"Client\"\nwould perhaps be the best reading, if it were not awkward for\nthe metre; but between \"churl\" and ''clerk\" there can be little\ndoubt that Mr Wright chose wisely when he preferred the\nsecond.\n\n7. Judges xi. 37, 38.  \"And she said unto her father,\nLet .  . . me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon\nthe mountains, and bewail my virginity, I and my fellows.  And\nhe said, go.\"\n\n8. Beguiled: \"cast into gaol,\" according to Urry's explanation;\nthough we should probably understand that, if Claudius had not\nbeen sent out of the country, his death would have been secretly\ncontrived through private detestation.\n\n\n\nTHE PARDONER'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nOUR Hoste gan to swear as he were wood;\n\"Harow!\" quoth he, \"by nailes and by blood, <1>\nThis was a cursed thief, a false justice.\nAs shameful death as hearte can devise\nCome to these judges and their advoca's.*        *advocates, counsellors\nAlgate* this sely** maid is slain, alas!        *nevertheless **innocent\nAlas! too deare bought she her beauty.\nWherefore I say, that all day man may see\nThat giftes of fortune and of nature\nBe cause of death to many a creature.\nHer beauty was her death, I dare well sayn;\nAlas! so piteously as she was slain.\n[Of bothe giftes, that I speak of now\nMen have full often more harm than prow,*]                       *profit\nBut truely, mine owen master dear,\nThis was a piteous tale for to hear;\nBut natheless, pass over; 'tis *no force.*                   *no matter*\nI pray to God to save thy gentle corse,*                           *body\nAnd eke thine urinals, and thy jordans,\nThine Hippocras, and eke thy Galliens, <2>\nAnd every boist* full of thy lectuary,                          *box <3>\nGod bless them, and our lady Sainte Mary.\nSo may I the',* thou art a proper man,                           *thrive\nAnd like a prelate, by Saint Ronian;\nSaid I not well? Can I not speak *in term?*                *in set form*\nBut well I wot thou dost* mine heart to erme,**      *makest **grieve<4>\nThat I have almost caught a cardiacle:*                   *heartache <5>\nBy corpus Domini <6>, but* I have triacle,**          *unless **a remedy\nOr else a draught of moist and corny <7> ale,\nOr but* I hear anon a merry tale,                                *unless\nMine heart is brost* for pity of this maid.               *burst, broken\nThou *bel ami,*  thou Pardoner,\" he said,                  *good friend*\n\"Tell us some mirth of japes* right anon.\"                        *jokes\n\"It shall be done,\" quoth he, \"by Saint Ronion.\nBut first,\" quoth he, \"here at this ale-stake*       *ale-house sign <8>\nI will both drink, and biten on a cake.\"\nBut right anon the gentles gan to cry,\n\"Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry.\nTell us some moral thing, that we may lear*                       *learn\nSome wit,* and thenne will we gladly hear.\"               *wisdom, sense\n\"I grant y-wis,\"* quoth he; \"but I must think                    *surely\nUpon some honest thing while that I drink.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Pardoner's Tale\n\n\n1. The nails and blood of Christ, by which it was then a fashion\nto swear.\n\n2. Mediaeval medical writers; see note 36 to the Prologue to the\nTales.\n\n3. Boist: box; French  \"boite,\" old form \"boiste.\"\n\n4. Erme: grieve; from Anglo-Saxon, \"earme,\" wretched.\n\n5. Cardiacle:  heartache; from Greek, \"kardialgia.\"\n\n6. Corpus Domini: God's body.\n\n7. Corny ale:  New and strong, nappy. As to \"moist,\" see note\n39 to the Prologue to the Tales.\n\n8. (Transcriber's Note)In this scene the pilgrims are refreshing\nthemselves at tables in front of an inn.  The pardoner is drunk,\nwhich explains his boastful and revealing confession of his\ndeceits.\n\n\nTHE TALE <1>\n\n\nLordings (quoth he), in churche when I preach,\nI paine me to have an hautein* speech,            *take pains **loud <2>\nAnd ring it out, as round as doth a bell,\nFor I know all by rote that I tell.\nMy theme is always one, and ever was;\nRadix malorum est cupiditas.<3>\nFirst I pronounce whence that I come,\nAnd then my bulles shew I all and some;\nOur liege lorde's seal on my patent,\nThat shew I first, *my body to warrent,*             *for the protection\nThat no man be so hardy, priest nor clerk,                 of my person*\nMe to disturb of Christe's holy werk.\nAnd after that then tell I forth my tales.\nBulles of popes, and of cardinales,\nOf patriarchs, and of bishops I shew,\nAnd in Latin I speak a wordes few,\nTo savour with my predication,\nAnd for to stir men to devotion\nThen show I forth my longe crystal stones,\nY-crammed fall of cloutes* and of bones;                *rags, fragments\nRelics they be, as *weene they* each one.        *as my listeners think*\nThen have I in latoun* a shoulder-bone                            *brass\nWhich that was of a holy Jewe's sheep.\n\"Good men,\" say I, \"take of my wordes keep;*                       *heed\nIf that this bone be wash'd in any well,\nIf cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swell,\nThat any worm hath eat, or worm y-stung,\nTake water of that well, and wash his tongue,\nAnd it is whole anon; and farthermore\nOf pockes, and of scab, and every sore\nShall every sheep be whole, that of this well\nDrinketh a draught; take keep* of that I tell.                     *heed\n\n\"If that the goodman, that the beastes oweth,*                   *owneth\nWill every week, ere that the cock him croweth,\nFasting, y-drinken of this well a draught,\nAs thilke holy Jew our elders taught,\nHis beastes and his store shall multiply.\nAnd, Sirs, also it healeth jealousy;\nFor though a man be fall'n in jealous rage,\nLet make with this water his pottage,\nAnd never shall he more his wife mistrist,*                    *mistrust\n*Though he the sooth of her defaulte wist;*             *though he truly\nAll had she taken priestes two or three. <4>               knew her sin*\nHere is a mittain* eke, that ye may see;                  *glove, mitten\nHe that his hand will put in this mittain,\nHe shall have multiplying of his grain,\nWhen he hath sowen, be it wheat or oats,\nSo that he offer pence, or elles groats.\nAnd, men and women, one thing warn I you;\nIf any wight be in this churche now\nThat hath done sin horrible, so that he\nDare not for shame of it y-shriven* be;                       *confessed\nOr any woman, be she young or old,\nThat hath y-made her husband cokewold,*                         *cuckold\nSuch folk shall have no power nor no grace\nTo offer to my relics in this place.\nAnd whoso findeth him out of such blame,\nHe will come up and offer in God's name;\nAnd I assoil* him by the authority                              *absolve\nWhich that by bull y-granted was to me.\"\n\nBy this gaud* have I wonne year by year                     *jest, trick\nA hundred marks, since I was pardonere.\nI stande like a clerk in my pulpit,\nAnd when the lewed* people down is set,                        *ignorant\nI preache so as ye have heard before,\nAnd telle them a hundred japes* more.                    *jests, deceits\nThen pain I me to stretche forth my neck,\nAnd east and west upon the people I beck,\nAs doth a dove, sitting on a bern;*                                *barn\nMy handes and my tongue go so yern,*                            *briskly\nThat it is joy to see my business.\nOf avarice and of such cursedness*                           *wickedness\nIs all my preaching, for to make them free\nTo give their pence, and namely* unto me.                    *especially\nFor mine intent is not but for to win,\nAnd nothing for correction of sin.\nI recke never, when that they be buried,\nThough that their soules go a blackburied.<5>\nFor certes *many a predication              *preaching is often inspired\nCometh oft-time of evil intention;*                     by evil motives*\nSome for pleasance of folk, and flattery,\nTo be advanced by hypocrisy;\nAnd some for vainglory, and some for hate.\nFor, when I dare not otherwise debate,\nThen will I sting him with my tongue smart*                     *sharply\nIn preaching, so that he shall not astart*                       *escape\nTo be defamed falsely, if that he\nHath trespass'd* to my brethren or to me.                      *offended\nFor, though I telle not his proper name,\nMen shall well knowe that it is the same\nBy signes, and by other circumstances.\nThus *quite I* folk that do us displeasances:         *I am revenged on*\nThus spit I out my venom, under hue\nOf holiness, to seem holy and true.\nBut, shortly mine intent I will devise,\nI preach of nothing but of covetise.\nTherefore my theme is yet, and ever was, --\nRadix malorum est cupiditas. <3>\nThus can I preach against the same vice\nWhich that I use, and that is avarice.\nBut though myself be guilty in that sin,\nYet can I maken other folk to twin*                              *depart\nFrom avarice, and sore them repent.\nBut that is not my principal intent;\nI preache nothing but for covetise.\nOf this mattere it ought enough suffice.\nThen tell I them examples many a one,\nOf olde stories longe time gone;\nFor lewed* people love tales old;                             *unlearned\nSuch thinges can they well report and hold.\nWhat? trowe ye, that whiles I may preach\nAnd winne gold and silver for* I teach,                         *because\nThat I will live in povert' wilfully?\nNay, nay, I thought it never truely.\nFor I will preach and beg in sundry lands;\nI will not do no labour with mine hands,\nNor make baskets for to live thereby,\nBecause I will not beggen idlely.\nI will none of the apostles counterfeit;*          *imitate (in poverty)\nI will have money, wool, and cheese, and wheat,\nAll* were it given of the poorest page,                         *even if\nOr of the pooreste widow in a village:\nAll should her children sterve* for famine.                         *die\nNay, I will drink the liquor of the vine,\nAnd have a jolly wench in every town.\nBut hearken, lordings, in conclusioun;\nYour liking is, that I shall tell a tale\nNow I have drunk a draught of corny ale,\nBy God, I hope I shall you tell a thing\nThat shall by reason be to your liking;\nFor though myself be a full vicious man,\nA moral tale yet I you telle can,\nWhich I am wont to preache, for to win.\nNow hold your peace, my tale I will begin.\n\n\nIn Flanders whilom was a company\nOf younge folkes, that haunted folly,\nAs riot, hazard, stewes,* and taverns;                         *brothels\nWhere as with lutes, harpes, and giterns,*                      *guitars\nThey dance and play at dice both day and night,\nAnd eat also, and drink over their might;\nThrough which they do the devil sacrifice\nWithin the devil's temple, in cursed wise,\nBy superfluity abominable.\nTheir oathes be so great and so damnable,\nThat it is grisly* for to hear them swear.                 *dreadful <6>\nOur blissful Lorde's body they to-tear;*             *tore to pieces <7>\nThem thought the Jewes rent him not enough,\nAnd each of them at other's sinne lough.*                       *laughed\nAnd right anon in come tombesteres <8>\nFetis* and small, and younge fruitesteres.**       *dainty **fruit-girls\nSingers with harpes, baudes,* waferers,**      *revellers **cake-sellers\nWhich be the very devil's officers,\nTo kindle and blow the fire of lechery,\nThat is annexed unto gluttony.\nThe Holy Writ take I to my witness,\nThat luxury is in wine and drunkenness. <9>\nLo, how that drunken Lot unkindely*                         *unnaturally\nLay by his daughters two unwittingly,\nSo drunk he was he knew not what he wrought.\nHerodes, who so well the stories sought, <10>\nWhen he of wine replete was at his feast,\nRight at his owen table gave his hest*                          *command\nTo slay the Baptist John full guilteless.\nSeneca saith a good word, doubteless:\nHe saith he can no difference find\nBetwixt a man that is out of his mind,\nAnd a man whiche that is drunkelew:*                    *a drunkard <11>\nBut that woodness,* y-fallen in a shrew,*   *madness **one evil-tempered\nPersevereth longer than drunkenness.\n\nO gluttony, full of all cursedness;\nO cause first of our confusion,\nOriginal of our damnation,\nTill Christ had bought us with his blood again!\nLooke, how deare, shortly for to sayn,\nAbought* was first this cursed villainy:                     *atoned for\nCorrupt was all this world for gluttony.\nAdam our father, and his wife also,\nFrom Paradise, to labour and to woe,\nWere driven for that vice, it is no dread.*                       *doubt\nFor while that Adam fasted, as I read,\nHe was in Paradise; and when that he\nAte of the fruit defended* of the tree,                  *forbidden <12>\nAnon he was cast out to woe and pain.\nO gluttony! well ought us on thee plain.\nOh! wist a man how many maladies\nFollow of excess and of gluttonies,\nHe woulde be the more measurable*                              *moderate\nOf his diete, sitting at his table.\nAlas! the shorte throat, the tender mouth,\nMaketh that east and west, and north and south,\nIn earth, in air, in water, men do swink*                        *labour\nTo get a glutton dainty meat and drink.\nOf this mattere, O Paul! well canst thou treat\nMeat unto womb,* and womb eke unto meat,                          *belly\nShall God destroye both, as Paulus saith. <13>\nAlas! a foul thing is it, by my faith,\nTo say this word, and fouler is the deed,\nWhen man so drinketh of the *white and red,*                 *i.e. wine*\nThat of his throat he maketh his privy\nThrough thilke cursed superfluity\nThe apostle saith, <14> weeping full piteously,\nThere walk many, of which you told have I, --\nI say it now weeping with piteous voice, --\nThat they be enemies of Christe's crois;*                         *cross\nOf which the end is death; womb* is their God.                    *belly\nO womb, O belly, stinking is thy cod,*                         *bag <15>\nFull fill'd of dung and of corruptioun;\nAt either end of thee foul is the soun.\nHow great labour and cost is thee to find!*                      *supply\nThese cookes how they stamp, and strain, and grind,\nAnd turne substance into accident,\nTo fulfill all thy likerous talent!\nOut of the harde bones knocke they\nThe marrow, for they caste naught away\nThat may go through the gullet soft and swoot*                    *sweet\nOf spicery and leaves, of bark and root,\nShall be his sauce y-maked by delight,\nTo make him have a newer appetite.\nBut, certes, he that haunteth such delices\nIs dead while that he liveth in those vices.\n\nA lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness\nIs full of striving and of wretchedness.\nO drunken man! disfgur'd is thy face,<16>\nSour is thy breath, foul art thou to embrace:\nAnd through thy drunken nose sowneth the soun',\nAs though thous saidest aye, Samsoun! Samsoun!\nAnd yet, God wot, Samson drank never wine.\nThou fallest as it were a sticked swine;\nThy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure;*                    *care\nFor drunkenness is very sepulture*                                 *tomb\nOf manne's wit and his discretion.\nIn whom that drink hath domination,\nHe can no counsel keep, it is no dread.*                          *doubt\nNow keep you from the white and from the red,\nAnd namely* from the white wine of Lepe,<17>                 *especially\nThat is to sell in Fish Street <18> and in Cheap.\nThis wine of Spaine creepeth subtilly  --\nIn other wines growing faste by,\nOf which there riseth such fumosity,\nThat when a man hath drunken draughtes three,\nAnd weeneth that he be at home in Cheap,\nHe is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe,\nNot at the Rochelle, nor at Bourdeaux town;\nAnd thenne will he say, Samsoun! Samsoun!\nBut hearken, lordings, one word, I you pray,\nThat all the sovreign actes, dare I say,\nOf victories in the Old Testament,\nThrough very God that is omnipotent,\nWere done in abstinence and in prayere:\nLook in the Bible, and there ye may it lear.*                     *learn\nLook, Attila, the greate conqueror,\nDied in his sleep, <19> with shame and dishonour,\nBleeding aye at his nose in drunkenness:\nA captain should aye live in soberness\nAnd o'er all this, advise* you right well             *consider, bethink\nWhat was commanded unto Lemuel; <20>\nNot Samuel, but Lemuel, say I.\nReade the Bible, and find it expressly\nOf wine giving to them that have justice.\nNo more of this, for it may well suffice.\n\nAnd, now that I have spoke of gluttony,\nNow will I you *defende hazardry.*                     *forbid gambling*\nHazard is very mother of leasings,*                                *lies\nAnd of deceit, and cursed forswearings:\nBlasphem' of Christ, manslaughter, and waste also\nOf chattel* and of time; and furthermo'                        *property\nIt is repreve,* and contrar' of honour,                        *reproach\nFor to be held a common hazardour.\nAnd ever the higher he is of estate,\nThe more he is holden desolate.*                      *undone, worthless\nIf that a prince use hazardry,\nIn alle governance and policy\nHe is, as by common opinion,\nY-hold the less in reputation.\n\nChilon, that was a wise ambassador,\nWas sent to Corinth with full great honor\nFrom Lacedemon, <21> to make alliance;\nAnd when he came, it happen'd him, by chance,\nThat all the greatest that were of that land,\nY-playing atte hazard he them fand.*                              *found\nFor which, as soon as that it mighte be,\nHe stole him home again to his country\nAnd saide there, \"I will not lose my name,\nNor will I take on me so great diffame,*                       *reproach\nYou to ally unto no hazardors.*                                *gamblers\nSende some other wise ambassadors,\nFor, by my troth, me were lever* die,                            *rather\nThan I should you to hazardors ally.\nFor ye, that be so glorious in honours,\nShall not ally you to no hazardours,\nAs by my will, nor as by my treaty.\"\nThis wise philosopher thus said he.\nLook eke how to the King Demetrius\nThe King of Parthes, as the book saith us,\nSent him a pair of dice of gold in scorn,\nFor he had used hazard therebeforn:\nFor which he held his glory and renown\nAt no value or reputatioun.\nLordes may finden other manner play\nHonest enough to drive the day away.\n\nNow will I speak of oathes false and great\nA word or two, as olde bookes treat.\nGreat swearing is a thing abominable,\nAnd false swearing is more reprovable.\nThe highe God forbade swearing at all;\nWitness on Matthew: <22> but in special\nOf swearing saith the holy Jeremie, <23>\nThou thalt swear sooth thine oathes, and not lie:\nAnd swear in doom* and eke in righteousness;                  *judgement\nBut idle swearing is a cursedness.*                          *wickedness\nBehold and see, there in the firste table\nOf highe Godde's hestes* honourable,                       *commandments\nHow that the second best of him is this,\nTake not my name in idle* or amiss.                             *in vain\nLo, rather* he forbiddeth such swearing,                         *sooner\nThan homicide, or many a cursed thing;\nI say that as by order thus it standeth;\nThis knoweth he that his hests* understandeth,             *commandments\nHow that the second hest of God is that.\nAnd farthermore, I will thee tell all plat,*            *flatly, plainly\nThat vengeance shall not parte from his house,\nThat of his oathes is outrageous.\n\"By Godde's precious heart, and by his nails, <24>\nAnd by the blood of Christ, that is in Hailes, <25>\nSeven is my chance, and thine is cinque and trey:\nBy Godde's armes, if thou falsely play,\nThis dagger shall throughout thine hearte go.\"\nThis fruit comes of the *bicched bones two,*   *two cursed bones (dice)*\nForswearing, ire, falseness, and homicide.\nNow, for the love of Christ that for us died,\nLeave your oathes, bothe great and smale.\nBut, Sirs, now will I ell you forth my tale.\n\nThese riotoures three, of which I tell,\nLong *erst than* prime rang of any bell,                         *before\nWere set them in a tavern for to drink;\nAnd as they sat, they heard a belle clink\nBefore a corpse, was carried to the grave.\nThat one of them gan calle to his knave,*                       *servant\n\"Go bet,\" <26> quoth he, \"and aske readily\nWhat corpse is this, that passeth here forth by;\nAnd look that thou report his name well.\"\n\"Sir,\" quoth the boy, \"it needeth never a deal;*                   *whit\nIt was me told ere ye came here two hours;\nHe was, pardie, an old fellow of yours,\nAnd suddenly he was y-slain to-night;\nFordrunk* as he sat on his bench upright,              *completely drunk\nThere came a privy thief, men clepe Death,\nThat in this country all the people slay'th,\nAnd with his spear he smote his heart in two,\nAnd went his way withoute wordes mo'.\nHe hath a thousand slain this pestilence;\nAnd, master, ere you come in his presence,\nMe thinketh that it were full necessary\nFor to beware of such an adversary;\nBe ready for to meet him evermore.\nThus taughte me my dame; I say no more.\"\n\"By Sainte Mary,\" said the tavernere,\n\"The child saith sooth, for he hath slain this year,\nHence ov'r a mile, within a great village,\nBoth man and woman, child, and hind, and page;\nI trow his habitation be there;\nTo be advised* great wisdom it were,           *watchful, on one's guard\nEre* that he did a man a dishonour.\"                               *lest\n\n\"Yea, Godde's armes,\" quoth this riotour,\n\"Is it such peril with him for to meet?\nI shall him seek, by stile and eke by street.\nI make a vow, by Godde's digne* bones.\"                          *worthy\nHearken, fellows, we three be alle ones:*                        *at one\nLet each of us hold up his hand to other,\nAnd each of us become the other's brother,\nAnd we will slay this false traitor Death;\nHe shall be slain, he that so many slay'th,\nBy Godde's dignity, ere it be night.\"\nTogether have these three their trothe plight\nTo live and die each one of them for other\nAs though he were his owen sworen brother.\nAnd up they start, all drunken, in this rage,\nAnd forth they go towardes that village\nOf which the taverner had spoke beforn,\nAnd many a grisly* oathe have they sworn,                      *dreadful\nAnd Christe's blessed body they to-rent;*            *tore to pieces <7>\n\"Death shall be dead, if that we may him hent.\"*                  *catch\nWhen they had gone not fully half a mile,\nRight as they would have trodden o'er a stile,\nAn old man and a poore with them met.\nThis olde man full meekely them gret,*                          *greeted\nAnd saide thus; \"Now, lordes, God you see!\"*         *look on graciously\nThe proudest of these riotoures three\nAnswer'd again; \"What? churl, with sorry grace,\nWhy art thou all forwrapped* save thy face?            *closely wrapt up\nWhy livest thou so long in so great age?\"\nThis olde man gan look on his visage,\nAnd saide thus; \"For that I cannot find\nA man, though that I walked unto Ind,\nNeither in city, nor in no village go,\nThat woulde change his youthe for mine age;\nAnd therefore must I have mine age still\nAs longe time as it is Godde's will.\nAnd Death, alas! he will not have my life.\nThus walk I like a resteless caitife,*                 *miserable wretch\nAnd on the ground, which is my mother's gate,\nI knocke with my staff, early and late,\nAnd say to her, 'Leve* mother, let me in.                          *dear\nLo, how I wane, flesh, and blood, and skin;\nAlas! when shall my bones be at rest?\nMother, with you I woulde change my chest,\nThat in my chamber longe time hath be,\nYea, for an hairy clout to *wrap in me.'*               *wrap myself in*\nBut yet to me she will not do that grace,\nFor which fall pale and welked* is my face.                    *withered\nBut, Sirs, to you it is no courtesy\nTo speak unto an old man villainy,\nBut* he trespass in word or else in deed.                        *except\nIn Holy Writ ye may yourselves read;\n'Against* an old man, hoar upon his head,                       *to meet\nYe should arise:' therefore I you rede,*                         *advise\nNe do unto an old man no harm now,\nNo more than ye would a man did you\nIn age, if that ye may so long abide.\nAnd God be with you, whether ye go or ride\nI must go thither as I have to go.\"\n\n\"Nay, olde churl, by God thou shalt not so,\"\nSaide this other hazardor anon;\n\"Thou partest not so lightly, by Saint John.\nThou spakest right now of that traitor Death,\nThat in this country all our friendes slay'th;\nHave here my troth, as thou art his espy;*                          *spy\nTell where he is, or thou shalt it abie,*                    *suffer for\nBy God and by the holy sacrament;\nFor soothly thou art one of his assent\nTo slay us younge folk, thou false thief.\"\n\"Now, Sirs,\" quoth he, \"if it be you so lief*                    *desire\nTo finde Death, turn up this crooked way,\nFor in that grove I left him, by my fay,\nUnder a tree, and there he will abide;\nNor for your boast he will him nothing hide.\nSee ye that oak? right there ye shall him find.\nGod save you, that bought again mankind,\nAnd you amend!\" Thus said this olde man;\nAnd evereach of these riotoures ran,\nTill they came to the tree, and there they found\nOf florins fine, of gold y-coined round,\nWell nigh a seven bushels, as them thought.\nNo longer as then after Death they sought;\nBut each of them so glad was of the sight,\nFor that the florins were so fair and bright,\nThat down they sat them by the precious hoard.\nThe youngest of them spake the firste word:\n\"Brethren,\" quoth he, \"*take keep* what I shall say;              *heed*\nMy wit is great, though that I bourde* and play            *joke, frolic\nThis treasure hath Fortune unto us given\nIn mirth and jollity our life to liven;\nAnd lightly as it comes, so will we spend.\nHey! Godde's precious dignity! who wend*                *weened, thought\nToday that we should have so fair a grace?\nBut might this gold he carried from this place\nHome to my house, or elles unto yours\n(For well I wot that all this gold is ours),\nThen were we in high felicity.\nBut truely by day it may not be;\nMen woulde say that we were thieves strong,\nAnd for our owen treasure do us hong.*                   *have us hanged\nThis treasure muste carried be by night,\nAs wisely and as slily as it might.\nWherefore I rede,* that cut** among us all                *advise **lots\nWe draw, and let see where the cut will fall:\nAnd he that hath the cut, with hearte blithe\nShall run unto the town, and that full swithe,*                 *quickly\nAnd bring us bread and wine full privily:\nAnd two of us shall keepe subtilly\nThis treasure well: and if he will not tarry,\nWhen it is night, we will this treasure carry,\nBy one assent, where as us thinketh best.\"\nThen one of them the cut brought in his fist,\nAnd bade them draw, and look where it would fall;\nAnd it fell on the youngest of them all;\nAnd forth toward the town he went anon.\nAnd all so soon as  that he was y-gone,\nThe one of them spake thus unto the other;\n\"Thou knowest well that thou art my sworn brother,\n*Thy profit* will I tell thee right anon.             *what is for thine\nThou knowest well that our fellow is gone,                    advantage*\nAnd here is gold, and that full great plenty,\nThat shall departed* he among us three.                         *divided\nBut natheless, if I could shape* it so                         *contrive\nThat it departed were among us two,\nHad I not done a friende's turn to thee?\"\nTh' other answer'd, \"I n'ot* how that may be;                  *know not\nHe knows well that the gold is with us tway.\nWhat shall we do? what shall we to him say?\"\n\"Shall it be counsel?\"* said the firste shrew;**        *secret **wretch\n\"And I shall tell to thee in wordes few\nWhat we shall do, and bring it well about.\"\n\"I grante,\" quoth the other, \"out of doubt,\nThat by my truth I will thee not bewray.\"*                       *betray\n\"Now,\" quoth the first, \"thou know'st well we be tway,\nAnd two of us shall stronger be than one.\nLook; when that he is set,* thou right anon                    *sat down\nArise, as though thou wouldest with him play;\nAnd I shall rive* him through the sides tway,                      *stab\nWhile that thou strugglest with him as in game;\nAnd with thy dagger look thou do the same.\nAnd then shall all this gold departed* be,                      *divided\nMy deare friend, betwixte thee and me:\nThen may we both our lustes* all fulfil,                      *pleasures\nAnd play at dice right at our owen will.\"\nAnd thus accorded* be these shrewes** tway            *agreed **wretches\nTo slay the third, as ye have heard me say.\n\nThe youngest, which that wente to the town,\nFull oft in heart he rolled up and down\nThe beauty of these florins new and bright.\n\"O Lord!\" quoth he, \"if so were that I might\nHave all this treasure to myself alone,\nThere is no man that lives under the throne\nOf God, that shoulde have so merry as I.\"\nAnd at the last the fiend our enemy\nPut in his thought, that he should poison buy,\nWith which he mighte slay his fellows twy.*                         *two\nFor why, the fiend found him *in such living,*           *leading such a\nThat he had leave to sorrow him to bring.                    (bad) life*\nFor this was utterly his full intent\nTo slay them both, and never to repent.\nAnd forth he went, no longer would he tarry,\nInto the town to an apothecary,\nAnd prayed him that he him woulde sell\nSome poison, that he might *his rattes quell,*           *kill his rats*\nAnd eke there was a polecat in his haw,*          *farm-yard, hedge <27>\nThat, as he said, his eapons had y-slaw:*                         *slain\nAnd fain he would him wreak,* if that he might,                 *revenge\nOf vermin that destroyed him by night.\nTh'apothecary answer'd, \"Thou shalt have\nA thing, as wisly* God my soule save,                            *surely\nIn all this world there is no creature\nThat eat or drank hath of this confecture,\nNot but the mountance* of a corn of wheat,                       *amount\nThat he shall not his life *anon forlete;*        *immediately lay down*\nYea, sterve* he shall, and that in lesse while                      *die\nThan thou wilt go *apace* nought but a mile:                   *quickly*\nThis poison is so strong and violent.\"\nThis cursed man hath in his hand y-hent*                          *taken\nThis poison in a box, and swift he ran\nInto the nexte street, unto a man,\nAnd borrow'd of him large bottles three;\nAnd in the two the poison poured he;\nThe third he kepte clean for his own drink,\nFor all the night he shope him* for to swink**        *purposed **labour\nIn carrying off the gold out of that place.\nAnd when this riotour, with sorry grace,\nHad fill'd with wine his greate bottles three,\n\nTo his fellows again repaired he.\nWhat needeth it thereof to sermon* more?                *talk, discourse\nFor, right as they had cast* his death before,                  *plotted\nRight so they have him slain, and that anon.\nAnd when that this was done, thus spake the one;\n\"Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry,\nAnd afterward we will his body bury.\"\nAnd with that word it happen'd him *par cas*                  *by chance\nTo take the bottle where the poison was,\nAnd drank, and gave his fellow drink also,\nFor which anon they sterved* both the two.                         *died\nBut certes I suppose that Avicen\nWrote never in no canon, nor no fen, <28>\nMore wondrous signes of empoisoning,\nThan had these wretches two ere their ending.\nThus ended be these homicides two,\nAnd eke the false empoisoner also.\n\nO cursed sin, full of all cursedness!\nO trait'rous homicide! O wickedness!\nO glutt'ny, luxury, and hazardry!\nThou blasphemer of Christ with villany,*               *outrage, impiety\nAnd oathes great, of usage and of pride!\nAlas! mankinde, how may it betide,\nThat to thy Creator, which that thee wrought,\nAnd with his precious hearte-blood thee bought,\nThou art so false and so unkind,* alas!                       *unnatural\nNow, good men, God forgive you your trespass,\nAnd ware* you from the sin of avarice.                             *keep\nMine holy pardon may you all warice,*                              *heal\nSo that ye offer *nobles or sterlings,*           *gold or silver coins*\nOr elles silver brooches, spoons, or rings.\nBowe your head under this holy bull.\nCome up, ye wives, and offer of your will;\nYour names I enter in my roll anon;\nInto the bliss of heaven shall ye gon;\nI you assoil* by mine high powere,                         *absolve <29>\nYou that will offer, as clean and eke as clear\nAs ye were born. Lo, Sires, thus I preach;\nAnd Jesus Christ, that is our soules' leech,*                    *healer\nSo grante you his pardon to receive;\nFor that is best, I will not deceive.\n\nBut, Sirs, one word forgot I in my tale;\nI have relics and pardon in my mail,\nAs fair as any man in Engleland,\nWhich were me given by the Pope's hand.\nIf any of you will of devotion\nOffer, and have mine absolution,\nCome forth anon, and kneele here adown\nAnd meekely receive my pardoun.\nOr elles take pardon, as ye wend,*                                   *go\nAll new and fresh at every towne's end,\nSo that ye offer, always new and new,\nNobles or pence which that be good and true.\n'Tis an honour to evereach* that is here,                      *each one\nThat ye have a suffisant* pardonere                            *suitable\nT'assoile* you in country as ye ride,                           *absolve\nFor aventures which that may betide.\nParaventure there may fall one or two\nDown of his horse, and break his neck in two.\nLook, what a surety is it to you all,\nThat I am in your fellowship y-fall,\nThat may assoil* you bothe *more and lass,*                     *absolve\nWhen that the soul shall from the body pass.           *great and small*\nI rede* that our Hoste shall begin,                              *advise\nFor he is most enveloped in sin.\nCome forth, Sir Host, and offer first anon,\nAnd thou shalt kiss; the relics every one,\nYea, for a groat; unbuckle anon thy purse.\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth he, \"then have I Christe's curse!\nLet be,\" quoth he, \"it shall not be, *so the'ch.*      *so may I thrive*\nThou wouldest make me kiss thine olde breech,\nAnd swear it were a relic of a saint,\nThough it were with thy *fundament depaint'.*   *stained by your bottom*\nBut, by the cross which that Saint Helen fand,*              *found <30>\nI would I had thy coilons* in mine hand,                      *testicles\nInstead of relics, or of sanctuary.\nLet cut them off, I will thee help them carry;\nThey shall be shrined in a hogge's turd.\"\nThe Pardoner answered not one word;\nSo wroth he was, no worde would he say.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth our Host, \"I will no longer play\nWith thee, nor with none other angry man.\"\nBut right anon the worthy Knight began\n(When that he saw that all the people lough*),                  *laughed\n\"No more of this, for it is right enough.\nSir Pardoner, be merry and glad of cheer;\nAnd ye, Sir Host, that be to me so dear,\nI pray you that ye kiss the Pardoner;\nAnd, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner,*                       *nearer\nAnd as we didde, let us laugh and play.\"\nAnon they kiss'd, and rode forth their way.\n\n\nNotes to the Pardoner's Tale\n\n\n1. The outline of this Tale is to be found in the \"Cento Novelle\nAntiche,\" but the original is now lost. As in the case of the Wife\nof Bath's Tale, there is a long prologue, but in this case it has\nbeen treated as part of the Tale.\n\n2. Hautein: loud, lofty; from French, \"hautain.\"\n\n3. Radix malorum est cupiditas: \"the love of money is the root\nof all evil\" (1 Tim.vi. 10)\n\n4.All had she taken priestes two or three: even if she had\ncommitted adultery with two or three priests.\n\n5. Blackburied: The meaning of this is not very clear, but it is\nprobably a periphrastic and picturesque way of indicating\ndamnation.\n\n6. Grisly: dreadful; fitted to \"agrise\" or horrify the listener.\n\n7.  Mr Wright says: \"The common oaths in the Middle Ages\nwere by the different parts of God's body; and the popular\npreachers represented that profane swearers tore Christ's body\nby their imprecations.\" The idea was doubtless borrowed from\nthe passage in Hebrews (vi. 6), where apostates are said to\n\"crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put Him to\nan open shame.\"\n\n8. Tombesteres: female dancers or tumblers; from Anglo-\nSaxon, \"tumban,\" to dance.\n\n9. \"Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess.\" Eph. v.18.\n\n10. The reference is probably to the diligent inquiries Herod\nmade at the time of Christ's birth. See Matt. ii. 4-8\n\n11. A drunkard. \"Perhaps,\" says Tyrwhitt, \"Chaucer refers to\nEpist. LXXXIII., 'Extende in plures dies illum ebrii habitum;\nnunquid de furore dubitabis? nunc quoque non est minor sed\nbrevior.'\"  (\"Prolong the drunkard's condition to several days;\nwill you doubt his madness? Even as it is, the madness is no\nless; merely shorter.\")\n\n12. Defended: forbidden; French, \"defendu.\"  St Jerome, in his\nbook against Jovinian, says that so long as Adam fasted, he was\nin Paradise; he ate, and he was thrust out.\n\n13. \"Meats for the belly, and the belly for meats; but God shall\ndestroy both it and them.\" 1 Cor. vi. 13.\n\n14. \"For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now\ntell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of\nChrist:  Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and\nwhose glory is in their shame, who mind earthly things.\"  Phil.\niii. 18, 19.\n\n15. Cod: bag; Anglo-Saxon, \"codde;\" hence peas-cod, pin-cod\n(pin-cushion), &c.\n\n16. Compare with the lines which follow, the picture of the\ndrunken messenger in the Man of Law's Tale.\n\n17. Lepe:  A town near Cadiz, whence a stronger wine than the\nGascon vintages afforded was imported to England. French\nwine was often adulterated with the cheaper and stronger\nSpanish.\n\n18. Another reading is \"Fleet Street.\"\n\n19. Attila was suffocated in the night by a haemorrhage,\nbrought on by a debauch, when he was preparing a new\ninvasion of Italy, in 453.\n\n20. \"It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink\nwine, nor for princes strong drink; lest they drink, and forget\nthe law, and pervert the judgment of any of the afflicted.\" Prov.\nxxxi. 4, 5.\n\n21. Most manuscripts, evidently in error, have \"Stilbon\" and\n\"Calidone\" for Chilon and Lacedaemon. Chilon was one of the\nseven sages of Greece, and flourished about B.C. 590.\nAccording to Diogenes Laertius, he died, under the pressure of\nage and joy, in the arms of his son, who had just been crowned\nvictor at the Olympic games.\n\n22. \"Swear not at all;\" Christ's words in Matt. v. 34.\n\n23. \"And thou shalt swear, the lord liveth in truth, in judgement,\nand in righteousness.\"  Jeremiah iv. 2\n\n24. The nails that fastened Christ on the cross, which were\nregarded with superstitious reverence.\n\n25. Hailes: An abbey in Gloucestershire, where, under the\ndesignation of \"the blood of Hailes,\" a portion of  Christ's blood\nwas preserved.\n\n26. Go bet: a hunting phrase; apparently its force is, \"go beat up\nthe game.\"\n\n27. Haw; farm-yard, hedge  Compare the French, \"haie.\"\n\n28. Avicen, or Avicenna, was among the distinguished\nphysicians of the Arabian school in the eleventh century, and\nvery popular in the Middle Ages.  His great work was called\n\"Canon Medicinae,\" and was divided into \"fens,\" \"fennes,\" or\nsections.\n\n29. Assoil:  absolve. compare the Scotch law-term \"assoilzie,\"\nto acquit.\n\n30. Saint Helen, according to Sir John Mandeville, found the\ncross of Christ deep below ground, under a rock, where the\nJews had hidden it; and she tested the genuineness of the sacred\ntree, by raising to life a dead man laid upon it.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHIPMAN'S TALE.<1>\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE\n\n\nOur Host upon his stirrups stood anon,\nAnd saide; \"Good men, hearken every one,\nThis was a thrifty* tale for the nones.            *discreet, profitable\nSir Parish Priest,\" quoth he, \"for Godde's bones,\nTell us a tale, as was thy *forword yore:*            *promise formerly*\nI see well that ye learned men in lore\nCan* muche good, by Godde's dignity.\"                              *know\nThe Parson him answer'd, \"Ben'dicite!\nWhat ails the man, so sinfully to swear?\"\nOur Host answer'd, \"O Jankin, be ye there?\nNow, good men,\" quoth our Host, \"hearken to me.\nI smell a Lollard <2> in the wind,\" quoth he.\n\"Abide, for Godde's digne* passion,                              *worthy\nFor we shall have a predication:\nThis Lollard here will preachen us somewhat.\"\n\"Nay, by my father's soul, that shall he not,\nSaide the Shipman; \"Here shall he not preach,\nHe shall no gospel glose* here nor teach.                  *comment upon\nWe all believe in the great God,\" quoth he.\n\"He woulde sowe some difficulty,\nOr springe cockle <3> in our cleane corn.\nAnd therefore, Host, I warne thee beforn,\nMy jolly body shall a tale tell,\nAnd I shall clinke you so merry a bell,\nThat I shall waken all this company;\nBut it shall not be of philosophy,\nNor of physic, nor termes quaint of law;\nThere is but little Latin in my maw.\"*                            *belly\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Shipman's Tale\n\n\n1. The Prologue here given was transferred by Tyrwhitt from\nthe place, preceding the Squire's Tale, which it had formerly\noccupied; the Shipman's Tale having no Prologue in the best\nmanuscripts.\n\n2. Lollard: A contemptuous name for the followers of\nWyckliffe; presumably derived from the Latin, \"lolium,\" tares,\nas if they were the tares among the Lord's wheat; so, a few lines\nbelow, the Shipman intimates his fear lest the Parson should\n\"spring cockle in our clean corn.\"\n\n3. Cockle: A weed, the \"Agrostemma githago\" of Linnaeus;\nperhaps named from the Anglo-Saxon, \"ceocan,\" because it\nchokes the corn.\n(Transcriber's note: It is also possible Chaucer had in mind\nMatthew 13:25, where in some translations, an enemy sowed\n\"cockle\" amongst the wheat. (Other translations have \"tares\"\nand \"darnel\".))\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nA Merchant whilom dwell'd at Saint Denise,\nThat riche was, for which men held him wise.\nA wife he had of excellent beauty,\nAnd *companiable and revellous* was she,            *fond of society and\nWhich is a thing that causeth more dispence                merry making*\nThan worth is all the cheer and reverence\nThat men them do at feastes and at dances.\nSuch salutations and countenances\nPassen, as doth the shadow on the wall;\nPut woe is him that paye must for all.\nThe sely* husband algate** he must pay,               *innocent **always\nHe must us <2> clothe and he must us array\nAll for his owen worship richely:\nIn which array we dance jollily.\nAnd if that he may not, paraventure,\nOr elles list not such dispence endure,\nBut thinketh it is wasted and y-lost,\nThen must another paye for our cost,\nOr lend us gold, and that is perilous.\n\nThis noble merchant held a noble house;\nFor which he had all day so great repair,*           *resort of visitors\nFor his largesse, and for his wife was fair,\nThat wonder is; but hearken to my tale.\nAmonges all these guestes great and smale,\nThere was a monk, a fair man and a bold,\nI trow a thirty winter he was old,\nThat ever-in-one* was drawing to that place.                 *constantly\nThis younge monk, that was so fair of face,\nAcquainted was so with this goode man,\nSince that their firste knowledge began,\nThat in his house as familiar was he\nAs it is possible any friend to be.\nAnd, for as muchel as this goode man,\nAnd eke this monk of which that I began,\nWere both the two y-born in one village,\nThe monk *him claimed, as for cousinage,*               *claimed kindred\nAnd he again him said not once nay,                            with him*\nBut was as glad thereof as fowl of day;\n\"For to his heart it was a great pleasance.\nThus be they knit with etern' alliance,\nAnd each of them gan other to assure\nOf brotherhood while that their life may dure.\nFree was Dan <3> John, and namely* of dispence,** *especially **spending\nAs in that house, and full of diligence\nTo do pleasance, and also *great costage;*              *liberal outlay*\nHe not forgot to give the leaste page\nIn all that house; but, after their degree,\nHe gave the lord, and sithen* his meinie,**       *afterwards **servants\nWhen that he came, some manner honest thing;\nFor which they were as glad of his coming\nAs fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth.\nNo more of this as now, for it sufficeth.\n\nBut so befell, this merchant on a day\nShope* him to make ready his array                   *resolved, arranged\nToward the town of Bruges <4> for to fare,\nTo buye there a portion of ware;*                           *merchandise\nFor which he hath to Paris sent anon\nA messenger, and prayed hath Dan John\nThat he should come to Saint Denis, and play*             *enjoy himself\nWith him, and with his wife, a day or tway,\nEre he to Bruges went, in alle wise.\nThis noble monk, of which I you devise,*                           *tell\nHad of his abbot, as him list, licence,\n(Because he was a man of high prudence,\nAnd eke an officer out for to ride,\nTo see their granges and their barnes wide); <5>\nAnd unto Saint Denis he came anon.\nWho was so welcome as my lord Dan John,\nOur deare cousin, full of courtesy?\nWith him he brought a jub* of malvesie,                             *jug\nAnd eke another full of fine vernage, <6>\nAnd volatile,* as aye was his usage:                          *wild-fowl\nAnd thus I let them eat, and drink, and play,\nThis merchant and this monk, a day or tway.\nThe thirde day the merchant up ariseth,\nAnd on his needeis sadly him adviseth;\nAnd up into his countour-house* went he,             *counting-house <7>\nTo reckon with himself as well may be,\nOf thilke* year, how that it with him stood,                       *that\nAnd how that he dispended bad his good,\nAnd if that he increased were or non.\nHis bookes and his bagges many a one\nHe laid before him on his counting-board.\nFull riche was his treasure and his hoard;\nFor which full fast his countour door he shet;\nAnd eke he would that no man should him let*                     *hinder\nOf his accountes, for the meane time:\nAnd thus he sat, till it was passed prime.\n\nDan John was risen in the morn also,\nAnd in the garden walked to and fro,\nAnd had his thinges said full courteously.\nThe good wife came walking full privily\nInto the garden, where he walked soft,\nAnd him saluted, as she had done oft;\nA maiden child came in her company,\nWhich as her list she might govern and gie,*                      *guide\nFor yet under the yarde* was the maid.                          *rod <8>\n\"O deare cousin mine, Dan John,\" she said,\n\"What aileth you so rath* for to arise?\"                          *early\n\"Niece,\" quoth he, \"it ought enough suffice\nFive houres for to sleep upon a night;'\nBut* it were for an old appalled** wight,       *unless **pallid, wasted\nAs be these wedded men, that lie and dare,*                       *stare\nAs in a forme sits a weary hare,\nAlle forstraught* with houndes great and smale;  *distracted, confounded\nBut, deare niece, why be ye so pale?\nI trowe certes that our goode man\nHath you so laboured, since this night began,\nThat you were need to reste hastily.\"\nAnd with that word he laugh'd full merrily,\nAnd of his owen thought he wax'd all red.\nThis faire wife gan for to shake her head,\nAnd saide thus; \"Yea, God wot all\" quoth she.\n\"Nay, cousin mine, it stands not so with me;\nFor by that God, that gave me soul and life,\nIn all the realm of France is there no wife\nThat lesse lust hath to that sorry play;\nFor I may sing alas and well-away!\nThat I was born; but to no wight,\" quoth she,\n\"Dare I not tell how that it stands with me.\nWherefore I think out of this land to wend,\nOr elles of myself to make an end,\nSo full am I of dread and eke of care.\"\n\nThis monk began upon this wife to stare,\nAnd said, \"Alas! my niece, God forbid\nThat ye for any sorrow, or any dread,\nFordo* yourself: but telle me your grief,                       *destroy\nParaventure I may, in your mischief,*                          *distress\nCounsel or help; and therefore telle me\nAll your annoy, for it shall be secre.\nFor on my portos* here I make an oath,                         *breviary\nThat never in my life, *for lief nor loth,*       *willing or unwilling*\nNe shall I of no counsel you bewray.\"\n\"The same again to you,\" quoth she, \"I say.\nBy God and by this portos I you swear,\nThough men me woulden all in pieces tear,\nNe shall I never, for* to go to hell,                   *though I should\nBewray* one word of thing that ye me tell,                       *betray\nFor no cousinage, nor alliance,\nBut verily for love and affiance.\"*                 *confidence, promise\nThus be they sworn, and thereupon they kiss'd,\nAnd each of them told other what them list.\n\"Cousin,\" quoth she, \"if that I hadde space,\nAs I have none, and namely* in this place,                    *specially\nThen would I tell a legend of my life,\nWhat I have suffer'd since I was a wife\nWith mine husband, all* be he your cousin.                     *although\n\"Nay,\" quoth this monk, \"by God and Saint Martin,\nHe is no more cousin unto me,\nThan is the leaf that hangeth on the tree;\nI call him so, by Saint Denis of France,\nTo have the more cause of acquaintance\nOf you, which I have loved specially\nAboven alle women sickerly,*                                     *surely\nThis swear I you *on my professioun;*            *by my vows of religion\nTell me your grief, lest that he come adown,\nAnd hasten you, and go away anon.\"\n\n\"My deare love,\" quoth she, \"O my Dan John,\nFull lief* were me this counsel for to hide,                   *pleasant\nBut out it must, I may no more abide.\nMy husband is to me the worste man\nThat ever was since that the world began;\nBut since I am a wife, it sits* not me                          *becomes\nTo telle no wight of our privity,\nNeither in bed, nor in none other place;\nGod shield* I shoulde tell it for his grace;                     *forbid\nA wife shall not say of her husband\nBut all honour, as I can understand;\nSave unto you thus much I telle shall;\nAs help me God, he is nought worth at all\nIn no degree, the value of a fly.\nBut yet me grieveth most his niggardy.*                      *stinginess\nAnd well ye wot, that women naturally\nDesire thinges six, as well as I.\nThey woulde that their husbands shoulde be\nHardy,* and wise, and rich, and thereto free,                     *brave\nAnd buxom* to his wife, and fresh in bed.            *yielding, obedient\nBut, by that ilke* Lord that for us bled,                          *same\nFor his honour myself for to array,\nOn Sunday next I muste needes pay\nA hundred francs, or elles am I lorn.*                   *ruined, undone\nYet *were me lever* that I were unborn,                 *I would rather*\nThan me were done slander or villainy.\nAnd if mine husband eke might it espy,\nI were but lost; and therefore I you pray,\nLend me this sum, or elles must I dey.*                             *die\nDan John, I say, lend me these hundred francs;\nPardie, I will not faile you, *my thanks,*            *if I can help it*\nIf that you list to do that I you pray;\nFor at a certain day I will you pay,\nAnd do to you what pleasance and service\nThat I may do, right as you list devise.\nAnd but* I do, God take on me vengeance,                         *unless\nAs foul as e'er had Ganilion <9> of France.\"\n\nThis gentle monk answer'd in this mannere;\n\"Now truely, mine owen lady dear,\nI have,\" quoth he, \"on you so greate ruth,*                        *pity\nThat I you swear, and plighte you my truth,\nThat when your husband is to Flanders fare,*                       *gone\nI will deliver you out of this care,\nFor I will bringe you a hundred francs.\"\nAnd with that word he caught her by the flanks,\nAnd her embraced hard, and kissed her oft.\n\"Go now your way,\" quoth he, \"all still and soft,\nAnd let us dine as soon as that ye may,\nFor by my cylinder* 'tis prime of day;                 *portable sundial\nGo now, and be as true as I shall be .\"\n\"Now elles God forbidde, Sir,\" quoth she;\nAnd forth she went, as jolly as a pie,\nAnd bade the cookes that they should them hie,*              *make haste\nSo that men mighte dine, and that anon.\nUp to her husband is this wife gone,\nAnd knocked at his contour boldely.\n*\"Qui est la?\"* quoth he. \"Peter! it am I,\"              *who is there?*\nQuoth she; \"What, Sir, how longe all will ye fast?\nHow longe time will ye reckon and cast\nYour summes, and your bookes, and your things?\nThe devil have part of all such reckonings!\nYe have enough, pardie, of Godde's sond.*                *sending, gifts\nCome down to-day, and let your bagges stond.*                     *stand\nNe be ye not ashamed, that Dan John\nShall fasting all this day elenge* gon?                   *see note <10>\nWhat? let us hear a mass, and go we dine.\"\n\"Wife,\" quoth this man, \"little canst thou divine\nThe curious businesse that we have;\nFor of us chapmen,* all so God me save,                       *merchants\nAnd by that lord that cleped is Saint Ive,\nScarcely amonges twenty, ten shall thrive\nContinually, lasting unto our age.\nWe may well make cheer and good visage,\nAnd drive forth the world as it may be,\nAnd keepen our estate in privity,\nTill we be dead, or elles that we play\nA pilgrimage, or go out of the way.\nAnd therefore have I great necessity\nUpon this quaint* world to advise** me.              *strange **consider\nFor evermore must we stand in dread\nOf hap and fortune in our chapmanhead.*                         *trading\nTo Flanders will I go to-morrow at day,\nAnd come again as soon as e'er I may:\nFor which, my deare wife, I thee beseek                         *beseech\nAs be to every wight buxom* and meek,                  *civil, courteous\nAnd for to keep our good be curious,\nAnd honestly governe well our house.\nThou hast enough, in every manner wise,\nThat to a thrifty household may suffice.\nThee lacketh none array, nor no vitail;\nOf silver in thy purse thou shalt not fail.\"\n\nAnd with that word his contour door he shet,*                      *shut\nAnd down he went; no longer would he let;*                *delay, hinder\nAnd hastily a mass was there said,\nAnd speedily the tables were laid,\nAnd to the dinner faste they them sped,\nAnd richely this monk the chapman fed.\nAnd after dinner Dan John soberly\nThis chapman took apart, and privily\nHe said him thus: \"Cousin, it standeth so,\nThat, well I see, to Bruges ye will go;\nGod and Saint Austin speede you and guide.\nI pray you, cousin, wisely that ye ride:\nGoverne you also of your diet\nAttemperly,* and namely** in this heat.                      *moderately\nBetwixt us two needeth no *strange fare;*                *ado, ceremony*\nFarewell, cousin, God shielde you from care.\nIf any thing there be, by day or night,\nIf it lie in my power and my might,\nThat ye me will command in any wise,\nIt shall be done, right as ye will devise.\nBut one thing ere ye go, if it may be;\nI woulde pray you for to lend to me\nA hundred frankes, for a week or twy,\nFor certain beastes that I muste buy,\nTo store with a place that is ours\n(God help me so, I would that it were yours);\nI shall not faile surely of my day,\nNot for a thousand francs, a mile way.\nBut let this thing be secret, I you pray;\nFor yet to-night these beastes must I buy.\nAnd fare now well, mine owen cousin dear;\n*Grand mercy* of your cost and of your cheer.\"            *great thanks*\n\nThis noble merchant gentilly* anon                     *like a gentleman\nAnswer'd and said, \"O cousin mine, Dan John,\nNow sickerly this is a small request:\nMy gold is youres, when that it you lest,\nAnd not only my gold, but my chaffare;*                     *merchandise\nTake what you list, *God shielde that ye spare.*    *God forbid that you\nBut one thing is, ye know it well enow           should take too little*\nOf chapmen, that their money is their plough.\nWe may creance* while we have a name,                     *obtain credit\nBut goldless for to be it is no game.\nPay it again when it lies in your ease;\nAfter my might full fain would I you please.\"\n\nThese hundred frankes set he forth anon,\nAnd privily he took them to Dan John;\nNo wight in all this world wist of this loan,\nSaving the merchant and Dan John alone.\nThey drink, and speak, and roam a while, and play,\nTill that Dan John rode unto his abbay.\nThe morrow came, and forth this merchant rideth\nTo Flanders-ward, his prentice well him guideth,\nTill he came unto Bruges merrily.\nNow went this merchant fast and busily\nAbout his need, and buyed and creanced;*                     *got credit\nHe neither played at the dice, nor danced;\nBut as a merchant, shortly for to tell,\nHe led his life; and there I let him dwell.\n\nThe Sunday next* the merchant was y-gone,                         *after\nTo Saint Denis y-comen is Dan John,\nWith crown and beard all fresh and newly shave,\nIn all the house was not so little a knave,*                *servant-boy\nNor no wight elles that was not full fain\nFor that my lord Dan John was come again.\nAnd shortly to the point right for to gon,\nThe faire wife accorded with Dan John,\nThat for these hundred francs he should all night\nHave her in his armes bolt upright;\nAnd this accord performed was in deed.\nIn mirth all night a busy life they lead,\nTill it was day, that Dan John went his way,\nAnd bade the meinie* \"Farewell; have good day.\"                *servants\nFor none of them, nor no wight in the town,\nHad of Dan John right no suspicioun;\nAnd forth he rode home to his abbay,\nOr where him list; no more of him I say.\n\nThe merchant, when that ended was the fair,\nTo Saint Denis he gan for to repair,\nAnd with his wife he made feast and cheer,\nAnd tolde her that chaffare* was so dear,                   *merchandise\nThat needes must he make a chevisance;*                       *loan <11>\nFor he was bound in a recognisance\nTo paye twenty thousand shields* anon.                     *crowns, ecus\nFor which this merchant is to Paris gone,\nTo borrow of certain friendes that he had\nA certain francs, and some with him he lad.*                       *took\nAnd when that he was come into the town,\nFor great cherte* and great affectioun                             *love\nUnto Dan John he wente first to play;\nNot for to borrow of him no money,\nBat for to weet* and see of his welfare,                           *know\nAnd for to telle him of his chaffare,\nAs friendes do, when they be met in fere.*                      *company\nDan John him made feast and merry cheer;\nAnd he him told again full specially,\nHow he had well y-bought and graciously\n(Thanked be God) all whole his merchandise;\nSave that he must, in alle manner wise,\nMaken a chevisance, as for his best;\nAnd then he shoulde be in joy and rest.\nDan John answered, \"Certes, I am fain*                             *glad\nThat ye in health be come borne again:\nAnd if that I were rich, as have I bliss,\nOf twenty thousand shields should ye not miss,\nFor ye so kindely the other day\nLente me gold, and as I can and may\nI thanke you, by God and by Saint Jame.\nBut natheless I took unto our Dame,\nYour wife at home, the same gold again,\nUpon your bench; she wot it well, certain,\nBy certain tokens that I can her tell\nNow, by your leave, I may no longer dwell;\nOur abbot will out of this town anon,\nAnd in his company I muste gon.\nGreet well our Dame, mine owen niece sweet,\nAnd farewell, deare cousin, till we meet.\n\nThis merchant, which that was full ware and wise,\n*Creanced hath,* and paid eke in Paris             *had obtained credit*\nTo certain Lombards ready in their hond\nThe sum of gold, and got of them his bond,\nAnd home he went, merry as a popinjay.*                          *parrot\nFor well he knew he stood in such array\nThat needes must he win in that voyage\nA thousand francs, above all his costage.*                     *expenses\nHis wife full ready met him at the gate,\nAs she was wont of old usage algate*                             *always\nAnd all that night in mirthe they beset;*                         *spent\nFor he was rich, and clearly out of debt.\nWhen it was day, the merchant gan embrace\nHis wife all new, and kiss'd her in her face,\nAnd up he went, and maked it full tough.\n\n\"No more,\" quoth she, \"by God ye have enough;\"\nAnd wantonly again with him she play'd,\nTill at the last this merchant to her said.\n\"By God,\" quoth he, \"I am a little wroth\nWith you, my wife, although it be me loth;\nAnd wot ye why? by God, as that I guess,\nThat ye have made a *manner strangeness*        *a kind of estrangement*\nBetwixte me and my cousin, Dan John.\nYe should have warned me, ere I had gone,\nThat he you had a hundred frankes paid\nBy ready token; he *had him evil apaid*                 *was displeased*\nFor that I to him spake of chevisance,*                       *borrowing\n(He seemed so as by his countenance);\nBut natheless, by God of heaven king,\nI thoughte not to ask of him no thing.\nI pray thee, wife, do thou no more so.\nTell me alway, ere that I from thee go,\nIf any debtor hath in mine absence\nY-payed thee, lest through thy negligence\nI might him ask a thing that he hath paid.\"\n\nThis wife was not afeared nor afraid,\nBut boldely she said, and that anon;\n\"Mary! I defy that false monk Dan John,\nI keep* not of his tokens never a deal:**                   *care **whit\nHe took me certain gold, I wot it well. --\nWhat? evil thedom* on his monke's snout! --                    *thriving\nFor, God it wot, I ween'd withoute doubt\nThat he had given it me, because of you,\nTo do therewith mine honour and my prow,*                        *profit\nFor cousinage, and eke for belle cheer\nThat he hath had full often here.\nBut since I see I stand in such disjoint,*             *awkward position\nI will answer you shortly to the point.\nYe have more slacke debtors than am I;\nFor I will pay you well and readily,\nFrom day to day, and if so be I fail,\nI am your wife, score it upon my tail,\nAnd I shall pay as soon as ever I may.\nFor, by my troth, I have on mine array,\nAnd not in waste, bestow'd it every deal.\nAnd, for I have bestowed it so well,\nFor your honour, for Godde's sake I say,\nAs be not wroth, but let us laugh and play.\nYe shall my jolly body have *to wed;*                        *in pledge*\nBy God, I will not pay you but in bed;\nForgive it me, mine owen spouse dear;\nTurn hitherward, and make better cheer.\"\n\nThe merchant saw none other remedy;\nAnd for to chide, it were but a folly,\nSince that the thing might not amended be.\n\"Now, wife,\" he said, \"and I forgive it thee;\nBut by thy life be no more so large;*                   *liberal, lavish\nKeep better my good, this give I thee in charge.\"\nThus endeth now my tale; and God us send\nTaling enough, until our lives' end!\n\n\nNotes to the Shipman's Tale\n\n\n1. In this Tale Chaucer seems to have followed an old French\nstory, which also formed the groundwork of the first story in\nthe eighth day of the \"Decameron.\"\n\n2. \"He must us clothe\": So in all the manuscripts and from this\nand the following lines, it must be inferred that Chaucer had\nintended to put the Tale in  the mouth of a female speaker.\n\n3. Dan: a title bestowed on priests and scholars; from\n\"Dominus,\" like the Spanish \"Don\".\n\n4. Bruges was in Chaucer's time the great emporium of\nEuropean commerce.\n\n5. The monk had been appointed by his abbot to inspect and\nmanage the rural property of the monastery.\n\n6. Malvesie or Malmesy wine derived its name from Malvasia, a\nregion of the Morea near Cape Malea, where it was made, as it\nalso was on Chios and some other Greek islands. Vernage was\n\"vernaccia\", a sweet Italian wine.\n\n 7. Contour-house: counting-house; French, \"comptoir.\"\n\n8. Under the yarde: under the rod; in pupillage; a phrase\nproperly used of children, but employed by the Clerk in the\nprologue to his tale.  See note 1 to the Prologue to the Clerk's\nTale.\n\n9. Genelon, Ganelon, or Ganilion; one of Charlemagne's\nofficers, whose treachery was the cause of the disastrous defeat\nof the Christians by the Saracens at Roncevalles; he was torn to\npieces by four horses.\n\n10. Elenge:  From French, \"eloigner,\" to remove; it may mean\neither the lonely, cheerless condition of the priest, or the strange\nbehaviour of the merchant in leaving him to himself.\n\n11. Make a chevisance: raise money by means of a borrowing\nagreement; from French,  \"achever,\" to finish; the general\nmeaning of the word is a bargain, an agreement.\n\n\n\nTHE PRIORESS'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\"WELL said, by *corpus Domini,\"* quoth our Host;       *the Lord's body*\n\"Now longe may'st thou saile by the coast,\nThou gentle Master, gentle Marinere.\nGod give the monk *a thousand last quad year!*   *ever so much evil* <1>\nAha! fellows, beware of such a jape.*                             *trick\nThe monk *put in the manne's hood an ape,*                  *fooled him*\nAnd in his wife's eke, by Saint Austin.\nDrawe no monkes more into your inn.\nBut now pass over, and let us seek about,\nWho shall now telle first of all this rout\nAnother tale;\" and with that word he said,\nAs courteously as it had been a maid;\n\"My Lady Prioresse, by your leave,\nSo that I wist I shoulde you not grieve,*                        *offend\nI woulde deeme* that ye telle should                      *judge, decide\nA tale next, if so were that ye would.\nNow will ye vouchesafe, my lady dear?\"\n\"Gladly,\" quoth she; and said as ye shall hear.\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Prioress's Tale.\n\n\n1. A thousand last quad year: ever so much evil.   \"Last\" means\na load, \"quad,\" bad; and literally we may read \"a thousand\nweight of bad years.\" The Italians use \"mal anno\" in the same\nsense.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nO Lord our Lord! thy name how marvellous\nIs in this large world y-spread! <2> (quoth she)\nFor not only thy laude* precious                                 *praise\nPerformed is by men of high degree,\nBut by the mouth of children thy bounte*                       *goodness\nPerformed is, for on the breast sucking\nSometimes showe they thy herying.* <3>                            *glory\n\nWherefore in laud, as I best can or may\nOf thee, and of the white lily flow'r\nWhich that thee bare, and is a maid alway,\nTo tell a story I will do my labour;\nNot that I may increase her honour,\nFor she herselven is honour and root\nOf bounte, next her son, and soules' boot.*                        *help\n\nO mother maid, O maid and mother free!*                       *bounteous\nO bush unburnt, burning in Moses' sight,\nThat ravished'st down from the deity,\nThrough thy humbless, the ghost that in thee light; <4>\nOf whose virtue, when he thine hearte light,*      *lightened, gladdened\nConceived was the Father's sapience;\nHelp me to tell it to thy reverence.\n\nLady! thy bounty, thy magnificence,\nThy virtue, and thy great humility,\nThere may no tongue express in no science:\nFor sometimes, Lady! ere men pray to thee,\nThou go'st before, of thy benignity,\nAnd gettest us the light, through thy prayere,\nTo guiden us unto thy son so dear.\n\nMy conning* is so weak, O blissful queen,                *skill, ability\nFor to declare thy great worthiness,\nThat I not may the weight of it sustene;\nBut as a child of twelvemonth old, or less,\nThat can unnethes* any word express,                           *scarcely\nRight so fare I; and therefore, I you pray,\nGuide my song that I shall of you say.\n\nThere was in Asia, in a great city,\nAmonges Christian folk, a Jewery,<5>\nSustained by a lord of that country,\nFor foul usure, and lucre of villainy,\nHateful to Christ, and to his company;\nAnd through the street men mighte ride and wend,*              *go, walk\nFor it was free, and open at each end.\n\nA little school of Christian folk there stood\nDown at the farther end, in which there were\nChildren an heap y-come of Christian blood,\nThat learned in that schoole year by year\nSuch manner doctrine as men used there;\nThis is to say, to singen and to read,\nAs smalle children do in their childhead.\n\nAmong these children was a widow's son,\nA little clergion,* seven year of age,           *young clerk or scholar\nThat day by day to scholay* was his won,**                 *study **wont\nAnd eke also, whereso he saw th' image\nOf Christe's mother, had he in usage,\nAs him was taught, to kneel adown, and say\nAve Maria as he went by the way.\n\nThus had this widow her little son y-taught\nOur blissful Lady, Christe's mother dear,\nTo worship aye, and he forgot it not;\nFor sely* child will always soone lear.**              *innocent **learn\nBut aye when I remember on this mattere,\nSaint Nicholas <6> stands ever in my presence;\nFor he so young to Christ did reverence.\n\nThis little child his little book learning,\nAs he sat in the school at his primere,\nHe Alma redemptoris <7> hearde sing,\nAs children learned their antiphonere; <8>\nAnd as he durst, he drew him nere and nere,*                     *nearer\nAnd hearken'd aye the wordes and the note,\nTill he the firste verse knew all by rote.\n\nNought wist he what this Latin was tosay,*                        *meant\nFor he so young and tender was of age;\nBut on a day his fellow gan he pray\nTo expound him this song in his language,\nOr tell him why this song was in usage:\nThis pray'd he him to construe and declare,\nFull oftentime upon his knees bare.\n\nHis fellow, which that elder was than he,\nAnswer'd him thus: \"This song, I have heard say,\nWas maked of our blissful Lady free,\nHer to salute, and eke her to pray\nTo be our help and succour when we dey.*                            *die\nI can no more expound in this mattere:\nI learne song, I know but small grammere.\"\n\n\"And is this song y-made in reverence\nOf Christe's mother?\" said this innocent;\nNow certes I will do my diligence\nTo conne* it all, ere Christemas be went;                    *learn; con\nThough that I for my primer shall be shent,*                  *disgraced\nAnd shall be beaten thries in an hour,\nI will it conne, our Lady to honour.\"\n\nHis fellow taught him homeward* privily                 *on the way home\nFrom day to day, till he coud* it by rote,                         *knew\nAnd then he sang it well and boldely\nFrom word to word according with the note;\nTwice in a day it passed through his throat;\nTo schoole-ward, and homeward when he went;\nOn Christ's mother was set all his intent.\n\nAs I have said, throughout the Jewery,\nThis little child, as he came to and fro,\nFull merrily then would he sing and cry,\nO Alma redemptoris, evermo';\nThe sweetness hath his hearte pierced so\nOf Christe's mother, that to her to pray\nHe cannot stint* of singing by the way.                           *cease\n\nOur firste foe, the serpent Satanas,\nThat hath in Jewes' heart his waspe's nest,\nUpswell'd and said, \"O Hebrew people, alas!\nIs this to you a thing that is honest,*            *creditable, becoming\nThat such a boy shall walken as him lest\nIn your despite, and sing of such sentence,\nWhich is against your lawe's reverence?\"\n\nFrom thenceforth the Jewes have conspired\nThis innocent out of the world to chase;\nA homicide thereto have they hired,\nThat in an alley had a privy place,\nAnd, as the child gan forth by for to pace,\nThis cursed Jew him hent,* and held him fast                     *seized\nAnd cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.\n\nI say that in a wardrobe* he him threw,                           *privy\nWhere as the Jewes purged their entrail.\nO cursed folk! O Herodes all new!\nWhat may your evil intente you avail?\nMurder will out, certain it will not fail,\nAnd namely* where th' honour of God shall spread;            *especially\nThe blood out crieth on your cursed deed.\n\nO martyr souded* to virginity,                            *confirmed <9>\nNow may'st thou sing, and follow ever-in-one*               *continually\nThe white Lamb celestial (quoth she),\nOf which the great Evangelist Saint John\nIn Patmos wrote, which saith that they that gon\nBefore this Lamb, and sing a song all new,\nThat never fleshly woman they ne knew.<10>\n\nThis poore widow waited all that night\nAfter her little child, but he came not;\nFor which, as soon as it was daye's light,\nWith face pale, in dread and busy thought,\nShe hath at school and elleswhere him sought,\nTill finally she gan so far espy,\nThat he was last seen in the Jewery.\n\nWith mother's pity in her breast enclosed,\nShe went, as she were half out of her mind,\nTo every place, where she hath supposed\nBy likelihood her little child to find:\nAnd ever on Christ's mother meek and kind\nShe cried, and at the laste thus she wrought,\nAmong the cursed Jewes she him sought.\n\nShe freined,* and she prayed piteously                      *asked* <11>\nTo every Jew that dwelled in that place,\nTo tell her, if her childe went thereby;\nThey saide, \"Nay;\" but Jesus of his grace\nGave in her thought, within a little space,\nThat in that place after her son she cried,\nWhere he was cast into a pit beside.\n\nO greate God, that preformest thy laud\nBy mouth of innocents, lo here thy might!\nThis gem of chastity, this emeraud,*                            *emerald\nAnd eke of martyrdom the ruby bright,\nWhere he with throat y-carven* lay upright,                         *cut\nHe Alma Redemptoris gan to sing\nSo loud, that all the place began to ring.\n\nThe Christian folk, that through the streete went,\nIn came, for to wonder on this thing:\nAnd hastily they for the provost sent.\nHe came anon withoute tarrying,\nAnd heried* Christ, that is of heaven king,                     *praised\nAnd eke his mother, honour of mankind;\nAnd after that the Jewes let* he bind.                           *caused\n\nWith torment, and with shameful death each one\nThe provost did* these Jewes for to sterve**               *caused **die\nThat of this murder wist, and that anon;\nHe woulde no such cursedness observe*                          *overlook\nEvil shall have that evil will deserve;\nTherefore with horses wild he did them draw,\nAnd after that he hung them by the law.\n\nThe child, with piteous lamentation,\nWas taken up, singing his song alway:\nAnd with honour and great procession,\nThey crry him unto the next abbay.\nHis mother swooning by the biere lay;\nUnnethes* might the people that were there                     *scarcely\nThis newe Rachel bringe from his bier.\n\nUpon his biere lay this innocent\nBefore the altar while the masses last';*                        *lasted\nAnd, after that, th' abbot with his convent\nHave sped them for to bury him full fast;\nAnd when they holy water on him cast,\nYet spake this child, when sprinkled was the water,\nAnd sang, O Alma redemptoris mater!\n\nThis abbot, which that was a holy man,\nAs monkes be, or elles ought to be,\nThis younger child to conjure he began,\nAnd said; \"O deare child! I halse* thee,                   *implore <12>\nIn virtue of the holy Trinity;\nTell me what is thy cause for to sing,\nSince that thy throat is cut, to my seeming.\"\n\n\"My throat is cut unto my necke-bone,\"\nSaide this child, \"and, as *by way of kind,*       *in course of nature*\nI should have died, yea long time agone;\nBut Jesus Christ, as ye in bookes find,\nWill that his glory last and be in mind;\nAnd, for the worship* of his mother dear,                         *glory\nYet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.\n\n\"This well* of mercy, Christe's mother sweet,                  *fountain\nI loved alway, after my conning:*                             *knowledge\nAnd when that I my life should forlete,*                          *leave\nTo me she came, and bade me for to sing\nThis anthem verily in my dying,\nAs ye have heard; and, when that I had sung,\nMe thought she laid a grain upon my tongue.\n\n\"Wherefore I sing, and sing I must certain,\nIn honour of that blissful maiden free,\nTill from my tongue off taken is the grain.\nAnd after that thus saide she to me;\n'My little child, then will I fetche thee,\nWhen that the grain is from thy tongue take:\nBe not aghast,* I will thee not forsake.'\"                       *afraid\n\nThis holy monk, this abbot him mean I,\nHis tongue out caught, and took away the grain;\nAnd he gave up the ghost full softely.\nAnd when this abbot had this wonder seen,\nHis salte teares trickled down as rain:\nAnd groff* he fell all flat upon the ground,      *prostrate, grovelling\nAnd still he lay, as he had been y-bound.\n\nThe convent* lay eke on the pavement                      *all the monks\nWeeping, and herying* Christ's mother dear.                    *praising\nAnd after that they rose, and forth they went,\nAnd took away this martyr from his bier,\nAnd in a tomb of marble stones clear\nEnclosed they his little body sweet;\nWhere he is now, God lene* us for to meet.                        *grant\n\nO younge Hugh of Lincoln!<13> slain also\nWith cursed Jewes, -- as it is notable,\nFor it is but a little while ago, --\nPray eke for us, we sinful folk unstable,\nThat, of his mercy, God so merciable*                          *merciful\nOn us his greate mercy multiply,\nFor reverence of his mother Mary.\n\n\nNotes to the Prioress's Tale\n\n\n1. Tales of the murder of children by Jews were frequent in the\nMiddle Ages, being probably designed to keep up the bitter\nfeeling of the Christians against the Jews. Not a few children\nwere canonised on this account; and the scene of the misdeeds\nwas laid anywhere and everywhere, so that Chaucer could be at\nno loss for material.\n\n2. This is from Psalm viii. 1, \"Domine, dominus noster,quam\nadmirabile est nomen tuum in universa terra.\"\n\n3. \"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou\nordained strength.\" -- Psalms viii. 2.\n\n4. The ghost that in thee light: the spirit that on thee alighted;\nthe Holy Ghost through whose power Christ was conceived.\n\n5. Jewery: A quarter which the Jews were permitted to inhabit;\nthe Old Jewry in London got its name in this way.\n\n6. St. Nicholas, even in his swaddling clothes -- so says the\n\"Breviarium Romanum\" --gave promise of extraordinary virtue\nand holiness; for, though he sucked freely on other days, on\nWednesdays and Fridays he applied to the breast only once, and\nthat not until the evening.\n\n7. \"O Alma Redemptoris Mater,\" (\"O soul mother of the\nRedeemer\") -- the beginning of a hymn to the Virgin.\n\n8. Antiphonere: A book of anthems, or psalms, chanted in the\nchoir by alternate verses.\n\n9. Souded; confirmed; from French, \"soulde;\" Latin, \"solidatus.\"\n\n10. \"And they sung as it were a new song before the throne, and\nbefore the four beasts, and the elders: and no man could learn\nthat song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which\nwere redeemed from the earth.\nThese are they which were not defiled with women; for they are\nvirgins. These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever he\ngoeth. These were redeemed from among men, being the\nfirstfruits unto God and to the Lamb.\"\n-- Revelations xiv. 3, 4.\n\n11. Freined: asked, inquired; from Anglo-Saxon, \"frinan,\"\n\"fraegnian.\" Compare German, \"fragen.\"\n\n12. Halse:  embrace or salute; implore: from Anglo-Saxon\n\"hals,\" the neck.\n\n14 A boy said to have been slain by the Jews at Lincoln in 1255,\naccording to Matthew Paris.  Many popular ballads were made\nabout the event, which the diligence of the Church doubtless\nkept fresh in mind at Chaucer's day.\n\n\n\nCHAUCER'S TALE OF SIR THOPAS.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.<1>\n\n\nWHEN said was this miracle, every man\nAs sober* was, that wonder was to see,                          *serious\nTill that our Host to japen* he began,                     *talk lightly\nAnd then *at erst* he looked upon me,               *for the first time*\nAnd saide thus; \"What man art thou?\" quoth he;\n\"Thou lookest as thou wouldest find an hare,\nFor ever on the ground I see thee stare.\n\n\"Approache near, and look up merrily.\nNow ware you, Sirs, and let this man have place.\nHe in the waist is shapen as well as I; <2>\nThis were a puppet in an arm t'embrace\nFor any woman small and fair of face.\nHe seemeth elvish* by his countenance,                    *surly, morose\nFor unto no wight doth he dalliance.\n\n\"Say now somewhat, since other folk have said;\nTell us a tale of mirth, and that anon.\"\n\"Hoste,\" quoth I, \"be not evil apaid,*                     *dissatisfied\nFor other tale certes can* I none,                                 *know\nEut of a rhyme I learned yore* agone.\"                             *long\n\"Yea, that is good,\" quoth he; \"now shall we hear\nSome dainty thing, me thinketh by thy cheer.\"*         *expression, mien\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas\n\n\n1. This prologue is interesting, for the picture which it gives of\nChaucer himself; riding apart from and indifferent to the rest of\nthe pilgrims, with eyes fixed on the ground, and an \"elvish\",\nmorose, or rather self-absorbed air; portly, if not actually stout,\nin body; and evidently a man out of the common, as the closing\nwords of the Host imply.\n\n2. Referring to the poet's corpulency.\n\n\nTHE TALE <1>\n\n\nThe First Fit*                                                     *part\n\nListen, lordings, in good intent,\nAnd I will tell you verrament*                                    *truly\nOf mirth and of solas,*                                 *delight, solace\nAll of a knight was fair and gent,*                              *gentle\nIn battle and in tournament,\nHis name was Sir Thopas.\n\nY-born he was in far country,\nIn Flanders, all beyond the sea,\nAt Popering <2> in the place;\nHis father was a man full free,\nAnd lord he was of that country,\nAs it was Godde's grace. <3>\n\nSir Thopas was a doughty swain,\nWhite was his face as paindemain, <4>\nHis lippes red as rose.\nHis rode* is like scarlet in grain,                          *complexion\nAnd I you tell in good certain\nHe had a seemly nose.\n\nHis hair, his beard, was like saffroun,\nThat to his girdle reach'd adown,\nHis shoes of cordewane:<5>\nOf Bruges were his hosen brown;\nHis robe was of ciclatoun,<6>\nThat coste many a jane.<7>\n\nHe coulde hunt at the wild deer,\nAnd ride on hawking *for rivere*                          *by the river*\nWith gray goshawk on hand: <8>\nThereto he was a good archere,\nOf wrestling was there none his peer,\nWhere any ram <9> should stand.\n\nFull many a maiden bright in bow'r\nThey mourned for him par amour,\nWhen them were better sleep;\nBut he was chaste, and no lechour,\nAnd sweet as is the bramble flow'r\nThat beareth the red heep.*                                         *hip\n\nAnd so it fell upon a day,\nFor sooth as I you telle may,\nSir Thopas would out ride;\nHe worth* upon his steede gray,                                 *mounted\nAnd in his hand a launcegay,*                                *spear <10>\nA long sword by his side.\n\nHe pricked through a fair forest,\nWherein is many a wilde beast,\nYea, bothe buck and hare;\nAnd as he pricked north and east,\nI tell it you, him had almest                                    *almost\nBetid* a sorry care.                                           *befallen\n\nThere sprange herbes great and small,\nThe liquorice and the setewall,*                               *valerian\nAnd many a clove-gilofre, <12>\nAnd nutemeg to put in ale,\nWhether it be moist* or stale,                                      *new\nOr for to lay in coffer.\n\nThe birdes sang, it is no nay,\nThe sperhawk* and the popinjay,**             *sparrowhawk **parrot <13>\nThat joy it was to hear;\nThe throstle-cock made eke his lay,\nThe woode-dove upon the spray\nShe sang full loud and clear.\n\nSir Thopas fell in love-longing\nAll when he heard the throstle sing,\nAnd *prick'd as he were wood;*                            *rode as if he\nHis faire steed in his pricking                                were mad*\nSo sweated, that men might him wring,\nHis sides were all blood.\n\nSir Thopas eke so weary was\nFor pricking on the softe grass,\nSo fierce was his corage,*                          *inclination, spirit\nThat down he laid him in that place,\nTo make his steed some solace,\nAnd gave him good forage.\n\n\"Ah, Saint Mary, ben'dicite,\nWhat aileth thilke* love at me                                     *this\nTo binde me so sore?\nMe dreamed all this night, pardie,\nAn elf-queen shall my leman* be,                               *mistress\nAnd sleep under my gore.*                                         *shirt\n\nAn elf-queen will I love, y-wis,*                             *assuredly\nFor in this world no woman is\nWorthy to be my make*                                              *mate\nIn town;\nAll other women I forsake,\nAnd to an elf-queen I me take\nBy dale and eke by down.\" <14>\n\nInto his saddle he clomb anon,\nAnd pricked over stile and stone\nAn elf-queen for to spy,\nTill he so long had ridden and gone,\nThat he found in a privy wonne*                                   *haunt\nThe country of Faery,\nSo wild;\nFor in that country was there none\nThat to him durste ride or gon,\nNeither wife nor child.\n\nTill that there came a great giaunt,\nHis name was Sir Oliphaunt,<15>\nA perilous man of deed;\nHe saide, \"Child,* by Termagaunt, <16>                        *young man\n*But if* thou prick out of mine haunt,                           *unless\nAnon I slay thy steed\nWith mace.\nHere is the Queen of Faery,\nWith harp, and pipe, and symphony,\nDwelling in this place.\"\n\nThe Child said, \"All so may I the,*                              *thrive\nTo-morrow will I meete thee,\nWhen I have mine armor;\nAnd yet I hope, *par ma fay,*                              *by my faith*\nThat thou shalt with this launcegay\nAbyen* it full sore;                                         *suffer for\nThy maw*                                                          *belly\nShall I pierce, if I may,\nEre it be fully prime of day,\nFor here thou shalt be slaw.\"*                                    *slain\n\nSir Thopas drew aback full fast;\nThis giant at him stones cast\nOut of a fell staff sling:\nBut fair escaped Child Thopas,\nAnd all it was through Godde's grace,\nAnd through his fair bearing. <17>\n\nYet listen, lordings, to my tale,\nMerrier than the nightingale,\nFor now I will you rown,*                                       *whisper\nHow Sir Thopas, with sides smale,*                           *small <18>\nPricking over hill and dale,\nIs come again to town.\n\nHis merry men commanded he\nTo make him both game and glee;\nFor needes must he fight\nWith a giant with heades three,\nFor paramour and jollity\nOf one that shone full bright.\n\n\"*Do come,*\" he saide, \"my minstrales                           *summon*\nAnd gestours* for to telle tales.                         *story-tellers\nAnon in mine arming,\nOf romances that be royales, <19>\nOf popes and of cardinales,\nAnd eke of love-longing.\"\n\nThey fetch'd him first the sweete wine,\nAnd mead eke in a maseline,*                              *drinking-bowl\nAnd royal spicery;                                    of maple wood <20>\nOf ginger-bread that was full fine,\nAnd liquorice and eke cumin,\nWith sugar that is trie.*                                       *refined\n\nHe didde,* next his white lere,**                         *put on **skin\nOf cloth of lake* fine and clear,                            *fine linen\nA breech and eke a shirt;\nAnd next his shirt an haketon,*                                 *cassock\nAnd over that an habergeon,*                               *coat of mail\nFor piercing of his heart;\n\nAnd over that a fine hauberk,*                             *plate-armour\nWas all y-wrought of Jewes'* werk,                           *magicians'\nFull strong it was of plate;\nAnd over that his coat-armour,*                        *knight's surcoat\nAs white as is the lily flow'r, <21>\nIn which he would debate.*                                        *fight\n\nHis shield was all of gold so red\nAnd therein was a boare's head,\nA charboucle* beside;                                    *carbuncle <22>\nAnd there he swore on ale and bread,\nHow that the giant should be dead,\nBetide whatso betide.\n\nHis jambeaux* were of cuirbouly, <23>                             *boots\nHis sworde's sheath of ivory,\nHis helm of latoun* bright,                                       *brass\nHis saddle was of rewel <24> bone,\nHis bridle as the sunne shone,\nOr as the moonelight.\n\nHis speare was of fine cypress,\nThat bodeth war, and nothing peace;\nThe head full sharp y-ground.\nHis steede was all dapple gray,\nIt went an amble in the way\nFull softely and round\nIn land.\n\nLo, Lordes mine, here is a fytt;\nIf ye will any more of it,\nTo tell it will I fand.*                                            *try\n\n\nThe Second Fit\n\n\nNow hold your mouth for charity,\nBothe knight and lady free,\nAnd hearken to my spell;*                                     *tale <25>\nOf battle and of chivalry,\nOf ladies' love and druerie,*                                 *gallantry\nAnon I will you tell.\n\nMen speak of romances of price*                          * worth, esteem\nOf Horn Child, and of Ipotis,\nOf Bevis, and Sir Guy, <26>\nOf Sir Libeux, <27> and Pleindamour,\nBut Sir Thopas, he bears the flow'r\nOf royal chivalry.\n\nHis goode steed he all bestrode,\nAnd forth upon his way he glode,*                                 *shone\nAs sparkle out of brand;*                                         *torch\nUpon his crest he bare a tow'r,\nAnd therein stick'd a lily flow'r; <28>\nGod shield his corse* from shand!**                         *body **harm\n\nAnd, for he was a knight auntrous,*                         *adventurous\nHe woulde sleepen in none house,\nBut liggen* in his hood,                                            *lie\nHis brighte helm was his wanger,*                           *pillow <29>\nAnd by him baited* his destrer**                       *fed **horse <30>\nOf herbes fine and good.\n\nHimself drank water of the well,\nAs did the knight Sir Percivel, <31>\nSo worthy under weed;\nTill on a day -   .   .   .\n\n\nNotes to Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas\n\n\n1. \"The Rhyme of Sir Thopas,\" as it is generally called, is\nintroduced by Chaucer as a satire on the dull, pompous, and\nprolix metrical romances then in vogue. It is full of phrases\ntaken from the popular rhymesters in the vein which he holds up\nto ridicule; if, indeed -- though of that there is no evidence -- it\nbe not actually part of an old romance which Chaucer selected\nand reproduced to point his assault on the prevailing taste in\nliterature.\nTranscriber's note: The Tale is full of incongruities of every\nkind, which Purves does not refer to; I point some of them out\nin the notes which follow - marked TN.\n\n2. Poppering, or Poppeling, a parish in the marches of Calais of\nwhich the famous antiquary Leland was once Rector. TN: The\ninhabitants of Popering had a reputation for stupidity.\n\n3. TN: The lord of Popering was the abbot of the local\nmonastery - who could, of course, have no legitimate children.\n\n4. Paindemain: Either \"pain de matin,\" morning bread, or \"pain\nde Maine,\" because it was made best in that province; a kind of\nfine white bread.\n\n5. Cordewane: Cordovan; fine Spanish leather, so called from\nthe name of the city where it was prepared\n\n6. Ciclatoun: A rich Oriental stuff of silk and gold, of which was\nmade the circular robe of state called a \"ciclaton,\" from the\nLatin, \"cyclas.\" The word is French.\n\n7. Jane: a Genoese coin, of small value; in our old statutes\ncalled \"gallihalpens,\" or galley half-pence.\n\n8. TN: In Mediaeval falconry the goshawk was not regarded as\na fit bird for a knight.  It was the yeoman's bird.\n\n9. A ram was the usual prize of wrestling contests. TN:\nWrestling and archery were sports of the common people, not\nknightly accomplishments.\n\n10. Launcegay: spear; \"azagay\" is the name of a Moorish\nweapon, and the identity of termination is singular.\n\n12. Clove-gilofre: clove-gilliflower; \"Caryophyllus hortensis.\"\n\n13. TN: The sparrowhawk and parrot can only squawk\nunpleasantly.\n\n14. TN: The sudden and pointless changes in the stanza form\nare of course part of Chaucer's parody.\n\n15. Sir Oliphaunt: literally, \"Sir Elephant;\" Sir John Mandeville\ncalls those animals \"Olyfauntes.\"\n\n16. Termagaunt: A pagan or Saracen deity, otherwise named\nTervagan, and often mentioned in Middle Age literature. His\nname has passed into our language, to denote a ranter or\nblusterer, as be was represented to be.\n\n17. TN: His \"fair bearing\" would not have been much defence\nagainst a sling-stone.\n\n18. TN: \"Sides small\": a conventional description for a woman,\nnot a man.\n\n19. Romances that be royal:  so called because they related to\nCharlemagne and his family.\n\n20. TN: A knight would be expected to have a gold or silver\ndrinking vessel.\n\n21. TN: The coat-armour or coat of arms should have had his\nheraldic emblems on it, not been pure white\n\n22. Charboucle:  Carbuncle; French, \"escarboucle;\" a heraldic\ndevice resembling a jewel.\n\n23. Cuirbouly:  \"Cuir boulli,\" French, boiled or prepared\nleather; also used to cover shields, &c.\n\n24. Rewel bone: No satisfactory explanation has been furnished\nof  this word, used to describe some material from which  rich\nsaddles were made. TN: The OED defines it as narwhal ivory.\n\n25. Spell:  Tale, discourse, from Anglo-Saxon, \"spellian,\" to\ndeclare, tell a story.\n\n26. Sir Bevis of Hampton, and Sir Guy of Warwick, two\nknights of great renown.\n\n27. Libeux:  One of Arthur's knights, called \"Ly beau\ndesconus,\" \"the fair unknown.\"\n\n28. TN: The crest was a small emblem worn on top of a knight's\nhelmet. A tower with a lily stuck in it would have been\nunwieldy and absurd.\n\n29. Wanger:  pillow; from Anglo-Saxon, \"wangere,\" because\nthe \"wanges;\" or cheeks, rested on it.\n\n30. Destrer:  \"destrier,\" French, a war-horse; in Latin,\n\"dextrarius,\" as if led by the right hand.\n\n31. Sir Percival de Galois, whose adventures were written in\nmore than 60,000 verses by Chretien de Troyes, one of the\noldest and best French romancers, in 1191.\n\n\n\nCHAUCER'S TALE OF MELIBOEUS.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\"No more of this, for Godde's dignity!\"\nQuoth oure Hoste; \"for thou makest me\nSo weary of thy very lewedness,*               *stupidity, ignorance <1>\nThat, all so wisly* God my soule bless,                          *surely\nMine eares ache for thy drafty* speech.                   *worthless <2>\nNow such a rhyme the devil I beteche:*                       *commend to\nThis may well be rhyme doggerel,\" quoth he.\n\"Why so?\" quoth I; \"why wilt thou lette* me                     *prevent\nMore of my tale than any other man,\nSince that it is the best rhyme that I can?\"*                      *know\n\"By God!\" quoth he, \"for, plainly at one word,\nThy drafty rhyming is not worth a tord:\nThou dost naught elles but dispendest* time.                    *wastest\nSir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme.\nLet see whether thou canst tellen aught *in gest,*            *by way of\nOr tell in prose somewhat, at the least,                      narrative*\nIn which there be some mirth or some doctrine.\"\n\"Gladly,\" quoth I, \"by Godde's sweete pine,*                  *suffering\nI will you tell a little thing in prose,\nThat oughte like* you, as I suppose,                             *please\nOr else certes ye be too dangerous.*                         *fastidious\nIt is a moral tale virtuous,\n*All be it* told sometimes in sundry wise               *although it be*\nBy sundry folk, as I shall you devise.\nAs thus, ye wot that ev'ry Evangelist,\nThat telleth us the pain* of Jesus Christ,                      *passion\nHe saith not all thing as his fellow doth;\nBut natheless their sentence is all soth,*                         *true\nAnd all accorden as in their sentence,*                         *meaning\nAll be there in their telling difference;\nFor some of them say more, and some say less,\nWhen they his piteous passion express;\nI mean of Mark and Matthew, Luke and John;\nBut doubteless their sentence is all one.\nTherefore, lordinges all, I you beseech,\nIf that ye think I vary in my speech,\nAs thus, though that I telle somedeal more\nOf proverbes, than ye have heard before\nComprehended in this little treatise here,\n*T'enforce with* the effect of my mattere,                *with which to\nAnd though I not the same wordes say                            enforce*\nAs ye have heard, yet to you all I pray\nBlame me not; for as in my sentence\nShall ye nowhere finde no difference\nFrom the sentence of thilke* treatise lite,**             *this **little\nAfter the which this merry tale I write.\nAnd therefore hearken to what I shall say,\nAnd let me tellen all my tale, I pray.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus.\n\n\n1. Chaucer crowns the satire on the romanticists by making the\nvery landlord of the Tabard cry out in indignant disgust against\nthe stuff which he had heard recited -- the good Host ascribing\nto sheer ignorance the string of pompous platitudes and prosaic\ndetails which Chaucer had uttered.\n\n2. Drafty:  worthless, vile; no better than draff or dregs; from\nthe Anglo-Saxon, \"drifan\" to drive away, expel.\n\n\nTHE TALE.<1>\n\n\nA young man called Meliboeus, mighty and rich, begat upon his\nwife, that called was Prudence, a daughter which that called was\nSophia. Upon a day befell, that he for his disport went into the\nfields him to play.  His wife and eke his daughter hath he left\nwithin his house, of which the doors were fast shut. Three of his\nold foes have it espied, and set ladders to the walls of his house,\nand by the windows be entered, and beaten his wife, and\nwounded his daughter with five mortal wounds, in five sundry\nplaces; that is to say, in her feet, in her hands, in her ears, in her\nnose, and in her mouth; and left her for dead, and went away.\nWhen Meliboeus returned was into his house, and saw all this\nmischief, he, like a man mad, rending his clothes, gan weep and\ncry. Prudence his wife, as farforth as she durst, besought him of\nhis weeping for to stint: but not forthy [notwithstanding] he gan\nto weep and cry ever longer the more.\n\nThis noble wife Prudence remembered her upon the sentence of\nOvid, in his book that called is the \"Remedy of Love,\" <2>\nwhere he saith: He is a fool that disturbeth the mother to weep\nin the death of her child, till she have wept her fill, as for a\ncertain time; and then shall a man do his diligence with amiable\nwords her to recomfort and pray her of her weeping for to stint\n[cease]. For which reason this noble wife Prudence suffered her\nhusband for to weep and cry, as for a certain space; and when\nshe saw her time, she said to him in this wise: \"Alas! my lord,\"\nquoth she, \"why make ye yourself for to be like a fool? For\nsooth it appertaineth not to a wise man to make such a sorrow.\nYour daughter, with the grace of God, shall warish [be cured]\nand escape. And all [although] were it so that she right now\nwere dead, ye ought not for her death yourself to destroy.\nSeneca saith, 'The wise man shall not take too great discomfort\nfor the death of his children, but certes he should suffer it in\npatience, as well as he abideth the death of his own proper\nperson.'\"\n\nMeliboeus answered anon and said: \"What man,\" quoth he,\n\"should of his weeping stint, that hath so great a cause to weep?\nJesus Christ, our Lord, himself wept for the death of Lazarus\nhis friend.\"  Prudence answered, \"Certes, well I wot,\nattempered [moderate] weeping is nothing defended [forbidden]\nto him that sorrowful is, among folk in sorrow but it is rather\ngranted him to weep.  The Apostle Paul unto the Romans\nwriteth, 'Man shall rejoice with them that make joy, and weep\nwith such folk as weep.'  But though temperate weeping be\ngranted, outrageous weeping certes is defended. Measure of\nweeping should be conserved,  after the lore [doctrine] that\nteacheth us Seneca.  'When that thy friend is dead,' quoth he, 'let\nnot thine eyes too moist be of tears, nor too much dry: although\nthe tears come to thine eyes, let them not fall.  And when thou\nhast forgone [lost] thy friend, do diligence to get again another\nfriend: and this is more wisdom than to weep for thy friend\nwhich that thou hast lorn [lost] for therein is no boot\n[advantage].  And therefore if ye govern you by sapience, put\naway sorrow out of your heart. Remember you that Jesus\nSirach saith, 'A man that is joyous and glad in heart, it him\nconserveth flourishing in his age: but soothly a sorrowful heart\nmaketh his bones dry.'  He said eke thus, 'that sorrow in heart\nslayth full many a man.' Solomon  saith 'that right as moths in\nthe sheep's fleece annoy [do injury] to the clothes, and the small\nworms to the tree, right so annoyeth sorrow to the heart of\nman.' Wherefore us ought as well in the death of our children,\nas in the loss of our goods temporal, have patience. Remember\nyou upon the patient Job, when he had lost his children and his\ntemporal substance, and in his body endured and received full\nmany a grievous tribulation, yet said he thus: 'Our Lord hath\ngiven it to me, our Lord hath bereft it me; right as our Lord\nwould, right so be it done; blessed be the name of our Lord.\"'\n\nTo these foresaid things answered Meliboeus unto his wife\nPrudence: \"All thy words,\" quoth he, \"be true, and thereto\n[also] profitable, but truly mine heart is troubled with this\nsorrow so grievously, that I know not what to do.\"  \"Let call,\"\nquoth Prudence, \"thy true friends all, and thy lineage, which be\nwise, and tell to them your case, and hearken what they say in\ncounselling, and govern you after their sentence [opinion].\nSolomon saith, 'Work all things by counsel, and thou shall never\nrepent.'\" Then, by counsel of his wife Prudence, this Meliboeus\nlet call [sent for] a great congregation of folk, as surgeons,\nphysicians, old folk and young, and some of his old enemies\nreconciled (as by their semblance) to his love and to his grace;\nand therewithal there come some of his neighbours, that did him\nreverence more for dread than for love, as happeneth oft. There\ncome also full many subtle flatterers, and wise advocates\nlearned in the law. And when these folk together assembled\nwere, this Meliboeus in sorrowful wise showed them his case,\nand by the manner of his speech it seemed that in heart he bare\na cruel ire, ready to do vengeance upon his foes, and suddenly\ndesired that the war should begin, but nevertheless yet asked he\ntheir counsel in this matter. A surgeon, by licence and assent of\nsuch as were wise, up rose, and to Meliboeus said as ye may\nhear.  \"Sir,\" quoth he, \"as to us surgeons appertaineth, that we\ndo to every wight the best that we can, where as we be\nwithholden, [employed] and to our patient that we do no\ndamage; wherefore it happeneth many a time and oft, that when\ntwo men have wounded each other, one same surgeon healeth\nthem both; wherefore unto our art it is not pertinent to nurse\nwar, nor parties to support [take sides].  But certes, as to the\nwarishing [healing] of your daughter, albeit so that perilously\nshe be wounded, we shall do so attentive business from day to\nnight, that, with the grace of God, she shall be whole and\nsound, as soon as is possible.\" Almost right in the same wise the\nphysicians answered, save that they said a few words more: that\nright as maladies be cured by their contraries, right so shall man\nwarish war (by peace). His neighbours full of envy, his feigned\nfriends that seemed reconciled, and his flatterers, made\nsemblance of weeping, and impaired and agregged [aggravated]\nmuch of this matter, in praising greatly Meliboeus of might, of\npower, of riches, and of friends, despising the power of his\nadversaries: and said utterly, that he anon should wreak him on\nhis foes, and begin war.\n\nUp rose then an advocate that was wise, by leave and by\ncounsel of other that were wise, and said, \"Lordings, the need\n[business] for which we be assembled in this place, is a full\nheavy thing, and an high matter, because of the wrong and of\nthe wickedness that hath been done, and eke by reason of the\ngreat damages that in time coming be possible to fall for the\nsame cause, and eke by reason of the great riches and power of\nthe parties both; for which reasons, it were a full great peril to\nerr in this matter. Wherefore, Meliboeus, this is our sentence\n[opinion]; we counsel you, above all things, that right anon thou\ndo thy diligence in keeping of thy body, in such a wise that thou\nwant no espy  nor watch thy body to save. And after that, we\ncounsel that in thine house thou set sufficient garrison, so that\nthey may as well thy body as thy house defend. But, certes, to\nmove war or suddenly to do vengeance, we may not deem\n[judge] in so little time that it were profitable. Wherefore we\nask leisure and space to have deliberation in this case to deem;\nfor the common proverb saith thus; 'He that soon deemeth soon\nshall repent.' And eke men say, that that judge is wise, that soon\nunderstandeth a matter, and judgeth by leisure. For albeit so\nthat all tarrying be annoying, algates [nevertheless] it is no\nreproof [subject for reproach] in giving of judgement, nor in\nvengeance taking, when it is sufficient and, reasonable.  And\nthat shewed our Lord Jesus Christ by example; for when that\nthe woman that was taken in adultery was brought in his\npresence to know what should be done with her person, albeit\nthat he wist well himself what he would answer, yet would he\nnot answer suddenly, but he would have deliberation, and in the\nground he wrote twice. And by these causes we ask deliberation\nand we shall then by the grace of God counsel the thing that\nshall be profitable.\"\n\nUp started then the young folk anon at once, and the most part\nof that company have scorned these old wise men and begun to\nmake noise and said, \"Right as while that iron is hot men should\nsmite, right so men should wreak their wrongs while that they\nbe fresh and new:\"  and with loud voice they cried. \"War! War!\"\nUp rose then one of these old wise, and with his hand made\ncountenance [a sign, gesture] that men should hold them still,\nand give him audience. \"Lordings,\" quoth he, \"there is full many\na man that crieth, 'War! war!' that wot full little what war\namounteth.  War at his beginning hath so great an entering and\nso large, that every wight may enter when him liketh, and lightly\n[easily] find war: but certes what end shall fall thereof it is not\nlight to know. For soothly when war is once begun, there is full\nmany a child unborn of his mother, that shall sterve [die] young\nby cause of that war, or else live in sorrow and die in\nwretchedness; and therefore, ere that any war be begun, men\nmust have great counsel and great deliberation.\"  And when this\nold man weened [thought, intended] to enforce his tale by\nreasons, well-nigh all at once began they to rise for to break his\ntale, and bid him full oft his words abridge. For soothly he that\npreacheth to them that list not hear his words, his sermon them\nannoyeth. For Jesus Sirach saith, that music in weeping is a\nnoyous [troublesome] thing.  This is to say, as much availeth to\nspeak before folk to whom his speech annoyeth, as to sing\nbefore him that weepeth.  And when this wise man saw that him\nwanted audience, all shamefast he sat him down again.  For\nSolomon saith, 'Where as thou mayest have no audience,\nenforce thee not to speak.'  \"I  see well,\" quoth this wise man,\n\"that the common proverb is sooth, that good counsel wanteth,\nwhen it is most need.\" Yet [besides, further] had this Meliboeus\nin his council many folk, that privily in his ear counselled him\ncertain thing, and counselled him the contrary in general\naudience. When Meliboeus had heard that the greatest part of\nhis council were accorded [in agreement] that he should make\nwar, anon he consented to their counselling, and fully affirmed\ntheir sentence [opinion, judgement].\n\n(Dame Prudence, seeing her husband's resolution thus taken, in\nfull humble wise, when she saw her time, begins to counsel him\nagainst war, by a warning against haste in requital of either\ngood or evil.  Meliboeus tells her that he will not work by her\ncounsel, because he should be held a fool if he rejected for her\nadvice the opinion of so many wise men; because all women are\nbad; because it would seem that he had given her the mastery\nover him; and because she could not keep his secret, if he\nresolved to follow her advice. To these reasons Prudence\nanswers that it is no folly to change counsel when things, or\nmen's judgements of them, change -- especially to alter a\nresolution taken on the impulse of a great multitude of folk,\nwhere every man crieth and clattereth what him liketh; that if all\nwomen had been wicked, Jesus Christ would never have\ndescended to be born of a woman, nor have showed himself\nfirst to a woman after his resurrection and that when Solomon\nsaid he had found no good woman, he meant that God alone\nwas supremely good; <3> that her husband would not seem to\ngive her the mastery by following her counsel, for he had his\nown free choice in following or rejecting it; and that he knew\nwell and had often tested her great silence, patience, and\nsecrecy. And whereas he had quoted a saying, that in wicked\ncounsel women vanquish men, she reminds him that she would\ncounsel him against doing a wickedness on which he had set his\nmind, and cites instances to show that many women have been\nand yet are full good, and their counsel wholesome and\nprofitable. Lastly, she quotes the words of God himself, when\nhe was about to make woman as an help meet for man; and\npromises that, if her husband will trust her counsel, she will\nrestore to him his daughter whole and sound, and make him\nhave honour in this case.  Meliboeus answers that because of his\nwife's sweet words, and also because he has proved and assayed\nher great wisdom and her great truth, he will govern him by her\ncounsel in all things. Thus encouraged, Prudence enters on a\nlong discourse, full of learned citations, regarding the manner in\nwhich counsellors should be chosen and consulted, and the\ntimes and reasons for changing a counsel. First, God must be\nbesought for guidance. Then a man must well examine his own\nthoughts, of such things as he holds to be best for his own\nprofit; driving out of his heart anger, covetousness, and\nhastiness, which perturb and pervert the judgement. Then he\nmust keep his counsel secret, unless confiding it to another shall\nbe more profitable; but, in so confiding it, he shall say nothing\nto bias the mind of the counsellor toward flattery or\nsubserviency. After that he should consider his friends and his\nenemies, choosing of the former such as be most faithful and\nwise, and eldest and most approved in counselling; and even of\nthese only a few. Then he must eschew the counselling of fools,\nof flatterers, of his old enemies that be reconciled, of servants\nwho bear him great reverence and fear, of folk that be drunken\nand can hide no counsel, of such as counsel one thing privily\nand the contrary openly; and of young folk, for their counselling\nis not ripe. Then, in examining his counsel, he must truly tell his\ntale; he must consider whether the thing he proposes to do be\nreasonable, within his power, and acceptable to the more part\nand the better part of his counsellors; he must look at the things\nthat may follow from that counselling, choosing the best and\nwaiving all besides; he must consider the root whence the\nmatter of his counsel is engendered, what  fruits it may bear,\nand from what causes they be sprung.  And having thus\nexamined his counsel and approved it by many wise folk and\nold, he shall consider if he may perform it and make of it a good\nend; if he be in doubt, he shall choose rather to suffer than to\nbegin; but otherwise he shall prosecute his resolution steadfastly\ntill the enterprise be at an end. As to changing his counsel, a\nman may do so without reproach, if the cause cease, or when a\nnew case betides, or if he find that by error or otherwise harm\nor damage may result, or if his counsel be dishonest or come of\ndishonest cause, or if it be impossible or may not properly be\nkept; and he must take it for a general rule, that every counsel\nwhich is affirmed so strongly, that it may not be changed for\nany condition that may betide, that counsel is wicked.\nMeliboeus, admitting that his wife had spoken well and suitably\nas to counsellors and counsel in general, prays her to tell him in\nespecial what she thinks of the counsellors whom they have\nchosen in their present need. Prudence replies that his counsel in\nthis case could not properly be called a counselling, but a\nmovement of folly; and points out that he has erred in sundry\nwise against the rules which he had just laid down. Granting\nthat he has erred, Meliboeus says that he is all ready to change\nhis counsel right as she will devise; for, as the proverb runs, to\ndo sin is human, but to persevere long in sin is work of the\nDevil. Prudence then minutely recites, analyses, and criticises\nthe counsel given to her husband in the assembly of his friends.\nShe commends the advice of the physicians and surgeons, and\nurges that they should be well rewarded for their noble speech\nand their services in healing Sophia; and she asks Meliboeus\nhow he understands their proposition that one contrary must be\ncured by another contrary. Meliboeus answers, that he should\ndo vengeance on his enemies, who had done him wrong.\nPrudence, however, insists that vengeance is not the contrary of\nvengeance, nor wrong of wrong, but the like; and that\nwickedness should be healed by goodness, discord by accord,\nwar by peace.  She proceeds to deal with the counsel of the\nlawyers and wise folk that advised Meliboeus to take prudent\nmeasures for the security of his body and of his house. First, she\nwould have her husband pray for the protection and aid of\nChrist; then commit the keeping of his person to his true\nfriends; then suspect and avoid all strange folk, and liars, and\nsuch people as she had already warned him against; then beware\nof presuming on his strength, or the weakness of his adversary,\nand neglecting to guard his person -- for every wise man\ndreadeth his enemy; then he should evermore be on the watch\nagainst ambush and all espial, even in what seems a place of\nsafety; though he should not be so cowardly, as to fear where is\nno cause for dread; yet he should dread to be poisoned, and\ntherefore shun scorners, and fly their words as venom.  As to\nthe fortification of his house, she points out that towers and\ngreat edifices are costly and laborious, yet useless unless\ndefended by true friends that be old and wise; and the greatest\nand strongest garrison that a rich man may have, as well to keep\nhis person as his goods, is, that he be beloved by his subjects\nand by his neighbours. Warmly approving the counsel that in all\nthis business Meliboeus should proceed with great diligence and\ndeliberation, Prudence goes on to examine the advice given by\nhis neighbours that do him reverence without love, his old\nenemies reconciled, his flatterers that counselled him certain\nthings privily and openly counselled him the contrary, and the\nyoung folk that counselled him to avenge himself and make war\nat once.  She reminds him that he stands alone against three\npowerful enemies, whose kindred are numerous and close,\nwhile his are fewer and remote in relationship; that only the\njudge who has jurisdiction in a case may take sudden vengeance\non any man; that her husband's power does not accord with his\ndesire; and that, if he did take vengeance, it would only breed\nfresh wrongs and contests. As to the causes of the wrong done\nto him, she holds that God, the causer of all things, has\npermitted him to suffer because he has drunk so much honey\n<4> of sweet temporal riches, and delights, and honours of this\nworld, that he is drunken, and has forgotten Jesus Christ his\nSaviour; the three enemies of mankind, the flesh, the fiend, and\nthe world, have entered his heart by the windows of his body,\nand wounded his soul in five places -- that is to say, the deadly\nsins that have entered into his heart by the five senses; and in\nthe same manner Christ has suffered his three enemies to enter\nhis house by the windows, and wound his daughter in the five\nplaces before specified. Meliboeus demurs, that if his wife's\nobjections prevailed, vengeance would never be taken, and\nthence great mischiefs would arise; but Prudence replies that the\ntaking of vengeance lies with the judges, to whom the private\nindividual must have recourse.  Meliboeus declares that such\nvengeance does not please him, and that, as Fortune has\nnourished and helped him from his childhood, he will now assay\nher, trusting, with God's help, that she will aid him to avenge his\nshame. Prudence warns him against trusting to Fortune, all the\nless because she has hitherto favoured him, for just on that\naccount she is the more likely to fail him; and she calls on him\nto leave his vengeance with the Sovereign Judge, that avengeth\nall villainies and wrongs. Meliboeus argues that if he refrains\nfrom taking vengeance he will invite his enemies to do him\nfurther wrong, and he will be put and held over low; but\nPrudence contends that such a result can be brought about only\nby the neglect of the judges, not by the patience of the\nindividual.  Supposing that he had leave to avenge himself, she\nrepeats that he is not strong enough, and quotes the common\nsaw, that it is madness for a man to strive with a stronger than\nhimself, peril to strive with one of equal strength, and folly to\nstrive with a weaker. But, considering his own defaults and\ndemerits, -- remembering the patience of Christ and the\nundeserved tribulations of the saints, the brevity of this life with\nall its trouble and sorrow, the discredit thrown on the wisdom\nand training of  a man who cannot bear wrong with patience --\nhe should refrain wholly from taking vengeance. Meliboeus\nsubmits that he is not at all a perfect man, and his heart will\nnever be at peace until he is avenged; and that as his enemies\ndisregarded the peril when they attacked him, so he might,\nwithout reproach, incur some peril in attacking them in return,\neven though he did a great excess in avenging one wrong by\nanother. Prudence strongly deprecates all outrage or excess; but\nMeliboeus insists that he cannot see that it might greatly harm\nhim though he took a vengeance, for he is richer and mightier\nthan his enemies, and all things obey money. Prudence\nthereupon launches into a long dissertation on the advantages of\nriches, the evils of poverty, the means by which wealth should\nbe gathered, and the manner in which it should be used; and\nconcludes by counselling her husband not to move war and\nbattle through trust in his riches, for they suffice not to maintain\nwar, the battle is not always to the strong or the numerous, and\nthe perils of conflict are many. Meliboeus then curtly asks her\nfor her counsel how he shall do in this need; and she answers\nthat certainly she counsels him to agree with his adversaries and\nhave peace with them. Meliboeus on this cries out that plainly\nshe loves not his honour or his worship, in counselling him to\ngo and humble himself before his enemies, crying mercy to them\nthat, having done him so grievous wrong, ask him not to be\nreconciled. Then Prudence, making semblance of wrath, retorts\nthat she loves his honour and profit as she loves her own, and\never has done; she cites the Scriptures in support of her counsel\nto seek peace; and says she will leave him to his own courses,\nfor she knows well he is so stubborn, that he will do nothing for\nher. Meliboeus then relents; admits that he is angry and cannot\njudge aright; and puts himself wholly in her hands, promising to\ndo just as she desires, and admitting that he is the more held to\nlove and praise her, if she reproves him of his folly)\n\nThen Dame Prudence discovered all her counsel and her will\nunto him, and said: \"I counsel you,\" quoth she, \"above all\nthings, that ye make peace between God and you, and be\nreconciled unto Him and to his grace; for, as I have said to you\nherebefore, God hath suffered you to have this tribulation and\ndisease [distress, trouble] for your sins; and if ye do as I say\nyou, God will send your adversaries unto you, and make them\nfall at your feet, ready to do your will and your commandment.\nFor Solomon saith, 'When the condition of man is pleasant and\nliking to God, he changeth the hearts of the man's adversaries,\nand constraineth them to beseech him of peace of grace.'  And I\npray you let me speak with your adversaries in privy place, for\nthey shall not know it is by your will or your assent; and then,\nwhen I know their will and their intent, I may counsel you the\nmore surely.\" '\"Dame,\" quoth Meliboeus, '\"do your will and\nyour liking, for I put me wholly in your disposition and\nordinance.\"\n\nThen Dame Prudence, when she saw the goodwill of her\nhusband, deliberated and took advice in herself, thinking how\nshe might bring this need [affair, emergency] unto a good end.\nAnd when she saw her time, she sent for these adversaries to\ncome into her into a privy place, and showed wisely into them\nthe great goods that come of peace, and the great harms and\nperils that be in war; and said to them, in goodly manner, how\nthat they ought have great repentance of the injuries and\nwrongs that they had done to Meliboeus her Lord, and unto her\nand her daughter.  And when they heard the goodly words of\nDame Prudence, then they were surprised and ravished, and had\nso great joy of her, that wonder was to tell.  \"Ah lady!\" quoth\nthey, \"ye have showed unto us the blessing of sweetness, after\nthe saying of David the prophet; for the reconciling which we\nbe not worthy to have in no manner, but we ought require it\nwith great contrition and humility, ye of your great goodness\nhave presented unto us. Now see we well, that the science and\nconning [knowledge] of Solomon is full true; for he saith, that\nsweet words multiply and increase friends, and make shrews\n[the ill-natured or angry] to be debonair [gentle, courteous] and\nmeek.  Certes we put our deed, and all our matter and cause, all\nwholly in your goodwill, and be ready to obey unto the speech\nand commandment of my lord Meliboeus. And therefore, dear\nand benign lady, we pray you and beseech you as meekly as we\ncan and may, that it like unto your great goodness to fulfil in\ndeed your goodly words. For we consider and acknowledge\nthat we have offended and grieved my lord Meliboeus out of\nmeasure, so far forth that we be not of power to make him\namends; and therefore we oblige and bind us and our friends to\ndo all his will and his commandment. But peradventure he hath\nsuch heaviness and such wrath to usward, [towards us] because\nof our offence, that he will enjoin us such a pain [penalty] as we\nmay not bear nor sustain; and therefore, noble lady, we beseech\nto your womanly pity to take such advisement [consideration]\nin this need, that we, nor our friends, be not disinherited and\ndestroyed through our folly.\"\n\n\"Certes,\" quoth Prudence, \"it is an hard thing, and right\nperilous, that a man put him all utterly in the arbitration and\njudgement and in the might and power of his enemy. For\nSolomon saith, 'Believe me, and give credence to that that I\nshall say: to thy son, to thy wife, to thy friend, nor to thy\nbrother, give thou never might nor mastery over thy body, while\nthou livest.'  Now, since he defendeth [forbiddeth] that a man\nshould not give to his brother, nor to his friend, the might of his\nbody, by a stronger reason he defendeth and forbiddeth a man\nto give himself to his enemy. And nevertheless, I counsel you\nthat ye mistrust not my lord: for I wot well and know verily,\nthat he is debonair and meek, large, courteous and nothing\ndesirous nor envious of good nor riches: for there is nothing in\nthis world that he desireth save only worship and honour.\nFurthermore I know well, and am right sure, that he shall\nnothing do in this need without counsel of me; and I shall so\nwork in this case, that by the grace of our Lord God ye shall be\nreconciled unto us.\"\n\nThen said they with one voice, \"\"Worshipful lady, we put us\nand our goods all fully in your will and disposition, and be ready\nto come, what day that it like unto your nobleness to limit us or\nassign us, for to make our obligation and bond, as strong as it\nliketh unto your goodness, that we may fulfil the will of you and\nof my lord Meliboeus.\"\n\nWhen Dame Prudence had heard the answer of these men, she\nbade them go again privily, and she returned to her lord\nMeliboeus, and told him how she found his adversaries full\nrepentant, acknowledging full lowly their sins and trespasses,\nand how they were ready to suffer all pain, requiring and\npraying him of mercy and pity. Then said Meliboeus, \"He is well\nworthy to have pardon and forgiveness of his sin, that excuseth\nnot his sin, but acknowledgeth, and repenteth him, asking\nindulgence.  For Seneca saith, 'There is the remission and\nforgiveness, where the confession is; for confession is neighbour\nto innocence.' And therefore I assent and confirm me to have\npeace, but it is good that we do naught without the assent and\nwill of our friends.\" Then was Prudence right glad and joyful,\nand said, \"Certes, Sir, ye be well and goodly advised; for right\nas by the counsel, assent, and help of your friends ye have been\nstirred to avenge you and make war, right so without their\ncounsel shall ye not accord you, nor have peace with your\nadversaries. For the law saith, 'There is nothing so good by way\nof kind, [nature] as a thing to be unbound by him that it was\nbound.'\"\n\nAnd then Dame Prudence, without delay or tarrying, sent anon\nher messengers for their kin and for their old friends, which\nwere true and wise; and told them by order, in the presence of\nMeliboeus, all this matter, as it is above expressed and declared;\nand prayed them that they would give their advice and counsel\nwhat were best to do in this need. And when Meliboeus' friends\nhad taken their advice and deliberation of the foresaid matter,\nand had examined it by great business and great diligence, they\ngave full counsel for to have peace and rest, and that Meliboeus\nshould with good heart receive his adversaries to forgiveness\nand mercy. And when Dame Prudence had heard the assent of\nher lord Meliboeus, and the counsel of his friends, accord with\nher will and her intention, she was wondrous glad in her heart,\nand said: \"There is an old proverb that saith, 'The goodness that\nthou mayest do this day, do it, and abide not nor delay it not till\nto-morrow:' and therefore I counsel you that ye send your\nmessengers, such as be discreet and wise, unto your adversaries,\ntelling them on your behalf, that if they will treat of peace and\nof accord, that they shape [prepare] them, without delay or\ntarrying, to come unto us.\" Which thing performed was indeed.\nAnd when these trespassers and repenting folk of their follies,\nthat is to say, the adversaries of Meliboeus, had heard what\nthese messengers said unto them, they were right glad and\njoyful, and answered full meekly and benignly, yielding graces\nand thanks to their lord Meliboeus, and to all his company; and\nshaped them without delay to go with the messengers, and obey\nto the commandment of their lord Meliboeus.  And right anon\nthey took their way to the court of Meliboeus, and took with\nthem some of their true friends, to make faith for them, and for\nto be their borrows [sureties].\n\nAnd when they were come to the presence of Meliboeus, he\nsaid to them these words; \"It stands thus,\" quoth Meliboeus,\n\"and sooth it is, that ye causeless, and without skill and reason,\nhave done great injuries and wrongs to me, and to my wife\nPrudence, and to my daughter also; for ye have entered into my\nhouse by violence, and have done such outrage, that all men\nknow well that ye have deserved the death: and therefore will I\nknow and weet of you, whether ye will put the punishing and\nchastising, and the vengeance of this outrage, in the will of me\nand of my wife, or ye will not?\" Then the wisest of them three\nanswered for them all, and said; \"Sir,\" quoth he, \"we know well,\nthat we be I unworthy to come to the court of so great a lord\nand so worthy as ye be, for we have so greatly mistaken us, and\nhave offended and aguilt [incurred guilt] in such wise against\nyour high lordship, that truly we have deserved the death. But\nyet for the great goodness and debonairte [courtesy, gentleness]\nthat all the world witnesseth of your person, we submit us to\nthe excellence and benignity of your gracious lordship, and be\nready to obey to all your commandments, beseeching you, that\nof your  merciable [merciful] pity ye will consider our great\nrepentance and low submission, and grant us forgiveness of our\noutrageous trespass and offence; for well we know, that your\nliberal grace and mercy stretch them farther into goodness, than\ndo our outrageous guilt and trespass into wickedness; albeit that\ncursedly [wickedly] and damnably we have aguilt [incurred\nguilt] against your high lordship.\" Then Meliboeus took them\nup from the ground full benignly, and received their obligations\nand their bonds, by their oaths upon their pledges and borrows,\n[sureties] and assigned them a certain day to return unto his\ncourt for to receive and accept sentence and judgement, that\nMeliboeus would command to be done on them, by the causes\naforesaid; which things ordained, every man returned home to\nhis house.\n\nAnd when that Dame Prudence saw her time she freined\n[inquired] and asked her lord Meliboeus, what vengeance he\nthought to take of his adversaries. To which Meliboeus\nanswered, and said; \"Certes,\" quoth he, \"I think and purpose me\nfully to disinherit them of all that ever they have, and for to put\nthem in exile for evermore.\" \"Certes,\" quoth Dame Prudence,\n\"this were a cruel sentence, and much against reason. For ye be\nrich enough, and have no need of other men's goods; and ye\nmight lightly [easily] in this wise get you a covetous name,\nwhich is a vicious thing, and ought to be eschewed of every\ngood man: for, after the saying of the Apostle, covetousness is\nroot of all harms. And therefore it were better for you to lose\nmuch good of your own, than for to take of their good in this\nmanner. For better it is to lose good with worship [honour],\nthan to win good with villainy and shame. And every man ought\nto do his diligence and his business to get him a good name.\nAnd yet [further] shall he not only busy him in keeping his good\nname, but he shall also enforce him alway to do some thing by\nwhich he may renew his good name; for it is written, that the\nold good los [reputation <5>] of a man is soon gone and\npassed, when it is not renewed.  And as touching that ye say,\nthat ye will exile your adversaries, that thinketh ye much against\nreason, and out of measure, [moderation] considered the power\nthat they have given you upon themselves. And it is written,\nthat he is worthy to lose his privilege, that misuseth the might\nand the power that is given him.  And I set case [if I assume] ye\nmight enjoin them that pain by right and by law (which I trow\nye may not do), I say, ye might not put it to execution\nperadventure, and then it were like to return to the war, as it\nwas before.  And therefore if ye will that men do you obeisance,\nye must deem [decide] more courteously, that is to say, ye must\ngive more easy sentences and judgements. For it is written, 'He\nthat most courteously commandeth, to him men most obey.'\nAnd therefore I pray you, that in this necessity and in this need\nye cast you [endeavour, devise a way] to overcome your heart.\nFor Seneca saith, that he that overcometh his heart, overcometh\ntwice. And Tullius saith, 'There is nothing so commendable in a\ngreat lord, as when he is debonair and meek, and appeaseth him\nlightly [easily].' And I pray you, that ye will now forbear to do\nvengeance, in such a manner, that your good name may be kept\nand conserved, and that men may have cause and matter to\npraise you of pity and of mercy; and that ye have no cause to\nrepent you of thing that ye do. For Seneca saith, 'He\novercometh in an evil manner, that repenteth him of his victory.'\nWherefore I pray you let mercy be in your heart, to the effect\nand intent that God Almighty have mercy upon you in his last\njudgement; for Saint James saith in his Epistle, 'Judgement\nwithout mercy shall be done to him, that hath no mercy of\nanother wight.'\"\n\nWhen Meliboeus had heard the great skills [arguments, reasons]\nand reasons of Dame Prudence, and her wise information and\nteaching, his heart gan incline to the will of his wife, considering\nher true intent, he conformed him anon and assented fully to\nwork after her counsel, and thanked God, of whom proceedeth\nall goodness and all virtue, that him sent a wife of so great\ndiscretion. And when the day came that his adversaries should\nappear in his presence, he spake to them full goodly, and said in\nthis wise; \"Albeit so, that of your pride and high presumption\nand folly, an of your negligence and unconning, [ignorance] ye\nhave misborne [misbehaved] you, and trespassed [done injury]\nunto me, yet forasmuch as I see and behold your great humility,\nand that ye be sorry and repentant of your guilts, it constraineth\nme to do you grace and mercy. Wherefore I receive you into my\ngrace, and forgive you utterly all the offences, injuries, and\nwrongs, that ye have done against me and mine, to this effect\nand to this end, that God of his endless mercy will at the time of\nour dying forgive us our guilts, that we have trespassed to him\nin this wretched world; for doubtless, if we be sorry and\nrepentant of the sins and guilts which we have trespassed in the\nsight of our Lord God, he is so free and so merciable [merciful],\nthat he will forgive us our guilts, and bring us to the bliss that\nnever hath end.\" Amen.\n\n\nNotes to Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus.\n\n\n1. The Tale of Meliboeus is literally translated from a French\nstory, or rather \"treatise,\" in prose, entitled \"Le Livre de\nMelibee et de Dame Prudence,\" of which two manuscripts, both\ndating from the fifteenth century, are preserved in the British\nMuseum. Tyrwhitt, justly enough, says of it that it is indeed, as\nChaucer called it in the prologue, \"'a moral tale virtuous,' and\nwas probably much esteemed in its time; but, in this age of\nlevity, I doubt some readers will be apt to regret that he did not\nrather give us the remainder of Sir Thopas.\"  It has been\nremarked that in the earlier portion of the Tale, as it left the\nhand of the poet, a number of blank verses were intermixed;\nthough this peculiarity of style, noticeable in any case only in\nthe first 150 or 200 lines, has necessarily all but disappeared by\nthe changes of spelling made in the modern editions. The\nEditor's purpose being to present to the public not \"The\nCanterbury Tales\" merely, but \"The Poems of Chaucer,\" so far\nas may be consistent with the limits of this volume, he has\ncondensed the long reasonings and learned quotations of Dame\nPrudence into a mere outline, connecting those portions of the\nTale wherein lies so much of story as it actually possesses, and\nthe general reader will probably not regret the sacrifice, made in\nthe view of retaining so far as possible the completeness of the\nTales, while lessening the intrusion of prose into a volume or\npoems.  The good wife of Meliboeus literally overflows with\nquotations from David, Solomon, Jesus the Son of Sirach, the\nApostles, Ovid, Cicero, Seneca, Cassiodorus, Cato, Petrus\nAlphonsus -- the converted Spanish Jew, of the twelfth century,\nwho wrote the \"Disciplina Clericalis\"  -- and other authorities;\nand in some passages, especially where husband and wife debate\nthe merits or demerits of women, and where Prudence dilates\non the evils of poverty, Chaucer only reproduces much that had\nbeen said already in the Tales that preceded -- such as the\nMerchant's and the Man of Law's.\n\n2. The lines which follow are a close translation of the original\nLatin, which reads:\n     \"Quis matrem, nisi mentis inops, in funere nati\n      Flere vetet? non hoc illa monenda loco.\n      Cum dederit lacrymas, animumque expleverit aegrum,\n      Ille dolor verbis emoderandus erit.\"\nOvid, \"Remedia Amoris,\" 127-131.\n\n3. See the conversation between Pluto and Proserpine, in the\nMerchant's Tale.\n\n4. \"Thy name,\" she says, \"is Meliboeus; that is to say, a man\nthat drinketh honey.\"\n\n5. Los: reputation; from the past participle of the Anglo-Saxon,\n\"hlisan\" to celebrate. Compare Latin, \"laus.\"\n\n\n\nTHE MONK'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE\n\n\nWHEN ended was my tale of Melibee,\nAnd of Prudence and her benignity,\nOur Hoste said, \"As I am faithful man,\nAnd by the precious corpus Madrian,<1>\nI had lever* than a barrel of ale,                               *rather\nThat goode lefe* my wife had heard this tale;                      *dear\nFor she is no thing of such patience\nAs was this Meliboeus' wife Prudence.\nBy Godde's bones! when I beat my knaves\nShe bringeth me the greate clubbed staves,\nAnd crieth, 'Slay the dogges every one,\nAnd break of them both back and ev'ry bone.'\nAnd if that any neighebour of mine\nWill not in church unto my wife incline,\nOr be so hardy to her to trespace,*                              *offend\nWhen she comes home she rampeth* in my face,                    *springs\nAnd crieth, 'False coward, wreak* thy wife                       *avenge\nBy corpus Domini, I will have thy knife,\nAnd thou shalt have my distaff, and go spin.'\nFrom day till night right thus she will begin.\n 'Alas!' she saith, 'that ever I was shape*                    *destined\nTo wed a milksop, or a coward ape,\nThat will be overlad* with every wight!                      *imposed on\nThou darest not stand by thy wife's right.'\n\n\"This is my life, *but if* that I will fight;                    *unless\nAnd out at door anon I must me dight,*                    *betake myself\nOr elles I am lost, but if that I\nBe, like a wilde lion, fool-hardy.\nI wot well she will do* me slay some day                           *make\nSome neighebour and thenne *go my way;*                 *take to flight*\nFor I am perilous with knife in hand,\nAlbeit that I dare not her withstand;\nFor she is big in armes, by my faith!\nThat shall he find, that her misdoth or saith. <2>\nBut let us pass away from this mattere.\nMy lord the Monk,\" quoth he, \"be merry of cheer,\nFor ye shall tell a tale truely.\nLo, Rochester stands here faste by.\nRide forth, mine owen lord, break not our game.\nBut by my troth I cannot tell your name;\nWhether shall I call you my lord Dan John,\nOr Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon?\nOf what house be ye, by your father's kin?\nI vow to God, thou hast a full fair skin;\nIt is a gentle pasture where thou go'st;\nThou art not like a penant* or a ghost.                        *penitent\nUpon my faith thou art some officer,\nSome worthy sexton, or some cellarer.\nFor by my father's soul, *as to my dome,*              *in my judgement*\nThou art a master when thou art at home;\nNo poore cloisterer, nor no novice,\nBut a governor, both wily and wise,\nAnd therewithal, of brawnes* and of bones,                       *sinews\nA right well-faring person for the nonce.\nI pray to God give him confusion\nThat first thee brought into religion.\nThou would'st have been a treade-fowl* aright;                     *cock\nHadst thou as greate leave, as thou hast might,\nTo perform all thy lust in engendrure,*          *generation, begettting\nThou hadst begotten many a creature.\nAlas! why wearest thou so wide a cope? <3>\nGod give me sorrow, but, an* I were pope,                            *if\nNot only thou, but every mighty man,\nThough he were shorn full high upon his pan,* <4>                 *crown\nShould have a wife; for all this world is lorn;*         *undone, ruined\nReligion hath ta'en up all the corn\nOf treading, and we borel* men be shrimps:                          *lay\nOf feeble trees there come wretched imps.*                   *shoots <5>\nThis maketh that our heires be so slender\nAnd feeble, that they may not well engender.\nThis maketh that our wives will assay\nReligious folk, for they may better pay\nOf Venus' payementes than may we:\nGod wot, no lusheburghes <6> paye ye.\nBut be not wroth, my lord, though that I play;\nFull oft in game a sooth have I heard say.\"\n\nThis worthy Monk took all in patience,\nAnd said, \"I will do all my diligence,\nAs far as *souneth unto honesty,*             *agrees with good manners*\nTo telle you a tale, or two or three.\nAnd if you list to hearken hitherward,\nI will you say the life of Saint Edward;\nOr elles first tragedies I will tell,\nOf which I have an hundred in my cell.\nTragedy *is to say* a certain story,                             *means*\nAs olde bookes maken us memory,\nOf him that stood in great prosperity,\nAnd is y-fallen out of high degree\nIn misery, and endeth wretchedly.\nAnd they be versified commonly\nOf six feet, which men call hexametron;\nIn prose eke* be indited many a one,                               *also\nAnd eke in metre, in many a sundry wise.\nLo, this declaring ought enough suffice.\nNow hearken, if ye like for to hear.\nBut first I you beseech in this mattere,\nThough I by order telle not these things,\nBe it of popes, emperors, or kings,\n*After their ages,* as men written find,        *in chronological order*\nBut tell them some before and some behind,\nAs it now cometh to my remembrance,\nHave me excused of mine ignorance.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to The Monk's Tale\n\n\n1. The Corpus Madrian: the body of St. Maternus, of Treves.\n\n2. That her misdoth or saith: that does or says any thing to\noffend her.\n\n3. Cope:  An ecclesiastcal vestment covering all the body like a\ncloak.\n\n4. Though he were shorn full high upon his pan: though he were\ntonsured, as the clergy are.\n\n5. Imps: shoots, branches; from Anglo-Saxon, \"impian,\"\nGerman, \"impfen,\" to implant, ingraft. The word is now used in\na very restricted sense, to signify the progeny, children, of the\ndevil.\n\n6. Lusheburghes: base or counterfeit coins; so called because\nstruck at Luxemburg.  A great importation of them took place\nduring the reigns of the earlier Edwards, and they caused much\nannoyance and complaint, till in 1351 it was declared treason to\nbring them into the country.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nI will bewail, in manner of tragedy,\nThe harm of them that stood in high degree,\nAnd felle so, that there was no remedy\nTo bring them out of their adversity.\nFor, certain, when that Fortune list to flee,\nThere may no man the course of her wheel hold:\nLet no man trust in blind prosperity;\nBeware by these examples true and old.\n\n\nAt LUCIFER, though he an angel were,\nAnd not a man, at him I will begin.\nFor though Fortune may no angel dere,*                             *hurt\nFrom high degree yet fell he for his sin\nDown into hell, where as he yet is in.\nO Lucifer! brightest of angels all,\nNow art thou Satanas, that may'st not twin*                      *depart\nOut of the misery in which thou art fall.\n\n\nLo ADAM, in the field of Damascene <2>\nWith Godde's owen finger wrought was he,\nAnd not begotten of man's sperm unclean;\nAnd welt* all Paradise saving one tree:                       *commanded\nHad never worldly man so high degree\nAs Adam, till he for misgovernance*                        *misbehaviour\nWas driven out of his prosperity\nTo labour, and to hell, and to mischance.\n\n\nLo SAMPSON, which that was annunciate\nBy the angel, long ere his nativity; <3>\nAnd was to God Almighty consecrate,\nAnd stood in nobless while that he might see;\nWas never such another as was he,\nTo speak of strength, and thereto hardiness;*                   *courage\nBut to his wives told he his secre,\nThrough which he slew himself for wretchedness.\n\nSampson, this noble and mighty champion,\nWithoute weapon, save his handes tway,\nHe slew and all to-rente* the lion,                      *tore to pieces\nToward his wedding walking by the way.\nHis false wife could him so please, and pray,\nTill she his counsel knew; and she, untrue,\nUnto his foes his counsel gan bewray,\nAnd him forsook, and took another new.\n\nThree hundred foxes Sampson took for ire,\nAnd all their tailes he together band,\nAnd set the foxes' tailes all on fire,\nFor he in every tail had knit a brand,\nAnd they burnt all the combs of that lend,\nAnd all their oliveres* and vines eke.                  *olive trees <4>\nA thousand men he slew eke with his hand,\nAnd had no weapon but an ass's cheek.\n\nWhen they were slain, so thirsted him, that he\nWas *well-nigh lorn,* for which he gan to pray       *near to perishing*\nThat God would on his pain have some pity,\nAnd send him drink, or elles must he die;\nAnd of this ass's check, that was so dry,\nOut of a wang-tooth* sprang anon a well,                    *cheek-tooth\nOf which, he drank enough, shortly to say.\nThus help'd him God, as Judicum <5>  can tell.\n\nBy very force, at Gaza, on a night,\nMaugre* the Philistines of that city,                       *in spite of\nThe gates of the town he hath up plight,*             *plucked, wrenched\nAnd on his back y-carried them hath he\nHigh on an hill, where as men might them see.\nO noble mighty Sampson, lefe* and dear,                           *loved\nHadst thou not told to women thy secre,\nIn all this world there had not been thy peer.\n\nThis Sampson never cider drank nor wine,\nNor on his head came razor none nor shear,\nBy precept of the messenger divine;\nFor all his strengthes in his haires were;\nAnd fully twenty winters, year by year,\nHe had of Israel the governance;\nBut soone shall he weepe many a tear,\nFor women shall him bringe to mischance.\n\nUnto his leman* Dalila he told,                                *mistress\nThat in his haires all his strengthe lay;\nAnd falsely to his foemen she him sold,\nAnd sleeping in her barme* upon a day                               *lap\nShe made to clip or shear his hair away,\nAnd made his foemen all his craft espien.\nAnd when they founde him in this array,\nThey bound him fast, and put out both his eyen.\n\nBut, ere his hair was clipped or y-shave,\nThere was no bond with which men might him bind;\nBut now is he in prison in a cave,\nWhere as they made him at the querne* grind.                   *mill <6>\nO noble Sampson, strongest of mankind!\nO whilom judge in glory and richess!\nNow may'st thou weepe with thine eyen blind,\nSince thou from weal art fall'n to wretchedness.\n\nTh'end of this caitiff* was as I shall say;                *wretched man\nHis foemen made a feast upon a day,\nAnd made him as their fool before them play;\nAnd this was in a temple of great array.\nBut at the last he made a foul affray,\nFor he two pillars shook, and made them fall,\nAnd down fell temple and all, and there it lay,\nAnd slew himself and eke his foemen all;\n\nThis is to say, the princes every one;\nAnd eke three thousand bodies were there slain\nWith falling of the great temple of stone.\nOf Sampson now will I no more sayn;\nBeware by this example old and plain,\nThat no man tell his counsel to his wife\nOf such thing as he would *have secret fain,*        *wish to be secret*\nIf that it touch his limbes or his life.\n\n\nOf HERCULES the sov'reign conquerour\nSinge his workes' land and high renown;\nFor in his time of strength he bare the flow'r.\nHe slew and reft the skin of the lion\nHe of the Centaurs laid the boast adown;\nHe Harpies <7> slew, the cruel birdes fell;\nHe golden apples reft from the dragon\nHe drew out Cerberus the hound of hell.\n\nHe slew the cruel tyrant Busirus. <8>\nAnd made his horse to fret* him flesh and bone;                  *devour\nHe slew the fiery serpent venomous;\nOf Achelous' two hornes brake he one.\nAnd he slew Cacus in a cave of stone;\nHe slew the giant Antaeus the strong;\nHe slew the grisly boar, and that anon;\nAnd bare the heav'n upon his necke long. <9>\n\nWas never wight, since that the world began,\nThat slew so many monsters as did he;\nThroughout the wide world his name ran,\nWhat for his strength, and for his high bounte;\nAnd every realme went he for to see;\nHe was so strong that no man might him let;*                  *withstand\nAt both the worlde's ends, as saith Trophee, <10>\nInstead of boundes he a pillar set.\n\nA leman had this noble champion,\nThat highte Dejanira, fresh as May;\nAnd, as these clerkes make mention,\nShe hath him sent a shirte fresh and gay;\nAlas! this shirt, alas and well-away!\nEnvenomed was subtilly withal,\nThat ere that he had worn it half a day,\nIt made his flesh all from his bones fall.\n\nBut natheless some clerkes her excuse\nBy one, that highte Nessus, that it maked;\nBe as he may, I will not her accuse;\nBut on his back this shirt he wore all naked,\nTill that his flesh was for the venom blaked.*                *blackened\nAnd when he saw none other remedy,\nIn hote coals he hath himselfe raked,\nFor with no venom deigned he to die.\n\nThus sterf* this worthy mighty Hercules.                           *died\nLo, who may trust on Fortune *any throw?*                 *for a moment*\nFor him that followeth all this world of pres,*               *near <11>\nEre he be ware, is often laid full low;\nFull wise is he that can himselfe know.\nBeware, for when that Fortune list to glose\nThen waiteth she her man to overthrow,\nBy such a way as he would least suppose.\n\n\nThe mighty throne, the precious treasor,\nThe glorious sceptre, and royal majesty,\nThat had the king NABUCHODONOSOR\nWith tongue unnethes* may described be.                        *scarcely\nHe twice won Jerusalem the city,\nThe vessels of the temple he with him lad;*                   *took away\nAt Babylone was his sov'reign see,*                                *seat\nIn which his glory and delight he had.\n\nThe fairest children of the blood royal\nOf Israel he *did do geld* anon,                *caused to be castrated*\nAnd maked each of them to be his thrall.*                         *slave\nAmonges others Daniel was one,\nThat was the wisest child of every one;\nFor he the dreames of the king expounded,\nWhere in Chaldaea clerkes was there none\nThat wiste to what fine* his dreames sounded.                       *end\n\nThis proude king let make a statue of gold\nSixty cubites long, and seven in bread',\nTo which image hathe young and old\nCommanded he to lout,* and have in dread,                   *bow down to\nOr in a furnace, full of flames red,\nHe should be burnt that woulde not obey:\nBut never would assente to that deed\nDaniel, nor his younge fellows tway.\n\nThis king of kinges proud was and elate;*                         *lofty\nHe ween'd* that God, that sits in majesty,                      *thought\nMighte him not bereave of his estate;\nBut suddenly he lost his dignity,\nAnd like a beast he seemed for to be,\nAnd ate hay as an ox, and lay thereout\nIn rain, with wilde beastes walked he,\nTill certain time was y-come about.\n\nAnd like an eagle's feathers wax'd his hairs,\nHis nailes like a birde's clawes were,\nTill God released him at certain years,\nAnd gave him wit; and then with many a tear\nHe thanked God, and ever his life in fear\nWas he to do amiss, or more trespace:\nAnd till that time he laid was on his bier,\nHe knew that God was full of might and grace.\n\n\nHis sone, which that highte BALTHASAR,\nThat *held the regne* after his father's day,    *possessed the kingdom*\nHe by his father coulde not beware,\nFor proud he was of heart and of array;\nAnd eke an idolaster was he aye.\nHis high estate assured* him in pride;                        *confirmed\nBut Fortune cast him down, and there he lay,\nAnd suddenly his regne gan divide.\n\nA feast he made unto his lordes all\nUpon a time, and made them blithe be,\nAnd then his officeres gan he call;\n\"Go, bringe forth the vessels,\" saide he,\n\"Which that my father in his prosperity\nOut of the temple of Jerusalem reft,\nAnd to our highe goddes thanks we\nOf honour, that our elders* with us left.\"                  *forefathers\n\nHis wife, his lordes, and his concubines\nAye dranke, while their appetites did last,\nOut of these noble vessels sundry wines.\nAnd on a wall this king his eyen cast,\nAnd saw an hand, armless, that wrote full fast;\nFor fear of which he quaked, and sighed sore.\nThis hand, that Balthasar so sore aghast,*                     *dismayed\nWrote Mane, tekel, phares, and no more.\n\nIn all that land magician was there none\nThat could expounde what this letter meant.\nBut Daniel expounded it anon,\nAnd said, \"O King, God to thy father lent\nGlory and honour, regne, treasure, rent;*                       *revenue\nAnd he was proud, and nothing God he drad;*                     *dreaded\nAnd therefore God great wreche* upon him sent,                *vengeance\nAnd him bereft the regne that he had.\n\n\"He was cast out of manne's company;\nWith asses was his habitation\nAnd ate hay, as a beast, in wet and dry,\nTill that he knew by grace and by reason\nThat God of heaven hath domination\nO'er every regne, and every creature;\nAnd then had God of him compassion,\nAnd him restor'd his regne and his figure.\n\n\"Eke thou, that art his son, art proud also,\nAnd knowest all these thinges verily;\nAnd art rebel to God, and art his foe.\nThou drankest of his vessels boldely;\nThy wife eke, and thy wenches, sinfully\nDrank of the same vessels sundry wines,\nAnd heried* false goddes cursedly;                              *praised\nTherefore *to thee y-shapen full great pine is.*    *great punishment is\n                                                      prepared for thee*\n\"This hand was sent from God, that on the wall\nWrote Mane, tekel, phares, truste me;\nThy reign is done; thou weighest naught at all;\nDivided is thy regne, and it shall be\nTo Medes and to Persians giv'n,\" quoth he.\nAnd thilke same night this king was slaw*                         *slain\nAnd Darius occupied his degree,\nThough he thereto had neither right nor law.\n\nLordings, example hereby may ye take,\nHow that in lordship is no sickerness;*                        *security\nFor when that Fortune will a man forsake,\nShe bears away his regne and his richess,\nAnd eke his friendes bothe more and less,\nFor what man that hath friendes through fortune,\nMishap will make them enemies, I guess;\nThis proverb is full sooth, and full commune.\n\n\nZENOBIA, of Palmyrie the queen, <12>\nAs write Persians of her nobless,\nSo worthy was in armes, and so keen,\nThat no wight passed her in hardiness,\nNor in lineage, nor other gentleness.*                  *noble qualities\nOf the king's blood of Perse* is she descended;                  *Persia\nI say not that she hadde most fairness,\nBut of her shape she might not he amended.\n\nFrom her childhood I finde that she fled\nOffice of woman, and to woods she went,\nAnd many a wilde harte's blood she shed\nWith arrows broad that she against them sent;\nShe was so swift, that she anon them hent.*                      *caught\nAnd when that she was older, she would kill\nLions, leopards, and beares all to-rent,*                *torn to pieces\nAnd in her armes wield them at her will.\n\nShe durst the wilde beastes' dennes seek,\nAnd runnen in the mountains all the night,\nAnd sleep under a bush; and she could eke\nWrestle by very force and very might\nWith any young man, were he ne'er so wight;*             *active, nimble\nThere mighte nothing in her armes stond.\nShe kept her maidenhood from every wight,\nTo no man deigned she for to be bond.\n\nBut at the last her friendes have her married\nTo Odenate, <13> a prince of that country;\nAll were it so, that she them longe tarried.\nAnd ye shall understande how that he\nHadde such fantasies as hadde she;\nBut natheless, when they were knit in fere,*                   *together\nThey liv'd in joy, and in felicity,\nFor each of them had other lefe* and dear.                        *loved\n\nSave one thing, that she never would assent,\nBy no way, that he shoulde by her lie\nBut ones, for it was her plain intent\nTo have a child, the world to multiply;\nAnd all so soon as that she might espy\nThat she was not with childe by that deed,\nThen would she suffer him do his fantasy\nEftsoon,* and not but ones, *out of dread.*       *again *without doubt*\n\nAnd if she were with child at thilke* cast,                        *that\nNo more should he playe thilke game\nTill fully forty dayes were past;\nThen would she once suffer him do the same.\nAll* were this Odenatus wild or tame,                           *whether\nHe got no more of her; for thus she said,\nIt was to wives lechery and shame\nIn other case* if that men with them play'd.              on other terms\n\nTwo sones, by this Odenate had she,\nThe which she kept in virtue and lettrure.*                    *learning\nBut now unto our tale turne we;\nI say, so worshipful a creature,\nAnd wise therewith, and large* with measure,**   *bountiful **moderation\nSo penible* in the war, and courteous eke,                    *laborious\nNor more labour might in war endure,\nWas none, though all this worlde men should seek.\n\nHer rich array it mighte not be told,\nAs well in vessel as in her clothing:\nShe was all clad in pierrie* and in gold,                     *jewellery\nAnd eke she *lefte not,* for no hunting,               *did not neglect*\nTo have of sundry tongues full knowing,\nWhen that she leisure had, and for t'intend*                      *apply\nTo learne bookes was all her liking,\nHow she in virtue might her life dispend.\n\nAnd, shortly of this story for to treat,\nSo doughty was her husband and eke she,\nThat they conquered many regnes great\nIn th'Orient, with many a fair city\nAppertinent unto the majesty\nOf Rome, and with strong hande held them fast,\nNor ever might their foemen do* them flee,                         *make\nAye while that Odenatus' dayes last'.\n\nHer battles, whoso list them for to read,\nAgainst Sapor the king, <14> and other mo',\nAnd how that all this process fell in deed,\nWhy she conquer'd, and what title thereto,\nAnd after of her mischief* and her woe,                      *misfortune\nHow that she was besieged and y-take,\nLet him unto my master Petrarch go,\nThat writes enough of this, I undertake.\n\nWhen Odenate was dead, she mightily\nThe regne held, and with her proper hand\nAgainst her foes she fought so cruelly,\nThat there n'as* king nor prince in all that land,              *was not\nThat was not glad, if be that grace fand\nThat she would not upon his land warray;*                      *make war\nWith her they maden alliance by bond,\nTo be in peace, and let her ride and play.\n\nThe emperor of Rome, Claudius,\nNor, him before, the Roman Gallien,\nDurste never be so courageous,\nNor no Armenian, nor Egyptien,\nNor Syrian, nor no Arabien,\nWithin the fielde durste with her fight,\nLest that she would them with her handes slen,*                    *slay\nOr with her meinie* putte them to flight.                        *troops\n\nIn kinges' habit went her sones two,\nAs heires of their father's regnes all;\nAnd Heremanno and Timolao\nTheir names were, as Persians them call\nBut aye Fortune hath in her honey gall;\nThis mighty queene may no while endure;\nFortune out of her regne made her fall\nTo wretchedness and to misadventure.\n\nAurelian, when that the governance\nOf Rome came into his handes tway, <15>\nHe shope* upon this queen to do vengeance;                     *prepared\nAnd with his legions he took his way\nToward Zenobie, and, shortly for to say,\nHe made her flee, and at the last her hent,*                       *took\nAnd fetter'd her, and eke her children tway,\nAnd won the land, and home to Rome he went.\n\nAmonges other thinges that he wan,\nHer car, that was with gold wrought and pierrie,*                *jewels\nThis greate Roman, this Aurelian\nHath with him led, for that men should it see.\nBefore in his triumphe walked she\nWith gilte chains upon her neck hanging;\nCrowned she was, as after* her degree,                     *according to\nAnd full of pierrie her clothing.\n\nAlas, Fortune! she that whilom was\nDreadful to kinges and to emperours,\nNow galeth* all the people on her, alas!                        *yelleth\nAnd she that *helmed was in starke stowres,*           *wore a helmet in\nAnd won by force townes strong and tow'rs,            obstinate battles*\nShall on her head now wear a vitremite; <16>\nAnd she that bare the sceptre full of flow'rs\nShall bear a distaff, *her cost for to quite.*     * to make her living*\n\n\nAlthough that NERO were so vicious\nAs any fiend that lies full low adown,\nYet he, as telleth us Suetonius,<17>\nThis wide world had in subjectioun,\nBoth East and West, South and Septentrioun.\nOf rubies, sapphires, and of pearles white\nWere all his clothes embroider'd up and down,\nFor he in gemmes greatly gan delight.\n\nMore delicate, more pompous of array,\nMore proud, was never emperor than he;\nThat *ilke cloth* that he had worn one day,                  *same robe*\nAfter that time he would it never see;\nNettes of gold thread had he great plenty,\nTo fish in Tiber, when him list to play;\nHis lustes* were as law, in his degree,                       *pleasures\nFor Fortune as his friend would him obey.\n\nHe Rome burnt for his delicacy;*                               *pleasure\nThe senators he slew upon a day,\nTo heare how that men would weep and cry;\nAnd slew his brother, and by his sister lay.\nHis mother made he in piteous array;\nFor he her wombe slitte, to behold\nWhere he conceived was; so well-away!\nThat he so little of his mother told.*                           *valued\n\nNo tear out of his eyen for that sight\nCame; but he said, a fair woman was she.\nGreat wonder is, how that he could or might\nBe doomesman* of her deade beauty:                                *judge\nThe wine to bringe him commanded he,\nAnd drank anon; none other woe he made,\nWhen might is joined unto cruelty,\nAlas! too deepe will the venom wade.\n\nIn youth a master had this emperour,\nTo teache him lettrure* and courtesy;              *literature, learning\nFor of morality he was the flow'r,\nAs in his time, *but if* bookes lie.                             *unless\nAnd while this master had of him mast'ry,\nHe made him so conning and so souple,*                           *subtle\nThat longe time it was ere tyranny,\nOr any vice, durst in him uncouple.*                       *be let loose\n\nThis Seneca, of which that I devise,*                              *tell\nBecause Nero had of him suche dread,\nFor he from vices would him aye chastise\nDiscreetly, as by word, and not by deed;\n\"Sir,\" he would say, \"an emperor must need\nBe virtuous, and hate tyranny.\"\nFor which he made him in a bath to bleed\nOn both his armes, till he muste die.\n\nThis Nero had eke of a custumance*                                *habit\nIn youth against his master for to rise;*         *stand in his presence\nWhich afterward he thought a great grievance;\nTherefore he made him dien in this wise.\nBut natheless this Seneca the wise\nChose in a bath to die in this mannere,\nRather than have another tormentise;*                           *torture\nAnd thus hath Nero slain his master dear.\n\nNow fell it so, that Fortune list no longer\nThe highe pride of Nero to cherice;*                            *cherish\nFor though he were strong, yet was she stronger.\nShe thoughte thus; \"By God, I am too nice*                      *foolish\nTo set a man, that is full fill'd of vice,\nIn high degree, and emperor him call!\nBy God, out of his seat I will him trice!*                  *thrust <18>\nWhen he least weeneth,* soonest shall he fall.\"               *expecteth\n\nThe people rose upon him on a night,\nFor  his default; and when he it espied,\nOut of his doors anon he hath him dight*                *betaken himself\nAlone, and where he ween'd  t'have been allied,*          *regarded with\nHe knocked fast, and aye the more he cried                    friendship\nThe faster shutte they their doores all;\nThen wist he well he had himself misgied,*                       *misled\nAnd went his way, no longer durst he call.\n\nThe people cried and rumbled up and down,\nThat with his eares heard he how they said;\n\"Where is this false tyrant, this Neroun?\"\nFor fear almost out of his wit he braid,*                          *went\nAnd to his goddes piteously he pray'd\nFor succour, but it mighte not betide\nFor dread of this he thoughte that died,\nAnd ran into a garden him to hide.\n\nAnd in this garden found he churles tway,\nThat satte by a fire great and red;\nAnd to these churles two he gan to pray\nTo slay him, and to girdon* off his head,                        *strike\nThat to his body, when that he were dead,\nWere no despite done for his defame.*                            *infamy\nHimself he slew, *he coud no better rede;*            *he knew no better\nOf which Fortune laugh'd and hadde game.                        counsel*\n\n\nWas never capitain under a king,\nThat regnes more put in subjectioun,\nNor stronger was in field of alle thing\nAs in his time, nor greater of renown,\nNor more pompous in high presumptioun,\nThan HOLOFERNES, whom Fortune aye kiss'd\nSo lik'rously, and led him up and down,\nTill that his head was off *ere that he wist.*       *before he knew it*\n\nNot only that this world had of him awe,\nFor losing of richess and liberty;\nBut he made every man *reny his law.*        *renounce his religion <19>\nNabuchodonosor was God, said he;\nNone other Godde should honoured be.\nAgainst his hest* there dare no wight trespace,                 *command\nSave in Bethulia, a strong city,\nWhere Eliachim priest was of that place.\n\nBut take keep* of the death of Holofern;                         *notice\nAmid his host he drunken lay at night\nWithin his tente, large as is a bern;*                             *barn\nAnd yet, for all his pomp and all his might,\nJudith, a woman, as he lay upright\nSleeping, his head off smote, and from his tent\nFull privily she stole from every wight,\nAnd with his head unto her town she went.\n\n\nWhat needeth it of king ANTIOCHUS <20>\nTo tell his high and royal majesty,\nHis great pride, and his workes venomous?\nFor such another was there none as he;\nReade what that he was in Maccabee.\nAnd read the proude wordes that he said,\nAnd why he fell from his prosperity,\nAnd in an hill how wretchedly he died.\n\nFortune him had enhanced so in pride,\nThat verily he ween'd he might attain\nUnto the starres upon every side,\nAnd in a balance weighen each mountain,\nAnd all the floodes of the sea restrain.\nAnd Godde's people had he most in hate\nThem would he slay in torment and in pain,\nWeening that God might not his pride abate.\n\nAnd for that Nicanor and Timothee\nWith Jewes were vanquish'd mightily, <21>\nUnto the Jewes such an hate had he,\nThat he bade *graith his car* full hastily,        *prepare his chariot*\nAnd swore and saide full dispiteously,\nUnto Jerusalem he would eftsoon,*                           *immediately\nTo wreak his ire on it full cruelly\nBut of his purpose was he let* full soon.                     *prevented\n\nGod for his menace him so sore smote,\nWith invisible wound incurable,\nThat in his guttes carf* it so and bote,**                 *cut **gnawed\nTill that his paines were importable;*                      *unendurable\nAnd certainly the wreche* was reasonable,                     *vengeance\nFor many a manne's guttes did he pain;\nBut from his purpose, curs'd* and damnable,                     *impious\nFor all his smart he would him not restrain;\nBut bade anon apparaile* his host.                              *prepare\n\nAnd suddenly, ere he was of it ware,\nGod daunted all his pride, and all his boast\nFor he so sore fell out of his chare,*                          *chariot\nThat it his limbes and his skin to-tare,\nSo that he neither mighte go nor ride\nBut in a chaire men about him bare,\nAlle forbruised bothe back and side.\n\nThe wreche* of God him smote so cruelly,                      *vengeance\nThat through his body wicked wormes crept,\nAnd therewithal he stank so horribly\nThat none of all his meinie* that him kept,                    *servants\nWhether so that he woke or elles slept,\nNe mighte not of him the stink endure.\nIn this mischief he wailed and eke wept,\nAnd knew God Lord of every creature.\n\nTo all his host, and to himself also,\nFull wlatsem* was the stink of his carrain;**          *loathsome **body\nNo manne might him beare to and fro.\nAnd in this stink, and this horrible pain,\nHe starf* full wretchedly in a mountain.                           *dies\nThus hath this robber, and this homicide,\nThat many a manne made to weep and plain,\nSuch guerdon* as belongeth unto pride.                           *reward\n\n\nThe story of ALEXANDER is so commune,\nThat ev'ry wight that hath discretion\nHath heard somewhat or all of his fortune.\nThis wide world, as in conclusion,\nHe won by strength; or, for his high renown,\nThey were glad for peace to him to send.\nThe pride and boast of man he laid adown,\nWhereso he came, unto the worlde's end.\n\nComparison yet never might be maked\nBetween him and another conqueror;\nFor all this world for dread of him had quaked\nHe was of knighthood and of freedom flow'r:\nFortune him made the heir of her honour.\nSave wine and women, nothing might assuage\nHis high intent in arms and labour,\nSo was he full of leonine courage.\n\nWhat praise were it to him, though I you told\nOf Darius, and a hundred thousand mo',\nOf kinges, princes, dukes, and earles bold,\nWhich he conquer'd, and brought them into woe?\nI say, as far as man may ride or go,\nThe world was his, why should I more devise?*                      *tell\nFor, though I wrote or told you evermo',\nOf his knighthood it mighte not suffice.\n\nTwelve years he reigned, as saith Maccabee\nPhilippe's son of Macedon he was,\nThat first was king in Greece the country.\nO worthy gentle* Alexander, alas                                  *noble\nThat ever should thee falle such a case!\nEmpoison'd of thine owen folk thou were;\nThy six <22> fortune hath turn'd into an ace,\nAnd yet for thee she wepte never a tear.\n\nWho shall me give teares to complain\nThe death of gentiless, and of franchise,*                   *generosity\nThat all this worlde had in his demaine,*                      *dominion\nAnd yet he thought it mighte not suffice,\nSo full was his corage* of high emprise?                         *spirit\nAlas! who shall me helpe to indite\nFalse Fortune, and poison to despise?\nThe whiche two of all this woe I wite.*                           *blame\n\n\nBy wisdom, manhood, and by great labour,\nFrom humbleness to royal majesty\nUp rose he, JULIUS the Conquerour,\nThat won all th' Occident,* by land and sea,                       *West\nBy strength of hand or elles by treaty,\nAnd unto Rome made them tributary;\nAnd since* of Rome the emperor was he,                       *afterwards\nTill that Fortune wax'd his adversary.\n\nO mighty Caesar, that in Thessaly\nAgainst POMPEIUS, father thine in law, <23>\nThat of th' Orient had all the chivalry,\nAs far as that the day begins to daw,\nThat through thy knighthood hast them take and slaw,*             slain*\nSave fewe folk that with Pompeius fled;\nThrough which thou put all th' Orient in awe; <24>\nThanke Fortune that so well thee sped.\n\nBut now a little while I will bewail\nThis Pompeius, this noble governor\nOf Rome, which that fled at this battaile\nI say, one of his men, a false traitor,\nHis head off smote, to winne him favor\nOf Julius, and him the head he brought;\nAlas! Pompey, of th' Orient conqueror,\nThat Fortune unto such a fine* thee brought!                        *end\n\nTo Rome again repaired Julius,\nWith his triumphe laureate full high;\nBut on a time Brutus and Cassius,\nThat ever had of his estate envy,\nFull privily have made conspiracy\nAgainst this Julius in subtle wise\nAnd cast* the place in which he shoulde die,                   *arranged\nWith bodekins,* as I shall you devise.**                 *daggers **tell\n\nThis Julius to the Capitole went\nUpon a day, as he was wont to gon;\nAnd in the Capitol anon him hent*                                *seized\nThis false Brutus, and his other fone,*                            *foes\nAnd sticked him with bodekins anon\nWith many a wound, and thus they let him lie.\nBut never groan'd he at no stroke but one,\nOr else at two, *but if* the story lie.                          *unless\n\nSo manly was this Julius of heart,\nAnd so well loved *estately honesty                *dignified propriety*\nThat, though his deadly woundes sore smart,*                 *pained him\nHis mantle o'er his hippes caste he,\nThat ne man shoulde see his privity\nAnd as he lay a-dying in a trance,\nAnd wiste verily that dead was he,\nOf honesty yet had he remembrance.\n\nLucan, to thee this story I recommend,\nAnd to Sueton', and Valerie also,\nThat of this story write *word and end*                 *the whole* <25>\nHow that to these great conquerores two\nFortune was first a friend, and since* a foe.                *afterwards\nNo manne trust upon her favour long,\nBut *have her in await for evermo';*      *ever be watchful against her*\nWitness on all these conquerores strong.\n\n\nThe riche CROESUS, <26> whilom king of Lyde, --\nOf which Croesus Cyrus him sore drad,* --                       *dreaded\nYet was he caught amiddes all his pride,\nAnd to be burnt men to the fire him lad;\nBut such a rain down *from the welkin shad,*       *poured from the sky*\nThat slew the fire, and made him to escape:\nBut to beware no grace yet he had,\nTill fortune on the gallows made him gape.\n\nWhen he escaped was, he could not stint*                        *refrain\nFor to begin a newe war again;\nHe weened well, for that Fortune him sent\nSuch hap, that he escaped through the rain,\nThat of his foes he mighte not be slain.\nAnd eke a sweven* on a night he mette,**                *dream **dreamed\nOf which he was so proud, and eke so fain,*                        *glad\nThat he in vengeance all his hearte set.\n\nUpon a tree he was set, as he thought,\nWhere Jupiter him wash'd, both back and side,\nAnd Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought\nTo dry him with; and therefore wax'd his pride.\nAnd to his daughter that stood him beside,\nWhich he knew in high science to abound,\nHe bade her tell him what it signified;\nAnd she his dream began right thus expound.\n\n\"The tree,\" quoth she, \"the gallows is to mean,\nAnd Jupiter betokens snow and rain,\nAnd Phoebus, with his towel clear and clean,\nThese be the sunne's streames* sooth to sayn;                      *rays\nThou shalt y-hangeth be, father, certain;\nRain shall thee wash, and sunne shall thee dry.\"\nThus warned him full plat and eke full plain\nHis daughter, which that called was Phanie.\n\nAnd hanged was Croesus the proude king;\nHis royal throne might him not avail.\nTragedy is none other manner thing,\nNor can in singing crien nor bewail,\nBut for that Fortune all day will assail\nWith unware stroke the regnes* that be proud:<27>              *kingdoms\nFor when men truste her, then will she fail,\nAnd cover her bright face with a cloud.\n\n\nO noble, O worthy PEDRO, <28> glory OF SPAIN,\nWhem Fortune held so high in majesty,\nWell oughte men thy piteous death complain.\nOut of thy land thy brother made thee flee,\nAnd after, at a siege, by subtlety,\nThou wert betray'd, and led unto his tent,\nWhere as he with his owen hand slew thee,\nSucceeding in thy regne* and in thy rent.**           *kingdom *revenues\n\nThe field of snow, with th' eagle of black therein,\nCaught with the lion, red-colour'd as the glede,*          *burning coal\nHe brew'd this cursedness,* and all this sin;      *wickedness, villainy\nThe wicked nest was worker of this deed;\nNot Charles' Oliver, <29> that took aye heed\nOf truth and honour, but of Armorike\nGanilien Oliver, corrupt for meed,*                       *reward, bribe\nBroughte this worthy king in such a brike.*                *breach, ruin\n\n\nO worthy PETRO, King of CYPRE <30> also,\nThat Alexandre won by high mast'ry,\nFull many a heathnen wroughtest thou full woe,\nOf which thine owen lieges had envy;\nAnd, for no thing but for thy chivalry,\nThey in thy bed have slain thee by the morrow;\nThus can Fortune her wheel govern and gie,*                       *guide\nAnd out of joy bringe men into sorrow.\n\n\nOf Milan greate BARNABO VISCOUNT,<30>\nGod of delight, and scourge of Lombardy,\nWhy should I not thine clomben*  wert so high?                  *climbed\nThy brother's son, that was thy double ally,\nFor he thy nephew was and son-in-law,\nWithin his prison made thee to die,\nBut why, nor how, *n'ot I* that thou were slaw.*    *I know not* *slain*\n\n\nOf th' Earl HUGOLIN OF PISE the languour*                         *agony\nThere may no tongue telle for pity.\nBut little out of Pisa stands a tow'r,\nIn whiche tow'r in prison put was he,\nAud with him be his little children three;\nThe eldest scarcely five years was of age;\nAlas! Fortune, it was great cruelty\nSuch birdes for to put in such a cage.\n\nDamned was he to die in that prison;\nFor Roger, which that bishop was of Pise,\nHad on him made a false suggestion,\nThrough which the people gan upon him rise,\nAnd put him in prison, in such a wise\nAs ye have heard; and meat and drink he had\nSo small, that well unneth* it might suffice,                  *scarcely\nAnd therewithal it was full poor and bad.\n\nAnd on a day befell, that in that hour\nWhen that his meate wont was to be brought,\nThe jailor shut the doores of the tow'r;\nHe heard it right well, but he spake nought.\nAnd in his heart anon there fell a thought,\nThat they for hunger woulde *do him dien;*            *cause him to die*\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"alas that I was wrought!\"*                *made, born\nTherewith the teares fell from his eyen.\n\nHis youngest son, that three years was of age,\nUnto him said, \"Father, why do ye weep?\nWhen will the jailor bringen our pottage?\nIs there no morsel bread that ye do keep?\nI am so hungry, that I may not sleep.\nNow woulde God that I might sleepen ever!\nThen should not hunger in my wombe* creep;                      *stomach\nThere is no thing, save bread, that one were lever.\"*            *dearer\n\nThus day by day this child begun to cry,\nTill in his father's barme* adown he lay,                           *lap\nAnd saide, \"Farewell, father, I must die;\"\nAnd kiss'd his father, and died the same day.\nAnd when the woeful father did it sey,*                             *see\nFor woe his armes two he gan to bite,\nAnd said, \"Alas! Fortune, and well-away!\nTo thy false wheel my woe all may I wite.\"*                       *blame\n\nHis children ween'd that it for hunger was\nThat he his armes gnaw'd, and not for woe,\nAnd saide, \"Father, do not so, alas!\nBut rather eat the flesh upon us two.\nOur flesh thou gave us, our flesh take us fro',\nAnd eat enough;\" right thus they to him said.\nAnd after that, within a day or two,\nThey laid them in his lap adown, and died.\n\nHimself, despaired, eke for hunger starf.*                         *died\nThus ended is this Earl of Pise;\nFrom high estate Fortune away him carf.*                        *cut off\nOf this tragedy it ought enough suffice\nWhoso will hear it *in a longer wise,*               *at greater length*\nReade the greate poet of ltale,\nThat Dante hight, for he can it devise <32>\nFrom point to point, not one word will he fail.\n\n\nNotes to the Monk's Tale\n\n\n1. The Monk's Tale is founded in its main features on\nBocccacio's work, \"De Casibus Virorum Illustrium;\" (\"Stories\nof Illustrious Men\") but Chaucer has taken the separate stories\nof which it is composed from different authors, and dealt with\nthem after his own fashion.\n\n 2. Boccaccio opens his book with Adam, whose story is told at\nmuch greater length than here. Lydgate, in his translation from\nBoccaccio, speaks of Adam and Eve as made  \"of slime of the\nerth in Damascene the felde.\"\n\n3.  Judges xiii. 3. Boccaccio also tells the story of Samson; but\nChaucer seems, by his quotation a few lines below, to have\ntaken his version direct from the sacred book.\n\n4. Oliveres: olive trees; French, \"oliviers.\"\n\n5. \"Liber Judicum,\" the Book of Judges; chap. xv.\n\n6. Querne:  mill; from Anglo-Saxon, \"cyrran,\" to turn,\n\"cweorn,\" a mill,\n\n7.Harpies: the Stymphalian Birds, which fed on human flesh.\n\n8.  Busiris, king of Egypt, was wont to sacrifice all foreigners\ncoming to his dominions. Hercules was seized, bound, and led\nto the altar by his orders, but the hero broke his bonds and slew\nthe tyrant.\n\n9. The feats of Hercules here recorded are not all these known\nas the \"twelve labours;\" for instance, the cleansing of the\nAugean stables, and the capture of Hippolyte's girdle are not in\nthis list -- other and less famous deeds of the hero taking their\nplace. For this, however, we must accuse not Chaucer, but\nBoethius, whom he has almost literally translated, though with\nsome change of order.\n\n10. Trophee:  One of the manuscripts has a marginal reference\nto \"Tropheus vates Chaldaeorum\" (\"Tropheus the prophet of\nthe Chaldees\"); but it is not known what author Chaucer meant\n-- unless the reference is to a passage in the \"Filostrato\" of\nBoccaccio, on which Chaucer founded his \"Troilus and\nCressida,\" and which Lydgate mentions, under the name of\n\"Trophe,\" as having been translated by Chaucer.\n\n11. Pres: near; French, \"pres;\" the meaning seems to be, this\nnearer, lower world.\n\n12 Chaucer has taken the story of Zenobia from Boccaccio's\nwork \"De Claris Mulieribus.\" (\"Of Illustrious Women\")\n\n13.  Odenatus, who, for his services to the Romans, received\nfrom Gallienus the title of  \"Augustus;\" he was assassinated in\nA.D. 266 -- not, it was believed, without the connivance of\nZenobia, who succeeded him on the throne.\n\n14. Sapor was king of Persia, who made the Emperor Valerian\nprisoner, conquered Syria, and was pressing triumphantly\nwestward when he was met and defeated by Odenatus and\nZenobia.\n\n15. Aurelain became Emperor in A.D. 270.\n\n16. Vitremite:  The signification of this word,  which is spelled\nin several ways, is not known. Skinner's explanation, \"another\nattire,\" founded on the spelling \"autremite,\" is obviously\ninsufficient.\n\n17. Great part of this \"tragedy\" of Nero is really borrowed,\nhowever, from the \"Romance of the Rose.\"\n\n18. Trice:  thrust; from Anglo-Saxon, \"thriccan.\"\n\n19. So, in the Man of  Law's Tale, the Sultaness promises her\nson that she will \"reny her lay.\"\n\n20. As the \"tragedy\" of Holofernes is founded on the book of\nJudith, so is that of Antiochus on the Second Book of the\nMaccabees, chap. ix.\n\n21. By the insurgents under the leadership of Judas Maccabeus;\n2 Macc. chap. viii.\n\n22. Six:  the highest cast on a dicing-cube; here representing the\nhighest favour of fortune.\n\n23. Pompey had married his daughter Julia to Caesar; but she\ndied six years before Pompey's final overthrow.\n\n24. At the battle of Pharsalia, B.C. 48.\n\n25. Word and end: apparently a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon\nphrase, \"ord and end,\" meaning the whole, the beginning and\nthe end.\n\n26. At the opening of the story of Croesus, Chaucer has copied\nfrom his own translation of Boethius; but the story is mainly\ntaken from the \"Romance of the Rose\"\n\n27. \"This reflection,\" says Tyrwhttt, \"seems to have been\nsuggested by one which follows soon after the mention of\nCroesus in the passage just cited from Boethius. 'What other\nthing bewail the cryings of tragedies but only the deeds of\nfortune, that with an awkward stroke, overturneth the realms of\ngreat nobley?'\" --  in some manuscripts the four \"tragedies\" that\nfollow are placed between those of Zenobia and Nero; but\nalthough the general reflection with which the \"tragedy\" of\nCroesus closes might most appropriately wind up the whole\nseries, the general chronological arrangement which is observed\nin the other cases recommends the order followed in the text.\nBesides, since, like several other Tales, the Monk's tragedies\nwere cut short by the impatience of the auditors, it is more\nnatural that the Tale should close abruptly, than by such a\nrhetorical finish as these lines afford.\n\n28. Pedro the Cruel, King of Aragon, against whom his brother\nHenry rebelled. He was by false pretences inveigled into his\nbrother's tent, and treacherously slain. Mr Wright has remarked\nthat \"the cause of Pedro, though he was no better than a cruel\nand reckless tyrant, was popular in England from the very\ncircumstance that Prince Edward (the Black Prince) had\nembarked in it.\"\n\n29. Not the Oliver of Charlemagne -- but a traitorous Oliver of\nArmorica, corrupted by a bribe. Ganilion was the betrayer of\nthe Christian army at Roncevalles (see note 9 to the Shipman's\nTale); and his name appears to have been for a long time used in\nFrance to denote a traitor. Duguesclin, who betrayed Pedro into\nhis brother's tent, seems to be intended by the term \"Ganilion\nOliver,\" but if so, Chaucer has mistaken his name, which was\nBertrand -- perhaps confounding him, as Tyrwhttt suggests,\nwith Oliver du Clisson, another illustrious Breton of those\ntimes, who was also Constable of France, after Duguesclin. The\narms of the latter are supposed to be described a little above\n\n30. Pierre de Lusignan, King of Cyprus, who captured\nAlexandria in 1363 (see note 6 to the Prologue to the Tales).\nHe was assassinated in 1369.\n\n31. Bernabo Visconti, Duke of Milan, was deposed and\nimprisoned by his nephew, and died a captive in 1385. His death\nis the latest historical fact mentioned in the Tales; and thus it\nthrows the date of their composition to about the sixtieth year\nof Chaucer's age.\n\n32. The story of Ugolino is told in the 33rd Canto of the\n\"Inferno.\"\n\n\n\nTHE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\"Ho!\" quoth the Knight, \"good sir, no more of this;\nThat ye have said is right enough, y-wis,*                  *of a surety\nAnd muche more; for little heaviness\nIs right enough to muche folk, I guess.\nI say for me, it is a great disease,*     *source of distress, annoyance\nWhere as men have been in great wealth and ease,\nTo hearen of their sudden fall, alas!\nAnd the contrary is joy and great solas,*              *delight, comfort\nAs when a man hath been in poor estate,\nAnd climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate,\nAnd there abideth in prosperity;\nSuch thing is gladsome, as it thinketh me,\nAnd of such thing were goodly for to tell.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth our Hoste, \"by Saint Paule's bell.\nYe say right sooth; this monk hath clapped* loud;                *talked\nHe spake how Fortune cover'd with a cloud\nI wot not what, and als' of a tragedy\nRight now ye heard: and pardie no remedy\nIt is for to bewaile, nor complain\nThat that is done, and also it is pain,\nAs ye have said, to hear of heaviness.\nSir Monk, no more of this, so God you bless;\nYour tale annoyeth all this company;\nSuch talking is not worth a butterfly,\nFor therein is there no sport nor game;\nTherefore, Sir Monke, Dan Piers by your name,\nI pray you heart'ly, tell us somewhat else,\nFor sickerly, n'ere* clinking of your bells,        *were it not for the\nThat on your bridle hang on every side,\nBy heaven's king, that for us alle died,\nI should ere this have fallen down for sleep,\nAlthough the slough had been never so deep;\nThen had your tale been all told in vain.\nFor certainly, as these clerkes sayn,\nWhere as a man may have no audience,\nNought helpeth it to telle his sentence.\nAnd well I wot the substance is in me,\nIf anything shall well reported be.\nSir, say somewhat of hunting, <1> I you pray.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Monk, \"I have *no lust to play;*       *no fondness for\nNow let another tell, as I have told.\"                          jesting*\nThen spake our Host with rude speech and bold,\nAnd said unto the Nunne's Priest anon,\n\"Come near, thou Priest, come hither, thou Sir John, <2>\nTell us such thing as may our heartes glade.*                   *gladden\nBe blithe, although thou ride upon a jade.\nWhat though thine horse be bothe foul and lean?\nIf he will serve thee, reck thou not a bean;\nLook that thine heart be merry evermo'.\"\n\n\"Yes, Host,\" quoth he, \"so may I ride or go,\nBut* I be merry, y-wis I will be blamed.\"                        *unless\nAnd right anon his tale he hath attamed*                  *commenced <3>\nAnd thus he said unto us every one,\nThis sweete priest, this goodly man, Sir John.\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Nun's Priest's Tale\n\n\n1. The request is justified by the description of Monk in the\nPrologue as \"an out-rider, that loved venery.\"\n\n2. On this Tyrwhitt remarks; \"I know not how it has happened,\nthat in the principal modern languages, John, or its equivalent,\nis a name of contempt or at least of slight.  So the Italians use\n'Gianni,' from whence 'Zani;' the Spaniards 'Juan,' as 'Bobo\nJuan,' a foolish John; the French 'Jean,' with various additions;\nand in English, when we call a man 'a John,' we do not mean it\nas a title of honour.\"  The title of \"Sir\" was usually given by\ncourtesy to priests.\n\n3. Attamed: commenced, broached. Compare French, \"entamer\",\nto cut the first piece off a joint; thence to begin.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nA poor widow, *somedeal y-stept* in age,             *somewhat advanced*\nWas whilom dwelling in a poor cottage,\nBeside a grove, standing in a dale.\nThis widow, of which I telle you my tale,\nSince thilke day that she was last a wife,\nIn patience led a full simple life,\nFor little was *her chattel and her rent.*    *her goods and her income*\nBy husbandry* of such as God her sent,               *thrifty management\nShe found* herself, and eke her daughters two.               *maintained\nThree large sowes had she, and no mo';\nThree kine, and eke a sheep that highte Mall.\nFull sooty was her bow'r,* and eke her hall,                    *chamber\nIn which she ate full many a slender meal.\nOf poignant sauce knew she never a deal.*                          *whit\nNo dainty morsel passed through her throat;\nHer diet was *accordant to her cote.*      *in keeping with her cottage*\nRepletion her made never sick;\nAttemper* diet was all her physic,                             *moderate\nAnd exercise, and *hearte's suffisance.*          *contentment of heart*\nThe goute *let her nothing for to dance,*           *did not prevent her\nNor apoplexy shente* not her head.                 from dancing*   *hurt\nNo wine drank she, neither white nor red:\nHer board was served most with white and black,\nMilk and brown bread, in which she found no lack,\nSeind* bacon, and sometimes an egg or tway;                      *singed\nFor she was as it were *a manner dey.*        *kind of day labourer* <2>\nA yard she had, enclosed all about\nWith stickes, and a drye ditch without,\nIn which she had a cock, hight Chanticleer;\nIn all the land of crowing *n'as his peer.*          *was not his equal*\nHis voice was merrier than the merry orgon,*                  *organ <3>\nOn masse days that in the churches gon.\nWell sickerer* was his crowing in his lodge,             *more punctual*\nThan is a clock, or an abbay horloge.*                        *clock <4>\nBy nature he knew each ascension\nOf th' equinoctial in thilke town;\nFor when degrees fiftene were ascended,\nThen crew he, that it might not be amended.\nHis comb was redder than the fine coral,\nEmbattell'd <5> as it were a castle wall.\nHis bill was black, and as the jet it shone;\nLike azure were his legges and his tone;*                          *toes\nHis nailes whiter than the lily flow'r,\nAnd like the burnish'd gold was his colour,\nThis gentle cock had in his governance\nSev'n hennes, for to do all his pleasance,\nWhich were his sisters and his paramours,\nAnd wondrous like to him as of colours.\nOf which the fairest-hued in the throat\nWas called Damoselle Partelote,\nCourteous she was, discreet, and debonair,\nAnd companiable,* and bare herself so fair,                    *sociable\nSince the day that she sev'n night was old,\nThat truely she had the heart in hold\nOf Chanticleer, locked in every lith;*                             *limb\nHe lov'd her so, that well was him therewith,\nBut such a joy it was to hear them sing,\nWhen that the brighte sunne gan to spring,\nIn sweet accord, *\"My lefe is fare in land.\"* <6>            *my love is\nFor, at that time, as I have understand,                    gone abroad*\nBeastes and birdes coulde speak and sing.\n\nAnd so befell, that in a dawening,\nAs Chanticleer among his wives all\nSat on his perche, that was in the hall,\nAnd next him sat this faire Partelote,\nThis Chanticleer gan groanen in his throat,\nAs man that in his dream is dretched* sore,                   *oppressed\nAnd when that Partelote thus heard him roar,\nShe was aghast,* and saide, \"Hearte dear,                        *afraid\nWhat aileth you to groan in this mannere?\nYe be a very sleeper, fy for shame!\"\nAnd he answer'd and saide thus; \"Madame,\nI pray you that ye take it not agrief;*               *amiss, in umbrage\nBy God, *me mette* I was in such mischief,**       *I dreamed* **trouble\nRight now, that yet mine heart is sore affright'.\nNow God,\" quoth he, \"my sweven* read aright              *dream, vision.\nAnd keep my body out of foul prisoun.\n*Me mette,* how that I roamed up and down                    *I dreamed*\nWithin our yard, where as I saw a beast\nWas like an hound, and would have *made arrest*                 *siezed*\nUpon my body, and would have had me dead.\nHis colour was betwixt yellow and red;\nAnd tipped was his tail, and both his ears,\nWith black, unlike the remnant of his hairs.\nHis snout was small, with glowing eyen tway;\nYet of his look almost for fear I dey;*                            *died\nThis caused me my groaning, doubteless.\"\n\n\"Away,\" <7> quoth she, \"fy on you, hearteless!*                  *coward\nAlas!\" quoth she, \"for, by that God above!\nNow have ye lost my heart and all my love;\nI cannot love a coward, by my faith.\nFor certes, what so any woman saith,\nWe all desiren, if it mighte be,\nTo have husbandes hardy, wise, and free,\nAnd secret,* and no niggard nor no fool,                       *discreet\nNor him that is aghast* of every tool,**           *afraid **rag, trifle\nNor no avantour,* by that God above!                           *braggart\nHow durste ye for shame say to your love\nThat anything might make you afear'd?\nHave ye no manne's heart, and have a beard?\nAlas! and can ye be aghast of swevenes?*                         *dreams\nNothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is,\nSwevens *engender of repletions,*            *are caused by over-eating*\nAnd oft of fume,* and of complexions,                       *drunkenness\nWhen humours be too abundant in a wight.\nCertes this dream, which ye have mette tonight,\nCometh of the great supefluity\nOf youre rede cholera,* pardie,                                    *bile\nWhich causeth folk to dreaden in their dreams\nOf arrows, and of fire with redde beams,\nOf redde beastes, that they will them bite,\nOf conteke,* and of whelpes great and lite;**       *contention **little\nRight as the humour of melancholy\nCauseth full many a man in sleep to cry,\nFor fear of bulles, or of beares blake,\nOr elles that black devils will them take,\nOf other humours could I tell also,\nThat worke many a man in sleep much woe;\nThat I will pass as lightly as I can.\nLo, Cato, which that was so wise a man,\nSaid he not thus, *'Ne do no force of* dreams,'<8>\t*attach no weight to*\nNow, Sir,\" quoth she, \"when we fly from these beams,\nFor Godde's love, as take some laxatife;\nOn peril of my soul, and of my life,\nI counsel you the best, I will not lie,\nThat both of choler, and melancholy,\nYe purge you; and, for ye shall not tarry,\nThough in this town is no apothecary,\nI shall myself two herbes teache you,\nThat shall be for your health, and for your prow;*               *profit\nAnd in our yard the herbes shall I find,\nThe which have of their property by kind*                        *nature\nTo purge you beneath, and eke above.\nSire, forget not this for Godde's love;\nYe be full choleric of complexion;\nWare that the sun, in his ascension,\nYou finde not replete of humours hot;\nAnd if it do, I dare well lay a groat,\nThat ye shall have a fever tertiane,\nOr else an ague, that may be your bane,\nA day or two ye shall have digestives\nOf wormes, ere ye take your laxatives,\nOf laurel, centaury, <9> and fumeterere, <10>\nOr else of elder-berry, that groweth there,\nOf catapuce, <11> or of the gaitre-berries, <12>\nOr herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is:\nPick them right as they grow, and eat them in,\nBe merry, husband, for your father's kin;\nDreade no dream; I can say you no more.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"grand mercy of your lore,\nBut natheless, as touching *Dan Catoun,*                           *Cato\nThat hath of wisdom such a great renown,\nThough that he bade no dreames for to dread,\nBy God, men may in olde bookes read\nOf many a man more of authority\nThan ever Cato was, so may I the,*                               *thrive\nThat all the reverse say of his sentence,*                      *opinion\nAnd have well founden by experience\nThat dreames be significations\nAs well of joy, as tribulations\nThat folk enduren in this life present.\nThere needeth make of this no argument;\nThe very preve* sheweth it indeed.                    *trial, experience\nOne of the greatest authors that men read <13>\nSaith thus, that whilom two fellowes went\nOn pilgrimage in a full good intent;\nAnd happen'd so, they came into a town\nWhere there was such a congregatioun\nOf people, and eke so *strait of herbergage,*          *without lodging*\nThat they found not as much as one cottage\nIn which they bothe might y-lodged be:\nWherefore they musten of necessity,\nAs for that night, departe company;\nAnd each of them went to his hostelry,*                             *inn\nAnd took his lodging as it woulde fall.\nThe one of them was lodged in a stall,\nFar in a yard, with oxen of the plough;\nThat other man was lodged well enow,\nAs was his aventure, or his fortune,\nThat us governeth all, as in commune.\nAnd so befell, that, long ere it were day,\nThis man mette* in his bed, there: as he lay,                   *dreamed\nHow that his fellow gan upon him call,\nAnd said, 'Alas! for in an ox's stall\nThis night shall I be murder'd, where I lie\nNow help me, deare brother, or I die;\nIn alle haste come to me,' he said.\nThis man out of his sleep for fear abraid;*                     *started\nBut when that he was wak'd out of his sleep,\nHe turned him, and *took of this no keep;*      *paid this no attention*\nHe thought his dream was but a vanity.\nThus twies* in his sleeping dreamed he,                           *twice\nAnd at the thirde time yet his fellaw again\nCame, as he thought, and said, 'I am now slaw;*                   *slain\nBehold my bloody woundes, deep and wide.\nArise up early, in the morning, tide,\nAnd at the west gate of the town,' quoth he,\n'A carte full of dung there shalt: thou see,\nIn which my body is hid privily.\nDo thilke cart arroste* boldely.                                   *stop\nMy gold caused my murder, sooth to sayn.'\nAnd told him every point how he was slain,\nWith a full piteous face, and pale of hue.\n\n\"And, truste well, his dream he found full true;\nFor on the morrow, as soon as it was day,\nTo his fellowes inn he took his way;\nAnd when that he came to this ox's stall,\nAfter his fellow he began to call.\nThe hostelere answered him anon,\nAnd saide, 'Sir, your fellow is y-gone,\nAs soon as day he went out of the town.'\nThis man gan fallen in suspicioun,\nRememb'ring on his dreames that he mette,*                      *dreamed\nAnd forth he went, no longer would he let,*                       *delay\nUnto the west gate of the town, and fand*                         *found\nA dung cart, as it went for to dung land,\nThat was arrayed in the same wise\nAs ye have heard the deade man devise;*                        *describe\nAnd with an hardy heart he gan to cry,\n'Vengeance and justice of this felony:\nMy fellow murder'd in this same night\nAnd in this cart he lies, gaping upright.\nI cry out on the ministers,' quoth he.\n'That shoulde keep and rule this city;\nHarow! alas! here lies my fellow slain.'\nWhat should I more unto this tale sayn?\nThe people out start, and cast the cart to ground\nAnd in the middle of the dung they found\nThe deade man, that murder'd was all new.\nO blissful God! that art so good and true,\nLo, how that thou bewray'st murder alway.\nMurder will out, that see we day by day.\nMurder is so wlatsom* and abominable                          *loathsome\nTo God, that is so just and reasonable,\nThat he will not suffer it heled* be;                    *concealed <14>\nThough it abide a year, or two, or three,\nMurder will out, this is my conclusioun,\nAnd right anon, the ministers of the town\nHave hent* the carter, and so sore him pined,**       *seized **tortured\nAnd eke the hostelere so sore engined,*                          *racked\nThat they beknew* their wickedness anon,                      *confessed\nAnd were hanged by the necke bone.\n\n\"Here may ye see that dreames be to dread.\nAnd certes in the same book I read,\nRight in the nexte chapter after this\n(I gabbe* not, so have I joy and bliss),                      *talk idly\nTwo men that would, have passed over sea,\nFor certain cause, into a far country,\nIf that the wind not hadde been contrary,\nThat made them in a city for to tarry,\nThat stood full merry upon an haven side;\nBut on a day, against the even-tide,\nThe wind gan change, and blew right *as them lest.*     *as they wished*\nJolly and glad they wente to their rest,\nAnd caste* them full early for to sail.                        *resolved\nBut to the one man fell a great marvail\nThat one of them, in sleeping as he lay,\nHe mette* a wondrous dream, against the day:                    *dreamed\nHe thought a man stood by his bedde's side,\nAnd him commanded that he should abide;\nAnd said him thus; 'If thou to-morrow wend,\nThou shalt be drown'd; my tale is at an end.'\nHe woke, and told his follow what he mette,\nAnd prayed him his voyage for to let;*                            *delay\nAs for that day, he pray'd him to abide.\nHis fellow, that lay by his bedde's side,\nGan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast.\n'No dream,' quoth he,'may so my heart aghast,*                 *frighten\nThat I will lette* for to do my things.*                          *delay\nI sette not a straw by thy dreamings,\nFor swevens* be but vanities and japes.**        *dreams **jokes,deceits\nMen dream all day of owles and of apes,\nAnd eke of many a maze* therewithal;                     *wild imagining\nMen dream of thing that never was, nor shall.\nBut since I see, that thou wilt here abide,\nAnd thus forslothe* wilfully thy tide,**               *idle away **time\nGod wot, *it rueth me;* and have good day.'          *I am sorry for it*\nAnd thus he took his leave, and went his way.\nBut, ere that he had half his course sail'd,\nI know not why, nor what mischance it ail'd,\nBut casually* the ship's bottom rent,                       *by accident\nAnd ship and man under the water went,\nIn sight of other shippes there beside\nThat with him sailed at the same tide.\n\n\"And therefore, faire Partelote so dear,\nBy such examples olde may'st thou lear,*                          *learn\nThat no man shoulde be too reckeless\nOf dreames, for I say thee doubteless,\nThat many a dream full sore is for to dread.\nLo, in the life of Saint Kenelm <15> I read,\nThat was Kenulphus' son, the noble king\nOf Mercenrike, <16> how Kenelm mette a thing.\nA little ere he was murder'd on a day,\nHis murder in his vision he say.*                                   *saw\nHis norice* him expounded every deal**                     *nurse **part\nHis sweven, and bade him to keep* him well                        *guard\nFor treason; but he was but seven years old,\nAnd therefore *little tale hath he told*             *he attached little\nOf any dream, so holy was his heart.                    significance to*\nBy God, I hadde lever than my shirt\nThat ye had read his legend, as have I.\nDame Partelote, I say you truely,\nMacrobius, that wrote the vision\nIn Afric' of the worthy Scipion, <17>\nAffirmeth dreames, and saith that they be\n'Warnings of thinges that men after see.\nAnd furthermore, I pray you looke well\nIn the Old Testament, of Daniel,\nIf he held dreames any vanity.\nRead eke of Joseph, and there shall ye see\nWhether dreams be sometimes (I say not all)\nWarnings of thinges that shall after fall.\nLook of Egypt the king, Dan Pharaoh,\nHis baker and his buteler also,\nWhether they felte none effect* in dreams.                 *significance\nWhoso will seek the acts of sundry remes*                        *realms\nMay read of dreames many a wondrous thing.\nLo Croesus, which that was of Lydia king,\nMette he not that he sat upon a tree,\nWhich signified he shoulde hanged be? <18>\nLo here, Andromache, Hectore's wife, <19>\nThat day that Hector shoulde lose his life,\nShe dreamed on the same night beforn,\nHow that the life of Hector should be lorn,*                       *lost\nIf thilke day he went into battaile;\nShe warned him, but it might not avail;\nHe wente forth to fighte natheless,\nAnd was y-slain anon of Achilles.\nBut thilke tale is all too long to tell;\nAnd eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell.\nShortly I say, as for conclusion,\nThat I shall have of this avision\nAdversity; and I say furthermore,\nThat I ne *tell of laxatives no store,*                  *hold laxatives\nFor they be venomous, I wot it well;                        of no value*\nI them defy,* I love them never a del.**                *distrust **whit\n\n\"But let us speak of mirth, and stint* all this;                  *cease\nMadame Partelote, so have I bliss,\nOf one thing God hath sent me large* grace;                      liberal\nFor when I see the beauty of your face,\nYe be so scarlet-hued about your eyen,\nI maketh all my dreade for to dien,\nFor, all so sicker* as In principio,<20>                        *certain\nMulier est hominis confusio.<21>\nMadam, the sentence* of of this Latin is,                       *meaning\nWoman is manne's joy and manne's bliss.\nFor when I feel at night your softe side, --\nAlbeit that I may not on you ride,\nFor that our perch is made so narrow, Alas!\nI am so full of joy and of solas,*                              *delight\nThat I defy both sweven and eke dream.\"\nAnd with that word he flew down from the beam,\nFor it was day, and eke his hennes all;\nAnd with a chuck he gan them for to call,\nFor he had found a corn, lay in the yard.\nRoyal he was, he was no more afear'd;\nHe feather'd Partelote twenty time,\nAnd as oft trode her, ere that it was prime.\nHe looked as it were a grim lion,\nAnd on his toes he roamed up and down;\nHe deigned not to set his feet to ground;\nHe chucked, when he had a corn y-found,\nAnd to him ranne then his wives all.\nThus royal, as a prince is in his hall,\nLeave I this Chanticleer in his pasture;\nAnd after will I tell his aventure.\n\nWhen that the month in which the world began,\nThat highte March, when God first maked man,\nWas complete, and y-passed were also,\nSince March ended, thirty days and two,\nBefell that Chanticleer in all his pride,\nHis seven wives walking him beside,\nCast up his eyen to the brighte sun,\nThat in the sign of Taurus had y-run\nTwenty degrees and one, and somewhat more;\nHe knew by kind,* and by none other lore,**           *nature **learning\nThat it was prime, and crew with blissful steven.*                *voice\n\"The sun,\" he said, \"is clomben up in heaven\nTwenty degrees and one, and more y-wis.*                      *assuredly\nMadame Partelote, my worlde's bliss,\nHearken these blissful birdes how they sing,\nAnd see the freshe flowers how they spring;\nFull is mine heart of revel and solace.\"\nBut suddenly him fell a sorrowful case;*                       *casualty\nFor ever the latter end of joy is woe:\nGod wot that worldly joy is soon y-go:\nAnd, if a rhetor* coulde fair indite,                            *orator\nHe in a chronicle might it safely write,\nAs for *a sov'reign notability*              *a thing supremely notable*\nNow every wise man, let him hearken me;\nThis story is all as true, I undertake,\nAs is the book of Launcelot du Lake,\nThat women hold in full great reverence.\nNow will I turn again to my sentence.\n\nA col-fox, <22> full of sly iniquity,\nThat in the grove had wonned* yeares three,                       *dwelt\nBy high imagination forecast,\nThe same night thorough the hedges brast*                         *burst\nInto the yard, where Chanticleer the fair\nWas wont, and eke his wives, to repair;\nAnd in a bed of wortes* still he lay,                          *cabbages\nTill it was passed undern <23> of the day,\nWaiting his time on Chanticleer to fall:\nAs gladly do these homicides all,\nThat in awaite lie to murder men.\nO false murd'rer! Rouking* in thy den!               *crouching, lurking\nO new Iscariot, new Ganilion! <24>\nO false dissimuler, O Greek Sinon,<25>\nThat broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow!\nO Chanticleer! accursed be the morrow\nThat thou into thy yard flew from the beams;*                   *rafters\nThou wert full well y-warned by thy dreams\nThat thilke day was perilous to thee.\nBut what that God forewot* must needes be,                    *foreknows\nAfter th' opinion of certain clerkes.\nWitness on him that any perfect clerk is,\nThat in school is great altercation\nIn this matter, and great disputation,\nAnd hath been of an hundred thousand men.\nBut I ne cannot *boult it to the bren,*     *examine it thoroughly <26>*\nAs can the holy doctor Augustine,\nOr Boece, or the bishop Bradwardine,<27>\nWhether that Godde's worthy foreweeting*                  *foreknowledge\n*Straineth me needly* for to do a thing                      *forces me*\n(Needly call I simple necessity),\nOr elles if free choice be granted me\nTo do that same thing, or do it not,\nThough God forewot* it ere that it was wrought;         *knew in advance\nOr if *his weeting straineth never a deal,*      *his knowing constrains\nBut by necessity conditionel.                                not at all*\nI will not have to do of such mattere;\nMy tale is of a cock, as ye may hear,\nThat took his counsel of his wife, with sorrow,\nTo walken in the yard upon the morrow\nThat he had mette the dream, as I you told.\nWomane's counsels be full often cold;*              *mischievous, unwise\nWomane's counsel brought us first to woe,\nAnd made Adam from Paradise to go,\nThere as he was full merry and well at case.\nBut, for I n'ot* to whom I might displease                     *know not\nIf I counsel of women woulde blame,\nPass over, for I said it in my game.*                              *jest\nRead authors, where they treat of such mattere\nAnd what they say of women ye may hear.\nThese be the cocke's wordes, and not mine;\nI can no harm of no woman divine.*                  *conjecture, imagine\nFair in the sand, to bathe* her merrily,                           *bask\nLies Partelote, and all her sisters by,\nAgainst the sun, and Chanticleer so free\nSang merrier than the mermaid in the sea;\nFor Physiologus saith sickerly,*                              *certainly\nHow that they singe well and merrily. <28>\nAnd so befell that, as he cast his eye\nAmong the wortes,* on a butterfly,                             *cabbages\nHe was ware of this fox that lay full low.\nNothing *ne list him thenne* for to crow,        *he had no inclination*\nBut cried anon \"Cock! cock!\" and up he start,\nAs man that was affrayed in his heart.\nFor naturally a beast desireth flee\nFrom his contrary,* if be may it see,                             *enemy\nThough he *ne'er erst* had soon it with his eye           *never before*\nThis Chanticleer, when he gan him espy,\nHe would have fled, but that the fox anon\nSaid, \"Gentle Sir, alas! why will ye gon?\nBe ye afraid of me that am your friend?\nNow, certes, I were worse than any fiend,\nIf I to you would harm or villainy.\nI am not come your counsel to espy.\nBut truely the cause of my coming\nWas only for to hearken how ye sing;\nFor truely ye have as merry a steven,*                            *voice\nAs any angel hath that is in heaven;\nTherewith ye have of music more feeling,\nThan had Boece, or any that can sing.\nMy lord your father (God his soule bless)\nAnd eke your mother of her gentleness,\nHave in mnine house been, to my great ease:*               *satisfaction\nAnd certes, Sir, full fain would I you please.\nBut, for men speak of singing, I will say,\nSo may I brooke* well mine eyen tway,            *enjoy, possess, or use\nSave you, I hearde never man so sing\nAs did your father in the morrowning.\nCertes it was of heart all that he sung.\nAnd, for to make his voice the more strong,\nHe would *so pain him,* that with both his eyen  *make such an exertion*\nHe muste wink, so loud he woulde cryen,\nAnd standen on his tiptoes therewithal,\nAnd stretche forth his necke long and small.\nAnd eke he was of such discretion,\nThat there was no man, in no region,\nThat him in song or wisdom mighte pass.\nI have well read in Dan Burnel the Ass, <29>\nAmong his verse, how that there was a cock\nThat, for* a prieste's son gave him a knock                     *because\nUpon his leg, while he was young and nice,*                     *foolish\nHe made him for to lose his benefice.\nBut certain there is no comparison\nBetwixt the wisdom and discretion\nOf youre father, and his subtilty.\nNow singe, Sir, for sainte charity,\nLet see, can ye your father counterfeit?\"\n\nThis Chanticleer his wings began to beat,\nAs man that could not his treason espy,\nSo was he ravish'd with his flattery.\nAlas! ye lordes, many a false flattour*                  *flatterer <30>\nIs in your court, and many a losengeour, *                *deceiver <31>\nThat please you well more, by my faith,\nThan he that soothfastness* unto you saith.                       *truth\nRead in Ecclesiast' of flattery;\nBeware, ye lordes, of their treachery.\nThis Chanticleer stood high upon his toes,\nStretching his neck, and held his eyen close,\nAnd gan to crowe loude for the nonce\nAnd Dan Russel <32> the fox start up at once,\nAnd *by the gorge hente* Chanticleer,             *seized by the throat*\nAnd on his back toward the wood him bare.\nFor yet was there no man that him pursu'd.\nO  destiny, that may'st not be eschew'd!*                       *escaped\nAlas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!\nAlas, his wife raughte* nought of dreams!                      *regarded\nAnd on a Friday fell all this mischance.\nO Venus, that art goddess of pleasance,\nSince that thy servant was this Chanticleer\nAnd in thy service did all his powere,\nMore for delight, than the world to multiply,\nWhy wilt thou suffer him on thy day to die?\nO Gaufrid, deare master sovereign, <33>\nThat, when thy worthy king Richard was slain\nWith shot, complainedest his death so sore,\nWhy n'had I now thy sentence and thy lore,\nThe Friday for to chiden, as did ye?\n(For on a Friday, soothly, slain was he),\nThen would I shew you how that I could plain*                    *lament\nFor Chanticleere's dread, and for his pain.\n\nCertes such cry nor lamentation\nWas ne'er of ladies made, when Ilion\nWas won, and Pyrrhus with his straighte sword,\nWhen he had hent* king Priam by the beard,                       *seized\nAnd slain him (as saith us Eneidos*),<34>                    *The Aeneid\nAs maden all the hennes in the close,*                             *yard\nWhen they had seen of Chanticleer the sight.\nBut sov'reignly* Dame Partelote shright,**             *above all others\nFull louder than did Hasdrubale's wife,                       **shrieked\nWhen that her husband hadde lost his life,\nAnd that the Romans had y-burnt Carthage;\nShe was so full of torment and of rage,\nThat wilfully into the fire she start,\nAnd burnt herselfe with a steadfast heart.\nO woeful hennes! right so cried ye,\nAs, when that Nero burned the city\nOf Rome, cried the senatores' wives,\nFor that their husbands losten all their lives;\nWithoute guilt this Nero hath them slain.\nNow will I turn unto my tale again;\n\nThe sely* widow, and her daughters two,                  *simple, honest\nHearde these hennes cry and make woe,\nAnd at the doors out started they anon,\nAnd saw the fox toward the wood is gone,\nAnd bare upon his back the cock away:\nThey cried, \"Out! harow! and well-away!\nAha! the fox!\" and after him they ran,\nAnd eke with staves many another man\nRan Coll our dog, and Talbot, and Garland;\nAnd Malkin, with her distaff in her hand\nRan cow and calf, and eke the very hogges\nSo fear'd they were for barking of the dogges,\nAnd shouting of the men and women eke.\nThey ranne so, them thought their hearts would break.\nThey yelled as the fiendes do in hell;\nThe duckes cried as men would them quell;*                *kill, destroy\nThe geese for feare flewen o'er the trees,\nOut of the hive came the swarm of bees,\nSo hideous was the noise, ben'dicite!\nCertes he, Jacke Straw,<35> and his meinie,*                  *followers\nNe made never shoutes half so shrill\nWhen that they woulden any Fleming kill,\nAs thilke day was made upon the fox.\nOf brass they broughte beames* and of box,                *trumpets <36>\nOf horn and bone, in which they blew and pooped,*               **tooted\nAnd therewithal they shrieked and they hooped;\nIt seemed as the heaven shoulde fall\n\nNow, goode men, I pray you hearken all;\nLo, how Fortune turneth suddenly\nThe hope and pride eke of her enemy.\nThis cock, that lay upon the fox's back,\nIn all his dread unto the fox he spake,\nAnd saide, \"Sir, if that I were as ye,\nYet would I say (as wisly* God help me),                         *surely\n'Turn ye again, ye proude churles all;\nA very pestilence upon you fall.\nNow am I come unto the woode's side,\nMaugre your head, the cock shall here abide;\nI will him eat, in faith, and that anon.'\"\nThe fox answer'd, \"In faith it shall be done:\"\nAnd, as he spake the word, all suddenly\nThe cock brake from his mouth deliverly,*                        *nimbly\nAnd high upon a tree he flew anon.\nAnd when the fox saw that the cock was gone,\n\"Alas!\" quoth he, \"O Chanticleer, alas!\nI have,\" quoth he, \"y-done to you trespass,*                    *offence\nInasmuch as I maked you afear'd,\nWhen I you hent,* and brought out of your yard;                    *took\nBut, Sir, I did it in no wick' intent;\nCome down, and I shall tell you what I meant.\nI shall say sooth to you, God help me so.\"\n\"Nay then,\" quoth he, \"I shrew* us both the two,                  *curse\nAnd first I shrew myself, both blood and bones,\nIf thou beguile me oftener than once.\nThou shalt no more through thy flattery\nDo* me to sing and winke with mine eye;                           *cause\nFor he that winketh when he shoulde see,\nAll wilfully, God let him never the.\"*                           *thrive\n\"Nay,\" quoth the fox; \"but God give him mischance\nThat is so indiscreet of governance,\nThat jangleth* when that he should hold his peace.\"            *chatters\n\nLo, what it is for to be reckeless\nAnd negligent, and trust on flattery.\nBut ye that holde this tale a folly,\nAs of a fox, or of a cock or hen,\nTake the morality thereof, good men.\nFor Saint Paul saith, That all that written is,\n*To our doctrine it written is y-wis.* <37>       *is surely written for\nTake the fruit, and let the chaff be still.             our instruction*\n\nNow goode God, if that it be thy will,\nAs saith my Lord, <38> so make us all good men;\nAnd bring us all to thy high bliss. Amen.\n\n\nNotes to the Nun's Priest's Tale\n\n\n1.  The Tale of the Nun's Priest is founded on the fifth chapter\nof an old French metrical \"Romance of Renard;\" the same story\nforming one of the fables of Marie, the translator of the Breton\nLays. (See note 2 to the Prologue to the Franklin's Tale.)\nAlthough Dryden was in error when he ascribed the Tale to\nChaucer's own invention, still the materials on which he had to\noperate were out of cornparison more trivial than the result.\n\n2.  Tyrwhitt quotes two statutes of Edward III, in which \"deys\"\nare included among the servants employed in agricultural\npursuits; the name seems to have originally meant a servant who\ngave his labour by the day, but afterwards to have been\nappropriated exclusively to one who superintended or worked\nin a dairy.\n\n3. Orgon: here licentiously used for the plural, \"organs\" or\n\"orgons,\" corresponding to the plural verb \"gon\" in the next\nline.\n\n4. Horloge: French, \"clock.\"\n\n5. Embattell'd: indented on the upper edge like the battlements\nof a castle.\n\n6. My lefe is fare in land: This seems to have been the refrain of\nsome old song, and its precise meaning is uncertain. It\ncorresponds in cadence with the morning salutation of the cock;\nand may be taken as a greeting to the sun, which is beloved of\nChanticleer, and has just come upon the earth -- or in the sense\nof a more local boast, as vaunting the fairness of his favourite\nhen above all others in the country round.\n\nTranscriber's note: Later commentators explain \"fare in land\" as\n\"gone abroad\" and  have identified the song:\n\nMy lefe is fare in lond\nAlas! Why is she so?\nAnd I am so sore bound\nI may not come her to.\nShe hath my heart in hold\nWhere ever she ride or go\nWith true love a thousand-fold.\n\n(Printed in The Athenaeum, 1896, Vol II, p. 566).\n\n7. \"Avoi!\" is the word here rendered \"away!\" It was frequently\nused in the French fabliaux, and the Italians employ the word\n\"via!\" in the same sense.\n\n8. \"Ne do no force of dreams:\" \"Somnia ne cares;\" --  Cato\n\"De Moribus,\" 1 ii, dist. 32\n\n9. Centaury: the herb so called because by its virtue the centaur\nChiron was healed when the poisoned arrow of Hercules had\naccidentally wounded his foot.\n\n10. Fumetere: the herb \"fumitory.\"\n\n11. Catapuce:  spurge; a plant of purgative qualities. To its\nname in the text correspond the Italian \"catapuzza,\" and French\n\"catapuce\" -- words the origin of which is connected with the\neffects of the plant.\n\n12. Gaitre-berries: dog-wood berries.\n\n13. One of the greatest authors that men read: Cicero, who in\nhis book \"De Divinatione\" tells this and the following story,\nthough in contrary order and with many differences.\n\n14. Haled or hylled; from Anglo-Saxon \"helan\" hid, concealed\n\n15.  Kenelm succeeded his father as king of the Saxon realm of\nMercia in 811, at the age of seven years; but he was slain by his\nambitious aunt Quendrada. The place of his burial was\nmiraculously discovered, and he was subsequently elevated to\nthe rank of a saint and martyr. His life is in the English \"Golden\nLegend.\"\n\n16. Mercenrike: the kingdom of Mercia; Anglo-Saxon,\nMyrcnarice. Compare the second member of the compound in\nthe German, \"Frankreich,\" France; \"Oesterreich,\" Austria.\n\n17. Cicero (\"De Republica,\" lib. vi.) wrote the Dream of\nScipio, in which the Younger relates the appearance of the\nElder Africanus, and the counsels and exhortations which the\nshade addressed to the sleeper. Macrobius wrote an elaborate\n\"Commentary on the Dream of Scipio,\" -- a philosophical\ntreatise much studied and relished during the Middle Ages.\n\n18. See the Monk's Tale for this story.\n\n19. Andromache's dream will not be found in Homer; It is\nrelated in the book of the fictitious Dares Phrygius, the most\npopular authority during the Middle Ages for the history of the\nTrojan War.\n\n20. In principio: In the beginning; the first words of Genesis and\nof the Gospel of John.\n\n21. Mulier est hominis confusio:  This line is taken from the\nsame fabulous conference between the Emperor Adrian and the\nphilosopher Secundus, whence Chaucer derived some of the\narguments in praise of poverty employed in the Wife of Bath's\nTale proper. See note 14 to the Wife of Bath's tale.  The\npassage transferred to the text is the commencement of a\ndescription of woman. \"Quid est mulier? hominis confusio,\" &c.\n(\"What is Woman? A union with man\", &c.)\n\n22. Col-fox: a blackish fox, so called because of its likeness to\ncoal, according to Skinner; though more probably the prefix has\na reproachful meaning, and is in some way connected with the\nword \"cold\" as, some forty lines below, it is applied to the\nprejudicial counsel of women, and as frequently it is used to\ndescribe \"sighs\" and other tokens of grief, and \"cares\" or\n\"anxieties.\"\n\n23. Undern:  In this case, the meaning of \"evening\" or\n\"afternoon\" can hardly be applied to the word, which must be\ntaken to signify some early hour of the forenoon. See also note\n4 to the Wife of Bath's tale and note 5 to the Clerk's Tale.\n\n24. Ganilion: a traitor.  See note 9 to the Shipman's Tale and\nnote 28 to the Monk's Tale.\n\n25. Greek Sinon: The inventor of the Trojan Horse. See note 14\nto the Squire's Tale\n\n26. Boult it from the bren: Examine the matter thoroughly; a\nmetaphor taken from the sifting of meal, to divide the fine flour\nfrom the bran.\n\n27. Thomas Bradwardine, Archbishop of Canterbury in the\nthirteenth century, who wrote a book, \"De Causa Dei,\" in\ncontroversy with Pelagius; and also numerous other treatises,\namong them some  on predestination.\n\n28. In a popular mediaveal Latin treatise by one Theobaldus,\nentitled \"Physiologus de Naturis XII. Animalium\" (\"A\ndescription of the nature of twelve animals\"),  sirens or\nmermaids are described as skilled in song, and drawing unwary\nmariners to destruction by the sweetness of their voices.\n\n29. \"Nigellus Wireker,\" says Urry's Glossary, \"a monk and\nprecentor of Canterbury, wrote a Latin poem intituled\n'Speculum Speculorum,' ('The mirror of mirrors') dedicated to\nWilliam Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, and Lord Chancellor;\nwherein, under the fable of an Ass (which he calls 'Burnellus')\nthat desired a longer tail, is represented the folly of such as are\nnot content with their own condition. There is introduced a tale\nof a cock, who having his leg broke by a priest's son (called\nGundulfus) watched an opportunity to be revenged; which at\nlast presented itself on this occasion: A day was appointed for\nGundulfus's being admitted into holy orders at a place remote\nfrom his father's habitation; he therefore orders the servants to\ncall him at first cock-crowing, which the cock overhearing did\nnot crow at all that morning. So Gundulfus overslept himself,\nand was thereby disappointed of his ordination, the office being\nquite finished before he came to the place.\" Wireker's satire was\namong the most celebrated and popular Latin poems of the\nMiddle Ages. The Ass was probably as Tyrwhitt suggests,\ncalled \"Burnel\" or \"Brunel,\" from his brown colour; as, a little\nbelow, a reddish fox is called \"Russel.\"\n\n30. Flattour: flatterer; French, \"flatteur.\"\n\n31. Losengeour: deceiver, cozener; the word had analogues in\nthe French \"losengier,\" and the Spanish \"lisongero.\" It is\nprobably connected with \"leasing,\" falsehood; which has been\nderived from Anglo-Saxon \"hlisan,\" to celebrate -- as if it meant\nthe spreading of a false renown\n\n32. Dan Russel: Master Russet; a name given to the fox, from\nhis reddish colour.\n\n33. Geoffrey de Vinsauf was the author of a well-known\nmediaeval treatise on composition in various poetical styles of\nwhich he gave examples. Chaucer's irony is therefore directed\nagainst some grandiose and affected lines on the death of\nRichard I., intended to illustrate the pathetic style, in which\nFriday is addressed as \"O Veneris lachrymosa dies\" (\"O tearful\nday of Venus\").\n\n34. \"Priamum altaria ad ipsa trementem\n     Traxit, et in multo lapsantem sanguine nati\n     Implicuitque comam laeva, dextraque coruscum\n     Extulit, ac lateri capulo tenus abdidit ensem.\n     Haec finis Priami fatorum.\"\n(\"He dragged Priam trembling to his own altar, slipping on the\nblood of his child; He took his hair in his left hand, and with the\nright drew the flashing sword, and hid it to the hilt [in his body].\nThus an end was made of Priam\")\n-- Virgil, Aeneid. ii. 550.\n\n35. Jack Straw: The leader of a Kentish rising, in the reign of\nRichard II, in 1381, by which the Flemish merchants in London\nwere great sufferers.\n\n36. Beams: trumpets; Anglo-Saxon, \"bema.\"\n\n37. \"All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is\nprofitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for\ninstruction in righteousness: that the man of God may be\nperfect, throughly furnished unto all good works.\" -- 2 Tim. iii.\n16.\n\n\nTHE EPILOGUE <1>\n\n\n\"Sir Nunne's Priest,\" our hoste said anon,\n\"Y-blessed be thy breech, and every stone;\nThis was a merry tale of Chanticleer.\nBut by my truth, if thou wert seculere,*                       *a layman\nThou wouldest be a treadefowl* aright;                             *cock\nFor if thou have courage as thou hast might,\nThee were need of hennes, as I ween,\nYea more than seven times seventeen.\nSee, whate brawnes* hath this gentle priest,            *muscles, sinews\nSo great a neck, and such a large breast\nHe looketh as a sperhawk with his eyen\nHim needeth not his colour for to dyen\nWith Brazil, nor with grain of Portugale.\nBut, Sir, faire fall you for your tale'.\"\nAnd, after that, he with full merry cheer\nSaid to another, as ye shall hear.\n\n\nNotes to the Epilogue to the Nun's Priest's Tale\n\n\n1.  The sixteen lines appended to the Tale of the Nun's Priest\nseem, as Tyrwhitt observes, to commence the prologue to the\nsucceeding Tale -- but the difficulty is to determine which that\nTale should be. In earlier editions, the lines formed the opening\nof the prologue to the Manciple's Tale; but most of the\nmanuscripts acknowledge themselves defective in this part, and\ngive the Nun's Tale after that of the Nun's Priest. In the Harleian\nmanuscript, followed by Mr Wright, the second Nun's Tale, and\nthe Canon's Yeoman's Tale, are placed after the Franklin's tale;\nand the sixteen lines above are not found -- the Manciple's\nprologue coming immediately after the \"Amen\" of the Nun's\nPriest. In two manuscripts, the last line of the sixteen runs thus:\n\"Said unto the Nun as ye shall hear;\" and six lines more\nevidently forged, are given to introduce the Nun's Tale.  All this\nconfusion and doubt only strengthen the certainty, and deepen\nthe regret, that \"The Canterbury Tales\" were left at Chaucer's,\ndeath not merely very imperfect as a whole, but destitute of\nmany finishing touches that would have made them complete so\nfar as the conception had actually been carried into\nperformance.\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND NUN'S TALE <1>\n\n\nThe minister and norice* unto vices,                              *nurse\nWhich that men call in English idleness,\nThe porter at the gate is of delices;*                         *delights\nT'eschew, and by her contrar' her oppress, --\nThat is to say, by lawful business,* --            *occupation, activity\nWell oughte we to *do our all intent*                  *apply ourselves*\nLest that the fiend through idleness us hent.*                    *seize\n\nFor he, that with his thousand cordes sly\nContinually us waiteth to beclap,*                       *entangle, bind\nWhen he may man in idleness espy,\nHe can so lightly catch him in his trap,\nTill that a man be hent* right by the lappe,**              *seize **hem\nHe is not ware the fiend hath him in hand;\nWell ought we work, and idleness withstand.\n\nAnd though men dreaded never for to die,\nYet see men well by reason, doubteless,\nThat idleness is root of sluggardy,\nOf which there cometh never good increase;\nAnd see that sloth them holdeth in a leas,*                   *leash <2>\nOnly to sleep, and for to eat and drink,\nAnd to devouren all that others swink.*                          *labour\n\nAnd, for to put us from such idleness,\nThat cause is of so great confusion,\nI have here done my faithful business,\nAfter the Legend, in translation\nRight of thy glorious life and passion, --\nThou with thy garland wrought of rose and lily,\nThee mean I, maid and martyr, Saint Cecilie.\n\nAnd thou, thou art the flow'r of virgins all,\nOf whom that Bernard list so well to write, <3>\nTo thee at my beginning first I call;\nThou comfort of us wretches, do me indite\nThy maiden's death, that won through her merite\nTh' eternal life, and o'er the fiend victory,\nAs man may after readen in her story.\n\nThou maid and mother, daughter of thy Son,\nThou well of mercy, sinful soules' cure,\nIn whom that God of bounte chose to won;*                         *dwell\nThou humble and high o'er every creature,\nThou nobilest, *so far forth our nature,*  *as far as our nature admits*\nThat no disdain the Maker had of kind,*                          *nature\nHis Son in blood and flesh to clothe and wind.*                    *wrap\n\nWithin the cloister of thy blissful sides\nTook manne's shape th' eternal love and peace,\nThat of *the trine compass* Lord and guide is              *the trinity*\nWhom earth, and sea, and heav'n, *out of release,*          *unceasingly\n*Aye hery;* and thou, Virgin wemmeless,*    *forever praise* *immaculate\nBare of thy body, and dweltest maiden pure,\nThe Creator of every creature.\n\nAssembled is in thee magnificence <4>\nWith mercy, goodness, and with such pity,\nThat thou, that art the sun of excellence,\nNot only helpest them that pray to thee,\nBut oftentime, of thy benignity,\nFull freely, ere that men thine help beseech,\nThou go'st before, and art their lives' leech.*        *healer, saviour.\n\nNow help, thou meek and blissful faire maid,\nMe, flemed* wretch, in this desert of gall;           *banished, outcast\nThink on the woman Cananee that said\nThat whelpes eat some of the crumbes all\nThat from their Lorde's table be y-fall;<5>\nAnd though that I, unworthy son of Eve,<6>\nBe sinful, yet accepte my believe.*                               *faith\n\nAnd, for that faith is dead withoute werkes,\nFor to worke give me wit and space,\nThat I be *quit from thennes that most derk is;*    *freed from the most\nO thou, that art so fair and full of grace,           dark place (Hell)*\nBe thou mine advocate in that high place,\nWhere as withouten end is sung Osanne,\nThou Christe's mother, daughter dear of Anne.\n\nAnd of thy light my soul in prison light,\nThat troubled is by the contagion\nOf my body, and also by the weight\nOf earthly lust and false affection;\nO hav'n of refuge, O salvation\nOf them that be in sorrow and distress,\nNow help, for to my work I will me dress.\n\nYet pray I you, that reade what I write, <6>\nForgive me that I do no diligence\nThis ilke* story subtilly t' indite.                               *same\nFor both have I the wordes and sentence\nOf him that at the sainte's reverence\nThe story wrote, and follow her legend;\nAnd pray you that you will my work amend.\n\nFirst will I you the name of Saint Cecilie\nExpound, as men may in her story see.\nIt is to say in English, Heaven's lily,<7>\nFor pure chasteness of virginity;\nOr, for she whiteness had of honesty,*                           *purity\nAnd green of conscience, and of good fame\nThe sweete savour, Lilie was her name.\n\nOr Cecilie is to say, the way of blind;<7>\nFor she example was by good teaching;\nOr else Cecilie, as I written find,\nIs joined by a manner conjoining\nOf heaven and Lia, <7> and herein figuring\nThe heaven is set for thought of holiness,\nAnd Lia for her lasting business.\n\nCecilie may eke be said in this mannere,\nWanting of blindness, for her greate light\nOf sapience, and for her thewes* clear.                       *qualities\nOr elles, lo, this maiden's name bright\nOf heaven and Leos <7> comes, for which by right\nMen might her well the heaven of people call,\nExample of good and wise workes all;\n\nFor Leos people in English is to say;\nAnd right as men may in the heaven see\nThe sun and moon, and starres every way,\nRight so men ghostly,* in this maiden free,                 *spiritually\nSawen of faith the magnanimity,\nAnd eke the clearness whole of sapience,\nAnd sundry workes bright of excellence.\n\nAnd right so as these philosophers write,\nThat heav'n is swift and round, and eke burning,\nRight so was faire Cecilie the white\nFull swift and busy in every good working,\nAnd round and whole in good persevering, <8>\nAnd burning ever in charity full bright;\nNow have I you declared *what she hight.*         *why she had her name*\n\nThis maiden bright Cecile, as her life saith,\nWas come of Romans, and of noble kind,\nAnd from her cradle foster'd in the faith\nOf Christ, and bare his Gospel in her mind:\nShe never ceased, as I written find,\nOf her prayere, and God to love and dread,\nBeseeching him to keep her maidenhead.\n\nAnd when this maiden should unto a man\nY-wedded be, that was full young of age,\nWhich that y-called was Valerian,\nAnd come was the day of marriage,\nShe, full devout and humble in her corage,*                       *heart\nUnder her robe of gold, that sat full fair,\nHad next her flesh y-clad her in an hair.*        *garment of hair-cloth\n\nAnd while the organs made melody,\nTo God alone thus in her heart sang she;\n\"O Lord, my soul and eke my body gie*                             *guide\nUnwemmed,* lest that I confounded be.\"                      *unblemished\nAnd, for his love that died upon the tree,\nEvery second or third day she fast',\nAye bidding* in her orisons full fast.                          *praying\n\nThe night came, and to bedde must she gon\nWith her husband, as it is the mannere;\nAnd privily she said to him anon;\n\"O sweet and well-beloved spouse dear,\nThere is a counsel,* an'** ye will it hear,                 *secret **if\nWhich that right fain I would unto you say,\nSo that ye swear ye will it not bewray.\"*                        *betray\n\nValerian gan fast unto her swear\nThat for no case nor thing that mighte be,\nHe never should to none bewrayen her;\nAnd then at erst* thus to him saide she;             *for the first time\n\"I have an angel which that loveth me,\nThat with great love, whether I wake or sleep,\nIs ready aye my body for to keep;\n\n\"And if that he may feelen, *out of dread,*              *without doubt*\nThat ye me touch or love in villainy,\nHe right anon will slay you with the deed,\nAnd in your youthe thus ye shoulde die.\nAnd if that ye in cleane love me gie,\"*                           *guide\nHe will you love as me, for your cleanness,\nAnd shew to you his joy and his brightness.\"\n\nValerian, corrected as God wo'ld,\nAnswer'd again, \"If I shall truste thee,\nLet me that angel see, and him behold;\nAnd if that it a very angel be,\nThen will I do as thou hast prayed me;\nAnd if thou love another man, forsooth\nRight with this sword then will I slay you both.\"\n\nCecile answer'd anon right in this wise;\n\"If that you list, the angel shall ye see,\nSo that ye trow* Of Christ, and you baptise;                       *know\nGo forth to Via Appia,\" quoth she,\nThat from this towne stands but miles three,\nAnd to the poore folkes that there dwell\nSay them right thus, as that I shall you tell,\n\n\"Tell them, that I, Cecile, you to them sent\nTo shewe you the good Urban the old,\nFor secret needes,* and for good intent;                       *business\nAnd when that ye Saint Urban have behold,\nTell him the wordes which I to you told\nAnd when that he hath purged you from sin,\nThen shall ye see that angel ere ye twin*                        *depart\n\nValerian is to the place gone;\nAnd, right as he was taught by her learning\nHe found this holy old Urban anon\nAmong the saintes' burials louting;*                *lying concealed <9>\nAnd he anon, withoute tarrying,\nDid his message, and when that he it told,\nUrban for joy his handes gan uphold.\n\nThe teares from his eyen let he fall;\n\"Almighty Lord, O Jesus Christ,\"\nQuoth he, \"Sower of chaste counsel, herd* of us all;           *shepherd\nThe fruit of thilke* seed of chastity                              *that\nThat thou hast sown in Cecile, take to thee\nLo, like a busy bee, withoute guile,\nThee serveth aye thine owen thrall* Cicile,                     *servant\n\n\"For thilke spouse, that she took *but now,*                    *lately*\nFull like a fierce lion, she sendeth here,\nAs meek as e'er was any lamb to owe.\"\nAnd with that word anon there gan appear\nAn old man, clad in white clothes clear,\nThat had a book with letters of gold in hand,\nAnd gan before Valerian to stand.\n\nValerian, as dead, fell down for dread,\nWhen he him saw; and he up hent* him tho,**                *took **there\nAnd on his book right thus he gan to read;\n\"One Lord, one faith, one God withoute mo',\nOne Christendom, one Father of all also,\nAboven all, and over all everywhere.\"\nThese wordes all with gold y-written were.\n\nWhen this was read, then said this olde man,\n\"Believ'st thou this or no? say yea or nay.\"\n\"I believe all this,\" quoth Valerian,\n\"For soother* thing than this, I dare well say,                   *truer\nUnder the Heaven no wight thinke may.\"\nThen vanish'd the old man, he wist not where\nAnd Pope Urban him christened right there.\n\nValerian went home, and found Cecilie\nWithin his chamber with an angel stand;\nThis angel had of roses and of lily\nCorones* two, the which he bare in hand,                         *crowns\nAnd first to Cecile, as I understand,\nHe gave the one, and after gan he take\nThe other to Valerian her make.*                          *mate, husband\n\n\"With body clean, and with unwemmed* thought,      *unspotted, blameless\nKeep aye well these corones two,\" quoth he;\n\"From Paradise to you I have them brought,\nNor ever more shall they rotten be,\nNor lose their sweet savour, truste me,\nNor ever wight shall see them with his eye,\nBut he be chaste, and hate villainy.\n\n\"And thou, Valerian, for thou so soon\nAssented hast to good counsel, also\nSay what thee list,* and thou shalt have thy boon.\"**     *wish **desire\n\"I have a brother,\" quoth Valerian tho,*                           *then\n\"That in this world I love no man so;\nI pray you that my brother may have grace\nTo know the truth, as I do in this place.\"\n\nThe angel said, \"God liketh thy request,\nAnd bothe, with the palm of martyrdom,\nYe shalle come unto this blissful rest.\"\nAnd, with that word, Tiburce his brother came.\nAnd when that he the savour undernome*                        *perceived\nWhich that the roses and the lilies cast,\nWithin his heart he gan to wonder fast;\n\nAnd said; \"I wonder, this time of the year,\nWhence that sweete savour cometh so\nOf rose and lilies, that I smelle here;\nFor though I had them in mine handes two,\nThe savour might in me no deeper go;\nThe sweete smell, that in my heart I find,\nHath changed me all in another kind.\"\n\nValerian said, \"Two crownes here have we,\nSnow-white and rose-red, that shine clear,\nWhich that thine eyen have no might to see;\nAnd, as thou smellest them through my prayere,\nSo shalt thou see them, leve* brother dear,                     *beloved\nIf it so be thou wilt withoute sloth\nBelieve aright, and know the very troth. \"\n\nTiburce answered, \"Say'st thou this to me\nIn soothness, or in dreame hear I this?\"\n\"In dreames,\" quoth Valorian, \"have we be\nUnto this time, brother mine, y-wis\nBut now *at erst* in truth our dwelling is.\"        *for the first time*\nHow know'st thou this,\" quoth Tiburce; \"in what wise?\"\nQuoth Valerian, \"That shall I thee devise*                     *describe\n\n\"The angel of God hath me the truth y-taught,\nWhich thou shalt see, if that thou wilt reny*                  *renounce\nThe idols, and be clean, and elles nought.\"\n[And of the miracle of these crownes tway\nSaint Ambrose in his preface list to say;\nSolemnely this noble doctor dear\nCommendeth it, and saith in this mannere\n\n\"The palm of martyrdom for to receive,\nSaint Cecilie, full filled of God's gift,\nThe world and eke her chamber gan to weive;*                    *forsake\nWitness Tiburce's and Cecilie's shrift,*                     *confession\nTo which God of his bounty woulde shift\nCorones two, of flowers well smelling,\nAnd made his angel them the crownes bring.\n\n\"The maid hath brought these men to bliss above;\nThe world hath wist what it is worth, certain,\nDevotion of chastity to love.\"] <10>\nThen showed him Cecilie all open and plain,\nThat idols all are but a thing in vain,\nFor they be dumb, and thereto* they be deave;**        *therefore **deaf\nAnd charged him his idols for to leave.\n\n\"Whoso that troweth* not this, a beast he is,\"                *believeth\nQuoth this Tiburce, \"if that I shall not lie.\"\nAnd she gan kiss his breast when she heard this,\nAnd was full glad he could the truth espy:\n\"This day I take thee for mine ally.\"*                    *chosen friend\nSaide this blissful faire maiden dear;\nAnd after that she said as ye may hear.\n\n\"Lo, right so as the love of Christ,\" quoth she,\n\"Made me thy brother's wife, right in that wise\nAnon for mine ally here take I thee,\nSince that thou wilt thine idoles despise.\nGo with thy brother now and thee baptise,\nAnd make thee clean, so that thou may'st behold\nThe angel's face, of which thy brother told.\"\n\nTiburce answer'd, and saide, \"Brother dear,\nFirst tell me whither I shall, and to what man?\"\n\"To whom?\" quoth he, \"come forth with goode cheer,\nI will thee lead unto the Pope Urban.\"\n\"To Urban? brother mine Valerian,\"\nQuoth then Tiburce; \"wilt thou me thither lead?\nMe thinketh that it were a wondrous deed.\n\n\"Meanest thou not that Urban,\" quoth he tho,*                      *then\n\"That is so often damned to be dead,\nAnd wons* in halkes** always to and fro,               *dwells **corners\nAnd dare not ones putte forth his head?\nMen should him brennen* in a fire so red,                          *burn\nIf he were found, or if men might him spy:\nAnd us also, to bear him company.\n\n\"And while we seeke that Divinity\nThat is y-hid in heaven privily,\nAlgate* burnt in this world should we be.\"                 *nevertheless\nTo whom Cecilie answer'd boldely;\n\"Men mighte dreade well and skilfully*                       *reasonably\nThis life to lose, mine owen deare brother,\nIf this were living only, and none other.\n\n\"But there is better life in other place,\nThat never shall be loste, dread thee nought;\nWhich Godde's Son us tolde through his grace\nThat Father's Son which alle thinges wrought;\nAnd all that wrought is with a skilful* thought,             *reasonable\nThe Ghost,* that from the Father gan proceed,               *Holy Spirit\nHath souled* them, withouten any drede.**      *endowed them with a soul\n                                                                 **doubt\nBy word and by miracle, high God's Son,\nWhen he was in this world, declared here.\nThat there is other life where men may won.\"*                     *dwell\nTo whom answer'd Tiburce, \"O sister dear,\nSaidest thou not right now in this mannere,\nThere was but one God, Lord in soothfastness,*                    *truth\nAnd now of three how may'st thou bear witness?\"\n\n\"That shall I tell,\" quoth she, \"ere that I go.\nRight as a man hath sapiences* three,                  *mental faculties\nMemory, engine,* and intellect also,                           *wit <11>\nSo in one being of divinity\nThree persones there maye right well be.\"\nThen gan she him full busily to preach\nOf Christe's coming, and his paines teach,\n\nAnd many pointes of his passion;\nHow Godde's Son in this world was withhold*                    *employed\nTo do mankinde plein* remission,                                   *full\nThat was y-bound in sin and cares cold.*                  *wretched <12>\nAll this thing she unto Tiburce told,\nAnd after that Tiburce, in good intent,\nWith Valerian to Pope Urban he went.\n\nThat thanked God, and with glad heart and light\nHe christen'd him, and made him in that place\nPerfect in his learning, and Godde's knight.\nAnd after this Tiburce got such grace,\nThat every day he saw in time and space\nTh' angel of God, and every manner boon*                *request, favour\nThat be God asked, it was sped* full anon.          *granted, successful\n\nIt were full hard by order for to sayn\nHow many wonders Jesus for them wrought,\nBut at the last, to telle short and plain,\nThe sergeants of the town of Rome them sought,\nAnd them before Almach the Prefect brought,\nWhich them apposed,* and knew all their intent,              *questioned\nAnd to th'image of Jupiter them sent.\n\nAnd said, \"Whoso will not do sacrifice,\nSwap* off his head, this is my sentence here.\"                   *strike\nAnon these martyrs, *that I you devise,*            *of whom I tell you*\nOne Maximus, that was an officere\nOf the prefect's, and his corniculere <13>\nThem hent,* and when he forth the saintes lad,**           *seized **led\nHimself he wept for pity that he had.\n\nWhen Maximus had heard the saintes lore,*            *doctrine, teaching\nHe got him of the tormentores* leave,                         *torturers\nAnd led them to his house withoute more;\nAnd with their preaching, ere that it were eve,\nThey gonnen* from the tormentors to reave,**    *began **wrest, root out\nAnd from Maxim', and from his folk each one,\nThe false faith, to trow* in God alone.                         *believe\n\nCecilia came, when it was waxen night,\nWith priestes, that them christen'd *all in fere;*        *in a company*\nAnd afterward, when day was waxen light,\nCecile them said with a full steadfast cheer,*                     *mien\n\"Now, Christe's owen knightes lefe* and dear,                   *beloved\nCast all away the workes of darkness,\nAnd arme you in armour of brightness.\n\nYe have forsooth y-done a great battaile,\nYour course is done, your faith have ye conserved; <14>\nO to the crown of life that may not fail;\nThe rightful Judge, which that ye have served\nShall give it you, as ye have it deserved.\"\nAnd when this thing was said, as I devise,*                       relate\nMen led them forth to do the sacrifice.\n\nBut when they were unto the place brought\nTo telle shortly the conclusion,\nThey would incense nor sacrifice right nought\nBut on their knees they sette them adown,\nWith humble heart and sad* devotion,                          *steadfast\nAnd loste both their heades in the place;\nTheir soules wente to the King of grace.\n\nThis Maximus, that saw this thing betide,\nWith piteous teares told it anon right,\nThat he their soules saw to heaven glide\nWith angels, full of clearness and of light\nAndt with his word converted many a wight.\nFor which Almachius *did him to-beat*                    *see note <15>*\nWith whip of lead, till he his life gan lete.*                     *quit\n\nCecile him took, and buried him anon\nBy Tiburce and Valerian softely,\nWithin their burying-place, under the stone.\nAnd after this Almachius hastily\nBade his ministers fetchen openly\nCecile, so that she might in his presence\nDo sacrifice, and Jupiter incense.*                     *burn incense to\n\nBut they, converted at her wise lore,*                         *teaching\nWepte full sore, and gave full credence\nUnto her word, and cried more and more;\n\"Christ, Godde's Son, withoute difference,\nIs very God, this is all our sentence,*                         *opinion\nThat hath so good a servant him to serve\nThus with one voice we trowe,* though we sterve.**        *believe **die\n\nAlmachius, that heard of this doing,\nBade fetch Cecilie, that he might her see;\nAnd alderfirst,* lo, this was his asking;                  *first of all\n\"What manner woman arte thou?\" quoth he,\n\"I am a gentle woman born,\" quoth she.\n\"I aske thee,\" quoth he,\"though it thee grieve,\nOf thy religion and of thy believe.\"\n\n\"Ye have begun your question foolishly,\"\nQuoth she, \"that wouldest two answers conclude\nIn one demand? ye aske lewedly.\"*                            *ignorantly\nAlmach answer'd to that similitude,\n\"Of whence comes thine answering so rude?\"\n\"Of whence?\" quoth she, when that she was freined,*               *asked\n\"Of conscience, and of good faith unfeigned.\"\n\nAlmachius saide; \"Takest thou no heed\nOf my power?\" and she him answer'd this;\n\"Your might,\" quoth she, \"full little is to dread;\nFor every mortal manne's power is\nBut like a bladder full of wind, y-wis;*                      *certainly\nFor with a needle's point, when it is blow',\nMay all the boast of it be laid full low.\"\n\n\"Full wrongfully begunnest thou,\" quoth he,\n\"And yet in wrong is thy perseverance.\nKnow'st thou not how our mighty princes free\nHave thus commanded and made ordinance,\nThat every Christian wight shall have penance,*              *punishment\nBut if that he his Christendom withsay,*                           *deny\nAnd go all quit, if he will it renay?\"*                        *renounce\n\n\"Your princes erren, as your nobley* doth,\"                    *nobility\nQuoth then Cecile, \"and with a *wood sentence*            *mad judgment*\nYe make us guilty, and it is not sooth:*                           *true\nFor ye that knowe well our innocence,\nForasmuch as we do aye reverence\nTo Christ, and for we bear a Christian name,\nYe put on us a crime and eke a blame.\n\n\"But we that knowe thilke name so\nFor virtuous, we may it not withsay.\"\nAlmach answered, \"Choose one of these two,\nDo sacrifice, or Christendom renay,\nThat thou may'st now escape by that way.\"\nAt which the holy blissful faire maid\nGan for to laugh, and to the judge said;\n\n\"O judge, *confused in thy nicety,*            *confounded in thy folly*\nWouldest thou that I reny innocence?\nTo make me a wicked wight,\" quoth she,\n\"Lo, he dissimuleth* here in audience;                       *dissembles\nHe stareth and woodeth* in his advertence.\"**   *grows furious **thought\nTo whom Almachius said, \"Unsely* wretch,                        *unhappy\nKnowest thou not how far my might may stretch?\n\n\"Have not our mighty princes to me given\nYea bothe power and eke authority\nTo make folk to dien or to liven?\nWhy speakest thou so proudly then to me?\"\n\"I speake not but steadfastly,\" quoth she,\nNot proudly, for I say, as for my side,\nWe hate deadly* thilke vice of pride.                          *mortally\n\n\"And, if thou dreade not a sooth* to hear,                        *truth\nThen will I shew all openly by right,\nThat thou hast made a full great leasing* here.               *falsehood\nThou say'st thy princes have thee given might\nBoth for to slay and for to quick* a wight, --             *give life to\nThou that may'st not but only life bereave;\nThou hast none other power nor no leave.\n\n\"But thou may'st say, thy princes have thee maked\nMinister of death; for if thou speak of mo',\nThou liest; for thy power is full naked.\"\n\"Do away thy boldness,\" said Almachius tho,*                       *then\n\"And sacrifice to our gods, ere thou go.\nI recke not what wrong that thou me proffer,\nFor I can suffer it as a philosopher.\n\n\"But those wronges may I not endure,\nThat thou speak'st of our goddes here,\" quoth he.\nCecile answer'd, \"O nice* creature,                             *foolish\nThou saidest no word, since thou spake to me,\nThat I knew not therewith thy nicety,*                            *folly\nAnd that thou wert in *every manner wise*            *every sort of way*\nA lewed* officer, a vain justice.                              *ignorant\n\n\"There lacketh nothing to thine outward eyen\nThat thou art blind; for thing that we see all\nThat it is stone, that men may well espyen,\nThat ilke* stone a god thou wilt it call.                *very, selfsame\nI rede* thee let thine hand upon it fall,                        *advise\nAnd taste* it well, and stone thou shalt it find;         *examine, test\nSince that thou see'st not with thine eyen blind.\n\n\"It is a shame that the people shall\nSo scorne thee, and laugh at thy folly;\nFor commonly men *wot it well over all,*            *know it everywhere*\nThat mighty God is in his heaven high;\nAnd these images, well may'st thou espy,\nTo thee nor to themselves may not profite,\nFor in effect they be not worth a mite.\"\n\nThese wordes and such others saide she,\nAnd he wax'd wroth, and bade men should her lead\nHome to her house; \"And in her house,\" quoth he,\n\"Burn her right in a bath, with flames red.\"\nAnd as he bade, right so was done the deed;\nFor in a bath they gan her faste shetten,*                *shut, confine\nAnd night and day great fire they under betten.*       *kindled, applied\n\nThe longe night, and eke a day also,\nFor all the fire, and eke the bathe's heat,\nShe sat all cold, and felt of it no woe,\nIt made her not one droppe for to sweat;\nBut in that bath her life she must lete.*                         *leave\nFor he, Almachius, with full wick' intent,\nTo slay her in the bath his sonde* sent.                 *message, order\n\nThree strokes in the neck he smote her tho,*                      *there\nThe tormentor,* but for no manner chance                    *executioner\nHe might not smite her faire neck in two:\nAnd, for there was that time an ordinance\nThat no man should do man such penance,*              *severity, torture\nThe fourthe stroke to smite, soft or sore,\nThis tormentor he durste do no more;\n\nBut half dead, with her necke carven* there                      *gashed\nHe let her lie, and on his way is went.\nThe Christian folk, which that about her were,\nWith sheetes have the blood full fair y-hent;                  *taken up\nThree dayes lived she in this torment,\nAnd never ceased them the faith to teach,\nThat she had foster'd them, she gan to preach.\n\nAnd them she gave her mebles* and her thing,                      *goods\nAnd to the Pope Urban betook* them tho;**              *commended **then\nAnd said, \"I aske this of heaven's king,\nTo have respite three dayes and no mo',\nTo recommend to you, ere that I go,\nThese soules, lo; and that *I might do wirch*         *cause to be made*\nHere of mine house perpetually a church.\"\n\nSaint Urban, with his deacons, privily\nThe body fetch'd, and buried it by night\nAmong his other saintes honestly;\nHer house the church of Saint Cecilie hight;*                 *is called\nSaint Urban hallow'd it, as he well might;\nIn which unto this day, in noble wise,\nMen do to Christ and to his saint service.\n\n\nNotes to the Nun's Priest's Tale\n\n\n1.  This Tale was originally composed by Chaucer as a separate\nwork, and as such it is mentioned in the \"Legend of Good\nWomen\" under the title of \"The Life of Saint Cecile\".  Tyrwhitt\nquotes the line in which the author calls himself an \"unworthy\nson of Eve,\" and that in which he says, \"Yet pray I you, that\nreade what I write\", as internal evidence that the insertion of the\npoem in the Canterbury Tales was the result of an afterthought;\nwhile the whole tenor of the introduction confirms the belief\nthat Chaucer composed it as a writer or translator -- not,\ndramatically, as a speaker. The story is almost literally\ntranslated from the Life of St Cecilia in the \"Legenda Aurea.\"\n\n2. Leas: leash, snare; the same as \"las,\" oftener used by\nChaucer.\n\n3. The nativity and assumption of the Virgin Mary formed the\nthemes of some of St Bernard's most eloquent sermons.\n\n4. Compare with this stanza the fourth stanza of the Prioress's\nTale, the substance of which is the same.\n\n5. \"But he answered and said, it is not meet to take the\nchildren's bread, and cast it to dogs.  And she said, Truth, Lord:\nyet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master's\ntable.\" --  Matthew xv. 26, 27.\n\n6.  See note 1.\n\n7. These are Latin puns: Heaven's lily - \"Coeli lilium\"; The way\nof blind - \"Caeci via\";  Heaven and Lia - from \"Coeli\", heaven,\nand \"Ligo,\" to bind; Heaven and Leos - from Coeli and \"Laos,\"\n(Ionian Greek) or \"Leos\" (Attic Greek), the people. Such\npunning derivations of proper names were very much in favour\nin the Middle Ages. The explanations of St Cecilia's name are\nliterally taken from the prologue to the Latin legend.\n\n8. This passage suggests Horace's description of the wise man,\nwho, among other things, is \"in se ipse totus, teres, atque\nrotundus.\" (\"complete in himself, polished and rounded\") --\nSatires, 2, vii. 80.\n\n9. Louting: lingering, or lying concealed; the Latin original has\n\"Inter sepulchra martyrum latiantem\" (\"hiding among the tombs\nof martyrs\")\n\n10.  The fourteen lines within brackets are supposed to have\nbeen originally an interpolation in the Latin legend, from which\nthey are literally translated. They awkwardly interrupt the flow\nof the narration.\n\n11. Engine: wit; the devising or constructive faculty; Latin,\n\"ingenium.\"\n\n12. Cold: wretched, distressful; see note 22 to the Nun's Priest's\nTale.\n\n13. Corniculere:  The secretary or registrar who was charged\nwith publishing the acts, decrees and orders of the prefect.\n\n14. \"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I\nhave kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown\nof righteousness\" -- 2 Tim. iv. 7, 8.\n\n15. Did him to-beat:  Caused him to be cruelly or fatally beaten;\nthe force of the \"to\" is intensive.\n\n\n\nTHE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE. <1>\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nWHEN ended was the life of Saint Cecile,\nEre we had ridden fully five mile, <2>\nAt Boughton-under-Blee us gan o'ertake\nA man, that clothed was in clothes black,\nAnd underneath he wore a white surplice.\nHis hackenay,* which was all pomely-gris,**           *nag **dapple-gray\nSo sweated, that it wonder was to see;\nIt seem'd as he had pricked* miles three.                       *spurred\nThe horse eke that his yeoman rode upon\nSo sweated, that unnethes* might he gon.**                  *hardly **go\nAbout the peytrel <3> stood the foam full high;\nHe was of foam, as *flecked as a pie.*           *spotted like a magpie*\nA maile twyfold <4> on his crupper lay;\nIt seemed that he carried little array;\nAll light for summer rode this worthy man.\nAnd in my heart to wonder I began\nWhat that he was, till that I understood\nHow that his cloak was sewed to his hood;\nFor which, when I had long advised* me,                      *considered\nI deemed him some Canon for to be.\nHis hat hung at his back down by a lace,*                          *cord\nFor he had ridden more than trot or pace;\nHe hadde pricked like as he were wood.*                             *mad\nA clote-leaf* he had laid  under his hood,                * burdock-leaf\nFor sweat, and for to keep his head from heat.\nBut it was joye for to see him sweat;\nHis forehead dropped as a stillatory*                             *still\nWere full of plantain or of paritory.*                       *wallflower\nAnd when that he was come, he gan to cry,\n\"God save,\" quoth he, \"this jolly company.\nFast have I pricked,\" quoth he, \"for your sake,\nBecause that I would you overtake,\nTo riden in this merry company.\"\nHis Yeoman was eke full of courtesy,\nAnd saide, \"Sirs, now in the morning tide\nOut of your hostelry I saw you ride,\nAnd warned here my lord and sovereign,\nWhich that to ride with you is full fain,\nFor his disport; he loveth dalliance.\"\n\"Friend, for thy warning God give thee good chance,\"*           *fortune\nSaid oure Host; \"certain it woulde seem\nThy lord were wise, and so I may well deem;\nHe is full jocund also, dare I lay;\nCan he aught tell a merry tale or tway,\nWith which he gladden may this company?\"\n\"Who, Sir? my lord? Yea, Sir, withoute lie,\nHe can* of mirth and eke of jollity                               *knows\n*Not but* enough; also, Sir, truste me,                  *not less than*\nAn* ye him knew all so well as do I,                                 *if\nYe would wonder how well and craftily\nHe coulde work, and that in sundry wise.\nHe hath take on him many a great emprise,*            *task, undertaking\nWhich were full hard for any that is here\nTo bring about, but* they of him it lear.**              *unless **learn\nAs homely as he rides amonges you,\nIf ye him knew, it would be for your prow:*                   *advantage\nYe woulde not forego his acquaintance\nFor muche good, I dare lay in balance\nAll that I have in my possession.\nHe is a man of high discretion.\nI warn you well, he is a passing* man.\"       *surpassing, extraordinary\nWell,\" quoth our Host, \"I pray thee tell me than,\nIs he a clerk,* or no? Tell what he is.\"                *scholar, priest\n\"Nay, he is greater than a clerk, y-wis,\"*                    *certainly\nSaide this Yeoman; \"and, in wordes few,\nHost, of his craft somewhat I will you shew,\nI say, my lord can* such a subtlety                               *knows\n(But all his craft ye may not weet* of me,                        *learn\nAnd somewhat help I yet to his working),\nThat all the ground on which we be riding\nTill that we come to Canterbury town,\nHe could all cleane turnen up so down,\nAnd pave it all of silver and of gold.\"\nAnd when this Yeoman had this tale told\nUnto our Host, he said; \"Ben'dicite!\nThis thing is wonder marvellous to me,\nSince that thy lord is of so high prudence,\nBecause of which men should him reverence,\nThat of his worship* recketh he so lite;**              *honour **little\nHis *overest slop* it is not worth a mite                *upper garment*\nAs in effect to him, so may I go;\nIt is all baudy* and to-tore also.                             *slovenly\nWhy is thy lord so sluttish, I thee pray,\nAnd is of power better clothes to bey,*                             *buy\nIf that his deed accordeth with thy speech?\nTelle me that, and that I thee beseech.\"\n\n\"Why?\" quoth this Yeoman, \"whereto ask ye me?\nGod help me so, for he shall never the*                          *thrive\n(But I will not avowe* that I say,                                *admit\nAnd therefore keep it secret, I you pray);\nHe is too wise, in faith, as I believe.\nThing that is overdone, it will not preve*               *stand the test\nAright, as clerkes say; it is a vice;\nWherefore in that I hold him *lewd and nice.\"*    *ignorant and foolish*\nFor when a man hath over great a wit,\nFull oft him happens to misusen it;\nSo doth my lord, and that me grieveth sore.\nGod it amend; I can say now no more.\"\n\n\"Thereof *no force,* good Yeoman, \"quoth our Host;           *no matter*\n\"Since of the conning* of thy lord, thou know'st,             *knowledge\nTell how he doth, I pray thee heartily,\nSince that be is so crafty and so sly.*                            *wise\nWhere dwelle ye, if it to telle be?\"\n\"In the suburbes of a town,\" quoth he,\n\"Lurking in hernes* and in lanes blind,                         *corners\nWhere as these robbers and these thieves by kind*                *nature\nHolde their privy fearful residence,\nAs they that dare not show their presence,\nSo fare we, if I shall say the soothe.\"*                          *truth\n\"Yet,\" quoth our Hoste, \"let me talke to thee;\nWhy art thou so discolour'd of thy face?\"\n\"Peter!\" quoth he, \"God give it harde grace,\nI am so us'd the hote fire to blow,\nThat it hath changed my colour, I trow;\nI am not wont in no mirror to pry,\nBut swinke* sore, and learn to multiply. <5>                     *labour\nWe blunder* ever, and poren** in the fire,                  *toil **peer\nAnd, for all that, we fail of our desire\nFor ever we lack our conclusion\nTo muche folk we do illusion,\nAnd borrow gold, be it a pound or two,\nOr ten or twelve, or many summes mo',\nAnd make them weenen,* at the leaste way,                         *fancy\nThat of a pounde we can make tway.\nYet is it false; and aye we have good hope\nIt for to do, and after it we grope:*                    *search, strive\nBut that science is so far us beforn,\nThat we may not, although we had it sworn,\nIt overtake, it slides away so fast;\nIt will us make beggars at the last.\"\nWhile this Yeoman was thus in his talking,\nThis Canon drew him near, and heard all thing\nWhich this Yeoman spake, for suspicion\nOf menne's speech ever had this Canon:\nFor Cato saith, that he that guilty is, <6>\nDeemeth all things be spoken of him y-wis;*                      *surely\nBecause of that he gan so nigh to draw\nTo his Yeoman, that he heard all his saw;\nAnd thus he said unto his Yeoman tho*                              *then\n\"Hold thou thy peace,and speak no wordes mo':\nFor if thou do, thou shalt *it dear abie.*           *pay dearly for it*\nThou slanderest me here in this company\nAnd eke discoverest that thou shouldest hide.\"\n\"Yea,\" quoth our Host, \"tell on, whatso betide;\nOf all his threatening reck not a mite.\"\n\"In faith,\" quoth he, \"no more do I but lite.\"*                  *little\nAnd when this Canon saw it would not be\nBut his Yeoman would tell his privity,*                         *secrets\nHe fled away for very sorrow and shame.\n\n\"Ah!\" quoth the Yeoman, \"here shall rise a game;*        *some diversion\nAll that I can anon I will you tell,\nSince he is gone; the foule fiend him quell!*                   *destroy\nFor ne'er hereafter will I with him meet,\nFor penny nor for pound, I you behete.*                         *promise\nHe that me broughte first unto that game,\nEre that he die, sorrow have he and shame.\nFor it is earnest* to me, by my faith;                 *a serious matter\nThat feel I well, what so any man saith;\nAnd yet for all my smart, and all my grief,\nFor all my sorrow, labour, and mischief,*                       *trouble\nI coulde never leave it in no wise.\nNow would to God my witte might suffice\nTo tellen all that longeth to that art!\nBut natheless yet will I telle part;\nSince that my lord is gone, I will not spare;\nSuch thing as that I know, I will declare.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Canon's Yeoman's Tale\n\n\n1. \"The introduction,\" says Tyrwhitt, \"of the Canon's\nYeoman to tell a Tale at a time when so many of the original\ncharacters remain to be called upon, appears a little\nextraordinary. It should seem that some sudden resentment\nhad determined Chaucer to interrupt the regular course of his\nwork, in order to insert a satire against the alchemists. That\ntheir pretended science was much cultivated about this time,\nand produced its usual evils, may fairly be inferred from the\nAct, which was passed soon after, 5 H. IV. c. iv., to make it\nfelony 'to multiply gold or silver, or to use the art of\nmultiplication.'\" Tyrwhitt finds in the prologue some colour\nfor the hypothesis that this Tale was intended by Chaucer to\nbegin the return journey from Canterbury; but against this\nmust be set the fact that the Yeoman himself expressly speaks\nof the distance to Canterbury yet to be ridden.\n\n2. Fully five mile:  From some place which the loss of the\nSecond Nun's Prologue does not enable us to identify.\n\n3. Peytrel: the breast-plate of a horse's harness; French,\n\"poitrail.\"\n\n4. A maile twyfold:  a double valise; a wallet hanging across\nthe crupper on either side of the horse.\n\n5. Multiply:  transmute metals, in the attempt to multiply gold\nand silver by alchemy.\n\n6. \"Conscius ipse sibi de se putat omnia dici\" (\"The\nconspirator believes that everything spoken refers to himself\")\n-- \"De Moribus,\" I. i. dist. 17.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nWith this Canon I dwelt have seven year,\nAnd of his science am I ne'er the near*                          *nearer\nAll that I had I have lost thereby,\nAnd, God wot, so have many more than I.\nWhere I was wont to be right fresh and gay\nOf clothing, and of other good array\nNow may I wear an hose upon mine head;\nAnd where my colour was both fresh and red,\nNow is it wan, and of a leaden hue\n(Whoso it useth, sore shall he it rue);\nAnd of my swink* yet bleared is mine eye;                        *labour\nLo what advantage is to multiply!\nThat sliding* science hath me made so bare,         *slippery, deceptive\nThat I have no good,* where that ever I fare;                  *property\nAnd yet I am indebted so thereby\nOf gold, that I have borrow'd truely,\nThat, while I live, I shall it quite* never;                      *repay\nLet every man beware by me for ever.\nWhat manner man that casteth* him thereto,                     *betaketh\nIf he continue, I hold *his thrift y-do;*         *prosperity at an end*\nSo help me God, thereby shall he not win,\nBut empty his purse, and make his wittes thin.\nAnd when he, through his madness and folly,\nHath lost his owen good through jupartie,*                   *hazard <2>\nThen he exciteth other men thereto,\nTo lose their good as he himself hath do'.\nFor unto shrewes* joy it is and ease                        *wicked folk\nTo have their fellows in pain and disease.*                     *trouble\nThus was I ones learned of a clerk;\nOf that no charge;* I will speak of our work.                    *matter\n\nWhen we be there as we shall exercise\nOur elvish* craft, we seeme wonder wise,              *fantastic, wicked\nOur termes be so *clergial and quaint.*             *learned and strange\nI blow the fire till that mine hearte faint.\nWhy should I tellen each proportion\nOf thinges, whiche that we work upon,\nAs on five or six ounces, may well be,\nOf silver, or some other quantity?\nAnd busy me to telle you the names,\nAs orpiment, burnt bones, iron squames,*                     *scales <3>\nThat into powder grounden be full small?\nAnd in an earthen pot how put is all,\nAnd, salt y-put in, and also peppere,\nBefore these powders that I speak of here,\nAnd well y-cover'd with a lamp of glass?\nAnd of much other thing which that there was?\nAnd of the pots and glasses engluting,*                      *sealing up\nThat of the air might passen out no thing?\nAnd of the easy* fire, and smart** also,                   *slow **quick\nWhich that was made? and of the care and woe\nThat we had in our matters subliming,\nAnd in amalgaming, and calcining\nOf quicksilver, called mercury crude?\nFor all our sleightes we can not conclude.\nOur orpiment, and sublim'd mercury,\nOur ground litharge* eke on the porphyry,                    *white lead\nOf each of these of ounces a certain,*               *certain proportion\nNot helpeth us, our labour is in vain.\nNor neither our spirits' ascensioun,\nNor our matters that lie all fix'd adown,\nMay in our working nothing us avail;\nFor lost is all our labour and travail,\nAnd all the cost, a twenty devil way,\nIs lost also, which we upon it lay.\n\nThere is also full many another thing\nThat is unto our craft appertaining,\nThough I by order them not rehearse can,\nBecause that I am a lewed* man;                               *unlearned\nYet will I tell them as they come to mind,\nAlthough I cannot set them in their kind,\nAs sal-armoniac, verdigris, borace;\nAnd sundry vessels made of earth and glass; <4>\nOur urinales, and our descensories,\nPhials, and croslets, and sublimatories,\nCucurbites, and alembikes eke,\nAnd other suche, *dear enough a leek,*          *worth less than a leek*\nIt needeth not for to rehearse them all.\nWaters rubifying, and bulles' gall,\nArsenic, sal-armoniac, and brimstone,\nAnd herbes could I tell eke many a one,\nAs egremoine,* valerian, and lunary,**             *agrimony **moon-wort\nAnd other such, if that me list to tarry;\nOur lampes burning bothe night and day,\nTo bring about our craft if that we may;\nOur furnace eke of calcination,\nAnd of waters albification,\nUnslaked lime, chalk, and *glair of an ey,*                   *egg-white\nPowders diverse, ashes, dung, piss, and clay,\nSeared pokettes,<5> saltpetre, and vitriol;\nAnd divers fires made of wood and coal;\nSal-tartar, alkali, salt preparate,\nAnd combust matters, and coagulate;\nClay made with horse and manne's hair, and oil\nOf tartar, alum, glass, barm, wort, argoil,*           *potter's clay<6>\nRosalgar,* and other matters imbibing;              *flowers of antimony\nAnd eke of our matters encorporing,*                      *incorporating\nAnd of our silver citrination, <7>\nOur cementing, and fermentation,\nOur ingots,* tests, and many thinges mo'.                    *moulds <8>\nI will you tell, as was me taught also,\nThe foure spirits, and the bodies seven,\nBy order, as oft I heard my lord them neven.*                      *name\nThe first spirit Quicksilver called is;\nThe second Orpiment; the third, y-wis,\nSal-Armoniac, and the fourth Brimstone.\nThe bodies sev'n eke, lo them here anon.\nSol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe*                        *name <9>\nMars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe;*                          *call\nSaturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin,\nAnd Venus copper, by my father's kin.\n\nThis cursed craft whoso will exercise,\nHe shall no good have that him may suffice;\nFor all the good he spendeth thereabout,\nHe lose shall, thereof have I no doubt.\nWhoso that list to utter* his folly,                            *display\nLet him come forth and learn to multiply:\nAnd every man that hath aught in his coffer,\nLet him appear, and wax a philosopher;\nAscaunce* that craft is so light to lear.**               *as if **learn\nNay, nay, God wot, all be he monk or frere,\nPriest or canon, or any other wight;\nThough he sit at his book both day and night;\nIn learning of this *elvish nice* lore,             * fantastic, foolish\nAll is in vain; and pardie muche more,\nIs to learn a lew'd* man this subtlety;                        *ignorant\nFie! speak not thereof, for it will not be.\nAnd *conne he letterure,* or conne he none,       *if he knows learning*\nAs in effect, he shall it find all one;\nFor bothe two, by my salvation,\nConcluden in multiplication*                   *transmutation by alchemy\nAlike well, when they have all y-do;\nThis is to say, they faile bothe two.\nYet forgot I to make rehearsale\nOf waters corrosive, and of limaile,*                     *metal filings\nAnd of bodies' mollification,\nAnd also of their induration,\nOiles, ablutions, metal fusible,\nTo tellen all, would passen any Bible\nThat owhere* is; wherefore, as for the best,                   *anywhere\nOf all these names now will I me rest;\nFor, as I trow, I have you told enough\nTo raise a fiend, all look he ne'er so rough.\n\nAh! nay, let be; the philosopher's stone,\nElixir call'd, we seeke fast each one;\nFor had we him, then were we sicker* enow;                       *secure\nBut unto God of heaven I make avow,*                         *confession\nFor all our craft, when we have all y-do,\nAnd all our sleight, he will not come us to.\nHe hath y-made us spende muche good,\nFor sorrow of which almost we waxed wood,*                          *mad\nBut that good hope creeped in our heart,\nSupposing ever, though we sore smart,\nTo be relieved by him afterward.\nSuch supposing and hope is sharp and hard.\nI warn you well it is to seeken ever.\nThat future temps* hath made men dissever,**          *time  **part from\nIn trust thereof, from all that ever they had,\nYet of that art they cannot waxe sad,*                        *repentant\nFor unto them it is a bitter sweet;\nSo seemeth it; for had they but a sheet\nWhich that they mighte wrap them in at night,\nAnd a bratt* to walk in by dayelight,                         *cloak<10>\nThey would them sell, and spend it on this craft;\nThey cannot stint,* until no thing be laft.                       *cease\nAnd evermore, wherever that they gon,\nMen may them knowe by smell of brimstone;\nFor all the world they stinken as a goat;\nTheir savour is so rammish and so hot,\nThat though a man a mile from them be,\nThe savour will infect him, truste me.\nLo, thus by smelling and threadbare array,\nIf that men list, this folk they knowe may.\nAnd if a man will ask them privily,\nWhy they be clothed so unthriftily,*                           *shabbily\nThey right anon will rownen* in his ear,                        *whisper\nAnd sayen, if that they espied were,\nMen would them slay, because of their science:\nLo, thus these folk betrayen innocence!\n\nPass over this; I go my tale unto.\nEre that the pot be on the fire y-do*                            *placed\nOf metals, with a certain quantity\nMy lord them tempers,* and no man but he        *adjusts the proportions\n(Now he is gone, I dare say boldely);\nFor as men say, he can do craftily,\nAlgate* I wot well he hath such a name,                        *although\nAnd yet full oft he runneth into blame;\nAnd know ye how? full oft it happ'neth so,\nThe pot to-breaks, and farewell! all is go'.*                      *gone\nThese metals be of so great violence,\nOur walles may not make them resistence,\n*But if* they were wrought of lime and stone;                   *unless*\nThey pierce so, that through the wall they gon;\nAnd some of them sink down into the ground\n(Thus have we lost by times many a pound),\nAnd some are scatter'd all the floor about;\nSome leap into the roof withoute doubt.\nThough that the fiend not in our sight him show,\nI trowe that he be with us, that shrew;*                 *impious wretch\nIn helle, where that he is lord and sire,\nIs there no more woe, rancour, nor ire.\nWhen that our pot is broke, as I have said,\nEvery man chides, and holds him *evil apaid.*             *dissatisfied*\nSome said it was *long on* the fire-making;            *because of <11>*\nSome saide nay, it was on the blowing\n(Then was I fear'd, for that was mine office);\n\"Straw!\" quoth the third, \"ye be *lewed and **nice,  *ignorant **foolish\nIt was not temper'd* as it ought to be.\"       *mixed in due proportions\n\"Nay,\" quoth the fourthe, \"stint* and hearken me;                  *stop\nBecause our fire was not y-made of beech,\nThat is the cause, and other none, *so the'ch.*        *so may I thrive*\nI cannot tell whereon it was along,\nBut well I wot great strife is us among.\"\n\"What?\" quoth my lord, \"there is no more to do'n,\nOf these perils I will beware eftsoon.*                    *another time\nI am right sicker* that the pot was crazed.**            *sure **cracked\nBe as be may, be ye no thing amazed.*                        *confounded\nAs usage is, let sweep the floor as swithe;*                    *quickly\nPluck up your heartes and be glad and blithe.\"\n\nThe mullok* on a heap y-sweeped was,                            *rubbish\nAnd on the floor y-cast a canevas,\nAnd all this mullok in a sieve y-throw,\nAnd sifted, and y-picked many a throw.*                            *time\n\"Pardie,\" quoth one, \"somewhat of our metal\nYet is there here, though that we have not all.\nAnd though this thing *mishapped hath as now,*           *has gone amiss\nAnother time it may be well enow.                            at present*\nWe muste *put our good in adventure; *               *risk our property*\nA merchant, pardie, may not aye endure,\nTruste me well, in his prosperity:\nSometimes his good is drenched* in the sea,               *drowned, sunk\nAnd sometimes comes it safe unto the land.\"\n\"Peace,\" quoth my lord; \"the next time I will fand*           *endeavour\nTo bring our craft *all in another plight,*  *to a different conclusion*\nAnd but I do, Sirs, let me have the wite;*                        *blame\nThere was default in somewhat, well I wot.\"\nAnother said, the fire was over hot.\nBut be it hot or cold, I dare say this,\nThat we concluden evermore amiss;\nWe fail alway of that which we would have;\nAnd in our madness evermore we rave.\nAnd when we be together every one,\nEvery man seemeth a Solomon.\nBut all thing, which that shineth as the gold,\nIt is not gold, as I have heard it told;\nNor every apple that is fair at eye,\nIt is not good, what so men clap* or cry.                        *assert\nRight so, lo, fareth it amonges us.\nHe that the wisest seemeth, by Jesus,\nIs most fool, when it cometh to the prefe;*                 *proof, test\nAnd he that seemeth truest, is a thief.\nThat shall ye know, ere that I from you wend;\nBy that I of my tale have made an end.\n\nThere was a canon of religioun\nAmonges us, would infect* all a town,                           *deceive\nThough it as great were as was Nineveh,\nRome, Alisandre,* Troy, or other three.                      *Alexandria\nHis sleightes* and his infinite falseness                *cunning tricks\nThere coulde no man writen, as I guess,\nThough that he mighte live a thousand year;\nIn all this world of falseness n'is* his peer.             *there is not\nFor in his termes he will him so wind,\nAnd speak his wordes in so sly a kind,\nWhen he commune shall with any wight,\nThat he will make him doat* anon aright,               *become foolishly\nBut it a fiende be, as himself is.                          fond of him*\nFull many a man hath he beguil'd ere this,\nAnd will, if that he may live any while;\nAnd yet men go and ride many a mile\nHim for to seek, and have his acquaintance,\nNot knowing of his false governance.*                 *deceitful conduct\nAnd if you list to give me audience,\nI will it telle here in your presence.\nBut, worshipful canons religious,\nNe deeme not that I slander your house,\nAlthough that my tale of a canon be.\nOf every order some shrew is, pardie;\nAnd God forbid that all a company\nShould rue a singular* manne's folly.                        *individual\nTo slander you is no thing mine intent;\nBut to correct that is amiss I meant.\nThis tale was not only told for you,\nBut eke for other more; ye wot well how\nThat amonges Christe's apostles twelve\nThere was no traitor but Judas himselve;\nThen why should all the remenant have blame,\nThat guiltless were? By you I say the same.\nSave only this, if ye will hearken me,\nIf any Judas in your convent be,\nRemove him betimes, I you rede,*                                *counsel\nIf shame or loss may causen any dread.\nAnd be no thing displeased, I you pray;\nBut in this case hearken what I say.\n\nIn London was a priest, an annualere, <12>\nThat therein dwelled hadde many a year,\nWhich was so pleasant and so serviceable\nUnto the wife, where as he was at table,\nThat she would suffer him no thing to pay\nFor board nor clothing, went he ne'er so gay;\nAnd spending silver had he right enow;\nThereof no force;* will proceed as now,                       *no matter\nAnd telle forth my tale of the canon,\nThat brought this prieste to confusion.\nThis false canon came upon a day\nUnto the prieste's chamber, where he lay,\nBeseeching him to lend him a certain\nOf gold, and he would quit it him again.\n\"Lend me a mark,\" quoth he, \"but dayes three,\nAnd at my day I will it quite thee.\nAnd if it so be that thou find me false,\nAnother day hang me up by the halse.\"*                             *neck\nThis priest him took a mark, and that as swithe,*               *quickly\nAnd this canon him thanked often sithe,*                          *times\nAnd took his leave, and wente forth his way;\nAnd at the thirde day brought his money;\nAnd to the priest he took his gold again,\nWhereof this priest was wondrous glad and fain.*                *pleased\n\"Certes,\" quoth he, *\"nothing annoyeth me*           *I am not unwiling*\nTo lend a man a noble, or two, or three,\nOr what thing were in my possession,\nWhen he so true is of condition,\nThat in no wise he breake will his day;\nTo such a man I never can say nay.\"\n\"What,\" quoth this canon, \"should I be untrue?\nNay, that were *thing y-fallen all of new!*      *a new thing to happen*\nTruth is a thing that I will ever keep,\nUnto the day in which that I shall creep\nInto my grave; and elles God forbid;\nBelieve this as sicker* as your creed.                             *sure\nGod thank I, and in good time be it said,\nThat there was never man yet *evil apaid*     *displeased, dissatisfied*\nFor gold nor silver that he to me lent,\nNor ever falsehood in mine heart I meant.\nAnd Sir,\" quoth he, \"now of my privity,\nSince ye so goodly have been unto me,\nAnd kithed* to me so great gentleness,                            *shown\nSomewhat, to quite with your kindeness,\nI will you shew, and if you list to lear,*                        *learn\nI will you teache plainly the mannere\nHow I can worken in philosophy.\nTake good heed, ye shall well see *at eye*           *with your own eye*\nThat I will do a mas'try ere I go.\"\n\"Yea,\" quoth the priest; \"yea, Sir, and will ye so?\nMary! thereof I pray you heartily.\"\n\"At your commandement, Sir, truely,\"\nQuoth the canon, \"and elles God forbid.\"\nLo, how this thiefe could his service bede!*                      *offer\n\nFull sooth it is that such proffer'd service\nStinketh, as witnesse *these olde wise;*        *those wise folk of old*\nAnd that full soon I will it verify\nIn this canon, root of all treachery,\nThat evermore delight had and gladness\n(Such fiendly thoughtes *in his heart impress*)   *press into his heart*\nHow Christe's people he may to mischief bring.\nGod keep us from his false dissimuling!\nWhat wiste this priest with whom that he dealt?\nNor of his harm coming he nothing felt.\nO sely* priest, O sely innocent!                                 *simple\nWith covetise anon thou shalt be blent;*              *blinded; beguiled\nO graceless, full blind is thy conceit!\nFor nothing art thou ware of the deceit\nWhich that this fox y-shapen* hath to thee;                   *contrived\nHis wily wrenches* thou not mayest flee.                         *snares\nWherefore, to go to the conclusioun\nThat referreth to thy confusion,\nUnhappy man, anon I will me hie*                                 *hasten\nTo telle thine unwit* and thy folly,                          *stupidity\nAnd eke the falseness of that other wretch,\nAs farforth as that my conning* will stretch.                 *knowledge\nThis canon was my lord, ye woulde ween;*                        *imagine\nSir Host, in faith, and by the heaven's queen,\nIt was another canon, and not he,\nThat can* an hundred fold more subtlety.                          *knows\nHe hath betrayed folkes many a time;\nOf his falseness it doleth* me to rhyme.                        *paineth\nAnd ever, when I speak of his falsehead,\nFor shame of him my cheekes waxe red;\nAlgates* they beginne for to glow,                             *at least\nFor redness have I none, right well I know,\nIn my visage; for fumes diverse\nOf metals, which ye have me heard rehearse,\nConsumed have and wasted my redness.\nNow take heed of this canon's cursedness.*                     *villainy\n\n\"Sir,\" quoth he to the priest, \"let your man gon\nFor quicksilver, that we it had anon;\nAnd let him bringen ounces two or three;\nAnd when he comes, as faste shall ye see\nA wondrous thing, which ye saw ne'er ere this.\"\n\"Sir,\" quoth the priest, \"it shall be done, y-wis.\"*          *certainly\nHe bade his servant fetche him this thing,\nAnd he all ready was at his bidding,\nAnd went him forth, and came anon again\nWith this quicksilver, shortly for to sayn;\nAnd took these ounces three to the canoun;\nAnd he them laide well and fair adown,\nAnd bade the servant coales for to bring,\nThat he anon might go to his working.\nThe coales right anon weren y-fet,*                             *fetched\nAnd this canon y-took a crosselet*                             *crucible\nOut of his bosom, and shew'd to the priest.\n\"This instrument,\" quoth he, \"which that thou seest,\nTake in thine hand, and put thyself therein\nOf this quicksilver an ounce, and here begin,\nIn the name of Christ, to wax a philosopher.\nThere be full few, which that I woulde proffer\nTo shewe them thus much of my science;\nFor here shall ye see by experience\nThat this quicksilver I will mortify,<13>\nRight in your sight anon withoute lie,\nAnd make it as good silver, and as fine,\nAs there is any in your purse, or mine,\nOr elleswhere; and make it malleable,\nAnd elles holde me false and unable\nAmonge folk for ever to appear.\nI have a powder here that cost me dear,\nShall make all good, for it is cause of all\nMy conning,* which that I you shewe shall.                    *knowledge\nVoide* your man, and let him be thereout;                     *send away\nAnd shut the doore, while we be about\nOur privity, that no man us espy,\nWhile that we work in this phiosophy.\"\nAll, as he bade, fulfilled was in deed.\nThis ilke servant right anon out yede,*                            *went\nAnd his master y-shut the door anon,\nAnd to their labour speedily they gon.\n\nThis priest, at this cursed canon's biddIng,\nUpon the fire anon he set this thing,\nAnd blew the fire, and busied him full fast.\nAnd this canon into the croslet cast\nA powder, I know not whereof it was\nY-made, either of chalk, either of glass,\nOr somewhat elles, was not worth a fly,\nTo blinden* with this priest; and bade him hie**   *deceive **make haste\nThe coales for to couchen* all above                        lay in order\nThe croslet; \"for, in token I thee love,\"\nQuoth this canon, \"thine owen handes two\nShall work all thing that here shall be do'.\"\n*\"Grand mercy,\"* quoth the priest, and was full glad,     *great thanks*\nAnd couch'd the coales as the canon bade.\nAnd while he busy was, this fiendly wretch,\nThis false canon (the foule fiend him fetch),\nOut of his bosom took a beechen coal,\nIn which full subtifly was made a hole,\nAnd therein put was of silver limaile*                          *filings\nAn ounce, and stopped was withoute fail\nThe hole with wax, to keep the limaile in.\nAnd understande, that this false gin*                       *contrivance\nWas not made there, but it was made before;\nAnd other thinges I shall tell you more,\nHereafterward, which that he with him brought;\nEre he came there, him to beguile he thought,\nAnd so he did, ere that they *went atwin;*                   *separated*\nTill he had turned him, could he not blin.*                  *cease <14>\nIt doleth* me, when that I of him speak;                        *paineth\nOn his falsehood fain would I me awreak,*                *revenge myself\nIf I wist how, but he is here and there;\nHe is so variant,* he abides nowhere.                        *changeable\n\nBut take heed, Sirs, now for Godde's love.\nHe took his coal, of which I spake above,\nAnd in his hand he bare it privily,\nAnd while the prieste couched busily\nThe coales, as I tolde you ere this,\nThis canon saide, \"Friend, ye do amiss;\nThis is not couched as it ought to be,\nBut soon I shall amenden it,\" quoth he.\n\"Now let me meddle therewith but a while,\nFor of you have I pity, by Saint Gile.\nYe be right hot, I see well how ye sweat;\nHave here a cloth, and wipe away the wet.\"\nAnd while that the prieste wip'd his face,\nThis canon took his coal, -- *with sorry grace,* --        *evil fortune\nAnd layed it above on the midward                           attend him!*\nOf the croslet, and blew well afterward,\nTill that the coals beganne fast to brenn.*                        *burn\n\"Now give us drinke,\" quoth this canon then,\n\"And swithe* all shall be well, I undertake.                    *quickly\nSitte we down, and let us merry make.\"\nAnd whenne that this canon's beechen coal\nWas burnt, all the limaile out of the hole\nInto the crosselet anon fell down;\nAnd so it muste needes, by reasoun,\nSince it above so *even couched* was;                     *exactly laid*\nBut thereof wist the priest no thing, alas!\nHe deemed all the coals alike good,\nFor of the sleight he nothing understood.\n\nAnd when this alchemister saw his time,\n\"Rise up, Sir Priest,\" quoth he, \"and stand by me;\nAnd, for I wot well ingot* have ye none;                          *mould\nGo, walke forth, and bring me a chalk stone;\nFor I will make it of the same shape\nThat is an ingot, if I may have hap.\nBring eke with you a bowl, or else a pan,\nFull of water, and ye shall well see than*                         *then\nHow that our business shall *hap and preve*                    *succeed*\nAnd yet, for ye shall have no misbelieve*                      *mistrust\nNor wrong conceit of me, in your absence,\nI wille not be out of your presence,\nBut go with you, and come with you again.\"\nThe chamber-doore, shortly for to sayn,\nThey opened and shut, and went their way,\nAnd forth with them they carried the key;\nAnd came again without any delay.\nWhy should I tarry all the longe day?\nHe took the chalk, and shap'd it in the wise\nOf an ingot, as I shall you devise;*                           *describe\nI say, he took out of his owen sleeve\nA teine* of silver (evil may he cheve!**)        *little piece **prosper\nWhich that ne was but a just ounce of weight.\nAnd take heed now of his cursed sleight;\nHe shap'd his ingot, in length and in brede*                    *breadth\nOf this teine, withouten any drede,*                              *doubt\nSo slily, that the priest it not espied;\nAnd in his sleeve again he gan it hide;\nAnd from the fire he took up his mattere,\nAnd in th' ingot put it with merry cheer;\nAnd in the water-vessel he it cast,\nWhen that him list, and bade the priest as fast\nLook what there is; \"Put in thine hand and grope;\nThere shalt thou finde silver, as I hope.\"\nWhat, devil of helle! should it elles be?\nShaving of silver, silver is, pardie.\nHe put his hand in, and took up a teine\nOf silver fine; and glad in every vein\nWas this priest, when he saw that it was so.\n\"Godde's blessing, and his mother's also,\nAnd alle hallows,* have ye, Sir Canon!\"                          *saints\nSaide this priest, \"and I their malison*                          *curse\nBut, an'* ye vouchesafe to teache me                                 *if\nThis noble craft and this subtility,\nI will be yours in all that ever I may.\"\nQuoth the canon, \"Yet will I make assay\nThe second time, that ye may take heed,\nAnd be expert of this, and, in your need,\nAnother day assay in mine absence\nThis discipline, and this crafty science.\nLet take another ounce,\" quoth he tho,*                            *then\n\"Of quicksilver, withoute wordes mo',\nAnd do therewith as ye have done ere this\nWith that other, which that now silver is. \"\n\nThe priest him busied, all that e'er he can,\nTo do as this canon, this cursed man,\nCommanded him, and fast he blew the fire\nFor to come to th' effect of his desire.\nAnd this canon right in the meanewhile\nAll ready was this priest eft* to beguile,                        *again\nand, for a countenance,* in his hande bare                    *stratagem\nAn hollow sticke (take keep* and beware);                          *heed\nOf silver limaile put was, as before\nWas in his coal, and stopped with wax well\nFor to keep in his limaile every deal.*                        *particle\nAnd while this priest was in his business,\nThis canon with his sticke gan him dress*                         *apply\nTo him anon, and his powder cast in,\nAs he did erst (the devil out of his skin\nHim turn, I pray to God, for his falsehead,\nFor he was ever false in thought and deed),\nAnd with his stick, above the crosselet,\nThat was ordained* with that false get,**        *provided **contrivance\nHe stirr'd the coales, till relente gan\nThe wax against the fire, as every man,\nBut he a fool be, knows well it must need.\nAnd all that in the sticke was out yede,*                          *went\nAnd in the croslet hastily* it fell.                            *quickly\nNow, goode Sirs, what will ye bet* than well?                    *better\nWhen that this priest was thus beguil'd again,\nSupposing naught but truthe, sooth to sayn,\nHe was so glad, that I can not express\nIn no mannere his mirth and his gladness;\nAnd to the canon he proffer'd eftsoon*                 *forthwith; again\nBody and good. \"Yea,\" quoth the canon soon,\n\"Though poor I be, crafty* thou shalt me find;                  *skilful\nI warn thee well, yet is there more behind.\nIs any copper here within?\" said he.\n\"Yea, Sir,\" the prieste said, \"I trow there be.\"\n\"Elles go buy us some, and that as swithe.*                     *swiftly\nNow, goode Sir, go forth thy way and hie* thee.\"                 *hasten\nHe went his way, and with the copper came,\nAnd this canon it in his handes name,*                        *took <15>\nAnd of that copper weighed out an ounce.\nToo simple is my tongue to pronounce,\nAs minister of my wit, the doubleness\nOf this canon, root of all cursedness.\nHe friendly seem'd to them that knew him not;\nBut he was fiendly, both in work and thought.\nIt wearieth me to tell of his falseness;\nAnd natheless yet will I it express,\nTo that intent men may beware thereby,\nAnd for none other cause truely.\nHe put this copper in the crosselet,\nAnd on the fire as swithe* he hath it set,                      *swiftly\nAnd cast in powder, and made the priest to blow,\nAnd in his working for to stoope low,\nAs he did erst,* and all was but a jape;**               *before **trick\nRight as him list the priest *he made his ape.*           *befooled him*\nAnd afterward in the ingot he it cast,\nAnd in the pan he put it at the last\nOf water, and in he put his own hand;\nAnd in his sleeve, as ye beforehand\nHearde me tell, he had a silver teine;*                     *small piece\nHe silly took it out, this cursed heine*                         *wretch\n(Unweeting* this priest of his false craft),               *unsuspecting\nAnd in the panne's bottom he it laft*                              *left\nAnd in the water rumbleth to and fro,\nAnd wondrous privily took up also\nThe copper teine (not knowing thilke priest),\nAnd hid it, and him hente* by the breast,                          *took\nAnd to him spake, and thus said in his game;\n\"Stoop now adown; by God, ye be to blame;\nHelpe me now, as I did you whilere;*                             *before\nPut in your hand, and looke what is there.\"\n\nThis priest took up this silver teine anon;\nAnd thenne said the canon, \"Let us gon,\nWith these three teines which that we have wrought,\nTo some goldsmith, and *weet if they be aught:*    *find out if they are\nFor, by my faith, I would not for my hood                worth anything*\n*But if* they were silver fine and good,                         *unless\nAnd that as swithe* well proved shall it be.\"                   *quickly\nUnto the goldsmith with these teines three\nThey went anon, and put them in assay*                            *proof\nTo fire and hammer; might no man say nay,\nBut that they weren as they ought to be.\nThis sotted* priest, who gladder was than he?          *stupid, besotted\nWas never bird gladder against the day;\nNor nightingale in the season of May\nWas never none, that better list to sing;\nNor lady lustier in carolling,\nOr for to speak of love and womanhead;\nNor knight in arms to do a hardy deed,\nTo standen in grace of his lady dear,\nThan had this priest this crafte for to lear;\nAnd to the canon thus he spake and said;\n\"For love of God, that for us alle died,\nAnd as I may deserve it unto you,\nWhat shall this receipt coste? tell me now.\"\n\"By our Lady,\" quoth this canon, \"it is dear.\nI warn you well, that, save I and a frere,\nIn Engleland there can no man it make.\"\n*\"No force,\"* quoth he; \"now, Sir, for Godde's sake,          *no matter\nWhat shall I pay? telle me, I you pray.\"\n\"Y-wis,\"* quoth he, \"it is full dear, I say.                  *certainly\nSir, at one word, if that you list it have,\nYe shall pay forty pound, so God me save;\nAnd n'ere* the friendship that ye did ere this          *were it not for\nTo me, ye shoulde paye more, y-wis.\"\nThis priest the sum of forty pound anon\nOf nobles fet,* and took them every one                         *fetched\nTo this canon, for this ilke receipt.\nAll his working was but fraud and deceit.\n\"Sir Priest,\" he said, \"I keep* to have no los**     *care **praise <16>\nOf my craft, for I would it were kept close;\nAnd as ye love me, keep it secre:\nFor if men knewen all my subtlety,\nBy God, they woulde have so great envy\nTo me, because of my philosophy,\nI should be dead, there were no other way.\"\n\"God it forbid,\" quoth the priest, \"what ye say.\nYet had I lever* spenden all the good                            *rather\nWhich that I have (and elles were I wood*),                         *mad\nThan that ye shoulde fall in such mischief.\"\n\"For your good will, Sir, have ye right good prefe,\"*   *results of your\nQuoth the canon; \"and farewell, grand mercy.\"              *experiments*\nHe went his way, and never the priest him sey *                     *saw\nAfter that day; and when that this priest should\nMaken assay, at such time as he would,\nOf this receipt, farewell! it would not be.\nLo, thus bejaped* and beguil'd was he;                          *tricked\nThus made he his introduction\nTo bringe folk to their destruction.\n\nConsider, Sirs, how that in each estate\nBetwixte men and gold there is debate,\nSo farforth that *unnethes is there none.*       *scarcely is there any*\nThis multiplying blint* so many a one,                  *blinds, deceive\nThat in good faith I trowe that it be\nThe cause greatest of such scarcity.\nThese philosophers speak so mistily\nIn this craft, that men cannot come thereby,\nFor any wit that men have how-a-days.\nThey may well chatter, as do these jays,\nAnd in their termes set their *lust and pain,*   *pleasure and exertion*\nBut to their purpose shall they ne'er attain.\nA man may lightly* learn, if he have aught,                      *easily\nTo multiply, and bring his good to naught.\nLo, such a lucre* is in this lusty** game;            *profit **pleasant\nA manne's mirth it will turn all to grame,*                 *sorrow <17>\nAnd empty also great and heavy purses,\nAnd make folke for to purchase curses\nOf them that have thereto their good y-lent.\nOh, fy for shame! they that have been brent,*                     *burnt\nAlas! can they not flee the fire's heat?\nYe that it use, I rede* that ye it lete,**               *advise **leave\nLest ye lose all; for better than never is late;\nNever to thrive, were too long a date.\nThough ye prowl aye, ye shall it never find;\nYe be as bold as is Bayard the blind,\nThat blunders forth, and *peril casteth none;*     *perceives no danger*\nHe is as bold to run against a stone,\nAs for to go beside it in the way:\nSo fare ye that multiply, I say.\nIf that your eyen cannot see aright,\nLook that your minde lacke not his sight.\nFor though you look never so broad, and stare,\nYe shall not win a mite on that chaffare,*            *traffic, commerce\nBut wasten all that ye may *rape and renn.*       *get by hook or crook*\nWithdraw the fire, lest it too faste brenn;*                       *burn\nMeddle no more with that art, I mean;\nFor if ye do, your thrift* is gone full clean.               *prosperity\nAnd right as swithe* I will you telle here                      *quickly\nWhat philosophers say in this mattere.\n\nLo, thus saith Arnold of the newe town, <18>\nAs his Rosary maketh mentioun,\nHe saith right thus, withouten any lie;\n\"There may no man mercury mortify,<13>\nBut* it be with his brother's knowledging.\"                      *except\nLo, how that he, which firste said this thing,\nOf philosophers father was, Hermes;<19>\nHe saith, how that the dragon doubteless\nHe dieth not, but if that he be slain\nWith his brother. And this is for to sayn,\nBy the dragon, Mercury, and none other,\nHe understood, and Brimstone by his brother,\nThat out of Sol and Luna were y-draw.*                   *drawn, derived\n\"And therefore,\" said he, \"take heed to my saw.                  *saying\nLet no man busy him this art to seech,*                  *study, explore\n*But if* that he th'intention and speech                         *unless\nOf philosophers understande can;\nAnd if he do, he is a lewed* man.                     *ignorant, foolish\nFor this science and this conning,\"* quoth he,                *knowledge\n\"Is of the secret of secrets <20> pardie.\"\nAlso there was a disciple of Plato,\nThat on a time said his master to,\nAs his book, Senior, <21> will bear witness,\nAnd this was his demand in soothfastness:\n\"Tell me the name of thilke* privy** stone.\"              *that **secret\nAnd Plato answer'd unto him anon;\n\"Take the stone that Titanos men name.\"\n\"Which is that?\" quoth he. \"Magnesia is the same,\"\nSaide Plato. \"Yea, Sir, and is it thus?\nThis is ignotum per ignotius. <22>\nWhat is Magnesia, good Sir, I pray?\"\n\"It is a water that is made, I say,\nOf th' elementes foure,\" quoth Plato.\n\"Tell me the roote, good Sir,\" quoth he tho,*                      *then\n\"Of that water, if that it be your will.\"\n\"Nay, nay,\" quoth Plato, \"certain that I n'ill.*               *will not\nThe philosophers sworn were every one,\nThat they should not discover it to none,\nNor in no book it write in no mannere;\nFor unto God it is so lefe* and dear,                          *precious\nThat he will not that it discover'd be,\nBut where it liketh to his deity\nMan for to inspire, and eke for to defend'*                     *protect\nWhom that he liketh; lo, this is the end.\"\n\nThen thus conclude I, since that God of heaven\nWill not that these philosophers neven*                            *name\nHow that a man shall come unto this stone,\nI rede* as for the best to let it gon.                          *counsel\nFor whoso maketh God his adversary,\nAs for to work any thing in contrary\nOf his will, certes never shall he thrive,\nThough that he multiply term of his live. <23>\nAnd there a point;* for ended is my tale.                           *end\nGod send ev'ry good man *boot of his bale.*      *remedy for his sorrow*\n\n\nNote to the Canon's Yeoman's Tale\n\n\n1.  The Tale of the Canon's Yeoman, like those of the Wife of\nBath and the Pardoner, is made up of two parts; a long\ngeneral introduction, and the story proper. In the case of the\nWife of Bath, the interruptions of other pilgrims, and the\nautobiographical nature of the discourse, recommend the\nseparation of the prologue from the Tale proper; but in the\nother cases the introductory or merely connecting matter\nceases wholly where the opening of \"The Tale\" has been\nmarked in the text.\n\n2. Jupartie: Jeopardy, hazard.  In Froissart's French, \"a jeu\npartie\" is used to signify a game or contest in which the\nchances were exactly equal for both sides.\n\n3. Squames: Scales; Latin, \"squamae.\"\n\n4. Descensories: vessels for distillation \"per descensum;\" they\nwere placed under the fire, and the spirit to be extracted was\nthrown downwards.\nCroslets: crucibles; French, \"creuset.\".\nCucurbites: retorts; distilling-vessels; so called from their\nlikeness in shape to a gourd -- Latin, \"cucurbita.\"\nAlembikes:stills, limbecs.\n\n5. Seared pokettes: the meaning of this phrase is obscure; but\nif we take the reading \"cered poketts,\" from the Harleian\nmanuscript, we are led to the supposition that it signifies\nreceptacles -- bags or pokes -- prepared with wax for some\nprocess. Latin, \"cera,\" wax.\n\n6. Argoil: potter's clay, used for luting or closing vessels in\nthe laboratories of the alchemists; Latin, \"argilla;\" French,\n\"argile.\"\n\n7. Citrination: turning to a citrine colour, or yellow, by\nchemical action; that was the colour which proved the\nphilosopher's stone.\n\n8. Ingots: not, as in its modern meaning, the masses of metal\nshaped by pouring into moulds; but the moulds themslves into\nwhich the fused metal was poured. Compare Dutch,\n\"ingieten,\" part. \"inghehoten,\" to infuse; German,\n\"eingiessen,\" part. \"eingegossen,\" to pour in.\n\n9. Threpe: name; from Anglo-Saxon, \"threapian.\"\n\n10. Bratt:  coarse cloak; Anglo-Saxon, \"bratt.\" The word is\nstill used in Lincolnshire, and some parts of the north, to\nsignify a coarse kind of apron.\n\n11. Long on: in consequence of; the modern vulgar phrase \"all\nalong of,\" or \"all along on,\" best conveys the force of the\nwords in the text.\n\n12. Annualere: a priest employed in singing \"annuals\" or\nanniversary masses for the dead, without any cure of souls;\nthe office was such as, in the Prologue to the Tales, Chaucer\npraises the Parson for not seeking: Nor \"ran unto London,\nunto Saint Poul's, to seeke him a chantery for souls.\"\n\n13. Mortify:  a chemical phrase, signifying the dissolution of\nquicksilver in acid.\n\n14. Blin: cease; from Anglo-Saxon, \"blinnan,\" to desist.\n\n15. Name: took; from Anglo-Saxon, \"niman,\" to take.\nCompare German, \"nehmen,\" \"nahm.\"\n\n16. Los: praise, reputataion. See note 5 to Chaucer's tale of\nMeliboeus.\n\n17. Grame: sorrow; Anglo-Saxon, \"gram;\" German, \"Gram.\"\n\n18. Arnaldus Villanovanus, or Arnold de Villeneuve, was a\ndistinguished French chemist and physician of the fourteenth\ncentury; his \"Rosarium Philosophorum\" was a favourite text-book\nwith the alchemists of the generations that succeeded.\n\n19. Hermes Trismegistus, counsellor of Osiris, King of\nEgypt, was credited with the invention of writing and\nhieroglyphics, the drawing up of the laws of the Egyptians,\nand the origination of many sciences and arts. The\nAlexandrian school ascribed to him the mystic learning which\nit amplified; and the scholars of the Middle Ages regarded\nwith enthusiasm and reverence the works attributed to him --\nnotably a treatise on the philosopher's stone.\n\n20. Secret of secrets: \"Secreta Secretorum;\" a treatise, very\npopular in the Middle Ages, supposed to contain the sum of\nAristotle's instructions to Alexander. Lydgate translated about\nhalf of the work, when his labour was interrupted by his death\nabout 1460; and from the same treatise had been taken most\nof the seventh book of Gower's \"Confessio Amantis.\"\n\n21. Tyrwhitt says that this book was printed in the \"Theatrum\nChemicum,\" under the title, \"Senioris Zadith fi. Hamuelis\ntabula chymica\" (\"The chemical tables of Senior Zadith, son\nof Hamuel\"); and the story here told of Plato and his disciple\nwas there related of Solomon, but with some variations.\n\n22. Ignotum per ignotius: To explain the unknown by the\nmore unknown.\n\n23. Though he multiply term of his live: Though he pursue the\nalchemist's art all his days.\n\n\n\nTHE MANCIPLE'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nWEET* ye not where there stands a little town,                     *know\nWhich that y-called is Bob-up-and-down, <1>\nUnder the Blee, in Canterbury way?\nThere gan our Hoste for to jape and play,\nAnd saide, \"Sirs, what? Dun is in the mire.<2>\nIs there no man, for prayer nor for hire,\nThat will awaken our fellow behind?\nA thief him might full* rob and bind                             *easily\nSee how he nappeth, see, for cocke's bones,\nAs he would falle from his horse at ones.\nIs that a Cook of London, with mischance? <3>\nDo* him come forth, he knoweth his penance;                        *make\nFor he shall tell a tale, by my fay,*                             *faith\nAlthough it be not worth a bottle hay.\n\nAwake, thou Cook,\" quoth he; \"God give thee sorrow\nWhat aileth thee to sleepe *by the morrow?*            *in the day time*\nHast thou had fleas all night, or art drunk?\nOr had thou with some quean* all night y-swunk,**      *whore **laboured\nSo that thou mayest not hold up thine head?\"\nThe Cook, that was full pale and nothing red,\nSaid to Host, \"So God my soule bless,\nAs there is fall'n on me such heaviness,\nI know not why, that me were lever* sleep,                       *rather\nThan the best gallon wine that is in Cheap.\"\n\"Well,\" quoth the Manciple, \"if it may do ease\nTo thee, Sir Cook, and to no wight displease\nWhich that here rideth in this company,\nAnd that our Host will of his courtesy,\nI will as now excuse thee of thy tale;\nFor in good faith thy visage is full pale:\nThine eyen daze,* soothly as me thinketh,                       *are dim\nAnd well I wot, thy breath full soure stinketh,\nThat sheweth well thou art not well disposed;\nOf me certain thou shalt not be y-glosed.*                    *flattered\nSee how he yawneth, lo, this drunken wight,\nAs though he would us swallow anon right.\nHold close thy mouth, man, by thy father's kin;\nThe devil of helle set his foot therein!\nThy cursed breath infecte will us all:\nFy! stinking swine, fy! foul may thee befall.\nAh! take heed, Sirs, of this lusty man.\nNow, sweete Sir, will ye joust at the fan?<4>\nThereto, me thinketh, ye be well y-shape.\nI trow that ye have drunken wine of ape,<5>\nAnd that is when men playe with a straw.\"\n\nAnd with this speech the Cook waxed all wraw,*                 *wrathful\nAnd on the Manciple he gan nod fast\nFor lack of speech; and down his horse him cast,\nWhere as he lay, till that men him up took.\nThis was a fair chevachie* of a cook:                *cavalry expedition\nAlas! that he had held him by his ladle!\nAnd ere that he again were in the saddle\nThere was great shoving bothe to and fro\nTo lift him up, and muche care and woe,\nSo unwieldy was this silly paled ghost.\nAnd to the Manciple then spake our Host:\n\"Because that drink hath domination\nUpon this man, by my salvation\nI trow he lewedly* will tell his tale.                         *stupidly\nFor were it wine, or old or moisty* ale,                            *new\nThat he hath drunk, he speaketh in his nose,\nAnd sneezeth fast, and eke he hath the pose <6>\nHe also hath to do more than enough\nTo keep him on his capel* out of the slough;                      *horse\nAnd if he fall from off his capel eftsoon,*                       *again\nThen shall we alle have enough to do'n\nIn lifting up his heavy drunken corse.\nTell on thy tale, of him *make I no force.*          *I take no account*\nBut yet, Manciple, in faith thou art too nice*                  *foolish\nThus openly to reprove him of his vice;\nAnother day he will paraventure\nReclaime thee, and bring thee to the lure; <7>\nI mean, he speake will of smalle things,\nAs for to *pinchen at* thy reckonings,                   *pick flaws in*\nThat were not honest, if it came to prefe.\"*                *test, proof\nQuoth the Manciple, \"That were a great mischief;\nSo might he lightly bring me in the snare.\nYet had I lever* paye for the mare                               *rather\nWhich he rides on, than he should with me strive.\nI will not wrathe him, so may I thrive)\nThat that I spake, I said it in my bourde.*                        *jest\nAnd weet ye what? I have here in my gourd\nA draught of wine, yea, of a ripe grape,\nAnd right anon ye shall see a good jape.*                         *trick\nThis Cook shall drink thereof, if that I may;\nOn pain of my life he will not say nay.\"\nAnd certainly, to tellen as it was,\nOf this vessel the cook drank fast (alas!\nWhat needed it? he drank enough beforn),\nAnd when he hadde *pouped in his horn,*                        *belched*\nTo the Manciple he took the gourd again.\nAnd of that drink the Cook was wondrous fain,\nAnd thanked him in such wise as he could.\n\nThen gan our Host to laughe wondrous loud,\nAnd said, \"I see well it is necessary\nWhere that we go good drink with us to carry;\nFor that will turne rancour and disease*             *trouble, annoyance\nT'accord and love, and many a wrong appease.\nO Bacchus, Bacchus, blessed be thy name,\nThat so canst turnen earnest into game!\nWorship and thank be to thy deity.\nOf that mattere ye get no more of me.\nTell on thy tale, Manciple, I thee pray.\"\n\"Well, Sir,\" quoth he, \"now hearken what I say.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Manciple's Tale\n\n\n1. Bob-up-and-down: Mr Wright supposes this to be the village of\nHarbledown, near Canterbury, which  is situated on a hill, and near\nwhich there are many ups and downs in the road. Like Boughton,\nwhere the Canon and his Yeoman overtook the pilgrims, it stood on\nthe skirts of the Kentish forest of Blean or Blee.\n\n2. Dun is in the mire: a proverbial saying. \"Dun\" is a name for an\nass, derived from his colour.\n\n3. The mention of the Cook here, with no hint that he had already\ntold a story, confirms the indication given by the imperfect\ncondition of his Tale, that Chaucer intended to suppress the Tale\naltogether, and make him tell a story in some other place.\n\n4. The quintain; called \"fan\" or \"vane,\" because it turned round like\na weather-cock.\n\n5. Referring to the classification of wine, according to its effects on\na man, given in the old \"Calendrier des Bergiers,\" The man of\ncholeric temperament has \"wine of lion;\" the sanguine, \"wine of\nape;\" the phlegmatic, \"wine of sheep;\" the melancholic, \"wine of\nsow.\" There is a Rabbinical tradition that, when Noah was planting\nvines, Satan slaughtered beside them the four animals named; hence\nthe effect of wine in making those who drink it display in turn the\ncharacteristics of all the four.\n\n6. The pose:  a defluxion or rheum which stops the nose and\nobstructs the voice.\n\n7. Bring thee to his lure: A phrase in hawking -- to recall a hawk to\nthe fist; the meaning here is, that the Cook may one day bring the\nManciple to account, or pay him off, for the rebuke of his\ndrunkenness.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\nWhen Phoebus dwelled here in earth adown,\nAs olde bookes make mentioun,\nHe was the moste lusty* bacheler                               *pleasant\nOf all this world, and eke* the best archer.                       *also\nHe slew Python the serpent, as he lay\nSleeping against the sun upon a day;\nAnd many another noble worthy deed\nHe with his bow wrought, as men maye read.\nPlayen he could on every minstrelsy,\nAnd singe, that it was a melody\nTo hearen of his cleare voice the soun'.\nCertes the king of Thebes, Amphioun,\nThat with his singing walled the city,\nCould never singe half so well as he.\nThereto he was the seemlieste man\nThat is, or was since that the world began;\nWhat needeth it his features to descrive?\nFor in this world is none so fair alive.\nHe was therewith full fill'd of gentleness,\nOf honour, and of perfect worthiness.\n\nThis Phoebus, that was flower of bach'lery,\nAs well in freedom* as in chivalry,                          *generosity\nFor his disport, in sign eke of victory\nOf Python, so as telleth us the story,\nWas wont to bearen in his hand a bow.\nNow had this Phoebus in his house a crow,\nWhich in a cage he foster'd many a day,\nAnd taught it speaken, as men teach a jay.\nWhite was this crow, as is a snow-white swan,\nAnd counterfeit the speech of every man\nHe coulde, when he shoulde tell a tale.\nTherewith in all this world no nightingale\nNe coulde by an hundred thousand deal*                             *part\nSinge so wondrous merrily and well.\nNow had this Phoebus in his house a wife;\nWhich that he loved more than his life.\nAnd night and day did ever his diligence\nHer for to please, and do her reverence:\nSave only, if that I the sooth shall sayn,\nJealous he was, and would have kept her fain.\nFor him were loth y-japed* for to be;                 *tricked, deceived\nAnd so is every wight in such degree;\nBut all for nought, for it availeth nought.\nA good wife, that is clean of work and thought,\nShould not be kept in none await* certain:                  *observation\nAnd truely the labour is in vain\nTo keep a shrewe,* for it will not be.               *ill-disposed woman\nThis hold I for a very nicety,*                             *sheer folly\nTo spille* labour for to keepe wives;                              *lose\n\nThus writen olde clerkes in their lives.\nBut now to purpose, as I first began.\nThis worthy Phoebus did all that he can\nTo please her, weening, through such pleasance,\nAnd for his manhood and his governance,\nThat no man should have put him from her grace;\nBut, God it wot, there may no man embrace\nAs to distrain* a thing, which that nature      *succeed in constraining\nHath naturally set in a creature.\nTake any bird, and put it in a cage,\nAnd do all thine intent, and thy corage,*        *what thy heart prompts\nTo foster it tenderly with meat and drink\nOf alle dainties that thou canst bethink,\nAnd keep it all so cleanly as thou may;\nAlthough the cage of gold be never so gay,\nYet had this bird, by twenty thousand fold,\nLever* in a forest, both wild and cold,                          *rather\nGo eate wormes, and such wretchedness.\nFor ever this bird will do his business\nT'escape out of his cage when that he may:\nHis liberty the bird desireth aye. <2>\nLet take a cat, and foster her with milk\nAnd tender flesh, and make her couch of silk,\nAnd let her see a mouse go by the wall,\nAnon she weiveth* milk, and flesh, and all,                   *forsaketh\nAnd every dainty that is in that house,\nSuch appetite hath she to eat the mouse.\nLo, here hath kind* her domination,                              *nature\nAnd appetite flemeth* discretion.                            *drives out\nA she-wolf hath also a villain's kind\nThe lewedeste wolf that she may find,\nOr least of reputation, will she take\nIn time when *her lust* to have a make.*              *she desires *mate\nAll these examples speak I by* these men              *with reference to\nThat be untrue, and nothing by women.\nFor men have ever a lik'rous appetite\nOn lower things to perform their delight\nThan on their wives, be they never so fair,\nNever so true, nor so debonair.*                           *gentle, mild\nFlesh is so newefangled, *with mischance,*              *ill luck to it*\nThat we can in no thinge have pleasance\nThat *souneth unto* virtue any while.                      *accords with\n\nThis Phoebus, which that thought upon no guile,\nDeceived was for all his jollity;\nFor under him another hadde she,\nA man of little reputation,\nNought worth to Phoebus in comparison.\nThe more harm is; it happens often so,\nOf which there cometh muche harm and woe.\nAnd so befell, when Phoebus was absent,\nHis wife anon hath for her leman* sent.                  *unlawful lover\nHer leman! certes that is a knavish speech.\nForgive it me, and that I you beseech.\nThe wise Plato saith, as ye may read,\nThe word must needs accorde with the deed;\nIf men shall telle properly a thing,\nThe word must cousin be to the working.\nI am a boistous* man, right thus I say.         *rough-spoken, downright\nThere is no difference truely\nBetwixt a wife that is of high degree\n(If of her body dishonest she be),\nAnd any poore wench, other than this\n(If it so be they worke both amiss),\nBut, for* the gentle is in estate above,                        *because\nShe shall be call'd his lady and his love;\nAnd, for that other is a poor woman,\nShe shall be call'd his wench and his leman:\nAnd God it wot, mine owen deare brother,\nMen lay the one as low as lies the other.\nRight so betwixt a *titleless tyrant*                          *usurper*\nAnd an outlaw, or else a thief errant,                        *wandering\nThe same I say, there is no difference\n(To Alexander told was this sentence),\nBut, for the tyrant is of greater might\nBy force of meinie* for to slay downright,                    *followers\nAnd burn both house and home, and make all plain,*                *level\nLo, therefore is he call'd a capitain;\nAnd, for the outlaw hath but small meinie,\nAnd may not do so great an harm as he,\nNor bring a country to so great mischief,\nMen calle him an outlaw or a thief.\nBut, for I am a man not textuel,                       *learned in texts\nI will not tell of texts never a deal;*                            *whit\nI will go to my tale, as I began.\n\nWhen Phoebus' wife had sent for her leman,\nAnon they wroughten all their *lust volage.*    *light or rash pleasure*\nThis white crow, that hung aye in the cage,\nBeheld their work, and said never a word;\nAnd when that home was come Phoebus the lord,\nThis crowe sung, \"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!\"\n\"What? bird,\" quoth Phoebus, \"what song sing'st thou now?\nWert thou not wont so merrily to sing,\nThat to my heart it was a rejoicing\nTo hear thy voice? alas! what song is this?\"\n\"By God,\" quoth he, \"I singe not amiss.\nPhoebus,\" quoth he, \"for all thy worthiness,\nFor all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness,\nFor all thy song, and all thy minstrelsy,\n*For all thy waiting, bleared is thine eye*   *despite all thy watching,\nWith one of little reputation,                        thou art befooled*\nNot worth to thee, as in comparison,\nThe mountance* of a gnat, so may I thrive;                        *value\nFor on thy bed thy wife I saw him swive.\"\nWhat will ye more? the crow anon him told,\nBy sade* tokens, and by wordes bold,                 *grave, trustworthy\nHow that his wife had done her lechery,\nTo his great shame and his great villainy;\nAnd told him oft, he saw it with his eyen.\nThis Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien;*                     *turn aside\nHim thought his woeful hearte burst in two.\nHis bow he bent, and set therein a flo,*                          *arrow\nAnd in his ire he hath his wife slain;\nThis is th' effect, there is no more to sayn.\nFor sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy,\nBoth harp and lute, gitern* and psaltery;                        *guitar\nAnd eke he brake his arrows and his bow;\nAnd after that thus spake he to the crow.\n\n\"Traitor,\" quoth he, \"with tongue of scorpion,\nThou hast me brought to my confusion;\nAlas that I was wrought!* why n'ere** I dead?            *made **was not\nO deare wife, O gem of lustihead,*                         *pleasantness\nThat wert to me so sad,* and eke so true,                     *steadfast\nNow liest thou dead, with face pale of hue,\nFull guilteless, that durst I swear y-wis!*                   *certainly\nO rakel* hand, to do so foul amiss                          *rash, hasty\nO troubled wit, O ire reckeless,\nThat unadvised smit'st the guilteless!\nO wantrust,* full of false suspicion!                      *distrust <3>\nWhere was thy wit and thy discretion?\nO! every man beware of rakelness,*                             *rashness\nNor trow* no thing withoute strong witness.                     *believe\nSmite not too soon, ere that ye weete* why,                        *know\nAnd *be advised* well and sickerly**                  *consider* *surely\nEre ye *do any execution                                *take any action\nUpon your ire* for suspicion.                           upon your anger*\nAlas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire\nFoully fordone, and brought them in the mire.\nAlas! for sorrow I will myself slee*                               *slay\nAnd to the crow, \"O false thief,\" said he,\n\"I will thee quite anon thy false tale.\nThou sung whilom* like any nightingale,                  *once on a time\nNow shalt thou, false thief, thy song foregon,*                    *lose\nAnd eke thy white feathers every one,\nNor ever in all thy life shalt thou speak;\nThus shall men on a traitor be awreak.                         *revenged\nThou and thine offspring ever shall be blake,*                    *black\nNor ever sweete noise shall ye make,\nBut ever cry against* tempest and rain,           *before, in warning of\nIn token that through thee my wife is slain.\"\nAnd to the crow he start,* and that anon,                        *sprang\nAnd pull'd his white feathers every one,\nAnd made him black, and reft him all his song,\nAnd eke his speech, and out at door him flung\nUnto the devil, *which I him betake;*            *to whom I commend him*\nAnd for this cause be all crowes blake.\nLordings, by this ensample, I you pray,\nBeware, and take keep* what that ye say;                           *heed\nNor telle never man in all your life\nHow that another man hath dight his wife;\nHe will you hate mortally certain.\nDan Solomon, as wise clerkes sayn,\nTeacheth a man to keep his tongue well;\nBut, as I said, I am not textuel.\nBut natheless thus taughte me my dame;\n\"My son, think on the crow, in Godde's name.\nMy son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend;\nA wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend:\nMy sone, from a fiend men may them bless.*           *defend by crossing\nMy son, God of his endeless goodness                          themselves\nWalled a tongue with teeth, and lippes eke,\nFor* man should him advise,** what he speak.         *because **consider\nMy son, full often for too muche speech\nHath many a man been spilt,* as clerkes teach;                *destroyed\nBut for a little speech advisedly\nIs no man shent,* to speak generally.                            *ruined\nMy son, thy tongue shouldest thou restrain\nAt alle time, *but when thou dost thy pain*          *except when you do\nTo speak of God in honour and prayere.                 your best effort*\nThe firste virtue, son, if thou wilt lear,*                       *learn\nIs to restrain and keepe well thy tongue;<4>\nThus learne children, when that they be young.\nMy son, of muche speaking evil advis'd,\nWhere lesse speaking had enough suffic'd,\nCometh much harm; thus was me told and taught;\nIn muche speeche sinne wanteth not.\nWost* thou whereof a rakel** tongue serveth?            *knowest **hasty\nRight as a sword forcutteth and forcarveth\nAn arm in two, my deare son, right so\nA tongue cutteth friendship all in two.\nA jangler* is  to God abominable.                           *prating man\nRead Solomon, so wise and honourable;\nRead David in his Psalms, and read Senec'.\nMy son, speak not, but with thine head thou beck,*          *beckon, nod\nDissimule as thou wert deaf, if that thou hear\nA jangler speak of perilous mattere.\nThe Fleming saith, and learn *if that thee lest,*   **if it please thee*\nThat little jangling causeth muche rest.\nMy son, if thou no wicked word hast said,\n*Thee thar not dreade for to be bewray'd;*         *thou hast no need to\nBut he that hath missaid, I dare well sayn,         fear to be betrayed*\nHe may by no way call his word again.\nThing that is said is said, and forth it go'th, <5>\nThough him repent, or be he ne'er so loth;\nHe is his thrall,* to whom that he hath said                      *slave\nA tale, *of which he is now evil apaid.*          *which he now regrets*\nMy son, beware, and be no author new\nOf tidings, whether they be false or true; <6>\nWhereso thou come, amonges high or low,\nKeep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Manciple's Tale\n\n\n1. \"The fable of 'The Crow,' says Tyrwhitt, \"which is the\nsubject of the Manciple's Tale, has been related by so many\nauthors, from Ovid down to Gower, that it is impossible to\nsay whom Chaucer principally followed. His skill in new\ndressing an old story was never, perhaps, more successfully\nexerted.\"\n\n2. See the parallel to this passage in the Squire's Tale, and\nnote 34 to that tale.\n\n3. Wantrust: distrust -- want of trust; so \"wanhope,\" despair -\n- want of hope.\n\n4. This is quoted in the French \"Romance of the Rose,\" from\nCato \"De Moribus,\" 1. i., dist. 3: \"Virtutem primam esse puta\ncompescere linguam.\" (\"The first virtue is to be able to\ncontrol the tongue\")\n\n5. \"Semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.\" (\"A word once\nuttered flies away and cannot be called back\")   -- Horace,\nEpist. 1., 18, 71.\n\n6. This caution is also from Cato \"De Moribus,\" 1. i., dist.\n12: \"Rumoris fuge ne incipias novus auctor haberi.\" (\"Do not\npass on rumours or be the author of new ones\")\n\n\n\nTHE PARSON'S TALE.\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE.\n\n\nBy that the Manciple his tale had ended,\nThe sunne from the south line was descended\nSo lowe, that it was not to my sight\nDegrees nine-and-twenty as in height.\nFour of the clock it was then, as I guess,\nFor eleven foot, a little more or less,\nMy shadow was at thilke time, as there,\nOf such feet as my lengthe parted were\nIn six feet equal of proportion.\nTherewith the moone's exaltation,*                               *rising\n*In meane* Libra, gan alway ascend,                   *in the middle of*\nAs we were ent'ring at a thorpe's* end.                       *village's\nFor which our Host, as he was wont to gie,*                      *govern\nAs in this case, our jolly company,\nSaid in this wise; \"Lordings every one,\nNow lacketh us no more tales than one.\nFulfill'd is my sentence and my decree;\nI trow that we have heard of each degree.*       from each class or rank\nAlmost fulfilled is mine ordinance;                       in the company\nI pray to God so give him right good chance\nThat telleth us this tale lustily.\nSir Priest,\" quoth he, \"art thou a vicary?*                       *vicar\nOr art thou a Parson? say sooth by thy fay.*                      *faith\nBe what thou be, breake thou not our play;\nFor every man, save thou, hath told his tale.\nUnbuckle, and shew us what is in thy mail.*                      *wallet\nFor truely me thinketh by thy cheer\nThou shouldest knit up well a great mattere.\nTell us a fable anon, for cocke's bones.\"\n\nThis Parson him answered all at ones;\n\"Thou gettest fable none y-told for me,\nFor Paul, that writeth unto Timothy,\nReproveth them that *weive soothfastness,*               *forsake truth*\nAnd telle fables, and such wretchedness.\nWhy should I sowe draff* out of my fist,                  *chaff, refuse\nWhen I may sowe wheat, if that me list?\nFor which I say, if that you list to hear\nMorality and virtuous mattere,\nAnd then that ye will give me audience,\nI would full fain at Christe's reverence\nDo you pleasance lawful, as I can.\nBut, truste well, I am a southern man,\nI cannot gest,* rom, ram, ruf, <1> by my letter;         *relate stories\nAnd, God wot, rhyme hold I but little better.\nAnd therefore if you list, I will not glose,*             *mince matters\nI will you tell a little tale in prose,\nTo knit up all this feast, and make an end.\nAnd Jesus for his grace wit me send\nTo shewe you the way, in this voyage,\nOf thilke perfect glorious pilgrimage, <2>\nThat hight Jerusalem celestial.\nAnd if ye vouchesafe, anon I shall\nBegin upon my tale, for which I pray\nTell your advice,* I can no better say.                         *opinion\nBut natheless this meditation\nI put it aye under correction\nOf clerkes,* for I am not textuel;                             *scholars\nI take but the sentence,* trust me well.                 *meaning, sense\nTherefore I make a protestation,\nThat I will stande to correction.\"\nUpon this word we have assented soon;\nFor, as us seemed, it was *for to do'n,*           *a thing worth doing*\nTo enden in some virtuous sentence,*                          *discourse\nAnd for to give him space and audience;\nAnd bade our Host he shoulde to him say\nThat alle we to tell his tale him pray.\nOur Hoste had. the wordes for us all:\n\"Sir Priest,\" quoth he, \"now faire you befall;\nSay what you list, and we shall gladly hear.\"\nAnd with that word he said in this mannere;\n\"Telle,\" quoth he, \"your meditatioun,\nBut hasten you, the sunne will adown.\nBe fructuous,* and that in little space;           *fruitful; profitable\nAnd to do well God sende you his grace.\"\n\n\nNotes to the Prologue to the Parson's Tale\n\n\n1. Rom, ram, ruf: a contemptuous reference to the alliterative\npoetry which was at that time very popular, in preference even,\nit would seem, to rhyme, in the northern parts of the country,\nwhere the language was much more barbarous and unpolished\nthan in the south.\n\n2. Perfect glorious pilgrimage:  the word is used here to signify\nthe shrine, or destination, to which pilgrimage is made.\n\n\nTHE TALE. <1>\n\n\n[The Parson begins his \"little treatise\" -(which, if given at\nlength, would extend to about thirty of these pages, and which\ncannot by any stretch of courtesy or fancy be said to merit the\ntitle of a \"Tale\") in these words: --]\n\nOur sweet Lord God of Heaven, that no man will perish, but\nwill that we come all to the knowledge of him, and to the\nblissful life that is perdurable [everlasting], admonishes us by\nthe prophet Jeremiah, that saith in this wise: \"Stand upon the\nways, and see and ask of old paths, that is to say, of old\nsentences, which is the good way, and walk in that way, and ye\nshall find refreshing for your souls,\" <2> &c.  Many be the\nspiritual ways that lead folk to our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the\nreign of glory; of which ways there is a full noble way, and full\nconvenable, which may not fail to man nor to woman, that\nthrough sin hath misgone from the right way of Jerusalem\ncelestial; and this way is called penitence. Of which men should\ngladly hearken and inquire with all their hearts, to wit what is\npenitence, and whence it is called penitence, and in what\nmanner, and in how many manners, be the actions or workings\nof penitence, and how many species there be of penitences, and\nwhat things appertain and behove to penitence, and what things\ndisturb penitence.\n\n[Penitence is described, on the authority of Saints Ambrose,\nIsidore, and Gregory, as the bewailing of sin that has been\nwrought, with the purpose never again to do that thing, or any\nother thing which a man should bewail; for weeping and not\nceasing to do the sin will not avail -- though it is to be hoped\nthat after every time that a man falls, be it ever so often, he may\nfind grace to arise through penitence. And repentant folk that\nleave their sin ere sin leave them, are accounted by Holy Church\nsure of their salvation, even though the repentance be at the last\nhour. There are three actions of penitence; that a man be\nbaptized after he has sinned; that he do no deadly sin after\nreceiving baptism; and that he fall into no venial sins from day\nto day. \"Thereof saith St Augustine, that penitence of good and\nhumble folk is the penitence of every day.\" The species of\npenitence are three: solemn, when a man is openly expelled\nfrom Holy Church in Lent, or is compelled by Holy Church to\ndo open penance for an open sin openly talked of in the\ncountry; common penance, enjoined by priests in certain cases,\nas to go on pilgrimage naked or barefoot; and privy penance,\nwhich men do daily for private sins, of which they confess\nprivately and receive private penance. To very perfect penitence\nare behoveful and necessary three things: contrition of heart,\nconfession of mouth, and satisfaction; which are fruitful\npenitence against delight in thinking, reckless speech, and\nwicked sinful works.\n\nPenitence may be likened to a tree, having its root in contrition,\nbiding itself in the heart as a tree-root does in the earth; out of\nthis root springs a stalk, that bears branches and leaves of\nconfession, and fruit of satisfaction. Of this root also springs a\nseed of grace, which is mother of all security, and this seed is\neager and hot; and the grace of this seed springs of God,\nthrough remembrance on the day of judgment and on the pains\nof hell. The heat of this seed is the love of God, and the desire\nof everlasting joy; and this heat draws the heart of man to God,\nand makes him hate his sin. Penance is the tree of life to them\nthat receive it. In penance or contrition man shall understand\nfour things: what is contrition; what are the causes that move a\nman to contrition; how he should be contrite; and what\ncontrition availeth to the soul. Contrition is the heavy and\ngrievous sorrow that a man receiveth in his heart for his sins,\nwith earnest purpose to confess and do penance, and never\nmore to sin. Six causes ought to move a man to contrition: 1.\nHe should remember him of his sins; 2. He should reflect that\nsin putteth a man in great thraldom, and all the greater the\nhigher is the estate from which he falls; 3. He should dread the\nday of doom and the horrible pains of hell; 4. The sorrowful\nremembrance of the good deeds that  man hath omitted to do\nhere on earth, and also the good that he hath lost, ought to\nmake him have contrition; 5. So also ought the remembrance of\nthe passion that our Lord Jesus Christ suffered for our sins; 6.\nAnd so ought the hope of three things, that is to say,\nforgiveness of sin, the gift of grace to do well, and the glory of\nheaven with which God shall reward man for his good deeds. --\nAll these points the Parson illustrates and enforces at length;\nwaxing especially eloquent under the third head, and plainly\nsetting forth the sternly realistic notions regarding future\npunishments that were entertained in the time of Chaucer:-] <3>\n\nCertes, all the sorrow that a man might make from the\nbeginning of the world, is but a little thing, at <DW44> of [in\ncomparison with] the sorrow of hell. The cause why that Job\ncalleth hell the land of darkness; <4> understand, that he calleth\nit land or earth, for it is stable and never shall fail, and dark, for\nhe that is in hell hath default [is devoid] of light natural; for\ncertes the dark light, that shall come out of the fire that ever\nshall burn, shall turn them all to pain that be in hell, for it\nsheweth them the horrible devils that them torment. Covered\nwith the darkness of death; that is to say, that he that is in hell\nshall have default of the sight of God; for certes the sight of\nGod is the life perdurable [everlasting]. The darkness of death,\nbe the sins that the wretched man hath done, which that disturb\n[prevent] him to see the face of God, right as a dark cloud doth\nbetween us and the sun. Land of misease, because there be three\nmanner of defaults against three things that folk of this world\nhave in this present life; that is to say, honours, delights, and\nriches. Against honour have they in hell shame and confusion:\nfor well ye wot, that men call honour the reverence that man\ndoth to man; but in hell is no honour nor reverence; for certes\nno more reverence shall be done there to a king than to a knave\n[servant]. For which God saith by the prophet Jeremiah; \"The\nfolk that me despise shall be in despite.\" Honour is also called\ngreat lordship. There shall no wight serve other, but of harm\nand torment. Honour is also called great dignity and highness;\nbut in hell shall they be all fortrodden [trampled under foot] of\ndevils. As God saith, \"The horrible devils shall go and come\nupon the heads of damned folk;\" and this is, forasmuch as the\nhigher that they were in this present life, the more shall they be\nabated [abased] and defouled in hell. Against the riches of this\nworld shall they have misease [trouble, torment] of poverty, and\nthis poverty shall be in four things: in default [want] of treasure;\nof which David saith, \"The rich folk that embraced and oned\n[united] all their heart to treasure of this world, shall sleep in the\nsleeping of death, and nothing shall they find in their hands of\nall their treasure.\" And moreover, the misease of hell shall be in\ndefault of meat and drink. For God saith thus by Moses, \"They\nshall be wasted with hunger, and the birds of hell shall devour\nthem with bitter death, and the gall of the dragon shall be their\ndrink, and the venom of the dragon their morsels.\" And\nfurthermore, their misease shall be in default of clothing, for\nthey shall be naked in body, as of clothing, save the fire in\nwhich they burn, and other filths; and naked shall they be in\nsoul, of all manner virtues, which that is the clothing of the soul.\nWhere be then the gay robes, and the soft sheets, and the fine\nshirts? Lo, what saith of them the prophet Isaiah, that under\nthem shall be strewed moths, and their covertures shall be of\nworms of hell. And furthermore, their misease shall be in default\nof friends, for he is not poor that hath good friends: but there is\nno friend; for neither God nor any good creature shall be friend\nto them, and evereach of them shall hate other with deadly hate.\nThe Sons and the daughters shall rebel against father and\nmother, and kindred against kindred, and chide and despise each\nother, both day and night, as God saith by the prophet Micah.\nAnd the loving children, that whom loved so fleshly each other,\nwould each of them eat the other if they might. For how should\nthey love together in the pains of hell, when they hated each\nother in the prosperity of this life? For trust well, their fleshly\nlove was deadly hate; as saith the prophet David; \"Whoso\nloveth wickedness, he hateth his own soul:\" and whoso hateth\nhis own soul, certes he may love none other wight in no\nmanner: and therefore in hell is no solace nor no friendship, but\never the more kindreds that be in hell, the more cursing, the\nmore chiding, and the more deadly hate there is among them.\nAnd furtherover, they shall have default of all manner delights;\nfor certes delights be after the appetites of the five wits\n[senses]; as sight, hearing, smelling, savouring [tasting], and\ntouching. But in hell their sight shall be full of darkness and of\nsmoke, and their eyes full of tears; and their hearing full of\nwaimenting [lamenting] and grinting [gnashing] of teeth, as\nsaith Jesus Christ; their nostrils shall be full of stinking; and, as\nsaith Isaiah the prophet, their savouring  [tasting] shall be full of\nbitter gall; and touching of all their body shall be covered with\nfire that never shall quench, and with worms that never shall\ndie, as God saith by the mouth of Isaiah. And forasmuch as they\nshall not ween that they may die for pain, and by death flee from\npain, that may they understand in the word of Job, that saith,\n\"There is the shadow of death.\" Certes a shadow hath the\nlikeness of the thing of which it is shadowed, but the shadow is\nnot the same thing of which it is shadowed: right so fareth the\npain of hell; it is like death, for the horrible anguish; and why?\nfor it paineth them ever as though they should die anon; but\ncertes they shall not die. For, as saith Saint Gregory, \"To\nwretched caitiffs shall be given death without death, and end\nwithout end, and default without failing; for their death shall\nalways live, and their end shall evermore begin, and their default\nshall never fail.\" And therefore saith Saint John the Evangelist,\n\"They shall follow death, and they shall not find him, and they\nshall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.\" And eke Job\nsaith, that in hell is no order of rule. And albeit that God hath\ncreated all things in right order, and nothing without order, but\nall things be ordered and numbered, yet nevertheless they that\nbe damned be not in order, nor hold no order. For the earth\nshall bear them no fruit (for, as the prophet David saith, \"God\nshall destroy the fruit of the earth, as for them\"); nor water shall\ngive them no moisture, nor the air no refreshing, nor the fire no\nlight. For as saith Saint Basil, \"The burning of  the fire of this\nworld shall God give in hell to them that be damned, but the\nlight and the clearness shall be given in heaven to his children;\nright as the good man giveth flesh to his children, and bones to\nhis hounds.\" And for they shall have no hope to escape, saith\nJob at last, that there shall horror and grisly dread dwell without\nend. Horror is always dread of harm that is to come, and this\ndread shall ever dwell in the hearts of them that be damned.\nAnd therefore have they lost all their hope for seven causes.\nFirst, for God that is their judge shall be without mercy to them;\nnor they may not please him; nor none of his hallows [saints];\nnor they may give nothing for their ransom; nor they have no\nvoice to speak to him; nor they may not flee from pain; nor they\nhave no goodness in them that they may shew to deliver them\nfrom pain.\n\n[Under the fourth head, of good works, the Parson says: --]\n\nThe courteous Lord Jesus Christ will that no good work be lost,\nfor in somewhat it shall avail. But forasmuch as the good works\nthat men do while they be in good life be all amortised [killed,\ndeadened] by sin following, and also since all the good works\nthat men do while they be in deadly sin be utterly dead, as for to\nhave the life perdurable [everlasting], well may that man that no\ngood works doth, sing that new French song, J'ai tout perdu --\nmon temps et mon labour <5>. For certes, sin bereaveth a man\nboth the goodness of nature, and eke the goodness of grace.\nFor soothly the grace of the Holy Ghost fareth like fire, that\nmay not be idle; for fire faileth anon as it forleteth [leaveth] its\nworking, and right so grace faileth anon as it forleteth its\nworking. Then loseth the sinful man the goodness of glory, that\nonly is to good men that labour and work. Well may he be sorry\nthen, that oweth all his life to God, as long as he hath lived, and\nalso as long as he shall live, that no goodness hath to pay with\nhis debt to God, to whom he oweth all his life: for trust well he\nshall give account, as saith Saint Bernard, of all the goods that\nhave been given him in his present life, and how he hath them\ndispended, insomuch that there shall not perish an hair of his\nhead, nor a moment of an hour shall not perish of his time, that\nhe shall not give thereof a reckoning.\n\n[Having treated of the causes, the Parson comes to the manner,\nof contrition -- which should be universal and total, not merely\nof outward deeds of sin, but also of wicked delights and\nthoughts and words; \"for certes Almighty God is all good, and\ntherefore either he forgiveth all, or else right naught.\" Further,\ncontrition should be \"wonder sorrowful and anguishous,\" and\nalso continual, with steadfast purpose of confession and\namendment. Lastly, of what contrition availeth, the Parson says,\nthat sometimes it delivereth man from sin; that without it neither\nconfession nor satisfaction is of any worth; that it \"destroyeth\nthe prison of hell, and maketh weak and feeble all the strengths\nof the devils, and restoreth the gifts of the Holy Ghost and of all\ngood virtues, and cleanseth the soul of sin, and delivereth it\nfrom the pain of hell, and from the company of the devil, and\nfrom the servage [slavery] of sin, and restoreth it to all goods\nspiritual, and to the company and communion of Holy Church.\"\nHe who should set his intent to these things, would no longer be\ninclined to sin, but would give his heart and body to the service\nof Jesus Christ, and thereof do him homage. \"For, certes, our\nLord Jesus Christ hath spared us so benignly in our follies, that\nif he had not pity on man's soul, a sorry song might we all sing.\"\n\nThe Second Part of the Parson's Tale or Treatise opens with an\nexplanation of what is confession -- which is termed \"the\nsecond part of penitence, that is, sign of contrition;\" whether it\nought needs be done or not; and what things be convenable to\ntrue confession. Confession is true shewing of sins to the priest,\nwithout excusing, hiding, or forwrapping [disguising] of\nanything, and without vaunting of good works. \"Also, it is\nnecessary to understand whence that sins spring, and how they\nincrease, and which they be.\" From Adam we took original sin;\n\"from him fleshly descended be we all, and engendered of vile\nand corrupt matter;\" and the penalty of Adam's transgression\ndwelleth with us as to temptation, which penalty is called\nconcupiscence. \"This concupiscence, when it is wrongfully\ndisposed or ordained in a man, it maketh him covet, by covetise\nof flesh, fleshly sin by sight of his eyes, as to earthly things, and\nalso covetise of highness by pride of heart.\" The Parson\nproceeds to shew how man is tempted in his flesh to sin; how,\nafter his natural concupiscence, comes suggestion of the devil,\nthat is to say the devil's bellows, with which he bloweth in man\nthe fire of con cupiscence; and how man then bethinketh him\nwhether he will do or no the thing to which he is tempted. If he\nflame up into pleasure at the thought, and give way, then is he\nall dead in soul; \"and thus is sin accomplished, by temptation, by\ndelight, and by consenting; and then is the sin actual.\" Sin is\neither venial, or deadly; deadly, when a man loves any creature\nmore than Jesus Christ our Creator, venial, if he love Jesus\nChrist less than he ought. Venial sins diminish man's love to\nGod more and more, and may in this wise skip into deadly sin;\nfor many small make a great. \"And hearken this example: A\ngreat wave of the sea cometh sometimes with so great a\nviolence, that it drencheth [causes to sink] the ship: and the\nsame harm do sometimes the small drops, of water that enter\nthrough a little crevice in the thurrok [hold, bilge], and in the\nbottom of the ship, if men be so negligent that they discharge\nthem not betimes. And therefore, although there be difference\nbetwixt these two causes of drenching, algates [in any case] the\nship is dreint [sunk]. Right so fareth it sometimes of deadly sin,\"\nand of venial sins when they multiply in a man so greatly as to\nmake him love worldly things more than God. The Parson then\nenumerates specially a number of sins which many a man\nperadventure deems no sins, and confesses them not, and yet\nnevertheless they are truly sins: -- ]\n\nThis is to say, at every time that a man eateth and drinketh more\nthan sufficeth to the sustenance of his body, in certain he doth\nsin; eke when he speaketh more than it needeth, he doth sin; eke\nwhen he heareth not benignly the complaint of the poor; eke\nwhen he is in health of body, and will not fast when other folk\nfast, without cause reasonable; eke when he sleepeth more than\nneedeth, or when he cometh by that occasion too late to church,\nor to other works of charity; eke when he useth his wife without\nsovereign desire of engendrure, to the honour of God, or for the\nintent to yield his wife his debt of his body; eke when he will not\nvisit the sick, or the prisoner, if he may; eke if he love wife, or\nchild, or other worldly thing, more than reason requireth; eke if\nhe flatter or blandish more than he ought for any necessity; eke\nif he minish or withdraw the alms of the poor; eke if he apparail\n[prepare] his meat more deliciously than need is, or eat it too\nhastily by likerousness [gluttony];  eke if he talk vanities in the\nchurch, or at God's service, or that he be a talker of idle words\nof folly or villainy, for he shall yield account of them at the day\nof doom; eke when he behighteth [promiseth] or assureth to do\nthings that he may not perform; eke when that by lightness of\nfolly he missayeth or scorneth his neighbour; eke when he hath\nany wicked suspicion of thing, that he wot of it no\nsoothfastness: these things, and more without number, be sins,\nas saith Saint Augustine.\n\n[No earthly man may eschew all venial sins; yet may he refrain\nhim, by the burning love that he hath to our Lord Jesus Christ,\nand by prayer and confession, and other good works, so that it\nshall but little grieve. \"Furthermore, men may also refrain and\nput away venial sin, by receiving worthily the precious body of\nJesus Christ; by receiving eke of holy water; by alms-deed; by\ngeneral confession of Confiteor at mass, and at prime, and at\ncompline [evening service]; and by blessing of bishops and\npriests, and by other good works.\" The Parson then proceeds to\nweightier matters:-- ]\n\nNow it is behovely [profitable, necessary] to tell which be\ndeadly sins, that is to say, chieftains of sins; forasmuch as all\nthey run in one leash, but in diverse manners. Now be they\ncalled chieftains, forasmuch as they be chief, and of them spring\nall other sins. The root of these sins, then, is pride, the general\nroot of all harms. For of this root spring certain branches: as ire,\nenvy, accidie <6> or sloth, avarice or covetousness (to common\nunderstanding), gluttony, and lechery: and each of these sins\nhath his branches and his twigs, as shall be declared in their\nchapters following. And though so be, that no man can tell\nutterly the number of the twigs, and of the harms that come of\npride, yet will I shew a part of them, as ye shall understand.\nThere is inobedience, vaunting, hypocrisy, despite, arrogance,\nimpudence, swelling of hearte, insolence, elation, impatience,\nstrife, contumacy, presumption, irreverence, pertinacity, vain-\nglory and many another twig that I cannot tell nor declare. . . .]\n\nAnd yet [moreover] there is a privy species of pride that waiteth\nfirst to be saluted ere he will salute, all [although] be he less\nworthy than that other is; and eke he waiteth [expecteth] or\ndesireth to sit or to go above him in the way, or kiss the pax,\n<7> or be incensed, or go to offering before his neighbour, and\nsuch semblable [like] things, against his duty peradventure, but\nthat he hath his heart and his intent in such a proud desire to be\nmagnified and honoured before the people. Now be there two\nmanner of prides; the one of them is within the heart of a man,\nand the other is without. Of which soothly these foresaid things,\nand more than I have said, appertain to pride that is within the\nheart of a man and there be other species of pride that be\nwithout: but nevertheless, the one of these species of pride is\nsign of the other, right as the gay levesell [bush] at the tavern is\nsign of the wine that is in the cellar. And this is in many things:\nas in speech and countenance, and outrageous array of clothing;\nfor certes, if there had been no sin in clothing, Christ would not\nso soon have noted and spoken of the clothing of that rich man\nin the gospel. And Saint Gregory saith, that precious clothing is\nculpable for the dearth [dearness] of it, and for its softness, and\nfor its strangeness and disguising, and for the superfluity or for\nthe inordinate scantness of it; alas! may not a man see in our\ndays the sinful costly array of clothing, and namely [specially] in\ntoo much superfluity, or else in too disordinate scantness? As to\nthe first sin, in superfluity of clothing, which that maketh it so\ndear, to the harm of the people, not only the cost of the\nembroidering, the disguising, indenting or barring, ounding,\npaling, <8> winding, or banding, and semblable [similar] waste\nof cloth in vanity; but there is also the costly furring [lining or\nedging with fur] in their gowns, so much punching of chisels to\nmake holes, so much dagging [cutting] of shears, with the\nsuperfluity in length of the foresaid gowns, trailing in the dung\nand in the mire, on horse and eke on foot, as well of man as of\nwoman, that all that trailing is verily (as in effect) wasted,\nconsumed, threadbare, and rotten with dung, rather than it is\ngiven to the poor, to great damage of the foresaid poor folk,\nand that in sundry wise: this is to say, the more that cloth is\nwasted, the more must it cost to the poor people for the\nscarceness; and furthermore, if so be that they would give such\npunched and dagged clothing to the poor people, it is not\nconvenient to wear for their estate, nor sufficient to boot [help,\nremedy] their necessity, to keep them from the distemperance\n[inclemency] of the firmament. Upon the other side, to speak of\nthe horrible disordinate scantness of clothing, as be these cutted\nslops or hanselines [breeches] , that through their shortness\ncover not the shameful member of man, to wicked intent alas!\nsome of them shew the boss and the shape of the horrible\nswollen members, that seem like to the malady of hernia, in the\nwrapping of their hosen, and eke the buttocks of them, that fare\nas it were the hinder part of a she-ape in the full of the moon.\nAnd more over the wretched swollen members that they shew\nthrough disguising, in departing [dividing] of their hosen in\nwhite and red, seemeth that half their shameful privy members\nwere flain [flayed]. And if so be that they depart their hosen in\nother colours, as is white and blue, or white and black, or black\nand red, and so forth; then seemeth it, by variance of colour,\nthat the half part of their privy members be corrupt by the fire\nof Saint Anthony, or by canker, or other such mischance. And\nof the hinder part of their buttocks it is full horrible to see, for\ncertes, in that part of their body where they purge their stinking\nordure, that foul part shew they to the people proudly in despite\nof honesty [decency], which honesty Jesus Christ and his friends\nobserved to shew in his life. Now as of the outrageous array of\nwomen, God wot, that though the visages of some of them\nseem full chaste and debonair [gentle], yet notify they, in their\narray of attire, likerousness and pride. I say not that honesty\n[reasonable and appropriate style] in clothing of man or woman\nunconvenable but, certes, the superfluity or disordinate scarcity\nof clothing is reprovable. Also the sin of their ornament, or of\napparel, as in things that appertain to riding, as in too many\ndelicate horses, that be holden for delight, that be so fair, fat,\nand costly; and also in many a vicious knave, [servant] that is\nsustained because of them; in curious harness, as in saddles,\ncruppers, peytrels, [breast-plates] and bridles, covered with\nprecious cloth and rich bars and plates of gold and silver. For\nwhich God saith by Zechariah the prophet, \"I will confound the\nriders of such horses.\" These folk take little regard of the riding\nof God's Son of heaven, and of his harness, when he rode upon\nan ass, and had no other harness but the poor clothes of his\ndisciples; nor we read not that ever he rode on any other beast.\nI speak this for the sin of superfluity, and not for reasonable\nhonesty [seemliness], when reason it requireth. And moreover,\ncertes, pride is greatly notified in holding of great meinie\n[retinue of servants], when they be of little profit or of right no\nprofit, and namely [especially] when that meinie is felonous\n[violent ] and damageous [harmful] to the people by hardiness\n[arrogance] of high lordship, or by way of office; for certes,\nsuch lords sell then their lordship to the devil of hell, when they\nsustain the wickedness of their meinie. Or else, when these folk\nof low degree, as they that hold hostelries, sustain theft of their\nhostellers, and that is in many manner of deceits: that manner of\nfolk be the flies that follow the honey, or else the hounds that\nfollow the carrion. Such foresaid folk strangle spiritually their\nlordships; for which thus saith David the prophet, \"Wicked\ndeath may come unto these lordships, and God give that they\nmay descend into hell adown; for in their houses is iniquity and\nshrewedness, [impiety] and not God of heaven.\" And certes, but\nif [unless] they do amendment, right as God gave his benison\n[blessing] to Laban by the service of Jacob, and to Pharaoh by\nthe service of Joseph; right so God will give his malison\n[condemnation] to such lordships as sustain the wickedness of\ntheir servants, but [unless] they come to amendment. Pride of\nthe table apaireth [worketh harm] eke full oft; for, certes, rich\nmen be called to feasts, and poor folk be put away and rebuked;\nalso in excess of divers meats and drinks, and namely [specially]\nsuch manner bake-meats and dish-meats burning of wild fire,\nand painted and castled with paper, and semblable [similar]\nwaste, so that it is abuse to think. And eke in too great\npreciousness of vessel, [plate] and curiosity of minstrelsy, by\nwhich a man is stirred more to the delights of luxury, if so be\nthat he set his heart the less upon our Lord Jesus Christ, certain\nit is a sin; and certainly the delights might be so great in this\ncase, that a man might lightly [easily] fall by them into deadly\nsin.\n\n[The sins that arise of pride advisedly and habitually are deadly;\nthose that arise by frailty unadvised suddenly, and suddenly\nwithdraw again, though grievous, are not deadly. Pride itself\nsprings sometimes of the goods of nature, sometimes of the\ngoods of fortune, sometimes of the goods of grace; but the\nParson, enumerating and examining all these in turn, points out\nhow little security they possess and how little ground for pride\nthey furnish, and goes on to enforce the remedy against pride --\nwhich is humility or meekness, a virtue through which a man\nhath true knowledge of himself, and holdeth no high esteem of\nhimself in regard of his deserts, considering ever his frailty.]\n\nNow be there three manners [kinds] of humility; as humility in\nheart, and another in the mouth, and the third in works. The\nhumility in the heart is in four manners: the one is, when a man\nholdeth himself as nought worth before God of heaven; the\nsecond is, when he despiseth no other man; the third is, when he\nrecketh not though men hold him nought worth; the fourth is,\nwhen he is not sorry of his humiliation. Also the humility of\nmouth is in four things: in temperate speech; in humility of\nspeech; and when he confesseth with his own mouth that he is\nsuch as he thinketh that he is in his heart; another is, when he\npraiseth the bounte [goodness] of another man and nothing\nthereof diminisheth. Humility eke in works is in four manners:\nthe first is, when he putteth other men before him; the second is,\nto choose the lowest place of all; the third is, gladly to assent to\ngood counsel; the fourth is, to stand gladly by the award\n[judgment] of his sovereign, or of him that is higher in degree:\ncertain this is a great work of humility.\n\n[The Parson proceeds to treat of the other cardinal sins, and\ntheir remedies: (2.) Envy, with its remedy, the love of God\nprincipally and of our neighbours as ourselves: (3.) Anger, with\nall its fruits in revenge, rancour, hate, discord, manslaughter,\nblasphemy, swearing, falsehood, flattery, chiding and reproving,\nscorning, treachery, sowing of strife, doubleness of tongue,\nbetraying of counsel to a man's disgrace, menacing, idle words,\njangling, japery or buffoonery, &c. -- and its remedy in the\nvirtues called mansuetude, debonairte, or gentleness, and\npatience or sufferance: (4.) Sloth, or \"Accidie,\" which comes\nafter the sin of Anger, because Envy blinds the eyes of a man,\nand Anger troubleth a man, and Sloth maketh him heavy,\nthoughtful, and peevish. It is opposed to every estate of man --\nas unfallen, and held to work in praising and adoring God; as\nsinful, and held to labour in praying for deliverance from sin;\nand as in the state of grace, and held to works of penitence. It\nresembles the heavy and sluggish condition of those in hell; it\nwill suffer no hardness and no penance; it prevents any\nbeginning of good works; it causes despair of God's mercy,\nwhich is the sin against the Holy Ghost; it induces somnolency\nand neglect of communion in prayer with God; and it breeds\nnegligence or recklessness, that cares for nothing, and is the\nnurse of all mischiefs, if ignorance is their mother. Against\nSloth, and these and other branches and fruits of it, the remedy\nlies in the virtue of fortitude or strength, in its various species of\nmagnanimity or great courage; faith and hope in God and his\nsaints; surety or sickerness, when a man fears nothing that can\noppose the good works he has under taken; magnificence, when\nhe carries out great works of goodness begun; constancy or\nstableness of heart; and other incentives to energy and laborious\nservice: (5.) Avarice, or Covetousness, which is the root of all\nharms, since its votaries are idolaters, oppressors and enslavers\nof men, deceivers of their equals in business, simoniacs,\ngamblers, liars, thieves, false swearers, blasphemers, murderers,\nand sacrilegious. Its remedy lies in compassion and pity largely\nexercised, and in reasonable liberality -- for those who spend on\n\"fool-largesse,\" or ostentation of worldly estate and luxury,\nshall receive the malison [condemnation] that Christ shall give\nat the day of doom to them that shall be damned: (6.) Gluttony;\n-- of which the Parson treats so briefly that the chapter may be\ngiven in full: -- ]\n\nAfter Avarice cometh Gluttony, which is express against the\ncommandment of God. Gluttony is unmeasurable appetite to eat\nor to drink; or else to do in aught to the unmeasurable appetite\nand disordered covetousness [craving] to eat or drink. This sin\ncorrupted all this world, as is well shewed in the sin of Adam\nand of Eve. Look also what saith Saint Paul of gluttony:\n\"Many,\" saith he, \"go, of which I have oft said to you, and now\nI say it weeping, that they be enemies of the cross of Christ, of\nwhich the end is death, and of which their womb [stomach] is\ntheir God and their glory;\" in confusion of them that so savour\n[take delight in] earthly things. He that is usant [accustomed,\naddicted] to this sin of gluttony, he may no sin withstand, he\nmust be in servage [bondage] of all vices,  for it is the devil's\nhoard, [lair, lurking-place] where he hideth him in and resteth.\nThis sin hath many species. The first is drunkenness, that is the\nhorrible sepulture of man's reason: and therefore when a man is\ndrunken, he hath lost his reason; and this is deadly sin. But\nsoothly, when that a man is not wont to strong drink, and\nperadventure knoweth not the strength of the drink, or hath\nfeebleness in his head, or hath travailed [laboured], through\nwhich he drinketh the more, all [although] be he suddenly\ncaught with drink, it is no deadly sin, but venial. The second\nspecies of gluttony is, that the spirit of a man waxeth all\ntroubled for drunkenness, and bereaveth a man the discretion of\nhis wit. The third species of gluttony is, when a man devoureth\nhis meat, and hath no rightful manner of eating. The fourth is,\nwhen, through the great abundance of his meat, the humours of\nhis body be distempered. The fifth is, forgetfulness by too much\ndrinking, for which a man sometimes forgetteth by the morrow\nwhat be did at eve. In other manner be distinct the species of\ngluttony, after Saint Gregory. The first is, for to eat or drink\nbefore time. The second is, when a man getteth him too delicate\nmeat or drink. The third is, when men take too much over\nmeasure [immoderately]. The fourth is curiosity [nicety] with\ngreat intent [application, pains] to make and apparel [prepare]\nhis meat. The fifth is, for to eat too greedily. These be the five\nfingers of the devil's hand, by which he draweth folk to the sin.\n\nAgainst gluttony the remedy is abstinence, as saith Galen; but\nthat I hold not meritorious, if he do it only for the health of his\nbody. Saint Augustine will that abstinence be done for virtue,\nand with patience. Abstinence, saith he, is little worth, but  if\n[unless] a man have good will thereto, and but it be enforced by\npatience and by charity, and that men do it for God's sake, and\nin hope to have the bliss in heaven. The fellows of abstinence be\ntemperance, that holdeth the mean in all things; also shame, that\nescheweth all dishonesty [indecency, impropriety], sufficiency,\nthat seeketh no rich meats nor drinks, nor doth no force of [sets\nno value on] no outrageous apparelling of meat; measure\n[moderation] also, that restraineth by reason the unmeasurable\nappetite of eating; soberness also, that restraineth the outrage of\ndrink; sparing also, that restraineth the delicate ease to sit long\nat meat, wherefore some folk stand of their own will to eat,\nbecause they will eat at less leisure.\n\n[At great length the Parson then points out the many varieties of\nthe sin of (7.) Lechery, and its remedy in chastity and\ncontinence, alike in marriage and in widowhood; also in the\nabstaining from all such indulgences of eating, drinking, and\nsleeping as inflame the passions, and from the company of all\nwho may tempt to the sin. Minute guidance is given as to the\nduty of confessing fully and faithfully the circumstances that\nattend and may aggravate this sin; and the Treatise then passes\nto the consideration of the conditions that are essential to a true\nand profitable confession of sin in general. First, it must be in\nsorrowful bitterness of spirit; a condition that has five signs --\nshamefastness, humility in heart and outward sign, weeping with\nthe bodily eyes or in the heart, disregard of the shame that\nmight curtail or garble confession, and obedience to the penance\nenjoined. Secondly, true confession must be promptly made, for\ndread of death, of increase of sinfulness, of forgetfulness of\nwhat should be confessed, of Christ's refusal to hear if it be put\noff to the last day of life; and this condition has four terms; that\nconfession be well pondered beforehand, that the man\nconfessing have comprehended in his mind the number and\ngreatness of his sins and how long he has lain in sin, that he be\ncontrite for and eschew his sins, and that he fear and flee the\noccasions for that sin to which he is inclined. -- What follows\nunder this head is of some interest for the light which it throws\non the rigorous government wielded by the Romish Church in\nthose days --]\n\nAlso thou shalt shrive thee of all thy sins to one man, and not a\nparcel [portion] to one man, and a parcel to another; that is to\nunderstand, in intent to depart [divide] thy confession for shame\nor dread; for it is but strangling of thy soul. For certes Jesus\nChrist is entirely all good, in him is none imperfection, and\ntherefore either he forgiveth all perfectly, or else never a deal\n[not at all]. I say not that if thou be assigned to thy penitencer\n<9> for a certain sin, that thou art bound to shew him all the\nremnant of thy sins, of which thou hast been shriven of thy\ncurate, but if it like thee [unless thou be pleased] of thy\nhumility; this is no departing [division] of shrift. And I say not,\nwhere I speak of division of confession, that if thou have license\nto shrive thee to a discreet and an honest priest, and where thee\nliketh, and by the license of thy curate, that thou mayest not\nwell shrive thee to him of all thy sins: but let no blot be behind,\nlet no sin be untold as far as thou hast remembrance. And when\nthou shalt be shriven of thy curate, tell him eke all the sins that\nthou hast done since thou wert last shriven. This is no wicked\nintent of division of shrift. Also, very shrift [true confession]\nasketh certain  conditions. First, that thou shrive thee by thy\nfree will, not constrained, nor for shame of folk, nor for malady\n[sickness],  or such things: for it is reason, that he that\ntrespasseth by his free will, that by his free will he confess his\ntrespass; and that no other man tell his sin but himself; nor he\nshall not nay nor deny his sin, nor wrath him against the priest\nfor admonishing him to leave his sin. The second condition is,\nthat thy shrift be lawful, that is to say, that thou that shrivest\nthee, and eke the priest that heareth thy confession, be verily in\nthe faith of Holy Church, and that a man be not despaired of the\nmercy of Jesus Christ, as Cain and Judas were. And eke a man\nmust accuse himself of his own trespass, and not another: but he\nshall blame and wite [accuse] himself of his own malice and of\nhis sin, and none other: but nevertheless, if that another man be\noccasion or else enticer of his sin, or the estate of the person be\nsuch by which his sin is aggravated, or else that be may not\nplainly shrive him but [unless] he tell the person with which he\nhath sinned, then may he tell, so that his intent be not to\nbackbite the person, but only to declare his confession. Thou\nshalt not eke make no leasings [falsehoods] in thy confession\nfor humility, peradventure, to say that thou hast committed and\ndone such sins of which that thou wert never guilty. For Saint\nAugustine saith, \"If that thou, because of humility, makest a\nleasing on thyself, though thou were not in sin before, yet art\nthou then in sin through thy leasing.\" Thou must also shew thy\nsin by thine own proper mouth, but [unless] thou be dumb, and\nnot by letter; for thou that hast done the sin, thou shalt have the\nshame of the confession. Thou shalt not paint thy confession\nwith fair and subtle words, to cover the more thy sin; for then\nbeguilest thou thyself, and not the priest; thou must tell it\nplainly, be it never so foul nor so horrible. Thou shalt eke shrive\nthee to a priest that is discreet to counsel thee; and eke thou\nshalt not shrive thee for vain-glory, nor for hypocrisy, nor for\nno cause but only for the doubt [fear] of Jesus' Christ and the\nhealth of thy soul. Thou shalt not run to the priest all suddenly,\nto tell him lightly thy sin, as who telleth a jape [jest] or a tale,\nbut advisedly and with good devotion; and generally shrive thee\noft; if thou oft fall, oft arise by confession. And though thou\nshrive thee oftener than once of sin of which thou hast been\nshriven, it is more merit; and, as saith Saint Augustine, thou\nshalt have the more lightly [easily] release and grace of God,\nboth of sin and of pain. And certes, once a year at the least way,\nit is lawful to be houseled, <10> for soothly once a year all\nthings in the earth renovelen [renew themselves].\n\n[Here ends the Second Part of the Treatise; the Third Part,\nwhich contains the practical application of the whole, follows\nentire, along with the remarkable \"Prayer of Chaucer,\" as it\nstands in the Harleian Manuscript:--]\n\nDe Tertia Parte Poenitentiae. [Of the third part of penitence]\n\nNow have I told you of very [true] confession, that is the\nsecond part of penitence: The third part of penitence is\nsatisfaction, and that standeth generally in almsdeed and bodily\npain. Now be there three manner of almsdeed: contrition of\nheart, where a man offereth himself to God; the second is, to\nhave pity of the default of his neighbour; the third is, in giving\nof good counsel and comfort, ghostly and bodily, where men\nhave need, and namely [specially] sustenance of man's food.\nAnd take keep [heed] that a man hath need of these things\ngenerally; he hath need of food, of clothing, and of herberow\n[lodging], he hath need of charitable counsel and visiting in\nprison and malady, and sepulture of his dead body. And if thou\nmayest not visit the needful with thy person, visit them by thy\nmessage and by thy gifts. These be generally alms or works of\ncharity of them that have temporal riches or discretion in\ncounselling. Of these works shalt thou hear at the day of doom.\nThis alms shouldest thou do of thine own proper things, and\nhastily [promptly], and privily [secretly] if thou mayest; but\nnevertheless, if thou mayest not do it privily, thou shalt not\nforbear to do alms, though men see it, so that it be not done for\nthank of the world, but only for thank of Jesus Christ. For, as\nwitnesseth Saint Matthew, chap. v., \"A city may not be hid that\nis set on a mountain, nor men light not a lantern and put it\nunder a bushel, but men set it on a candlestick, to light the men\nin the house; right so shall your light lighten before men, that\nthey may see your good works, and glorify your Father that is\nin heaven.\"\n\nNow as to speak of bodily pain, it is in prayer, in wakings,\n[watchings] in fastings, and in virtuous teachings. Of orisons ye\nshall understand, that orisons or prayers is to say a piteous will\nof heart, that redresseth it in God, and expresseth it by word\noutward, to remove harms, and to have things spiritual and\ndurable, and sometimes temporal things. Of which orisons,\ncertes in the orison of the Pater noster hath our Lord Jesus\nChrist enclosed most things. Certes, it is privileged of three\nthings in its dignity, for which it is more digne [worthy] than\nany other prayer: for Jesus Christ himself made it: and it is\nshort, for [in order] it should be coude the more lightly, [be\nmore easily conned or learned] and to withhold [retain] it the\nmore easy in heart, and help himself the oftener with this orison;\nand for a man should be the less weary to say it; and for a man\nmay not excuse him to learn it, it is so short and so easy: and\nfor it comprehendeth in itself all good prayers. The exposition\nof this holy prayer, that is so excellent and so digne, I betake\n[commit] to these masters of theology; save thus much will I\nsay, when thou prayest that God should forgive thee thy guilts,\nas thou forgivest them that they guilt to thee, be full well ware\nthat thou be not out of charity. This holy orison aminisheth\n[lesseneth] eke venial sin, and therefore it appertaineth specially\nto penitence. This prayer must be truly said, and in very faith,\nand that men pray to God ordinately, discreetly, and devoutly;\nand always a man shall put his will to be subject to the will of\nGod. This orison must eke be said with great humbleness and\nfull pure, and honestly, and not to the annoyance of any man or\nwoman. It must eke be continued with the works of charity. It\navaileth against the vices of the soul; for, assaith Saint Jerome,\nby fasting be saved the vices of the flesh, and by prayer the\nvices of the soul\n\nAfter this thou shalt understand, that bodily pain stands in\nwaking [watching].  For Jesus Christ saith \"Wake and pray, that\nye enter not into temptation.\" Ye shall understand also, that\nfasting stands in three things: in forbearing of bodily meat and\ndrink, and in forbearing of worldly jollity, and in forbearing of\ndeadly sin; this is to say, that a man shall keep him from deadly\nsin in all that he may. And thou shalt understand eke, that God\nordained fasting; and to fasting appertain four things: largeness\n[generosity] to poor folk; gladness of heart spiritual; not to be\nangry nor annoyed nor grudge [murmur] for he fasteth; and also\nreasonable hour for to eat by measure; that is to say, a man\nshould not eat in untime [out of time],  nor sit the longer at his\nmeal for [because] he fasteth. Then shalt thou understand, that\nbodily pain standeth in discipline, or teaching, by word, or by\nwriting, or by ensample. Also in wearing of hairs [haircloth] or\nof stamin [coarse hempen cloth], or of habergeons [mail-shirts]\n<11> on their naked flesh for Christ's sake; but ware thee well\nthat such manner penance of thy flesh make not thine heart\nbitter or angry, nor annoyed of thyself; for better is to cast away\nthine hair than to cast away the sweetness of our Lord Jesus\nChrist. And therefore saith Saint Paul, \"Clothe you, as they that\nbe chosen of God in heart, of misericorde [with compassion],\ndebonairte [gentleness], sufferance [patience], and such manner\nof clothing,\" of which Jesus Christ is more apaid [better\npleased] than of hairs or of hauberks. Then is discipline eke in\nknocking of thy breast, in scourging with yards [rods], in\nkneelings, in tribulations, in suffering patiently wrongs that be\ndone to him, and eke in patient sufferance of maladies, or losing\nof worldly catel [chattels], or of wife, or of child, or of other\nfriends.\n\nThen shalt thou understand which things disturb penance, and\nthis is in four things; that is dread, shame, hope, and wanhope,\nthat is, desperation. And for to speak first of dread, for which\nhe weeneth that he may suffer no penance, thereagainst is\nremedy for to think that bodily penance is but short and little at\nthe regard of [in comparison with] the pain of hell, that is so\ncruel and so long, that it lasteth without end. Now against the\nshame that a man hath to shrive him, and namely [specially]\nthese hypocrites, that would be holden so perfect, that they\nhave no need to shrive them; against that shame should a man\nthink, that by way of reason he that hath not been ashamed to\ndo foul things, certes he ought not to be ashamed to do fair\nthings, and that is confession. A man should eke think, that God\nseeth and knoweth all thy thoughts, and all thy works; to him\nmay nothing be hid nor covered. Men should eke remember\nthem of the shame that is to come at the day of doom, to them\nthat be not penitent and shriven in this present life; for all the\ncreatures in heaven, and in earth, and in hell, shall see apertly\n[openly] all that he hideth in this world.\n\nNow for to speak of them that be so negligent and slow to\nshrive them; that stands in two manners. The one is, that he\nhopeth to live long, and to purchase [acquire] much riches for\nhis delight, and then he will shrive him: and, as he sayeth, he\nmay, as him seemeth, timely enough come to shrift: another is,\nthe surquedrie [presumption <12>] that he hath in Christ's\nmercy. Against the first vice, he shall think that our life is in no\nsickerness, [security] and eke that all the riches in this world be\nin adventure, and pass as a shadow on the wall; and, as saith St\nGregory, that it appertaineth to the great righteousness of God,\nthat never shall the pain stint [cease] of them, that never would\nwithdraw them from sin, their thanks [with their goodwill], but\naye continue in sin; for that perpetual will to do sin shall they\nhave perpetual pain. Wanhope [despair] is in two manners [of\ntwo kinds]. The first wanhope is, in the mercy of God: the other\nis, that they think they might not long persevere in goodness.\nThe first wanhope cometh of that he deemeth that he sinned so\nhighly and so oft, and so long hath lain in sin, that he shall not\nbe saved. Certes against that cursed wanhope should he think,\nthat the passion of Jesus Christ is more strong for to unbind,\nthan sin is strong for to bind. Against the second wanhope he\nshall think, that as oft as he falleth, he may arise again by\npenitence; and though he never so long hath lain in sin, the\nmercy of Christ is always ready to receive him to mercy.\nAgainst the wanhope that he thinketh he should not long\npersevere in goodness, he shall think that the feebleness of the\ndevil may nothing do, but [unless] men will suffer him; and eke\nhe shall have strength of the help of God, and of all Holy\nChurch, and of the protection of angels, if him list.\n\nThen shall men understand, what is the fruit of penance; and\nafter the word of Jesus Christ, it is the endless bliss of heaven,\nwhere joy hath no contrariety of woe nor of penance nor\ngrievance; there all harms be passed of this present life; there as\nis the sickerness [security] from the pain of hell; there as is the\nblissful company, that rejoice them evermore each of the other's\njoy; there as the body of man, that whilom was foul and dark, is\nmore clear than the sun; there as the body of man that whilom\nwas sick and frail, feeble and mortal, is immortal, and so strong\nand so whole, that there may nothing apair [impair, injure] it;\nthere is neither hunger, nor thirst, nor cold, but every soul\nreplenished with the sight of the perfect knowing of God. This\nblissful regne [kingdom] may men purchase by poverty spiritual,\nand the glory by lowliness, the plenty of joy by hunger and\nthirst, the rest by travail, and the life by death and mortification\nof sin; to which life He us bring, that bought us with his\nprecious blood! Amen.\n\n\nNotes to the Parson's Tale\n\n\n1. The Parson's Tale is believed to be a translation, more or less\nfree, from some treatise on penitence that was in favour about\nChaucer's time. Tyrwhitt says: \"I cannot recommend it as a very\nentertaining or edifying performance at this day; but the reader\nwill please to remember, in excuse both of Chaucer and of his\neditor, that, considering The Canterbury Tales as a great picture\nof life and manners, the piece would not have been complete if\nit had not included the religion of the time.\" The Editor of the\npresent volume has followed the same plan adopted with regard\nto Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus, and mainly for the same\nreasons. (See note 1 to that Tale). An outline of the Parson's\nponderous sermon -- for such it is -- has been drawn; while\nthose passages have been given in full which more directly\nillustrate the social and the religious life of the time -- such as\nthe picture of hell, the vehement and rather coarse, but, in an\nantiquarian sense, most curious and valuable attack on the\nfashionable garb of the day, the catalogue of venial sins, the\ndescription of gluttony and its remedy, &c. The brief third or\nconcluding part, which contains the application of the whole,\nand the \"Retractation\" or \"Prayer\" that closes the Tale and the\nentire \"magnum opus\" of Chaucer, have been given in full.\n\n2. Jeremiah vi. 16.\n\n3. See Note 3 to the Sompnour's Tale.\n\n4. Just before, the Parson had cited the words of Job to God\n(Job x. 20-22), \"Suffer, Lord, that I may a while bewail and\nweep, ere I go without returning to the dark land, covered with\nthe darkness of death; to the land of misease and of darkness,\nwhere as is the shadow of death; where as is no order nor\nordinance, but grisly dread that ever shall last.\"\n\n5. \"I have lost everything - my time and my work.\"\n\n6. Accidie: neglectfulness or indifference; from the Greek,\nakedeia.\n\n7. The pax: an image which was presented to the people to be\nkissed, at that part of the mass where the priest said, \"Pax\nDomini sit semper vobiscum.\" (\"May the peace of the Lord be\nalways with you\") The ceremony took the place, for greater\nconvenience, of the \"kiss of peace,\" which clergy and people, at\nthis passage, used to bestow upon each other.\n\n8. Three ways of ornamenting clothes with lace, &c.; in barring\nit was laid on crossways, in ounding it was waved, in paling it\nwas laid on lengthways.\n\n9. Penitencer: a priest who enjoined penance in extraordinary\ncases.\n\n10. To be houseled: to receive the holy sacrament; from Anglo-\nSaxon, \"husel;\" Latin, \"hostia,\" or \"hostiola,\" the host.\n\n11. It was a frequent penance among the chivalric orders to\nwear mail shirts next the skin.\n\n12. Surquedrie: presumption; from old French, \"surcuider,\" to\nthink arrogantly, be full of conceit.\n\n\n\n*PRECES DE CHAUCERES* <1>                            *Prayer of Chaucer*\n\n\nNow pray I to you all that hear this little treatise or read it, that\nif there be anything in it that likes them, that thereof they thank\nour Lord Jesus Christ, of whom proceedeth all wit and all\ngoodness; and if there be anything that displeaseth them, I pray\nthem also that they arette [impute] it to the default of mine\nunconning [unskilfulness], and not to my will, that would fain\nhave said better if I had had conning; for the book saith, all that\nis written for our doctrine is written. Wherefore I beseech you\nmeekly for the mercy of God that ye pray for me, that God have\nmercy on me and forgive me my guilts, and namely [specially]\nmy translations and of inditing in worldly vanities, which I\nrevoke in my Retractions, as is the Book of Troilus, the Book\nalso of Fame, the Book of Twenty-five Ladies, the Book of the\nDuchess, the Book of Saint Valentine's Day and of the\nParliament of Birds, the Tales of Canter bury, all those that\nsounen unto sin, [are sinful, tend towards sin] the Book of the\nLion, and many other books, if they were in my mind or\nremembrance, and many a song and many a lecherous lay, of the\nwhich Christ for his great mercy forgive me the sins. But of the\ntranslation of Boece de Consolatione, and other books of\nconsolation and of legend of lives of saints, and homilies, and\nmoralities, and devotion, that thank I our Lord Jesus Christ, and\nhis mother, and all the saints in heaven, beseeching them that\nthey from henceforth unto my life's end send me grace to bewail\nmy guilts, and to study to the salvation of my soul, and grant\nme grace and space of very repentance, penitence, confession,\nand satisfaction, to do in this present life, through the benign\ngrace of Him that is King of kings and Priest of all priests, that\nbought us with his precious blood of his heart, so that I may be\none of them at the day of doom that shall be saved: Qui cum\nPatre et Spiritu Sancto vivis et regnas Deus per omnia secula.\nAmen. <2>\n\n\nNotes to the Prayer of Chaucer\n\n\n1. The genuineness and real significance of this \"Prayer of\nChaucer,\" usually called his \"Retractation,\" have been warmly\ndisputed. On the one hand, it has been declared that the monks\nforged the retractation. and procured its insertion among the\nworks of the man who had done so much to expose their abuses\nand ignorance, and to weaken their hold on popular credulity:\non the other hand, Chaucer himself at the close of his life, is\nsaid to have greatly lamented the ribaldry and the attacks on the\nclergy which marked especially \"The Canterbury Tales,\" and to\nhave drawn up a formal retractation of which the \"Prayer\" is\neither a copy or an abridgment. The beginning and end of the\n\"Prayer,\" as Tyrwhitt points out, are in tone and terms quite\nappropriate in the mouth of the Parson, while they carry on the\nsubject of which he has been treating; and, despite the fact that\nMr Wright holds the contrary opinion, Tyrwhitt seems to be\njustified in setting down the \"Retractation\" as interpolated into\nthe close of the Parson's Tale. Of the circumstances under\nwhich the interpolation was made, or the causes by which it was\ndictated, little or nothing can now be confidently affirmed; but\nthe agreement of the manuscripts and the early editions in\ngiving it, render it impossible to discard it peremptorily as a\ndeclaration of prudish or of interested regret, with which\nChaucer himself had nothing whatever to do.\n\n2. \"[You] Who with the Father and the Holy Spirit livest and\nreignest God for ever and ever. Amen.\"\n\n\nTHE END OF THE CANTERBURY TALES\n\n\n\n                       THE COURT OF LOVE.\n\n\n\"The Court Of Love\" was probably Chaucer's first poem of any\nconsequence. It is believed to have been written at the age, and\nunder the circumstances, of which it contains express mention;\nthat is, when the poet was eighteen years old, and resided as a\nstudent at Cambridge, -- about the year 1346. The composition\nis marked by an elegance, care, and finish very different from\nthe bold freedom which in so great measure distinguishes the\nCanterbury Tales; and the fact is easily explained when we\nremember that, in the earlier poem, Chaucer followed a beaten\npath, in which he had many predecessors and competitors, all\nseeking to sound the praises of love with the grace, the\ningenuity, and studious devotion, appropriate to the theme. The\nstory of the poem is exceedingly simple. Under the name of\nPhilogenet, a clerk or scholar of Cambridge, the poet relates\nthat, summoned by Mercury to the Court of Love, he journeys\nto the splendid castle where the King and Queen of Love,\nAdmetus and Alcestis, keep their state. Discovering among the\ncourtiers a friend named Philobone, a chamberwoman to the\nQueen, Philogenet is led by her into a circular temple, where, in\na tabernacle, sits Venus, with Cupid by her side. While he is\nsurveying the motley crowd of suitors to the goddess,\nPhilogenet is summoned back into the King's presence, chidden\nfor his tardiness in coming to Court, and commanded to swear\nobservance to the twenty Statutes of Love -- which are recited\nat length. Philogenet then makes his prayers and vows to\nVenus, desiring that he may have for his love a lady whom he\nhas seen in a dream; and Philobone introduces him to the lady\nherself, named Rosial, to whom he does suit and service of love.\nAt first the lady is obdurate to his entreaties; but, Philogenet\nhaving proved the sincerity of his passion by a fainting fit,\nRosial relents, promises her favour, and orders Philobone to\nconduct him round the Court. The courtiers are then minutely\ndescribed; but the description is broken off abruptly, and we are\nintroduced to Rosial in the midst of a confession of her love.\nFinally she commands Philogenet to abide with her until the\nFirst of May, when the King of Love will hold high festival; he\nobeys; and the poem closes with the May Day festival service,\ncelebrated by a choir of birds, who sing an ingenious, but what\nmust have seemed in those days a more than slightly profane,\nparaphrase or parody of the matins for Trinity Sunday, to the\npraise of Cupid. From this outline, it will be seen at once that\nChaucer's \"Court of Love\" is in important particulars different\nfrom the institutions which, in the two centuries preceding his\nown, had so much occupied the attention of poets and gallants,\nand so powerfully controlled the social life of the noble and\nrefined classes. It is a regal, not a legal, Court which the poet\npictures to us; we are not introduced to a regularly constituted\nand authoritative tribunal in which nice questions of conduct in\nthe relations of lovers are discussed and decided -- but to the\ncentral and sovereign seat of Love's authority, where the\nstatutes are moulded, and the decrees are issued, upon which\nthe inferior and special tribunals we have mentioned frame their\nproceedings. The \"Courts of Love,\" in Chaucer's time, had lost\nnone of the prestige and influence which had been conferred\nupon them by the patronage and participation of Kings, Queens,\nEmperors, and Popes. But the institution, in its legal or judicial\ncharacter, was peculiar to France; and although the whole spirit\nof Chaucer's poem, especially as regards the esteem and\nreverence in which women were held, is that which animated\nthe French Courts, his treatment of the subject is broader and\nmore general, consequently more fitted to enlist the interest of\nEnglish readers.\n(Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was\nnot the author of this poem)\n\nThe poem consists of 206 stanzas of seven lines each; of which,\nin this edition, eighty-three are represented by a prose\nabridgement.\n\nWith timorous heart, and trembling hand of dread,\nOf cunning* naked, bare of eloquence,                             *skill\nUnto the *flow'r of port in womanhead*        *one who is the perfection\nI write, as he that none intelligence              of womanly behaviour*\nOf metres hath, <1> nor flowers of sentence,\nSave that me list my writing to convey,\nIn that I can, to please her high nobley.*                    *nobleness\n\nThe blossoms fresh of Tullius'* garden swoot**           *Cicero **sweet\nPresent they not, my matter for to born:* <2>           *burnish, polish\nPoems of Virgil take here no root,\nNor craft of Galfrid <3> may not here sojourn;\nWhy *n'am I* cunning? O well may I mourn,                     *am I not*\nFor lack of science, that I cannot write\nUnto the princess of my life aright!\n\nNo terms are dign* unto her excellence,                          *worthy\nSo is she sprung of noble stirp* and high;                    *stock <4>\nA world of honour and of reverence\nThere is in her, this will I testify.\nCalliope, <5> thou sister wise and sly,*                        *skilful\nAnd thou, Minerva, guide me with thy grace,\nThat language rude my matter not deface!\n\nThy sugar droppes sweet of Helicon\nDistil in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;\nAnd thee, Melpomene, <6> I call anon\nOf ignorance the mist to chase away;\nAnd give me grace so for to write and say,\nThat she, my lady, of her worthiness,\nAccept *in gree* this little short treatess,*    *with favour* *treatise\n\nThat is entitled thus, The Court of Love.\nAnd ye that be metricians,* me excuse,               *skilled versifiers\nI you beseech, for Venus' sake above;\nFor what I mean in this ye need not muse:\nAnd if so be my lady it refuse\nFor lack of ornate speech, I would be woe\nThat I presume to her to write so.\n\nBut my intent, and all my busy cure,*                              *care\nIs for to write this treatise, as I can,\nUnto my lady, stable, true, and sure,\nFaithful and kind, since first that she began\nMe to accept in service as her man;\nTo her be all the pleasure of this book,\nThat, when *her like,* she may it read and look.        *it pleases her*\n\nWhen [he] was young, at eighteen year of age,\nLusty and light, desirous of pleasance,\nApproaching* full sad and ripe corage,<7>           *gradually attaining\n\nThen -- says the poet -- did Love urge him to do\nhim obeisance, and to go \"the Court of Love to\nsee, a lite [little] beside the Mount of Citharee.\"\n<8> Mercury bade him, on pain of death, to\nappear; and he went by strange and far countries\nin search of the Court. Seeing at last a crowd of\npeople, \"as bees,\" making their way thither, the\npoet asked whither they went; and \"one that\nanswer'd like a maid\" said that they were bound to\nthe Court of Love, at Citheron,  where \"the King\nof Love, and all his noble rout [company],\n\n\"Dwelleth within a castle royally.\"\nSo them apace I journey'd forth among,\nAnd as he said, so found I there truly;\nFor I beheld the town -- so high and strong,\nAnd high pinnacles, large of height and long,\nWith plate of gold bespread on ev'ry side,\nAnd precious stones, the stone work for to hide.\n\nNo sapphire of Ind, no ruby rich of price,\nThere lacked then, nor emerald so green,\nBalais, Turkeis, <9> nor thing, *to my devise,*        *in my judgement*\nThat may the castle make for to sheen;*                    *be beautiful\nAll was as bright as stars in winter be'n;\nAnd Phoebus shone, to make his peace again,\nFor trespass* done to high estates twain,  --                   *offence\n\nWhen he had found Venus in the arms of Mars, and hastened to\ntell Vulcan of his wife's infidelity <10>. Now he was shining\nbrightly on the castle, \"in sign he looked after Love's grace;\" for\nthere is no god in Heaven or in Hell \"but he hath been right\nsubject unto Love.\" Continuing his description of the castle,\nPhilogenet says that he saw never any so large and high; within\nand without, it was painted \"with many a thousand daisies, red\nas rose,\" and white also, in signification of whom, he knew not;\nunless it was the flower of Alcestis <11>, who, under Venus,\nwas queen of the place, as Admetus was king;\n\nTo whom obey'd the ladies good nineteen <12>,\nWith many a thousand other, bright of face.\nAnd young men fele* came forth with lusty pace,               *many <13>\nAnd aged eke, their homage to dispose;\nBut what they were, I could not well disclose.\n\nYet nere* and nere* forth in I gan me dress,                     *nearer\nInto a hall of noble apparail,*                             *furnishings\nWith arras <14> spread, and cloth of gold, I guess,\nAnd other silk *of easier avail;*    *less difficult, costly, to attain*\nUnder the *cloth of their estate,* sans fail,             *state canopy*\nThe King and Queen there sat, as I beheld;\nIt passed joy of *Elysee the feld.*                 *The Elysian Fields*\n\nThere saintes* have their coming and resort,           *martyrs for love\nTo see the King so royally beseen,*                             *adorned\nIn purple clad, and eke the Queen *in sort;*                  *suitably*\nAnd on their heades saw I crownes twain,\nWith stones frett,* so that it was no pain,                     *adorned\nWithoute meat or drink, to stand and see\nThe Kinge's honour and the royalty.\n\nTo treat of state affairs, Danger <15> stood by the\nKing, and Disdain by the Queen; who cast her eyes\nhaughtily about, sending forth beams that seemed\n\"shapen like a dart, sharp and piercing, and small and\nstraight of line;\" while her hair shone as gold so fine,\n\"dishevel, crisp, down hanging at her back a yard in\nlength.\" <16> Amazed and dazzled by her beauty,\nPhilogenet stood perplexed, till he spied a Maid,\nPhilobone -- a chamberwoman of the Queen's -- who\nasked how and on what errand he came thither.\nLearning that he had been summoned by Mercury, she\ntold him that he ought to have come of his free will,\nand that he \"will be shent [rebuked, disgraced]\"\nbecause he did not.\n\n\"For ye that reign in youth and lustiness,\nPamper'd with ease, and jealous in your age,\nYour duty is, as far as I can guess,\nTo Love's Court to dresse* your voyage,                 *direct, address\nAs soon as Nature maketh you so sage\nThat ye may know a woman from a swan, <17>\nOr when your foot is growen half a span.\n\n\"But since that ye, by wilful negligence,\nThis eighteen year have kept yourself at large,\nThe greater is your trespass and offence,\nAnd in your neck you must bear all the charge:\nFor better were ye be withoute barge*                              *boat\nAmid the sea in tempest and in rain,\nThan bide here, receiving woe and pain\n\n\"That ordained is for such as them absent\nFrom Love's Court by yeares long and fele.*                         many\nI lay* my life ye shall full soon repent;                         *wager\nFor Love will rive your colour, lust, and heal:*                 *health\nEke ye must bait* on many a heavy meal:                            *feed\n*No force,* y-wis; I stirr'd you long agone                  *no matter*\nTo draw to Court,\" quoth little Philobone.\n\n\"Ye shall well see how rough and angry face\nThe King of Love will show, when ye him see;\nBy mine advice kneel down and ask him grace,\nEschewing* peril and adversity;                                *avoiding\nFor well I wot it will none other be;\nComfort is none, nor counsel to your ease;\nWhy will ye then the King of Love displease?\"\n\nThereupon Philogenet professed humble repentance,\nand willingness to bear all hardship and chastisement\nfor his past offence.\n\nThese wordes said, she caught me by the lap,*       *edge of the garment\nAnd led me forth into a temple round,\nBoth large and wide; and, as my blessed hap\nAnd good. adventure was, right soon I found\nA tabernacle <18> raised from the ground,\nWhere Venus sat, and Cupid by her side;\nYet half for dread I gan my visage hide.\n\nAnd eft* again I looked and beheld,                          *afterwards\nSeeing *full sundry people* in the place,         *people of many sorts*\nAnd *mister folk,* and some that might not weld         *craftsmen <19>*\nTheir limbes well, -- me thought a wonder case.                     *use\nThe temple shone with windows all of glass,\nBright as the day, with many a fair image;\nAnd there I saw the fresh queen of Carthage,\n\nDido, that brent* her beauty for the love                         *burnt\nOf false Aeneas; and the waimenting*                          *lamenting\nOf her, Annelide, true as turtle dove\nTo Arcite false; <20> and there was in painting\nOf many a Prince, and many a doughty King,\nWhose martyrdom was show'd about the walls;\nAnd how that fele* for love had suffer'd falls.**     *many **calamities\n\nPhilogenet was astonished at the crowd of people that\nhe saw, doing sacrifice to the god and goddess.\nPhilobone informed him that they came from other\ncourts; those who knelt in blue wore the colour in\nsign of their changeless truth <21>; those in black,\nwho uttered cries of grief, were the sick and dying of\nlove. The priests, nuns, hermits, and friars, and all that\nsat in white, in russet and in green, \"wailed of their\nwoe;\" and for all people, of every degree, the Court\nwas open and free. While he walked about with\nPhilobone, a messenger from the King entered, and\nsummoned all the new-come folk to the royal\npresence. Trembling and pale, Philogenet approached\nthe throne of Admetus, and was sternly asked why he\ncame so late to Court. He pleaded that a hundred\ntimes he had been at the gate, but had been prevented\nfrom entering by failure to see any of his\nacquaintances, and by shamefacedness. The King\npardoned him, on condition that thenceforth he should\nserve Love; and the poet took oath to do so, \"though\nDeath therefor me thirle [pierce] with his spear.\"\nWhen the King had seen all the new-comers, he\ncommanded an officer to take their oaths of\nallegiance, and show them the Statutes of the Court,\nwhich must be observed till death.\n\nAnd, for that I was letter'd, there I read\nThe statutes whole of Love's Court and hail:\nThe first statute that on the book was spread,\nWas, To be true in thought and deedes all\nUnto the King of Love, the lord royal;\nAnd, to the Queen, as faithful and as kind\nAs I could think with hearte, will, and mind.\n\nThe second statute, Secretly to keep\nCounsel* of love, not blowing** ev'rywhere            *secrets **talking\nAll that I know, and let it sink and fleet;*                      *float\nIt may not sound in ev'ry wighte's ear:\nExiling slander ay for dread and fear,\nAnd to my lady, which I love and serve,\nBe true and kind, her grace for to deserve.\n\nThe third statute was clearly writ also,\nWithoute change to live and die the same,\nNone other love to take, for weal nor woe,\nFor blind delight, for earnest nor for game:\nWithout repent, for laughing or for grame,*            *vexation, sorrow\nTo bide still in full perseverance:\nAll this was whole the Kinge's ordinance.\n\nThe fourth statute, To *purchase ever to her,*       *promote her cause*\nAnd stirre folk to love, and bete* fire                          *kindle\nOn Venus' altar, here about and there,\nAnd preach to them of love and hot desire,\nAnd tell how love will quite* well their hire:                   *reward\nThis must be kept; and loth me to displease:\nIf love be wroth, pass; for thereby is ease.\n\nThe fifth statute, Not to be dangerous,*              *fastidious, angry\nIf that a thought would reave* me of my sleep:                  *deprive\nNor of a sight to be over squaimous;*                          *desirous\nAnd so verily this statute was to keep,\nTo turn and wallow in my bed and weep,\nWhen that my lady, of her cruelty,\nWould from her heart exilen all pity.\n\nThe sixth statute, It was for me to use\nAlone to wander, void of company,\nAnd on my lady's beauty for to muse,\nAnd thinken it *no force* to live or die;       *matter of indifference*\nAnd eft again to think* the remedy,                          *think upon\nHow to her grace I might anon attain,\nAnd tell my woe unto my sovereign.\n\nThe sev'nth statute was, To be patient,\nWhether my lady joyful were or wroth;\nFor wordes glad or heavy, diligent,\nWhether that she me helde *lefe or loth:*          *in love or loathing*\nAnd hereupon I put was to mine oath,\nHer for to serve, and lowly to obey,\nAnd show my cheer,* yea, twenty times a day.                *countenance\n\nThe eighth statute, to my rememberance,\nWas, For to speak and pray my lady dear,\nWith hourly labour and great entendance,*                     *attention\nMe for to love with all her heart entere,*                       *entire\nAnd me desire and make me joyful cheer,\nRight as she is, surmounting every fair;\nOf beauty well,* and gentle debonair.                      *the fountain\n\nThe ninth statute, with letters writ of gold,\nThis was the sentence, How that I and all\nShould ever dread to be too overbold\nHer to displease; and truly so I shall;\nBut be content for all thing that may fall,\nAnd meekly take her chastisement and yerd,*                   *rod, rule\nAnd to offend her ever be afear'd.\n\nThe tenth statute was, Equally* to discern                       *justly\nBetween the lady and thine ability,\nAnd think thyself art never like to earn,\nBy right, her mercy nor her equity,\nBut of her grace and womanly pity:\nFor, though thyself be noble in thy strene,*            *strain, descent\nA thousand fold more noble is thy Queen.\n\nThy life's lady and thy sovereign,\nThat hath thine heart all whole in governance,\nThou may'st no wise it take to disdain,\nTo put thee humbly at her ordinance,\nAnd give her free the rein of her pleasance;\nFor liberty is thing that women look,*                 *look for, desire\nAnd truly else *the matter is a crook.*                *things go wrong*\n\nTh' eleventh statute, Thy signes for to know\nWith eye and finger, and with smiles soft,\nAnd low to couch, and alway for to show,\nFor dread of spies, for to winken oft:\nAnd secretly to bring a sigh aloft,\nBut still beware of over much resort;\nFor that peradventure spoileth all thy sport.\n\nThe twelfth statute remember to observe:\nFor all the pain thou hast for love and woe,\nAll is too lite* her mercy to deserve,                           *little\nThou muste think, where'er thou ride or go;\nAnd mortal woundes suffer thou also,\nAll for her sake, and think it well beset*                        *spent\nUpon thy love, for it may not be bet.*                   *better (spent)\n\nThe thirteenth statute, Whilom is to think\nWhat thing may best thy lady like and please,\nAnd in thine hearte's bottom let it sink:\nSome thing devise, and take for it thine ease,\nAnd send it her, that may her heart appease:\nSome heart, or ring, or letter, or device,\nOr precious stone; but spare not for no price.\n\nThe fourteenth statute eke thou shalt assay\nFirmly to keep, the most part of thy life:\nWish that thy lady in thine armes lay,\nAnd nightly dream, thou hast thy nighte's wife\nSweetly in armes, straining her as blife:*                 *eagerly <22>\nAnd, when thou seest it is but fantasy,\nSee that thou sing not over merrily;\n\nFor too much joy hath oft a woeful end.\nIt *longeth eke this statute for to hold,*     *it belongs to the proper\nTo deem thy lady evermore thy friend,        observance of this statute*\nAnd think thyself in no wise a cuckold.\nIn ev'ry thing she doth but as she sho'ld:\nConstrue the best, believe no tales new,\nFor many a lie is told, that seems full true.\n\nBut think that she, so bounteous and fair,\nCould not be false: imagine this algate;*                 *at all events\nAnd think that wicked tongues would her apair,*                  *defame\nSland'ring her name and *worshipful estate,*           *honourable fame*\nAnd lovers true to setten at debate:\nAnd though thou seest a fault right at thine eye,\nExcuse it blife, and glose* it prettily.                  *gloss it over\n\nThe fifteenth statute, Use to swear and stare,\nAnd counterfeit a leasing* hardily,**                *falsehood **boldly\nTo save thy lady's honour ev'rywhere,\nAnd put thyself for her to fight boldly;\nSay she is good, virtuous, and ghostly,*                *spiritual, pure\nClear of intent, and heart, and thought, and will;\nAnd argue not for reason nor for skill\n\nAgainst thy lady's pleasure nor intent,\nFor love will not be counterpled* indeed:         *met with counterpleas\nSay as she saith, then shalt thou not be shent;*              *disgraced\n\"The crow is white;\" \"Yea truly, so I rede:\"*                     *judge\nAnd aye what thing that she will thee forbid,\nEschew all that, and give her sov'reignty,\nHer appetite to follow in all degree.\n\nThe sixteenth statute, keep it if thou may: <23>\nSev'n times at night thy lady for to please,\nAnd sev'n at midnight, sev'n at morrow day,\nAnd drink a caudle early for thine ease.\nDo this, and keep thine head from all disease,\nAnd win the garland here of lovers all,\nThat ever came in Court, or ever shall.\n\nFull few, think I, this statute hold and keep;\nBut truly this my reason *gives me feel,*       *enables me to perceive*\nThat some lovers should rather fall asleep,\nThan take on hand to please so oft and weel.*                      *well\nThere lay none oath to this statute adele,*                     *annexed\nBut keep who might *as gave him his corage:*               *as his heart\nNow get this garland, folk of lusty age!                   inspired him*\n\nNow win who may, ye lusty folk of youth,\nThis garland fresh, of flowers red and white,\nPurple and blue, and colours full uncouth,*                     *strange\nAnd I shall crown him king of all delight!\nIn all the Court there was not, to my sight,\nA lover true, that he was not adread,\nWhen he express* had heard the statute read.                    *plainly\n\nThe sev'nteenth statute, When age approacheth on,\nAnd lust is laid, and all the fire is queint,*                 *quenched\nAs freshly then thou shalt begin to fon,*                 *behave fondly\nAnd doat in love, and all her image paint\nIn thy remembrance, till thou gin to faint,\nAs in the first season thine heart began:\nAnd her desire, though thou nor may nor can\n\nPerform thy living actual and lust;\nRegister this in thine rememberance:\nEke when thou may'st not keep thy thing from rust,\nYet speak and talk of pleasant dalliance;\nFor that shall make thine heart rejoice and dance;\nAnd when thou may'st no more the game assay,\nThe statute bids thee pray for them that may.\n\nThe eighteenth statute, wholly to commend,\nTo please thy lady, is, That thou eschew\nWith sluttishness thyself for to offend;\nBe jolly, fresh, and feat,* with thinges new,               *dainty <24>\nCourtly with manner, this is all thy due,\nGentle of port, and loving cleanliness;\nThis is the thing that liketh thy mistress.\n\nAnd not to wander like a dulled ass,\nRagged and torn, disguised in array,\nRibald in speech, or out of measure pass,\nThy bound exceeding; think on this alway:\nFor women be of tender heartes ay,\nAnd lightly set their pleasure in a place;\nWhen they misthink,* they lightly let it pace.            *think wrongly\n\nThe nineteenth statute, Meat and drink forget:\nEach other day see that thou fast for love,\nFor in the Court they live withoute meat,\nSave such as comes from Venus all above;\nThey take no heed, *in pain of great reprove,*         *on pain of great\nOf meat and drink, for that is all in vain,                    reproach*\nOnly they live by sight of their sov'reign.\n\nThe twentieth statute, last of ev'ry one,\nEnrol it in thy hearte's privity;\nTo wring and wail, to turn, and sigh, and groan,\nWhen that thy lady absent is from thee;\nAnd eke renew the wordes all that she\nBetween you twain hath said, and all the cheer\nThat thee hath made thy life's lady dear.\n\nAnd see thy heart in quiet nor in rest\nSojourn, till time thou see thy lady eft,*                        *again\nBut whe'er* she won** by south, or east, or west,       *whether **dwell\nWith all thy force now see it be not left\nBe diligent, *till time* thy life be reft,         *until the time that*\nIn that thou may'st, thy lady for to see;\nThis statute was of old antiquity.\n\nThe officer, called Rigour -- who is incorruptible by\npartiality, favour, prayer, or gold -- made them swear\nto keep the statutes; and, after taking the oath,\nPhilogenet turned over other leaves of the book,\ncontaining the statutes of women. But Rigour sternly\nbade him forbear; for no man might know the statutes\nthat belong to women.\n\n\"In secret wise they kepte be full close;\nThey sound* each one to liberty, my friend;                *tend, accord\nPleasant they be, and to their own purpose;\nThere wot* no wight of them, but God and fiend,                   *knows\nNor aught shall wit, unto the worlde's end.\nThe queen hath giv'n me charge, in pain to die,\nNever to read nor see them with mine eye.\n\n\"For men shall not so near of counsel be'n\nWith womanhead, nor knowen of their guise,\nNor what they think, nor of their wit th'engine;*                 *craft\n*I me report to* Solomon the wise, <25>           *I refer for proof to*\nAnd mighty Samson, which beguiled thrice\nWith Delilah was; he wot that, in a throw,\nThere may no man statute of women know.\n\n\"For it peradventure may right so befall,\nThat they be bound by nature to deceive,\nAnd spin, and weep, and sugar strew on gall, <26>\nThe heart of man to ravish and to reave,\nAnd whet their tongue as sharp as sword or gleve:*        *glaive, sword\nIt may betide this is their ordinance,\nSo must they lowly do their observance,\n\n\"And keep the statute given them *of kind,*                  *by nature*\nOf such as Love hath giv'n them in their life.\nMen may not wit why turneth every wind,\nNor waxe wise, nor be inquisitife\nTo know secret of maid, widow, or wife;\nFor they their statutes have to them reserved,\nAnd never man to know them hath deserved.\"\n\nRigour then sent them forth to pay court to Venus,\nand pray her to teach them how they might serve and\nplease their dames, or to provide with ladies those\nwhose hearts were yet vacant. Before Venus knelt a\nthousand sad petitioners, entreating her to punish \"the\nfalse untrue,\" that had broken their vows, \"barren of\nruth, untrue of what they said, now that their lust and\npleasure is allay'd.\" But the mourners were in a\nminority;\n\nYet eft again, a thousand million,\nRejoicing, love, leading their life in bliss:\nThey said: \"Venus, redress* of all division,                     *healer\nGoddess eternal, thy name heried* is!                         *glorified\nBy love's bond is knit all thing, y-wis,*                     *assuredly\nBeast unto beast, the earth to water wan,*                         *pale\nBird unto bird, and woman unto man; <27>\n\n\"This is the life of joy that we be in,\nResembling life of heav'nly paradise;\nLove is exiler ay of vice and sin;\nLove maketh heartes lusty to devise;\nHonour and grace have they in ev'ry wise,\nThat be to love's law obedient;\nLove maketh folk benign and diligent;\n\n\"Aye stirring them to dreade vice and shame:\nIn their degree it makes them honourable;\nAnd sweet it is of love to bear the name,\nSo that his love be faithful, true, and stable:\nLove pruneth him to seemen amiable;\nLove hath no fault where it is exercis'd,\nBut sole* with them that have all love despis'd:\"                  *only\n\nAnd they conclude with grateful honours to the goddess\n-- rejoicing hat they are hers in heart, and all inflamed\nwith her grace and heavenly fear. Philogenet now\nentreats the goddess to remove his grief; for he also\nloves, and hotly, only he does not know where --\n\n\"Save only this, by God and by my troth;\nTroubled I was with slumber, sleep, and sloth\nThis other night, and in a vision\nI saw a woman roamen up and down,\n\n\"Of *mean stature,* and seemly to behold,              *middling height*\nLusty and fresh, demure of countenance,\nYoung and well shap'd, with haire sheen* as gold,               *shining\nWith eyne as crystal, farced* with pleasance;                   *crammed\nAnd she gan stir mine heart a lite* to dance;                    *little\nBut suddenly she vanish gan right there:\nThus I may say, I love, and wot* not where.\"                       *know\n\nIf he could only know this lady, he would serve and obey her\nwith all benignity; but if his destiny were otherwise, he would\ngladly love and serve his lady, whosoever she might be. He\ncalled on Venus for help to possess his queen and heart's life,\nand vowed daily war with Diana: \"that goddess chaste I keepen\n[care] in no wise to serve; a fig for all her chastity!\" Then he\nrose and went his way, passing by a rich and beautiful shrine,\nwhich, Philobone informed him, was the sepulchre of Pity. \"A\ntender creature,\" she said,\n\n\"Is shrined there, and Pity is her name.\nShe saw an eagle wreak* him on a fly,                            *avenge\nAnd pluck his wing, and eke him, *in his game;*              *for sport*\nAnd tender heart of that hath made her die:\nEke she would weep, and mourn right piteously,\nTo see a lover suffer great distress.\nIn all the Court was none, as I do guess,\n\n\"That could a lover half so well avail,*                           *help\nNor of his woe the torment or the rage\nAslake;* for he was sure, withoute fail,                        *assuage\nThat of his grief she could the heat assuage.\nInstead of Pity, speedeth hot Courage\nThe matters all of Court, now she is dead;\n*I me report in this to womanhead.*         *for evidence I refer to the\n                                         behaviour of women themselves.*\n\n\"For wail, and weep, and cry, and speak, and pray, --\nWomen would not have pity on thy plaint;\nNor by that means to ease thine heart convey,\nBut thee receive for their own talent:*                     *inclination\nAnd say that Pity caus'd thee, in consent\nOf ruth,* to take thy service and thy pain,                  *compassion\nIn that thou may'st, to please thy sovereign.\"\n\nPhilobone now promised to lead Philogenet to \"the fairest lady\nunder sun that is,\" the \"mirror of joy and bliss,\" whose name is\nRosial, and \"whose heart as yet is given to no wight;\"\nsuggesting that, as he also was \"with love but light advanc'd,\"\nhe might set this lady in the place of her of whom he had\ndreamed. Entering a chamber gay, \"there was Rosial, womanly\nto see;\" and the subtle-piercing beams of her eyes wounded\nPhilogenet to the heart. When he could speak, he threw himself\non his knees, beseeching her to cool his fervent woe:\n\nFor there I took full purpose in my mind,\nUnto her grace my painful heart to bind.\n\nFor, if I shall all fully her descrive,*                       *describe\nHer head was round, by compass of nature;\nHer hair as gold, she passed all alive,\nAnd lily forehead had this creature,\nWith lively *browes flaw,* of colour pure,         *yellow eyebrows <28>\nBetween the which was mean disseverance\nFrom ev'ry brow, to show a due distance.\n\nHer nose directed straight, even as line,\nWith form and shape thereto convenient,\nIn which the *goddes' milk-white path* doth shine;          *the galaxy*\nAnd eke her eyne be bright and orient\nAs is the smaragd,* unto my judgment,                           *emerald\nOr yet these starres heav'nly, small, and bright;\nHer visage is of lovely red and white.\n\nHer mouth is short, and shut in little space,\nFlaming somedeal,* not over red I mean,                        *somewhat\nWith pregnant lips, and thick to kiss, percase*           *as it chanced\n(For lippes thin, not fat, but ever lean,\nThey serve of naught, they be not worth a bean;\nFor if the bass* be full, there is delight;                   *kiss <29>\nMaximian <30> truly thus doth he write).\n\nBut to my purpose: I say, white as snow\nBe all her teeth, and in order they stand\nOf one stature; and eke her breath, I trow,\nSurmounteth all odours that e'er I fand*                          *found\nIn sweetness; and her body, face, and hand\nBe sharply slender, so that, from the head\nUnto the foot, all is but womanhead.*                *womanly perfection\n\nI hold my peace of other thinges hid:\nHere shall my soul, and not my tongue, bewray;\nBut how she was array'd, if ye me bid,\nThat shall I well discover you and say:\nA bend* of gold and silk, full fresh and gay,                      *band\nWith hair *in tress, y-broidered* full well,        *plaited in tresses*\nRight smoothly kempt,* and shining every deal.                   *combed\n\nAbout her neck a flow'r of fresh device\nWith rubies set, that lusty were to see'n;\nAnd she in gown was, light and summer-wise,\nShapen full well, the colour was of green,\nWith *aureate seint* about her sides clean,            *golden cincture*\nWith divers stones, precious and rich:\nThus was she ray'd,* yet saw I ne'er her lich,**         *arrayed **like\n\nIf Jove had but seen this lady, Calisto and Alcmena had never\nlain in his arms, nor had he loved the fair Europa, nor Danae,\nnor Antiope; \"for all their beauty stood in Rosial; she seemed\nlike a thing celestial.\" By and by, Philogenet presented to her his\npetition for love, which she heard with some haughtiness; she\nwas not, she said, well acquainted with him, she did not know\nwhere he dwelt, nor his name and condition. He informed her\nthat \"in art of love he writes,\" and makes songs that may be\nsung in honour of the King and Queen of Love. As for his name\n--\n\n\"My name? alas, my heart, why mak'st thou strange?*         *why so cold\nPhilogenet I call'd am far and near,                        or distant?*\nOf Cambridge clerk, that never think to change\nFrom you, that with your heav'nly streames* clear        *beams, glances\nRavish my heart; and ghost, and all in fere:*              *all together\nSince at the first I writ my bill* for grace,                  *petition\nMe thinks I see some mercy in your face;\"\n\nAnd again he humbly pressed his suit. But the lady disdained the\nidea that, \"for a word of sugar'd eloquence,\" she should have\ncompassion in so little space; \"there come but few who speede\nhere so soon.\" If, as he says, the beams of her eyes pierce and\nfret him, then let him withdraw from her presence:\n\n\"Hurt not yourself, through folly, with a look;\nI would be sorry so to make you sick!\nA woman should beware eke whom she took:\nYe be a clerk: go searche well my book,\nIf any women be so light* to win:                                  *easy\nNay, bide a while, though ye were *all my kin.\"*       *my only kindred*\n\nHe might sue and serve, and wax pale, and green, and dead,\nwithout murmuring in any wise; but whereas he desired her\nhastily to lean to love, he was unwise, and must cease that\nlanguage. For some had been at Court for twenty years, and\nmight not obtain their mistresses' favour; therefore she\nmarvelled that he was so bold as to treat of love with her.\nPhilogenet, on this, broke into pitiful lamentation; bewailing the\nhour in which he was born, and assuring the unyielding lady that\nthe frosty grave and cold must be his bed, unless she relented.\n\nWith that I fell in swoon, and dead as stone,\nWith colour slain,* and wan as ashes pale;                    *deathlike\nAnd by the hand she caught me up anon:\n\"Arise,\" quoth she; \"what? have ye drunken dwale?* *sleeping potion <31>\nWhy sleepe ye? It is no nightertale.\"*                       *night-time\n\"Now mercy! sweet,\" quoth I, y-wis afraid;\n\"What thing,\" quoth she, \"hath made you so dismay'd?\"\n\nShe said that by his hue she knew well that he was a lover; and\nif he were secret, courteous, and kind, he might know how all\nthis could be allayed. She would amend all that she had missaid,\nand set his heart at ease; but he must faithfully keep the statutes,\n\"and break them not for sloth nor ignorance.\" The lover\nrequests, however, that the sixteenth may be released or\nmodified, for it \"doth him great grievance;\" and she complies.\n\nAnd softly then her colour gan appear,\nAs rose so red, throughout her visage all;\nWherefore methinks it is according* her                  *appropriate to\nThat she of right be called Rosial.\nThus have I won, with wordes great and small,\nSome goodly word of her that I love best,\nAnd trust she shall yet set mine heart in rest.\n\nRosial now told Philobone to conduct Philogenet all over the\nCourt, and show him what lovers and what officers dwelt there;\nfor he was yet a stranger.\n\nAnd, stalking soft with easy pace, I saw\nAbout the king standen all environ,*                        *around <32>\nAttendance, Diligence, and their fellaw\nFurtherer, Esperance,* and many one;                               *Hope\nDread-to-offend there stood, and not alone;\nFor there was eke the cruel adversair,\nThe lover's foe, that called is Despair;\n\nWhich unto me spake angrily and fell,*                          *cruelly\nAnd said, my lady me deceive shall:\n\"Trow'st thou,\" quoth she, \"that all that she did tell\nIs true? Nay, nay, but under honey gall.\nThy birth and hers they be no thing egal:*                        *equal\nCast off thine heart, <33> for all her wordes white,\nFor in good faith she loves thee but a lite.*                    *little\n\n\"And eke remember, thine ability\nMay not compare with her, this well thou wot.\"\nYea, then came Hope and said, \"My friend, let be!\nBelieve him not: Despair he gins to doat.\"\n\"Alas,\" quoth I, \"here is both cold and hot:\nThe one me biddeth love, the other nay;\nThus wot I not what me is best to say.\n\n\"But well wot I, my lady granted me\nTruly to be my wounde's remedy;\nHer gentleness* may not infected be                        *noble nature\nWith doubleness,* this trust I till I die.\"                   *duplicity\nSo cast I t' avoid Despair's company,\nAnd take Hope to counsel and to friend.\n\"Yea, keep that well,\" quoth Philobone, \"in mind.\"\n\nAnd there beside, within a bay window,\nStood one in green, full large of breadth and length,\nHis beard as black as feathers of the crow;\nHis name was Lust, of wondrous might and strength;\nAnd with Delight to argue there he think'th,\nFor this was alway his opinion,\nThat love was sin: and so he hath begun\n\nTo reason fast, and *ledge authority:*               *allege authorities\n\"Nay,\" quoth Delight, \"love is a virtue clear,\nAnd from the soul his progress holdeth he:\nBlind appetite of lust doth often steer,*              *stir (the heart)\nAnd that is sin; for reason lacketh there:\nFor thou dost think thy neighbour's wife to win;\nYet think it well that love may not be sin;\n\n\"For God, and saint, they love right verily,\nVoid of all sin and vice: this know I weel,*                       *well\nAffection of flesh is sin truly;\nBut very* love is virtue, as I feel;                               *true\nFor very love may frail desire akele:*                             *cool\nFor very love is love withoute sin.\"\n\"Now stint,\"* quoth Lust, \"thou speak'st not worth a pin.\"        *cease\n\nAnd there I left them in their arguing,\nRoaming farther into the castle wide,\nAnd in a corner Liar stood talking\nOf leasings* fast, with Flattery there beside;               *falsehoods\nHe said that women *ware attire of pride,                          *wore\nAnd men were found of nature variant,\nAnd could be false and *showe beau semblant.*          *put on plausible\n                                                 appearances to deceive*\nThen Flattery bespake and said, y-wis:\n\"See, so she goes on pattens fair and feat;*               *pretty, neat\nIt doth right well: what pretty man is this\nThat roameth here? now truly drink nor meat\nNeed I not have, my heart for joy doth beat\nHim to behold, so is he goodly fresh:\nIt seems for love his heart is tender and nesh.\"*             *soft <34>\n\nThis is the Court of lusty folk and glad,\nAnd well becomes their habit and array:\nO why be some so sorry and so sad,\nComplaining thus in black and white and gray?\nFriars they be, and monkes, in good fay:\nAlas, for ruth! great dole* it is to see,                        *sorrow\nTo see them thus bewail and sorry be.\n\nSee how they cry and ring their handes white,\nFor they so soon* went to religion!,                              *young\nAnd eke the nuns with veil and wimple plight,*                  *plaited\nTheir thought is, they be in confusion:\n\"Alas,\" they say, \"we feign perfection, <35>\nIn clothes wide, and lack our liberty;\nBut all the sin must on our friendes be. <36>\n\n\"For, Venus wot, we would as fain* as ye,                        *gladly\nThat be attired here and *well beseen,*                  *gaily clothed*\nDesire man, and love in our degree,'\nFirm and faithful, right as would the Queen:\nOur friendes wick', in tender youth and green,\nAgainst our will made us religious;\nThat is the cause we mourn and waile thus.\"\n\nThen said the monks and friars *in the tide,*         *at the same time*\n\"Well may we curse our abbeys and our place,\nOur statutes sharp to sing in copes wide, <37>\nChastely to keep us out of love's grace,\nAnd never to feel comfort nor solace;*                          *delight\nYet suffer we the heat of love's fire,\nAnd after some other haply we desire.\n\n\"O Fortune cursed, why now and wherefore\nHast thou,\" they said, \"bereft us liberty,\nSince Nature gave us instrument in store,\nAnd appetite to love and lovers be?\nWhy must we suffer such adversity,\nDian' to serve, and Venus to refuse?\nFull *often sithe* these matters do us muse.               *many a time*\n\n\"We serve and honour, sore against our will,\nOf chastity the goddess and the queen;\n*Us liefer were* with Venus bide still,                *we would rather*\nAnd have regard for love, and subject be'n\nUnto these women courtly, fresh, and sheen.*          *bright, beautiful\nFortune, we curse thy wheel of variance!\nWhere we were well, thou reavest* our pleasance.\"           *takest away\n\nThus leave I them, with voice of plaint and care,\nIn raging woe crying full piteously;\nAnd as I went, full naked and full bare\nSome I beheld, looking dispiteously,\nOn Poverty that deadly cast their eye;\nAnd \"Well-away!\" they cried, and were not fain,\nFor they might not their glad desire attain.\n\nFor lack of riches worldly and of good,\nThey ban and curse, and weep, and say, \"Alas!\nThat povert' hath us hent,* that whilom stood                    *seized\nAt hearte's ease, and free and in good case!\nBut now we dare not show ourselves in place,\nNor us embold* to dwell in company,                  *make bold, venture\nWhere as our heart would love right faithfully.\"\n\nAnd yet againward shrieked ev'ry nun,\nThe pang of love so strained them to cry:\n\"Now woe the time,\" quoth they, \"that we be boun'!*               *bound\nThis hateful order nice* will do us die!        *into which we foolishly\nWe sigh and sob, and bleeden inwardly,                           entered\nFretting ourselves with thought and hard complaint,\nThat nigh for love we waxe wood* and faint.\"                        *mad\n\nAnd as I stood beholding here and there,\nI was ware of a sort* full languishing,               *a class of people\nSavage and wild of looking and of cheer,\nTheir mantles and their clothes aye tearing;\nAnd oft they were of Nature complaining,\nFor they their members lacked, foot and hand,\nWith visage wry, and blind, I understand.\n\nThey lacked shape and beauty to prefer\nThemselves in love: and said that God and Kind*                  *Nature\nHad forged* them to worshippe the sterre,**            *fashioned **star\nVenus the bright, and leften all behind\nHis other workes clean and out of mind:\n\"For other have their full shape and beauty,\nAnd we,\" quoth they, \"be in deformity.\"\n\nAnd nigh to them there was a company,\nThat have the Sisters warray'd and missaid,\nI mean the three of fatal destiny, <38>\nThat be our workers: suddenly abraid,*                          *aroused\nOut gan they cry as they had been afraid;\n\"We curse,\" quoth they, \"that ever hath Nature\nY-formed us this woeful life t'endure.\"\n\nAnd there eke was Contrite, and gan repent,\nConfessing whole the wound that Cythere <39>\nHad with the dart of hot desire him sent,\nAnd how that he to love must subject be:\nThen held he all his scornes vanity,\nAnd said that lovers held a blissful life,\nYoung men and old, and widow, maid, and wife.\n\n\"Bereave me, Goddess!\" quoth he, \"of thy might,\nMy scornes all and scoffes, that I have\nNo power for to mocken any wight\nThat in thy service dwell: for I did rave;\nThis know I well right now, so God me save,\nAnd I shall be the chief post* of thy faith,               *prop, pillar\nAnd love uphold, the reverse whoso saith.\"\n\nDissemble stood not far from him in truth,\nWith party* mantle, party hood and hose;                 *parti-\nAnd said he had upon his lady ruth,*                               *pity\nAnd thus he wound him in, and gan to glose,\nOf his intent full double, I suppose:\nIn all the world he said he lov'd her weel;\nBut ay me thought he lov'd her *ne'er a deal.*             *never a jot*\n\nEke Shamefastness was there, as I took heed,\nThat blushed red, and durst not be y-know\nShe lover was, for thereof had she dread;\nShe stood and hung her visage down alow;\nBut such a sight it was to see, I trow,\nAs of these roses ruddy on their stalk:\nThere could no wight her spy to speak or talk\n\nIn love's art, so gan she to abash,\nNor durst not utter all her privity:\nMany a stripe and many a grievous lash\nShe gave to them that woulde lovers be,\nAnd hinder'd sore the simple commonalty,\nThat in no wise durst grace and mercy crave,\nFor *were not she,* they need but ask and have;            *but for her*\n\nWhere if they now approache for to speak,\nThen Shamefastness *returneth them* again:             *turns them back*\nThey think, \"If we our secret counsel break,\nOur ladies will have scorn us certain,\nAnd peradventure thinke great disdain:\"\nThus Shamefastness may bringen in Despair;\nWhen she is dead the other will be heir.\n\n \"Come forth Avaunter! now I ring thy bell!\" <40>\nI spied him soon; to God I make avow,*                       *confession\nHe looked black as fiendes do in Hell:\n\"The first,\" quoth he, \"that ever I did wow,*                       *woo\n*Within a word she came,* I wot not how,               *she was won with\nSo that in armes was my lady free,                        a single word*\nAnd so have been a thousand more than she.\n\n\"In England, Britain,* Spain, and Picardy,                     *Brittany\nArtois, and France, and up in high Holland,\nIn Burgoyne,* Naples, and in Italy,                            *Burgundy\nNavarre, and Greece, and up in heathen land,\nWas never woman yet that would withstand\nTo be at my commandment when I wo'ld:\nI lacked neither silver coin nor gold.\n\n\"And there I met with this estate and that;\nAnd her I broach'd, and her, and her, I trow:\nLo! there goes one of mine; and, wot ye what?\nYon fresh attired have I laid full low;\nAnd such one yonder eke right well I know;\nI kept the statute <41> when we lay y-fere:*                   *together\nAnd yet* yon same hath made me right good cheer.\"                  *also\n\nThus hath Avaunter blowen ev'rywhere\nAll that he knows, and more a thousand fold;\nHis ancestry of kin was to Lier,*                                  *Liar\nFor first he maketh promise for to hold\nHis lady's counsel, and it not unfold; --\nWherefore, the secret when he doth unshit,*                    *disclose\nThen lieth he, that all the world may wit.*                        *know\n\nFor falsing so his promise and behest,*                           *trust\nI wonder sore he hath such fantasy;\nHe lacketh wit, I trow, or is a beast,\nThat can no bet* himself with reason guy**               *better **guide\nBy mine advice, Love shall be contrary\nTo his avail,* and him eke dishonour,                         *advantage\nSo that in Court he shall no more sojour.*              *sojourn, remain\n\n\"Take heed,\" quoth she, this little Philobone,\n\"Where Envy rocketh in the corner yond,*                         *yonder\nAnd sitteth dark; and ye shall see anon\nHis lean body, fading both face and hand;\nHimself he fretteth,* as I understand                          devoureth\n(Witness of Ovid Metamorphoseos); <42>\nThe lover's foe he is, I will not glose.*                    *gloss over\n\n\"For where a lover thinketh *him promote,*          *to promote himself*\nEnvy will grudge, repining at his weal;\nIt swelleth sore about his hearte's root,\nThat in no wise he cannot live in heal;*                         *health\nAnd if the faithful to his lady steal,\nEnvy will noise and ring it round about,\nAnd say much worse than done is, out of doubt.\"\n\nAnd Privy Thought, rejoicing of himself, --\nStood not far thence in habit marvellous;\n\"Yon is,\" thought I, \"some spirit or some elf,\nHis subtile image is so curious:\nHow is,\" quoth I, \"that he is shaded thus\nWith yonder cloth, I n'ot* of what color?\"                     *know not\nAnd near I went and gan *to lear and pore,*            *to ascertain and\n                                                         gaze curiously*\nAnd frained* him a question full hard.                            *asked\n\"What is,\" quoth I, \"the thing thou lovest best?\nOr what is boot* unto thy paines hard?                           *remedy\nMe thinks thou livest here in great unrest,\nThou wand'rest aye from south to east and west,\nAnd east to north; as far as I can see,\nThere is no place in Court may holde thee.\n\n\"Whom followest thou? where is thy heart y-set?\nBut *my demand assoil,* I thee require.\"            *answer my question*\n\"Me thought,\" quoth he, \"no creature may let*                    *hinder\nMe to be here, and where as I desire;\nFor where as absence hath out the fire,\nMy merry thought it kindleth yet again,\nThat bodily, me thinks, with *my sov'reign*                    *my lady*\n\n\"I stand, and speak, and laugh, and kiss, and halse;*           *embrace\nSo that my thought comforteth me full oft:\nI think, God wot, though all the world be false,\nI will be true; I think also how soft\nMy lady is in speech, and this on loft\nBringeth my heart with joy and great gladness;\nThis privy thought allays my heaviness.\n\n\"And what I think, or where, to be, no man\nIn all this Earth can tell, y-wis, but I:\nAnd eke there is no swallow swift, nor swan\nSo wight* of wing, nor half so yern** can fly;         *nimble **eagerly\nFor I can be, and that right suddenly,\nIn Heav'n, in Hell, in Paradise, and here,\nAnd with my lady, when I will desire.\n\n\"I am of counsel far and wide, I wot,\nWith lord and lady, and their privity\nI wot it all; but, be it cold or hot,\nThey shall not speak without licence of me.\nI mean, in such as seasonable* be,                              *prudent\nTho* first the thing is thought within the heart,                  *when\nEre any word out from the mouth astart.\"*                        *escape\n\nAnd with the word Thought bade farewell and yede:*            *went away\nEke forth went I to see the Courte's guise,\nAnd at the door came in, so God me speed,\nTwo courtiers of age and of assise*                                *size\nLike high, and broad, and, as I me advise,\nThe Golden Love and Leaden Love <43> they hight:*           *were called\nThe one was sad, the other glad and light.\n\nAt this point there is a hiatus in the poem, which abruptly ceases\nto narrate the tour of Philogenet and Philobone round the\nCourt, and introduces us again to Rosial, who is speaking thus\nto her lover, apparently in continuation of a confession of love:\n\n\"Yes! draw your heart, with all your force and might,\nTo lustiness, and be as ye have said.\"\n\nShe admits that she would have given him no drop of favour,\nbut that she saw him \"wax so dead of countenance;\" then Pity\n\"out of her shrine arose from death to life,\" whisperingly\nentreating that she would do him some pleasance. Philogenet\nprotests his gratitude to Pity, his faithfulness to Rosial; and the\nlady, thanking him heartily, bids him abide with her till the\nseason of May, when the King of Love and all his company will\nhold his feast fully royally and well. \"And there I bode till that\nthe season fell.\"\n\nOn May Day, when the lark began to rise,\nTo matins went the lusty nightingale,\nWithin a temple shapen hawthorn-wise;\nHe might not sleep in all the nightertale,*                  *night-time\nBut \"Domine\" <44> gan he cry and gale,*                        *call out\n\"My lippes open, Lord of Love, I cry,\nAnd let my mouth thy praising now bewry.\"*                   *show forth\n\nThe eagle sang \"Venite,\" <45> bodies all,\nAnd let us joy to love that is our health.\"\nAnd to the desk anon they gan to fall,\nAnd who came late he pressed in by stealth\nThen said the falcon, \"Our own heartes' wealth,\n'Domine Dominus noster,' <46> I wot,\nYe be the God that do* us burn thus hot.\"                          *make\n\n\"Coeli enarrant,\" <47> said the popinjay,*                       *parrot\n\"Your might is told in Heav'n and firmament.\"\nAnd then came in the goldfinch fresh and gay,\nAnd said this psalm with heartly glad intent,\n\"Domini est terra;\" <48> this Latin intent,*                      *means\nThe God of Love hath earth in governance:\nAnd then the wren began to skip and dance.\n\n\"Jube Domine; <49> O Lord of Love, I pray\nCommand me well this lesson for to read;\nThis legend is of all that woulde dey*                              *die\nMartyrs for love; God yet their soules speed!\nAnd to thee, Venus, sing we, *out of dread,*             *without doubt*\nBy influence of all thy virtue great,\nBeseeching thee to keep us in our heat.\"\n\nThe second lesson robin redbreast sang,\n\"Hail to the God and Goddess of our lay!\"*                *law, religion\nAnd to the lectern amorously he sprang:\n\"Hail now,\" quoth be, \"O fresh season of May,\n*Our moneth glad that singen on the spray!*      *glad month for us that\nHail to the flowers, red, and white, and blue,      sing upon the bough*\nWhich by their virtue maken our lust new!\"\n\nThe third lesson the turtle-dove took up,\nAnd thereat laugh'd the mavis* in a scorn:                    *blackbird\nHe said, \"O God, as might I dine or sup,\nThis foolish dove will give us all a horn!\nThere be right here a thousand better born,\nTo read this lesson, which as well as he,\nAnd eke as hot, can love in all degree.\"\n\nThe turtle-dove said, \"Welcome, welcome May,\nGladsome and light to lovers that be true!\nI thank thee, Lord of Love, that doth purvey\nFor me to read this lesson all *of due;*                   *in due form*\nFor, in good sooth, *of corage* I pursue             *with all my heart*\nTo serve my make* till death us must depart:\"                      *mate\nAnd then \"Tu autem\" <50> sang he all apart.\n\n\"Te Deum amoris\" <51> sang the throstel* cock:                   *thrush\nTubal <52> himself, the first musician,\nWith key of harmony could not unlock\nSo sweet a tune as that the throstel can:\n\"The Lord of Love we praise,\" quoth he than,*                      *then\nAnd so do all the fowles great and lite;*                        *little\n\"Honour we May, in false lovers' despite.\"\n\n\"Dominus regnavit,\" <53> said the peacock there,\n\"The Lord of Love, that mighty prince, y-wis,\nHe is received here and ev'rywhere:\nNow Jubilate <54> sing:\" \"What meaneth this?\"\nSaid then the linnet; \"welcome, Lord of bliss!\"\nOut start the owl with \"Benedicite,\" <55>\n\"What meaneth all this merry fare?\"* quoth he.              *doing, fuss\n\n\"Laudate,\" <56> sang the lark with voice full shrill;\nAnd eke the kite \"O admirabile;\" <57>\nThis quire* will through mine eares pierce and thrill;            *choir\nBut what? welcome this May season,\" quoth he;\n\"And honour to the Lord of Love must be,\nThat hath this feast so solemn and so high:\"\n\"Amen,\" said all; and so said eke the pie.*                      *magpie\n\nAnd forth the cuckoo gan proceed anon,\nWith \"Benedictus\" <58> thanking God in haste,\nThat in this May would visit them each one,\nAnd gladden them all while the feast shall last:\nAnd therewithal a-laughter* out he brast;\"**        *in laughter **burst\n\"I thanke God that I should end the song,\nAnd all the service which hath been so long.\"\n\nThus sang they all the service of the feast,\nAnd that was done right early, to my doom;*                    *judgment\nAnd forth went all the Court, both *most and least,*    *great and small\nTo fetch the flowers fresh, and branch and bloom;\nAnd namely* hawthorn brought both page and groom,            *especially\nWith freshe garlands party* blue and white, <59>         *parti-\nAnd then rejoiced in their great delight.\n\nEke each at other threw the flowers bright,\nThe primerose, the violet, and the gold;\nSo then, as I beheld the royal sight,\nMy lady gan me suddenly behold,\nAnd with a true love, plighted many a fold,\nShe smote me through the very heart *as blive;*            *straightway*\nAnd Venus yet I thank I am alive.\n\nExplicit*                                                       *The End\n\n\nNotes to The Court of Love\n\n\n1. So the Man of Law, in the prologue to his Tale, is made to\nsay that Chaucer \"can but lewedly (ignorantly or imperfectly) on\nmetres and on rhyming craftily.\" But the humility of those\napologies is not justified by the care and finish of his earlier\npoems.\n\n2. Born: burnish, polish: the poet means, that his verses do not\ndisplay the eloquence or brilliancy of Cicero in setting forth his\nsubject-matter.\n\n3. Galfrid: Geoffrey de Vinsauf to whose treatise on poetical\ncomposition a less flattering allusion is made in The Nun's\nPriest's Tale. See note 33 to that Tale.\n\n4. Stirp: race, stock; Latin, \"stirps.\"\n\n5. Calliope is the epic muse -- \"sister\" to the other eight.\n\n6. Melpomene was the tragic muse.\n\n7. The same is said of Griselda, in The Clerk's Tale; though she\nwas of tender years, \"yet in the breast of her virginity there was\ninclos'd a sad and ripe corage\"\n\n8. The confusion which Chaucer makes between Cithaeron and\nCythera, has already been remarked.  See note 41 to the\nKnight's Tale.\n\n9. Balais: Bastard rubies; said to be so called from Balassa, the\nAsian country where they were found. Turkeis: turquoise\nstones.\n\n10. Spenser, in his description of the House of Busirane, speaks\nof the sad distress into which Phoebus was plunged by Cupid, in\nrevenge for the betrayal of \"his mother's wantonness, when she\nwith Mars was meint [mingled] in joyfulness\"\n\n11. Alcestis, daughter of Pelias, was won to wife by Admetus,\nKing of Pherae, who complied with her father's demand that he\nshould come to claim her in a chariot drawn by lions and boars.\nBy the aid of Apollo -- who tended the flocks of Admetus\nduring his banishment from heaven -- the suitor fulfilled the\ncondition; and Apollo further induced the Moirae or Fates to\ngrant that Admetus should never die, if his father, mother, or\nwife would die for him. Alcestis devoted herself in his stead;\nand, since each had made great efforts or sacrifices for love, the\npair are fitly placed as king and queen in the Court of Love.\n\n12. In the prologue to the \"Legend of Good Women,\" Chaucer\nsays that behind the God of Love, upon the green, he \"saw\ncoming in ladies nineteen;\" but the stories of only nine good\nwomen are there told. In the prologue to The Man of Law's\nTale, sixteen ladies are named as having their stories written in\nthe \"Saints' Legend of Cupid\" -- now known as the \"Legend of\nGood Women\" -- (see note 5 to the Prologue to the Man of\nLaw's Tale); and in the \"Retractation,\" at the end of the Parson's\nTale, the \"Book of the Twenty-five Ladies\" is enumerated\namong the works of which the poet repents -- but there \"xxv\" is\nsupposed to have been by some copyist written for \"xix.\"\n\n13. fele: many; German, \"viele.\"\n\n14. Arras: tapestry of silk, made at Arras, in France.\n\n15. Danger, in the Provencal Courts of Love, was the\nallegorical personification of the husband; and Disdain suitably\nrepresents the lover's corresponding difficulty from the side of\nthe lady.\n\n16. In The Knight's Tale, Emily's yellow hair is braided in a\ntress, or plait, that hung a yard long behind her back; so that,\nboth as regards colour and fashion, a singular resemblance\nseems to have existed between the female taste of 1369 and that\nof 1869.\n\n17. In an old monkish story -- reproduced by Boccaccio, and\nfrom him by La Fontaine in the Tale called \"Les Oies de Frere\nPhilippe\"  -- a young man is brought up without sight or\nknowledge of women, and, when he sees them on a visit to the\ncity, he is told that they are geese.\n\n18. Tabernacle: A shrine or canopy of stone, supported by\npillars.\n\n19. Mister folk:  handicraftsmen, or tradesmen, who have\nlearned \"mysteries.\"\n\n20. The loves \"Of Queen Annelida and False Arcite\" formed the\nsubject of a short unfinished poem by Chaucer, which was\nafterwards worked up into The Knight's Tale.\n\n21. Blue was the colour of truth. See note 36 to the Squire's\nTale.\n\n22. Blife: quickly, eagerly; for \"blive\" or \"belive.\"\n\n23. It will be seen afterwards that Philogenet does not relish it,\nand pleads for its relaxation.\n\n24. Feat: dainty, neat, handsome; the same as \"fetis,\" oftener\nused in Chaucer; the adverb \"featly\" is still used, as applied to\ndancing, &c.\n\n25. Solomon was beguiled by his heathenish wives to forsake\nthe worship of the true God; Samson fell a victim to the wiles of\nDelilah.\n\n26. Compare the speech of Proserpine to Pluto, in The\nMerchant's Tale.\n\n27. See note 91 to the Knight's Tale for a parallel.\n\n28. Flaw: yellow; Latin, \"flavus,\" French, \"fauve.\"\n\n29. Bass: kiss; French, \"baiser;\" and hence the more vulgar\n\"buss.\"\n\n30. Maximian: Cornelius Maximianus Gallus flourished in the\ntime of the Emperor Anastasius; in one of his elegies, he\nprofessed a preference for flaming and somewhat swelling lips,\nwhich, when he tasted them, would give him full kisses.\n\n31. Dwale: sleeping potion, narcotic. See note 19 to the Reeve's\nTale.\n\n32. Environ: around; French, \"a l'environ.\"\n\n33. Cast off thine heart: i.e.  from confidence in her.\n\n34. Nesh: soft, delicate; Anglo-Saxon, \"nese.\"\n\n35. Perfection: Perfectly holy life, in the performance of vows\nof poverty, chastity, obedience, and other modes of mortifying\nthe flesh.\n\n36. All the sin must on our friendes be: who made us take the\nvows before they knew our own dispositions, or ability, to keep\nthem.\n\n37. Cope: The large vestment worn in singing the service in the\nchoir. In Chaucer's time it seems to have been a distinctively\nclerical piece of dress; so, in the prologue to The Monk's Tale,\nthe Host, lamenting that so stalwart a man as the Monk should\nhave gone into religion, exclaims, \"Alas! why wearest thou so\nwide a cope?\"\n\n38. The three of fatal destiny: The three Fates.\n\n39. Cythere:  Cytherea  --  Venus, so called from the name of\nthe island, Cythera, into which her worship was first introduced\nfrom Phoenicia.\n\n40. Avaunter: Boaster; Philobone calls him out.\n\n41. The statute: i.e. the 16th.\n\n42. \"Metamorphoses\" Lib. ii. 768 et seqq., where a general\ndescription of Envy is given.\n\n43. Golden Love and Leaden Love represent successful and\nunsuccessful love; the first kindled by Cupid's golden darts, the\nsecond by his leaden arrows.\n\n44. \"Domine, labia mea aperies -- et os meam annunciabit\nlaudem tuam\" (\"Lord, open my lips -- and my mouth will\nannounce your praise\") Psalms li. 15, was the verse with which\nMatins began. The stanzas which follow contain a paraphrase of\nthe matins for Trinity Sunday, allegorically setting forth the\ndoctrine that love is the all-controlling influence in the\ngovernment of the\nuniverse.\n\n45. \"Venite, exultemus,\" (\"Come, let us rejoice\") are the first\nwords of Psalm xcv. called the \"Invitatory.\"\n\n46. \"Domine Dominus noster:\" The opening words of Psalm\nviii.; \"O Lord our Lord.\"\n\n47. \"Coeli enarrant:\" Psalm xix. 1; \"The heavens declare (thy\nglory).\"\n\n48. \"Domini est terra\": Psalm xxiv. I; \"The earth is the Lord's\nand the fulness thereof.\" The first \"nocturn\" is now over, and\nthe lessons from Scripture follow.\n\n49. \"Jube, Domine:\" \"Command, O Lord;\" from Matthew xiv.\n28, where Peter, seeing Christ walking on the water, says\n\"Lord, if it be thou, bid me come to thee on the water.\"\n\n50: \"Tu autem:\" the formula recited by the reader at the end of\neach lesson; \"Tu autem, Domine, miserere nobis.\" (\"But do\nthou, O Lord, have pity on us!\")\n\n51. \"Te Deum Amoris:\" \"Thee, God of Love (we praise).\"\n\n52. Not Tubal, who was the worker in metals; but Jubal, his\nbrother, \"who was the father of all such as handle the harp and\norgan\" (Genesis iv. 21).\n\n53. \"Dominus regnavit:\"  Psalm xciii. 1, \"The Lord reigneth.\"\nWith this began the \"Laudes,\" or morning service of praise.\n\n54. \"Jubilate:\" Psalm c. 1, \"Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.\"\n\n55. \"Benedicite:\" \"Bless ye the Lord;\" the opening of the Song\nof the Three Children\n\n56. \"Laudate:\" Psalm cxlvii.; \"Praise ye the Lord.\"\n\n57. \"O admirabile:\" Psalm viii 1; \"O Lord our God, how\nexcellent is thy name.\"\n\n58. \"Benedictus\": The first word of the Song of Zacharias\n(Luke i. 68); \"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel\"\n\n59. In The Knight's Tale we have exemplifications of the\ncustom of gathering and wearing flowers and branches on May\nDay; where Emily, \"doing observance to May,\" goes into the\ngarden at sunrise and gathers flowers, \"party white and red, to\nmake a sotel garland for her head\"; and again, where Arcite\nrides to the fields \"to make him a garland of the greves; were it\nof woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves\"\n\n\n\n                 THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE.\n\n\n[THE noble vindication of true love, as an exalting, purifying,\nand honour-conferring power, which Chaucer has made in \"The\nCourt of Love,\" is repeated in \"The Cuckoo and the\nNightingale.\" At the same time, the close of the poem leads up\nto \"The Assembly of Fowls;\" for, on the appeal of the\nNightingale, the dispute between her and the Cuckoo, on the\nmerits and blessings of love, is referred to a parliament of birds,\nto be held on the morrow after Saint Valentine's Day. True, the\nassembly of the feathered tribes described by Chaucer, though\nheld on Saint Valentine's Day, and engaged in the discussion of\na controversy regarding love, is not occupied with the particular\ncause which in the present poem the Nightingale appeals to the\nparliament. But \"The Cuckoo and the Nightingale\" none the less\nserves as a link between the two poems; indicating as it does the\nnature of those controversies, in matters subject to the supreme\ncontrol of the King and Queen of Love, which in the subsequent\npoem we find the courtiers, under the guise of birds, debating in\nfull conclave and under legal forms. Exceedingly simple in\nconception, and written in a metre full of musical irregularity\nand forcible freedom, \"The Cuckoo and the Nightingale\" yields\nin vividness, delicacy, and grace to none of Chaucer's minor\npoems. We are told that the poet, on the third night of May, is\nsleepless, and rises early in the morning, to try if he may hear\nthe Nightingale sing. Wandering by a brook-side, he sits down\non the flowery lawn, and ere long, lulled by the sweet melody of\nmany birds and the well-according music of the stream, he falls\ninto a kind of doze -- \"not all asleep, nor fully waking.\" Then\n(an evil omen) he hears the Cuckoo sing before the Nightingale;\nbut soon he hears the Nightingale request the Cuckoo to\nremove far away, and leave the place to birds that can sing. The\nCuckoo enters into a defence of her song, which becomes a\nrailing accusation against Love and a recital of the miseries\nwhich Love's servants endure; the Nightingale vindicates Love\nin a lofty and tender strain, but is at last overcome with sorrow\nby the bitter words of the Cuckoo, and calls on the God of\nLove for help. On this the poet starts up, and, snatching a stone\nfrom the brook, throws it at the Cuckoo, who flies away full\nfast. The grateful Nightingale promises that, for this service, she\nwill be her champion's singer all that May; she warns him\nagainst believing the Cuckoo, the foe of Love; and then, having\nsung him one of her new songs, she flies away to all the other\nbirds that are in that dale, assembles them, and demands that\nthey should do her right upon the Cuckoo. By one assent it is\nagreed that a parliament shall be held, \"the morrow after Saint\nValentine's Day,\" under a maple before the window of Queen\nPhilippa at Woodstock, when judgment shall be passed upon\nthe Cuckoo; then the Nightingale flies into a hawthorn, and\nsings a lay of love so loud that the poet awakes. The five-line\nstanza, of which the first, second, and fifth lines agree in one\nrhyme, the third and fourth in another, is peculiar to this poem;\nand while the prevailing measure is the decasyllabic line used in\nthe \"Canterbury Tales,\" many of the lines have one or two\nsyllables less. The poem is given here without abridgement.]\n(Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was\nnot the author of this poem)\n\n\nTHE God of Love, ah! benedicite,\nHow mighty and how great a lord is he! <1>\nFor he can make of lowe heartes high,\nAnd of high low, and like for to die,\nAnd harde heartes he can make free.\n\nHe can make, within a little stound,*                            *moment\nOf sicke folke whole, and fresh, and sound,\nAnd of the whole he can make sick;\nHe can bind, and unbinden eke,\nWhat he will have bounden or unbound.\n\nTo tell his might my wit may not suffice;\nFor he can make of wise folk full nice,* --                     *foolish\nFor he may do all that he will devise, --\nAnd lither* folke to destroye vice,                       *idle, vicious\nAnd proude heartes he can make agrise.*                         *tremble\n\nShortly, all that ever he will he may;\nAgainst him dare no wight say nay;\nFor he can glad and grieve *whom him liketh.*          *whom he pleases*\nAnd who that he will, he laugheth or siketh,*                   *sigheth\nAnd most his might he sheddeth ever in May.\n\nFor every true gentle hearte free,\nThat with him is, or thinketh for to be,\nAgainst May now shall have some stirring,*                      *impulse\nEither to joy, or else to some mourning,\nIn no season so much, as thinketh me.\n\nFor when that they may hear the birdes sing,\nAnd see the flowers and the leaves spring,\nThat bringeth into hearte's remembrance\nA manner ease, *medled with grievance,*            *mingled with sorrow*\nAnd lusty thoughtes full of great longing.\n\nAnd of that longing cometh heaviness,\nAnd thereof groweth greate sickeness,\nAnd <2> for the lack of that that they desire:\nAnd thus in May be heartes set on fire,\nSo that they brennen* forth in great distress.                     *burn\n\nI speake this of feeling truely;\nIf I be old and unlusty,\nYet I have felt the sickness thorough May\n*Both hot and cold, an access ev'ry day,*         *every day a hot and a\nHow sore, y-wis, there wot no wight but I.                     cold fit*\n\nI am so shaken with the fevers white,\nOf all this May sleep I but lite;*                               *little\nAnd also it is not like* unto me                               *pleasing\nThat any hearte shoulde sleepy be,\nIn whom that Love his fiery dart will smite,\n\nBut as I lay this other night waking,\nI thought how lovers had a tokening,*                      *significance\nAnd among them it was a common tale,\nThat it were good to hear the nightingale\nRather than the lewd cuckoo sing.\n\nAnd then I thought, anon* it was day,                          *whenever\nI would go somewhere to assay\nIf that I might a nightingale hear;\nFor yet had I none heard of all that year,\nAnd it was then the thirde night of May.\n\nAnd anon as I the day espied,\nNo longer would I in my bed abide;\nBut to a wood that was fast by,\nI went forth alone boldely,\nAnd held the way down by a brooke's side,\n\nTill I came to a laund* of white and green,                        *lawn\nSo fair a one had I never in been;\nThe ground was green, *y-powder'd with daisy,*     *strewn with daisies*\nThe flowers and the *greves like high,*      *bushes of the same height*\nAll green and white; was nothing elles seen.\n\nThere sat I down among the faire flow'rs,\nAnd saw the birdes trip out of their bow'rs,\nThere as they rested them alle the night;\nThey were so joyful of the daye's light,\nThey began of May for to do honours.\n\nThey coud* that service all by rote;                               *knew\nThere was many a lovely note!\nSome sange loud as they had plain'd,\nAnd some in other manner voice feign'd,\nAnd some all out with the full throat.\n\nThey proined* them, and made them right gay,     *preened their feathers\nAnd danc'd and leapt upon the spray;\nAnd evermore two and two in fere,*                             *together\nRight so as they had chosen them to-year*                     *this year\nIn Feverere* upon Saint Valentine's Day.                       *February\n\nAnd the river that I sat upon,*                                  *beside\nIt made such a noise as it ran,\nAccordant* with the birde's harmony,                  *keeping time with\nMe thought it was the beste melody\nThat might be heard of any man.\n\nAnd for delight, I wote never how,\nI fell in such a slumber and a swow, --                           *swoon\nNot all asleep, nor fully waking, --\nAnd in that swow me thought I hearde sing\nThe sorry bird, the lewd cuckow;\n\nAnd that was on a tree right faste by.\nBut who was then *evil apaid* but I?                       *dissatisfied\n\"Now God,\" quoth I, \"that died on the crois,*                     *cross\nGive sorrow on thee, and on thy lewed voice!\nFull little joy have I now of thy cry.\"\n\nAnd as I with the cuckoo thus gan chide,\nI heard, in the next bush beside,\nA nightingale so lustily sing,\nThat her clear voice she made ring\nThrough all the greenwood wide.\n\n\"Ah, good Nightingale,\" quoth I then,\n\"A little hast thou been too long hen;*                   *hence, absent\nFor here hath been the lewd cuckow,\nAnd sung songs rather* than hast thou:                           *sooner\nI pray to God that evil fire her bren!\"*                           *burn\n\nBut now I will you tell a wondrous thing:\nAs long as I lay in that swooning,\nMe thought I wist what the birds meant,\nAnd what they said, and what was their intent\nAnd of their speech I hadde good knowing.\n\nThere heard I the nightingale say:\n\"Now, good Cuckoo, go somewhere away,\nAnd let us that can singe dwelle here;\nFor ev'ry wight escheweth* thee to hear,                          *shuns\nThy songes be so elenge,* in good fay.\"**               *strange **faith\n\n\"What,\" quoth she, \"what may thee all now\nIt thinketh me, I sing as well as thou,\nFor my song is both true and plain,\nAlthough I cannot crakel* so in vain,                  *sing tremulously\nAs thou dost in thy throat, I wot ne'er how.\n\n\"And ev'ry wight may understande me,\nBut, Nightingale, so may they not do thee,\nFor thou hast many a nice quaint* cry;                          *foolish\nI have thee heard say, 'ocy, ocy;' <3>\nHow might I know what that should be?\"\n\n\"Ah fool,\" quoth she, \"wost thou not what it is?\nWhen that I say, 'ocy, ocy,' y-wis,\nThen mean I that I woulde wonder fain\nThat all they were shamefully slain,                                *die\nThat meanen aught againe love amiss.\n\n\"And also I would that all those were dead,\nThat thinke not in love their life to lead,\nFor who so will the god of Love not serve,\nI dare well say he is worthy to sterve,*                            *die\nAnd for that skill,* 'ocy, ocy,' I grede.\"**               *reason **cry\n\n\"Ey!\" quoth the cuckoo, \"this is a quaint* law,                 *strange\nThat every wight shall love or be to-draw!*              *torn to pieces\nBut I forsake alle such company;\nFor mine intent is not for to die,\nNor ever, while I live, *on Love's yoke to draw.*      *to put on love's\n                                                                   yoke*\n\"For lovers be the folk that be alive,\nThat most disease have, and most unthrive,*                  *misfortune\nAnd most endure sorrow, woe, and care,\nAnd leaste feelen of welfare:\nWhat needeth it against the truth to strive?\"\n\n\"What?\" quoth she, \"thou art all out of thy mind!\nHow mightest thou in thy churlishness find\nTo speak of Love's servants in this wise?\nFor in this world is none so good service\nTo ev'ry wight that gentle is of kind;\n\n\"For thereof truly cometh all gladness,\nAll honour and all gentleness,\nWorship, ease, and all hearte's lust,*                         *pleasure\nPerfect joy, and full assured trust,\nJollity, pleasance, and freshness,\n\n\"Lowlihead, largess, and courtesy,\nSeemelihead, and true company,\nDread of shame for to do amiss;\nFor he that truly Love's servant is,\nWere lother* to be shamed than to die.                   *more reluctant\n\n\"And that this is sooth that I say,\nIn that belief I will live and dey;\nAnd, Cuckoo, so I rede* that thou, do y-wis.\"                   *counsel\n\"Then,\" quoth he, \"let me never have bliss,\nIf ever I to that counsail obey!\n\n\"Nightingale, thou speakest wondrous fair,\nBut, for all that, is the sooth contrair;\nFor love is in young folk but rage,\nAnd in old folk a great dotage;\nWho most it useth, moste shall enpair.*                     *suffer harm\n\n\"For thereof come disease and heaviness,\nSorrow and care, and many a great sickness,\nDespite, debate, anger, envy,\nDepraving,* shame, untrust, and jealousy,     *loss of fame or character\nPride, mischief, povert', and woodness.*                        *madness\n\n\"Loving is an office of despair,\nAnd one thing is therein that is not fair;\nFor who that gets of love a little bliss,\n*But if he be away therewith, y-wis,\nHe may full soon of age have his hair.*                   *see note <5>*\n\n\"And, Nightingale, therefore hold thee nigh;\nFor, 'lieve me well, for all thy quainte cry,\nIf thou be far or longe from thy make,*                            *mate\nThou shalt be as other that be forsake,\nAnd then thou shalt hoten* as do I.\"                          *be called\n\n\"Fie,\" quoth she, \"on thy name and on thee!\nThe god of Love let thee never the!*                             *thrive\nFor thou art worse a thousand fold than wood,*                      *mad\nFor many one is full worthy and full good,\nThat had been naught, ne hadde Love y-be.\n\n\"For evermore Love his servants amendeth,\nAnd from all evile taches* them defendeth,                    *blemishes\nAnd maketh them to burn right in a fire,\nIn truth and in worshipful* desire,                          *honourable\nAnd, when him liketh, joy enough them sendeth.\"\n\n\"Thou Nightingale,\" he said, \"be still!\nFor Love hath no reason but his will;\nFor ofttime untrue folk he easeth,\nAnd true folk so bitterly displeaseth,\nThat for default of grace* he lets them spill.\"**    *favour **be ruined\n\nThen took I of the nightingale keep,\nHow she cast a sigh out of her deep,\nAnd said, \"Alas, that ever I was bore!\nI can for teen* not say one worde more;\"                *vexation, grief\nAnd right with that word she burst out to weep.\n\n\"Alas!\" quoth she, \"my hearte will to-break\nTo heare thus this lewd bird speak\nOf Love, and of his worshipful service.\nNow, God of Love, thou help me in some wise,\nThat I may on this cuckoo be awreak!\"*                         *revenged\n\nMethought then I start up anon,\nAnd to the brook I ran and got a stone,\nAnd at the cuckoo heartly cast;\nAnd for dread he flew away full fast,\nAnd glad was I when he was gone.\n\nAnd evermore the cuckoo, as he flay,*                              *flew\nHe saide, \"Farewell, farewell, popinjay,\"\nAs though he had scorned, thought me;\nBut ay I hunted him from the tree,\nUntil he was far out of sight away.\n\nAnd then came the nightingale to me,\nAnd said, \"Friend, forsooth I thank thee\nThat thou hast lik'd me to rescow;*                              *rescue\nAnd one avow to Love make I now,\nThat all this May I will thy singer be.\"\n\nI thanked her, and was right *well apaid:*                    *satisfied\n\"Yea,\" quoth she, \"and be thou not dismay'd,\nThough thou have heard the cuckoo *erst than* me; <6>            *before\nFor, if I live, it shall amended be\nThe next May, if I be not afraid.\n\n\"And one thing I will rede* thee also,\nBelieve thou not the cuckoo, the love's foe,\nFor all that he hath said is strong leasing.\"*                *falsehood\n\"Nay,\" quoth I, \"thereto shall nothing me bring\nFor love, and it hath done me much woe.\"\n\n\"Yea? Use,\" quoth she, \"this medicine,\nEvery day this May ere thou dine:\nGo look upon the fresh daisy,\nAnd, though thou be for woe in point to die,\nThat shall full greatly less thee of thy pine.*                  *sorrow\n\n\"And look alway that thou be good and true,\nAnd I will sing one of my songes new\nFor love of thee, as loud as I may cry:\"\nAnd then she began this song full high:\n\"I shrew* all them that be of love untrue.\"                       *curse\n\nAnd when she had sung it to the end,\n\"Now farewell,\" quoth she, \"for I must wend,*                        *go\n And, God of Love, that can right well and may,\nAs much joy sende thee this day,\nAs any lover yet he ever send!\"\n\nThus took the nightingale her leave of me.\nI pray to God alway with her be,\nAnd joy of love he send her evermore,\nAnd shield us from the cuckoo and his lore;\nFor there is not so false a bird as he.\n\nForth she flew, the gentle nightingale,\nTo all the birdes that were in that dale,\nAnd got them all into a place in fere,*                        *together\nAnd besought them that they would hear\nHer disease,* and thus began her tale.              *distress, grievance\n\n\"Ye witte* well, it is not for to hide,                            *know\nHow the cuckoo and I fast have chide,*                       *quarrelled\nEver since that it was daylight;\nI pray you all that ye do me right\nOn that foul false unkind bride.\"*                                 *bird\n\nThen spake one bird for all, by one assent:\n\"This matter asketh good advisement;\nFor we be fewe birdes here in fere,\nAnd sooth it is, the cuckoo is not here,\nAnd therefore we will have a parlement.\n\n\"And thereat shall the eagle be our lord,\nAnd other peers that been *of record,*        *of established authority*\nAnd the cuckoo shall be *after sent;*                          *summoned\nThere shall be given the judgment,\nOr else we shall finally *make accord.*                  *be reconciled*\n\n\"And this shall be, withoute nay,*                        *contradiction\nThe morrow after Saint Valentine's Day,\nUnder a maple that is fair and green,\nBefore the chamber window of the Queen, <7>\nAt Woodstock upon the green lay.\"*                                 *lawn\n\nShe thanked them, and then her leave took,\nAnd into a hawthorn by that brook,\nAnd there she sat and sang upon that tree,\n*\"Term of life love hath withhold me;\"*             *love hath me in her\nSo loude, that I with that song awoke.              service all my life*\n\nExplicit.*                                                      *The End\n\n\nThe Author to His Book.\n\nO LEWD book! with thy foul rudeness,\nSince thou hast neither beauty nor eloquence,\nWho hath thee caus'd or giv'n the hardiness\nFor to appear in my lady's presence?\nI am full sicker* thou know'st her benevolence,                 *certain\nFull agreeable to all her abying,*                                *merit\nFor of all good she is the best living.\n\nAlas! that thou ne haddest worthiness,\nTo show to her some pleasant sentence,\nSince that she hath, thorough her gentleness,\nAccepted thee servant to her dign reverence!\nO! me repenteth that I n'had science,\nAnd leisure als', t'make thee more flourishing,\nFor of all good she is the best living.\n\nBeseech her meekly with all lowliness,\nThough I be ferre* from her in absence,                             *far\nTo think on my truth to her and steadfastness,\nAnd to abridge of my sorrows the violence,\nWhich caused is whereof knoweth your sapience;*                  *wisdom\nShe like among to notify me her liking,\nFor of all good she is the best living.\n\nExplicit.\n\n\nL'Envoy; To the Author's Lady.\n\nAurore of gladness, day of lustiness,\nLucern* at night with heav'nly influence                           *lamp\nIllumin'd, root of beauty and goodness,\nSuspires* which I effund** in silence!               *sighs **pour forth\nOf grace I beseech, allege* let your writing                    *declare\nNow of all good, since ye be best living.\n\nExplicit.\n\n\nNotes to the Cuckoo and the Nightingale\n\n\n1. These two lines occur also in The Knight's Tale; they\ncommence the speech of Theseus on the love follies of Palamon\nand Arcite, whom the Duke has just found fighting in the forest.\n\n2. A stronger reading is \"all.\"\n\n3. \"Ocy, ocy,\" is supposed to come from the Latin \"occidere,\"\nto kill; or rather the old French, \"occire,\" \"occis,\" denoting the\ndoom which the nightingale imprecates or supplicates on all\nwho do offence to Love.\n\n4. Grede: cry; Italian, \"grido.\"\n\n5.\"But if he be away therewith, y-wis,\nHe may full soon of age have his hair\":\nUnless he be always fortunate in love pursuits, he may full soon\nhave gray hair, through his anxieties.\n\n6. It was of evil omen to hear the cuckoo before the nightingale\nor any other bird.\n\n7. The Queen: Philippa of Hainault, wife of Edward III.\n\n\n\n                     THE ASSEMBLY OF FOWLS.\n\n\n[In \"The Assembly of Fowls\" -- which Chaucer's \"Retractation\"\ndescribes as \"The Book of Saint Valentine's Day, or of the\nParliament of Birds\" -- we are presented with a picture of the\nmediaeval \"Court of Love\" far closer to the reality than we find\nin Chaucer's poem which bears that express title. We have a\nregularly constituted conclave or tribunal, under a president\nwhose decisions are final. A difficult question is proposed for\nthe consideration and judgment of the Court -- the disputants\nadvancing and vindicating their claims in person. The attendants\nupon the Court, through specially chosen mouthpieces, deliver\ntheir opinions on the cause; and finally a decision is\nauthoritatively pronounced by the president -- which, as in\nmany of the cases actually judged before the Courts of Love in\nFrance, places the reasonable and modest wish of a sensitive\nand chaste lady above all the eagerness of her lovers, all the\nincongruous counsels of representative courtiers. So far,\ntherefore, as the poem reproduces the characteristic features of\nprocedure in those romantic Middle Age halls of amatory\njustice, Chaucer's \"Assembly of Fowls\" is his real \"Court of\nLove;\" for although, in the castle and among the courtiers of\nAdmetus and Alcestis, we have all the personages and\nmachinery necessary for one of those erotic contentions, in the\npresent poem we see the personages and the machinery actually\nat work, upon another scene and under other guises. The\nallegory which makes the contention arise out of the loves, and\nproceed in the assembly, of the feathered race, is quite in\nkeeping with the fanciful yet nature-loving spirit of the poetry\nof Chaucer's time, in which the influence of the Troubadours\nwas still largely present. It is quite in keeping, also, with the\nprinciples that regulated the Courts, the purpose of which was\nmore to discuss and determine the proper conduct of love\naffairs, than to secure conviction or acquittal, sanction or\nreprobation, in particular cases -- though the jurisdiction and\nthe judgments of such assemblies often closely concerned\nindividuals. Chaucer introduces us to his main theme through\nthe vestibule of a fancied dream -- a method which be\nrepeatedly employs with great relish, as for instance in \"The\nHouse of Fame.\" He has spent the whole day over Cicero's\naccount of the Dream of Scipio (Africanus the Younger); and,\nhaving gone to bed, he dreams that Africanus the Elder appears\nto him -- just as in the book he appeared to his namesake -- and\ncarries him into a beautiful park, in which is a fair garden by a\nriver-side. Here the poet is led into a splendid temple, through a\ncrowd of courtiers allegorically representing the various\ninstruments, pleasures, emotions, and encouragements of Love;\nand in the temple Venus herself is found, sporting with her\nporter Richess. Returning into the garden, he sees the Goddess\nof Nature seated on a hill of flowers; and before her are\nassembled all the birds -- for it is Saint Valentine's Day, when\nevery fowl chooses her mate. Having with a graphic touch\nenumerated and described the principal birds, the poet sees that\non her hand Nature bears a female eagle of surpassing loveliness\nand virtue, for which three male eagles advance contending\nclaims. The disputation lasts all day; and at evening the\nassembled birds, eager to be gone with their mates, clamour for\na decision. The tercelet, the goose, the cuckoo, and the turtle --\nfor birds of prey, water-fowl, worm-fowl, and seed-fowl\nrespectively -- pronounce their verdicts on the dispute, in\nspeeches full of character and humour; but Nature refers the\ndecision between the three claimants to the female eagle herself,\nwho prays that she may have a year's respite. Nature grants the\nprayer, pronounces judgment accordingly, and dismisses the\nassembly; and after a chosen choir has sung a roundel in honour\nof the Goddess, all the birds fly away, and the poet awakes. It is\nprobable that Chaucer derived the idea of the poem from a\nFrench source; Mr Bell gives the outline of a fabliau, of which\nthree versions existed, and in which a contention between two\nladies regarding the merits of their respective lovers, a knight\nand a clerk, is decided by Cupid in a Court composed of birds,\nwhich assume their sides according to their different natures.\nWhatever the source of the idea, its management, and the whole\nworkmanship of the poem, especially in the more humorous\npassages, are essentially Chaucer's own.]\n\n\nTHE life so short, the craft so long to learn,\nTh'assay so hard, so sharp the conquering,\nThe dreadful joy, alway that *flits so yern;*           *fleets so fast*\nAll this mean I by* Love, that my feeling             *with reference to\nAstoneth* with his wonderful working,                            *amazes\nSo sore, y-wis, that, when I on him think,\nNaught wit I well whether I fleet* or sink,                       *float\n\nFor *all be* that I know not Love indeed,             *albeit, although*\nNor wot how that he *quiteth folk their hire,*         *rewards folk for\nYet happeth me full oft in books to read                  their service*\nOf his miracles, and of his cruel ire;\nThere read I well, he will be lord and sire;\nI dare not saye, that his strokes be sore;\nBut God save such a lord! I can no more.\n\nOf usage, what for lust and what for lore,\nOn bookes read I oft, as I you told.\nBut wherefore speak I alle this? Not yore\nAgone, it happed me for to behold\nUpon a book written with letters old;\nAnd thereupon, a certain thing to learn,\nThe longe day full fast I read and yern.*                       *eagerly\n\nFor out of the old fieldes, as men saith,\nCometh all this new corn, from year to year;\nAnd out of olde bookes, in good faith,\nCometh all this new science that men lear.*                       *learn\nBut now to purpose as of this mattere:\nTo reade forth it gan me so delight,\nThat all the day me thought it but a lite.*                *little while\n\nThis book, of which I make mention,\nEntitled was right thus, as I shall tell;\n\"Tullius, of the Dream of Scipion:\" <1>\nChapters seven it had, of heav'n, and hell,\nAnd earth, and soules that therein do dwell;\nOf which, as shortly as I can it treat,\nOf his sentence I will you say the great.*               *important part\n\nFirst telleth it, when Scipio was come\nTo Africa, how he met Massinisse,\nThat him for joy in armes hath y-nome.*                       *taken <2>\nThen telleth he their speech, and all the bliss\nThat was between them till the day gan miss.*                      *fail\nAnd how his ancestor Africane so dear\nGan in his sleep that night to him appear.\n\nThen telleth it, that from a starry place\nHow Africane hath him Carthage y-shew'd,\nAnd warned him before of all his grace, <3>\nAnd said him, what man, learned either lewd,*                  *ignorant\nThat loveth *common profit,* well y-thew'd,       *the public advantage*\nHe should unto a blissful place wend,*                               *go\nWhere as the joy is without any end.\n\nThen asked he,* if folk that here be dead       *i.e. the younger Scipio\nHave life, and dwelling, in another place?\nAnd Africane said, \"Yea, withoute dread;\"*                        *doubt\nAnd how our present worldly lives' space\nMeant but a manner death, <4> what way we trace;\nAnd rightful folk should go, after they die,\nTo Heav'n; and showed him the galaxy.\n\nThen show'd he him the little earth that here is,\n*To regard* the heaven's quantity;                   *by comparison with\nAnd after show'd he him the nine spheres; <5>\nAnd after that the melody heard he,\nThat cometh of those spheres thrice three,\nThat wells of music be and melody\nIn this world here, and cause of harmony.\n\nThen said he him, since earthe was so lite,*                      *small\nAnd full of torment and of *harde grace,*                  *evil fortune\nThat he should not him in this world delight.\nThen told he him, in certain yeares' space,\nThat ev'ry star should come into his place,\nWhere it was first; and all should *out of mind,*   *perish from memory*\nThat in this world is done of all mankind.\n\nThen pray'd him Scipio, to tell him all\nThe way to come into that Heaven's bliss;\nAnd he said: \"First know thyself immortal,\nAnd look aye busily that thou work and wiss*              *guide affairs\nTo common profit, and thou shalt not miss\nTo come swiftly unto that place dear,\nThat full of bliss is, and of soules clear.*                  *noble <6>\n\n\"And breakers of the law, the sooth to sayn,\nAnd likerous* folk, after that they be dead,                  *lecherous\nShall whirl about the world always in pain,\nTill many a world be passed, *out of dread;*             *without doubt*\nAnd then, forgiven all their wicked deed,\nThey shalle come unto that blissful place,\nTo which to come God thee sende grace!\"\n\nThe day gan failen, and the darke night,\nThat reaveth* beastes from their business,                  *taketh away\nBerefte me my book for lack of light,\nAnd to my bed I gan me for to dress,*                           *prepare\nFull fill'd of thought and busy heaviness;\nFor both I hadde thing which that I n'old,*                   *would not\nAnd eke I had not that thing that I wo'ld.\n\nBut, finally, my spirit at the last,\nForweary* of my labour all that day,                    *utterly wearied\nTook rest, that made me to sleepe fast;\nAnd in my sleep I mette,* as that I say,                        *dreamed\nHow Africane, right in the *self array*                      *same garb*\nThat Scipio him saw before that tide,*                             *time\nWas come, and stood right at my bedde's side.\n\nThe weary hunter, sleeping in his bed,\nTo wood again his mind goeth anon;\nThe judge dreameth how his pleas be sped;\nThe carter dreameth how his cartes go'n;\nThe rich of gold, the knight fights with his fone;*                *foes\nThe sicke mette he drinketh of the tun; <7>\nThe lover mette he hath his lady won.\n\nI cannot say, if that the cause were,\nFor* I had read of Africane beforn,                             *because\nThat made me to mette that he stood there;\nBut thus said he; \"Thou hast thee so well borne\nIn looking of mine old book all to-torn,\nOf which Macrobius *raught not a lite,*            *recked not a little*\nThat *somedeal of thy labour would I quite.\"*    *I would reward you for\n                                                    some of your labour*\nCytherea, thou blissful Lady sweet!\nThat with thy firebrand dauntest *when thee lest,*     *when you please*\nThat madest me this sweven* for to mette,                         *dream\nBe thou my help in this, for thou may'st best!\nAs wisly* as I saw the north-north-west, <8>                     *surely\nWhen I began my sweven for to write,\nSo give me might to rhyme it and endite.*                    *write down\n\nThis foresaid Africane me hent* anon,                              *took\nAnd forth with him unto a gate brought\nRight of a park, walled with greene stone;\nAnd o'er the gate, with letters large y-wrought,\nThere were verses written, as me thought,\nOn either half, of full great difference,\nOf which I shall you say the plain sentence.*                   *meaning\n\n\"Through me men go into the blissful place <9>\nOf hearte's heal and deadly woundes' cure;\nThrough me men go unto the well of grace;\nWhere green and lusty May shall ever dure;\nThis is the way to all good adventure;\nBe glad, thou reader, and thy sorrow off cast;\nAll open am I; pass in and speed thee fast.\"\n\n\"Through me men go,\" thus spake the other side,\n\"Unto the mortal strokes of the spear,\nOf which disdain and danger is the guide;\nThere never tree shall fruit nor leaves bear;\nThis stream you leadeth to the sorrowful weir,\nWhere as the fish in prison is all dry; <10>\nTh'eschewing is the only remedy.\"\n\nThese verses of gold and azure written were,\nOn which I gan astonish'd to behold;\nFor with that one increased all my fear,\nAnd with that other gan my heart to bold;*                 *take courage\nThat one me het,* that other did me cold;                        *heated\nNo wit had I, for error,* for to choose           *perplexity, confusion\nTo enter or fly, or me to save or lose.\n\nRight as betwixten adamantes* two                               *magnets\nOf even weight, a piece of iron set,\nNe hath no might to move to nor fro;\nFor what the one may hale,* the other let;**         *attract **restrain\nSo far'd I, that *n'ist whether me was bet*     *knew not whether it was\nT' enter or leave, till Africane, my guide,               better for me*\nMe hent* and shov'd in at the gates wide.                        *caught\n\nAnd said, \"It standeth written in thy face,\nThine error,* though thou tell it not to me;      *perplexity, confusion\nBut dread thou not to come into this place;\nFor this writing *is nothing meant by* thee,         *does not refer to*\nNor by none, but* he Love's servant be;                          *unless\nFor thou of Love hast lost thy taste, I guess,\nAs sick man hath of sweet and bitterness.\n\n\"But natheless, although that thou be dull,\nThat thou canst not do, yet thou mayest see;\nFor many a man that may not stand a pull,\nYet likes it him at wrestling for to be,\nAnd deeme* whether he doth bet,** or he;                 *judge **better\nAnd, if thou haddest cunning* to endite,                          *skill\nI shall thee showe matter *of to write.\"*               *to write about*\n\nWith that my hand in his he took anon,\nOf which I comfort caught,* and went in fast.                      *took\nBut, Lord! so I was glad and  well-begone!*                   *fortunate\nFor *over all,* where I my eyen cast,                       *everywhere*\nWere trees y-clad with leaves that ay shall last,\nEach in his kind, with colour fresh and green\nAs emerald, that joy it was to see'n.\n\nThe builder oak; and eke the hardy ash;\nThe pillar elm, the coffer unto carrain;\nThe box, pipe tree; the holm, to whippe's lash\nThe sailing fir; the cypress death to plain;\nThe shooter yew; the aspe for shaftes plain;\nTh'olive of peace, and eke the drunken vine;\nThe victor palm; the laurel, too, divine. <11>\n\nA garden saw I, full of blossom'd boughes,\nUpon a river, in a greene mead,\nWhere as sweetness evermore enow is,\nWith flowers white, blue, yellow, and red,\nAnd colde welle* streames, nothing dead,                       *fountain\nThat swamme full of smalle fishes light,\nWith finnes red, and scales silver bright.\n\nOn ev'ry bough the birdes heard I sing,\nWith voice of angels in their harmony,\nThat busied them their birdes forth to bring;\nThe pretty conies* to their play gan hie;               *rabbits **haste\nAnd further all about I gan espy\nThe dreadful* roe, the buck, the hart, and hind,                  *timid\nSquirrels, and beastes small, of gentle kind.*                   *nature\n\nOf instruments of stringes in accord\nHeard I so play a ravishing sweetness,\nThat God, that Maker is of all and Lord,\nNe hearde never better, as I guess:\nTherewith a wind, unneth* it might be less,                    *scarcely\nMade in the leaves green a noise soft,\nAccordant* the fowles' song on loft.**          *in keeping with **above\n\nTh'air of the place so attemper* was,                              *mild\nThat ne'er was there grievance* of hot nor cold;              *annoyance\nThere was eke ev'ry wholesome spice and grass,\nNor no man may there waxe sick nor old:\nYet* was there more joy a thousand fold                        *moreover\nThan I can tell, or ever could or might;\nThere ever is clear day, and never night.\n\nUnder a tree, beside a well, I sey*                                 *saw\nCupid our lord his arrows forge and file;*                       *polish\nAnd at his feet his bow all ready lay;\nAnd well his daughter temper'd, all the while,\nThe heades in the well; and with her wile*                   *cleverness\nShe couch'd* them after, as they shoulde serve        *arranged in order\nSome for to slay, and some to wound and kerve.*              *carve, cut\n\nThen was I ware of Pleasance anon right,\nAnd of Array, and Lust, and Courtesy,\nAnd of the Craft, that can and hath the might\nTo do* by force a wight to do folly;                               *make\nDisfigured* was she, I will not lie;                          *disguised\nAnd by himself, under an oak, I guess,\nSaw I Delight, that stood with Gentleness.\n\nThen saw I Beauty, with a nice attire,\nAnd Youthe, full of game and jollity,\nFoolhardiness, Flattery, and Desire,\nMessagerie, and Meed, and other three; <12>\nTheir names shall not here be told for me:\nAnd upon pillars great of jasper long\nI saw a temple of brass y-founded strong.\n\nAnd [all] about the temple danc'd alway\nWomen enough, of whiche some there were\nFair of themselves, and some of them were gay\nIn kirtles* all dishevell'd went they there;                     *tunics\nThat was their office* ever, from year to year;        *duty, occupation\nAnd on the temple saw I, white and fair,\nOf doves sitting many a thousand pair. <13>\n\nBefore the temple door, full soberly,\nDame Peace sat, a curtain in her hand;\nAnd her beside, wonder discreetely,\nDame Patience sitting there I fand,*                              *found\nWith face pale, upon a hill of sand;\nAnd althernext, within and eke without,\nBehest,* and Art, and of their folk a rout.**           *Promise **crowd\n\nWithin the temple, of sighes hot as fire\nI heard a swough,* that gan aboute ren,**                  *murmur **run\nWhich sighes were engender'd with desire,\nThat made every hearte for to bren*                                *burn\nOf newe flame; and well espied I then,\nThat all the cause of sorrows that they dree*                    *endure\nCame of the bitter goddess Jealousy.\n\nThe God Priapus <14> saw I, as I went\nWithin the temple, in sov'reign place stand,\nIn such array, as when the ass him shent* <15>                   *ruined\nWith cry by night, and with sceptre in hand:\nFull busily men gan assay and fand*                           *endeavour\nUpon his head to set, of sundry hue,\nGarlandes full of freshe flowers new.\n\nAnd in a privy corner, in disport,\nFound I Venus and her porter Richess,\nThat was full noble and hautain* of her port;              *haughty <16>\nDark was that place, but afterward lightness\nI saw a little, unneth* it might be less;                      *scarcely\nAnd on a bed of gold she lay to rest,\nTill that the hote sun began to west.*         *decline towards the wesr\n\nHer gilded haires with a golden thread\nY-bounden were, untressed,* as she lay;                           *loose\nAnd naked from the breast unto the head\nMen might her see; and, soothly for to say,\nThe remnant cover'd, welle to my pay,*                *satisfaction <17>\nRight with a little kerchief of Valence;<18>\nThere was no thicker clothe of defence.\n\nThe place gave a thousand savours swoot;*                         *sweet\nAnd Bacchus, god of wine, sat her beside;\nAnd Ceres next, that *doth of hunger boot;*<19>        *relieves hunger*\nAnd, as I said, amiddes* lay Cypride, <20>                 *in the midst\nTo whom on knees the younge folke cried\nTo be their help: but thus I let her lie,\nAnd farther in the temple gan espy,\n\n<See note 21 for the stories of the lovers in\nthe next two stanzas>\n\nThat, in despite of Diana the chaste,\nFull many a bowe broke hung on the wall,\nOf maidens, such as go their time to waste\nIn her service: and painted over all\nOf many a story, of which I touche shall\nA few, as of Calist', and Atalant',\nAnd many a maid, of which the name I want.*                 *do not have\n\nSemiramis, Canace, and Hercules,\nBiblis, Dido, Thisbe and Pyramus,\nTristram, Isoude, Paris, and Achilles,\nHelena, Cleopatra, Troilus,\nScylla, and eke the mother of Romulus;\nAll these were painted on the other side,\nAnd all their love, and in what plight they died.\n\nWhen I was come again into the place\nThat I of spake, that was so sweet and green,\nForth walk'd I then, myselfe to solace:\nThen was I ware where there sat a queen,\nThat, as of light the summer Sunne sheen\nPasseth the star, right so *over measure*        *out of all proportion*\nShe fairer was than any creature.\n\nAnd in a lawn, upon a hill of flowers,\nWas set this noble goddess of Nature;\nOf branches were her halles and her bowers\nY-wrought, after her craft and her measure;\nNor was there fowl that comes of engendrure\nThat there ne were prest,* in her presence,                  *ready <22>\nTo *take her doom,* and give her audience.        *receive her decision*\n\nFor this was on Saint Valentine's Day,\nWhen ev'ry fowl cometh to choose her make,*                        *mate\nOf every kind that men thinken may;\nAnd then so huge a noise gan they make,\nThat earth, and sea, and tree, and ev'ry lake,\nSo full was, that unnethes* there was space                    *scarcely\nFor me to stand, so full was all the place.\n\nAnd right as Alain, in his Plaint of Kind, <23>\nDeviseth* Nature of such array and face;                     *describeth\nIn such array men mighte her there find.\nThis noble Emperess, full of all grace,\nBade ev'ry fowle take her owen place,\nAs they were wont alway, from year to year,\nOn Saint Valentine's Day to stande there.\n\nThat is to say, the *fowles of ravine*                   *birds of prey*\nWere highest set, and then the fowles smale,\nThat eaten as them Nature would incline;\nAs worme-fowl, of which I tell no tale;\nBut waterfowl sat lowest in the dale,\nAnd fowls that live by seed sat on the green,\nAnd that so many, that wonder was to see'n.\n\nThere mighte men the royal eagle find,\nThat with his sharpe look pierceth the Sun;\nAnd other eagles of a lower kind,\nOf which that *clerkes well devise con;*            *which scholars well\nThere was the tyrant with his feathers dun                 can describe*\nAnd green, I mean the goshawk, that doth pine*               *cause pain\nTo birds, for his outrageous ravine.*                  *slaying, hunting\n\nThe gentle falcon, that with his feet distraineth*               *grasps\nThe kinge's hand; <24> the hardy* sperhawk eke,                    *pert\nThe quaile's foe; the merlion <25> that paineth\nHimself full oft the larke for to seek;\nThere was the dove, with her eyen meek;\nThe jealous swan, against* his death that singeth;   *in anticipation of\nThe owl eke, that of death the bode* bringeth.                     *omen\n\nThe crane, the giant, with his trumpet soun';\nThe thief the chough; and eke the chatt'ring pie;\nThe scorning jay; <26> the eel's foe the heroun;\nThe false lapwing, full of treachery; <27>\nThe starling, that the counsel can betray;\nThe tame ruddock,* and the coward kite;                 *robin-redbreast\nThe cock, that horologe* is of *thorpes lite.*  *clock *little villages*\n\nThe sparrow, Venus' son; <28> the nightingale,\nThat calleth forth the freshe leaves new; <29>\nThe swallow, murd'rer of the bees smale,\nThat honey make of flowers fresh of hue;\nThe wedded turtle, with his hearte true;\nThe peacock, with his angel feathers bright; <30>\nThe pheasant, scorner of the cock by night; <31>\n\nThe waker goose; <32> the cuckoo ever unkind; <33>\nThe popinjay,* full of delicacy;                                 *parrot\nThe drake, destroyer of his owen kind; <34>\nThe stork, the wreaker* of adultery; <35>                       *avenger\nThe hot cormorant, full of gluttony; <36>\nThe raven and the crow, with voice of care; <37>\nThe throstle old;* and the frosty fieldfare.<38>             *long-lived\n\nWhat should I say? Of fowls of ev'ry kind\nThat in this world have feathers and stature,\nMen mighten in that place assembled find,\nBefore that noble goddess of Nature;\nAnd each of them did all his busy cure*                     *care, pains\nBenignely to choose, or for to take,\nBy her accord,* his formel <39> or his make.**           *consent **mate\n\nBut to the point. Nature held on her hand\nA formel eagle, of shape the gentilest\nThat ever she among her workes fand,\nThe most benign, and eke the goodliest;\nIn her was ev'ry virtue at its rest,*                     *highest point\nSo farforth that Nature herself had bliss\nTo look on her, and oft her beak to kiss.\n\nNature, the vicar of th'Almighty Lord, --\nThat hot, cold, heavy, light, and moist, and dry,\nHath knit, by even number of accord, --\nIn easy voice began to speak, and say:\n\"Fowles, take heed of my sentence,\"* I pray;         *opinion, discourse\nAnd for your ease, in furth'ring of your need,\nAs far as I may speak, I will me speed.\n\n\"Ye know well how, on Saint Valentine's Day,\nBy my statute, and through my governance,\nYe choose your mates, and after fly away\nWith them, as I you *pricke with pleasance;*     *inspire with pleasure*\nBut natheless, as by rightful ordinance,\nMay I not let,* for all this world to win,                       *hinder\nBut he that most is worthy shall begin.\n\n\"The tercel eagle, as ye know full weel,*                          *well\nThe fowl royal, above you all in degree,\nThe wise and worthy, secret, true as steel,\nThe which I formed have, as ye may see,\nIn ev'ry part, as it best liketh me, --\nIt needeth not his shape you to devise,* --                    *describe\nHe shall first choose, and speaken *in his guise.*      *in his own way*\n\n\"And, after him, by order shall ye choose,\nAfter your kind, evereach as you liketh;\nAnd as your hap* is, shall ye win or lose;                      *fortune\nBut which of you that love most entriketh,*              *entangles <40>\nGod send him her that sorest for him siketh.\"*                  *sigheth\nAnd therewithal the tercel gan she call,\nAnd said, \"My son, the choice is to thee fall.\n\n\"But natheless, in this condition\nMust be the choice of ev'reach that is here,\nThat she agree to his election,\nWhoso he be, that shoulde be her fere;*                       *companion\nThis is our usage ay, from year to year;\nAnd whoso may at this time have this grace,\n*In blissful time* he came into this place.\"           *in a happy hour*\nWith head inclin'd, and with full humble cheer,*              *demeanour\n\nThis royal tercel spake, and tarried not:\n\"Unto my sov'reign lady, and not my fere,*                    *companion\nI chose and choose, with will, and heart, and thought,\nThe formel on your hand, so well y-wrought,\nWhose I am all, and ever will her serve,\nDo what her list, to do me live or sterve.*                         *die\n\n\"Beseeching her of mercy and of grace,\nAs she that is my lady sovereign,\nOr let me die here present in this place,\nFor certes long may I not live in pain;\n*For in my heart is carven ev'ry vein:*       *every vein in my heart is\nHaving regard only unto my truth,                     wounded with love*\nMy deare heart, have on my woe some ruth.*                         *pity\n\n\"And if that I be found to her untrue,\nDisobeisant,* or wilful negligent,                          *disobedient\nAvaunter,* or *in process* love a new,         *braggart  *in the course\nI pray to you, this be my judgement,                            of time*\nThat with these fowles I be all to-rent,*                *torn to pieces\nThat ilke* day that she me ever find                               *same\nTo her untrue, or in my guilt unkind.\n\n\"And since none loveth her so well as I,\nAlthough she never of love me behet,*                          *promised\nThen ought she to be mine, through her mercy;\nFor *other bond can I none on her knit;*   *I can bind her no other way*\nFor weal or for woe, never shall I let*                     *cease, fail\nTo serve her, how far so that she wend;*                             *go\nSay what you list, my tale is at an end.\"\n\nRight as the freshe redde rose new\nAgainst the summer Sunne colour'd is,\nRight so, for shame, all waxen gan the hue\nOf this formel, when she had heard all this;\n*Neither she answer'd well, nor said amiss,*      *she answered nothing,\nSo sore abashed was she, till Nature                 either well or ill*\nSaid, \"Daughter, dread you not, I you assure.\"*        *confirm, support\n\nAnother tercel eagle spake anon,\nOf lower kind, and said that should not be;\n\"I love her better than ye do, by Saint John!\nOr at the least I love her as well as ye,\nAnd longer have her serv'd in my degree;\nAnd if she should have lov'd for long loving,\nTo me alone had been the guerdoning.*                            *reward\n\n\"I dare eke say, if she me finde false,\nUnkind, janglere,* rebel in any wise,                          *boastful\nOr jealous, *do me hange by the halse;*            *hang me by the neck*\nAnd but* I beare me in her service                               *unless\nAs well ay as my wit can me suffice,\nFrom point to point, her honour for to save,\nTake she my life and all the good I have.\"\n\nA thirde tercel eagle answer'd tho:*                               *then\n\"Now, Sirs, ye see the little leisure here;\nFor ev'ry fowl cries out to be ago\nForth with his mate, or with his lady dear;\nAnd eke Nature herselfe will not hear,\nFor tarrying her, not half that I would say;\nAnd but* I speak, I must for sorrow dey.**                 *unless **die\n\nOf long service avaunt* I me no thing,                            *boast\nBut as possible is me to die to-day,\nFor woe, as he that hath been languishing\nThis twenty winter; and well happen may\nA man may serve better, and *more to pay,*      *with more satisfaction*\nIn half a year, although it were no more.\nThan some man doth that served hath *full yore.*       *for a long time*\n\n\"I say not this by me for that I can\nDo no service that may my lady please;\nBut I dare say, I am her truest man,*                 *liegeman, servant\n*As to my doom,* and fainest would her please;          *in my judgement\n*At shorte words,* until that death me seize,              *in one word*\nI will be hers, whether I wake or wink.\nAnd true in all that hearte may bethink.\"\n\nOf all my life, since that day I was born,\n*So gentle plea,* in love or other thing,          *such noble pleading*\nYe hearde never no man me beforn;\nWhoso that hadde leisure and cunning*                             *skill\nFor to rehearse their cheer and their speaking:\nAnd from the morrow gan these speeches last,\nTill downward went the Sunne wonder fast.\n\nThe noise of fowles for to be deliver'd*             *set free to depart\nSo loude rang, \"Have done and let us wend,\"*                         *go\nThat well ween'd I the wood had all to-shiver'd:*        *been shaken to\n\"Come off!\" they cried; \"alas! ye will us shend!*          pieces* *ruin\nWhen will your cursed pleading have an end?\nHow should a judge either party believe,\nFor yea or nay, withouten any preve?\"*                            *proof\n\nThe goose, the duck, and the cuckoo also,\nSo cried \"keke, keke,\" \"cuckoo,\" \"queke queke,\" high,\nThat through mine ears the noise wente tho.*                       *then\nThe goose said then, \"All this n'is worth a fly!\nBut I can shape hereof a remedy;\nAnd I will say my verdict, fair and swith,*                    *speedily\nFor water-fowl, whoso be wroth or blith.\"*                         *glad\n\n\"And I for worm-fowl,\" said the fool cuckow;\nFor I will, of mine own authority,\nFor common speed,* take on me the charge now;                 *advantage\nFor to deliver us is great charity.\"\n\"Ye may abide a while yet, pardie,\"*                             *by God\nQuoth then the turtle; \"if it be your will\nA wight may speak, it were as good be still.\n\n\"I am a seed-fowl, one th'unworthiest,\nThat know I well, and the least of cunning;\nBut better is, that a wight's tongue rest,\nThan *entremette him of* such doing                   *meddle with* <41>\nOf which he neither rede* can nor sing;                         *counsel\nAnd who it doth, full foul himself accloyeth,*             *embarrasseth\nFor office uncommanded oft annoyeth.\"\n\nNature, which that alway had an ear\nTo murmur of the lewedness behind,\nWith facond* voice said, \"Hold your tongues there,     *eloquent, fluent\nAnd I shall soon, I hope, a counsel find,\nYou to deliver, and from this noise unbind;\nI charge of ev'ry flock* ye shall one call,               *class of fowl\nTo say the verdict of you fowles all.\"\n\nThe tercelet* said then in this mannere;                      *male hawk\n\"Full hard it were to prove it by reason,\nWho loveth best this gentle formel here;\nFor ev'reach hath such replication,*                              *reply\nThat by skilles* may none be brought adown;                   *arguments\nI cannot see that arguments avail;\nThen seemeth it that there must be battaile.\"\n\n\"All ready!\" quoth those eagle tercels tho;*                       *then\n\"Nay, Sirs!\" quoth he; \"if that I durst it say,\nYe do me wrong, my tale is not y-do,*                              *done\nFor, Sirs, -- and *take it not agrief,* I pray, --     *be not offended*\nIt may not be as ye would, in this way:\nOurs is the voice that have the charge in hand,\nAnd *to the judges' doom ye muste stand.*          *ye must abide by the\n                                                       judges' decision*\n\"And therefore 'Peace!' I say; as to my wit,\nMe woulde think, how that the worthiest\nOf knighthood, and had longest used it,\nMost of estate, of blood the gentilest,\nWere fitting most for her, *if that her lest;*          *if she pleased*\nAnd, of these three she knows herself, I trow,*                 *am sure\nWhich that he be; for it is light* to know.\"                       *easy\n\nThe water-fowles have their heades laid\nTogether, and *of short advisement,*          *after brief deliberation*\nWhen evereach his verdict had y-said\nThey saide soothly all by one assent,\nHow that \"The goose with the *facond gent,*          *refined eloquence*\nThat so desired to pronounce our need,*                         business\nShall tell our tale;\" and prayed God her speed.\n\nAnd for those water-fowles then began\nThe goose to speak. and in her cackeling\nShe saide, \"Peace, now! take keep* ev'ry man,                      *heed\nAnd hearken what reason I shall forth bring;\nMy wit is sharp, I love no tarrying;\nI say I rede him, though he were my brother,\nBut* she will love him, let him love another!\"                   *unless\n\n\"Lo! here a perfect reason of a goose!\"\nQuoth the sperhawke.  \"Never may she the!*                       *thrive\nLo such a thing 'tis t'have a tongue loose!\nNow, pardie: fool, yet were it bet* for thee                     *better\nHave held thy peace, than show'd thy nicety;*               *foolishness\nIt lies not in his wit, nor in his will,\nBut sooth is said, a fool cannot be still.\"\n\nThe laughter rose of gentle fowles all;\nAnd right anon the seed-fowls chosen had\nThe turtle true, and gan her to them call,\nAnd prayed her to say the *soothe sad*                   *serious truth*\nOf this mattere, and asked what she rad;*                    *counselled\nAnd she answer'd, that plainly her intent\nShe woulde show, and soothly what she meant.\n\n\"Nay! God forbid a lover shoulde change!\"\nThe turtle said, and wax'd for shame all red:\n\"Though that his lady evermore be strange,*                  *disdainful\nYet let him serve her ay, till he be dead;\nFor, sooth, I praise not the goose's rede*                      *counsel\nFor, though she died, I would none other make;*                    *mate\nI will be hers till that the death me take.\"\n\n*\"Well bourded!\"* quoth the ducke, \"by my hat!          *a pretty joke!*\nThat men should loven alway causeless,\nWho can a reason find, or wit, in that?\nDanceth he merry, that is mirtheless?\nWho shoulde *reck of that is reckeless?*           *care for one who has\nYea! queke yet,\" quoth the duck, \"full well and fair!   no care for him*\nThere be more starres, God wot, than a pair!\"  <42>\n\n\"Now fy, churl!\" quoth the gentle tercelet,\n\"Out of the dunghill came that word aright;\nThou canst not see which thing is well beset;\nThou far'st by love, as owles do by light,--\nThe day them blinds, full well they see by night;\nThy kind is of so low a wretchedness,\nThat what love is, thou caust not see nor guess.\"\n\nThen gan the cuckoo put him forth in press,*               *in the crowd\nFor fowl that eateth worm, and said belive:*                    *quickly\n\"So I,\" quoth he, \"may have my mate in peace,\nI recke not how longe that they strive.\nLet each of them be solain* all their life;                 *single <43>\nThis is my rede,* since they may not accord;                    *counsel\nThis shorte lesson needeth not record.\"\n\n\"Yea, have the glutton fill'd enough his paunch,\nThen are we well!\" saide the emerlon;*                           *merlin\n\"Thou murd'rer of the heggsugg,* on the branch            *hedge-sparrow\nThat brought thee forth, thou most rueful glutton, <44>\nLive thou solain, worme's corruption!\n*For no force is to lack of thy nature;*     *the loss of a bird of your\nGo! lewed be thou, while the world may dare!\"      depraved nature is no\n                                                      matter of regret.*\n\"Now peace,\" quoth Nature, \"I commande here;\nFor I have heard all your opinion,\nAnd in effect yet be we ne'er the nere.*                         *nearer\nBut, finally, this is my conclusion, --\nThat she herself shall have her election\nOf whom her list, whoso be *wroth or blith;*             *angry or glad*\nHim that she chooseth, he shall her have as swith.*             *quickly\n\n\"For since it may not here discussed be\nWho loves her best, as said the tercelet,\nThen will I do this favour t' her, that she\nShall have right him on whom her heart is set,\nAnd he her, that his heart hath on her knit:\nThis judge I, Nature, for* I may not lie                        *because\nTo none estate; I *have none other eye.*          *can see the matter in\n                                                         no other light*\n\"But as for counsel for to choose a make,\nIf I were Reason, [certes] then would I\nCounsaile you the royal tercel take,\nAs saith the tercelet full skilfully,*                       *reasonably\nAs for the gentilest, and most worthy,\nWhich I have wrought so well to my pleasance,\nThat to you it ought be *a suffisance.\"*          *to your satisfaction*\n\nWith dreadful* voice the formel her answer'd:                *frightened\n\"My rightful lady, goddess of Nature,\nSooth is, that I am ever under your yerd,*           *rod, or government\nAs is every other creature,\nAnd must be yours, while that my life may dure;\nAnd therefore grante me my firste boon,*                         *favour\nAnd mine intent you will I say right soon.\"\n\n\"I grant it you,\" said she; and right anon\nThis formel eagle spake in this degree:*                         *manner\n\"Almighty queen, until this year be done\nI aske respite to advise me;\nAnd after that to have my choice all free;\nThis is all and some that I would speak and say;\nYe get no more, although ye *do me dey.*                       *slay me*\n\n\"I will not serve Venus, nor Cupide,\nFor sooth as yet, by no manner [of] way.\"\n\"Now since it may none other ways betide,\"*                      *happen\nQuoth Dame Nature, \"there is no more to say;\nThen would I that these fowles were away,\nEach with his mate, for longer tarrying here.\"\nAnd said them thus, as ye shall after hear.\n\n\"To you speak I, ye tercels,\" quoth Nature;\n\"Be of good heart, and serve her alle three;\nA year is not so longe to endure;\nAnd each of you *pain him* in his degree                        *strive*\nFor to do well, for, God wot, quit is she\nFrom you this year, what after so befall;\nThis *entremess is dressed* for you all.\"             *dish is prepared*\n\nAnd when this work y-brought was to an end,\nTo ev'ry fowle Nature gave his make,\nBy *even accord,* and on their way they wend:           *fair agreement*\nAnd, Lord! the bliss and joye that they make!\nFor each of them gan other in his wings take,\nAnd with their neckes each gan other wind,*              *enfold, caress\nThanking alway the noble goddess of Kind.\n\nBut first were chosen fowles for to sing,--\nAs year by year was alway their usance,* --                      *custom\nTo sing a roundel at their departing,\nTo do to Nature honour and pleasance;\nThe note, I trowe, maked was in France;\nThe wordes were such as ye may here find\nThe nexte verse, as I have now in mind:\n\nQui bien aime, tard oublie. <45>\n\n\"Now welcome summer, with thy sunnes soft,\nThat hast these winter weathers overshake *         *dispersed, overcome\nSaint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,\nWhich driv'st away the longe nightes blake;*                      *black\nThus singe smalle fowles for thy sake:\nWell have they cause for to gladden* oft,           *be glad, make mirth\nSince each of them recover'd hath his make;*                       *mate\nFull blissful may they sing when they awake.\"\n\nAnd with the shouting, when their song was do,*                    *done\nThat the fowls maden at their flight away,\nI woke, and other bookes took me to,\nTo read upon; and yet I read alway.\nI hope, y-wis, to reade so some day,\nThat I shall meete something for to fare\nThe bet;* and thus to read I will not spare.                     *better\n\n\nExplicit.*                                                      *the end\n\n\nNotes to The Assembly of Fowls\n\n\n1. \"The Dream of Scipio\" -- \"Somnium Scipionis\" -- occupies\nmost of the sixth book of Cicero's \"Republic;\" which, indeed, as\nit has come down to us, is otherwise imperfect. Scipio\nAfricanus Minor is represented as relating a dream which he had\nwhen, in B.C. 149, he went to Africa as military tribune to the\nfourth legion. He had talked long and earnestly of his adoptive\ngrandfather with Massinissa, King of Numidia, the intimate\nfriend of the great Scipio; and at night his illustrious ancestor\nappeared to him in a vision, foretold the overthrow of Carthage\nand all his other triumphs, exhorted him to virtue and patriotism\nby the assurance of rewards in the next world, and discoursed\nto him concerning the future state and the immortality of the\nsoul. Macrobius, about AD. 500, wrote a Commentary upon the\n\"Somnium Scipionis,\" which was a favourite book in the Middle\nAges. See note 17 to The Nun's Priest's Tale.\n\n2. Y-nome: taken; past participle of \"nime,\" from Anglo-Saxon,\n\"niman,\" to take.\n\n3. His grace: the favour which the gods would show him, in\ndelivering Carthage into his hands.\n\n4. \"Vestra vero, quae dicitur, vita mors est.\" (\"Truly, as is said,\nyour life is a death\")\n\n5. The nine spheres are God, or the highest heaven, constraining\nand containing all the others; the Earth, around which the\nplanets and the highest heaven revolve; and the seven planets:\nthe revolution of all producing the \"music of the spheres.\"\n\n6. Clear: illustrious, noble; Latin, \"clarus.\"\n\n7. The sicke mette he drinketh of the tun: The sick man dreams\nthat he drinks wine, as one in health.\n\n8. The significance of the poet's looking to the NNW is not\nplain; his window may have faced that way.\n\n9. The idea of the twin gates, leading to the Paradise and the\nHell of lovers, may have been taken from the description of the\ngates of dreams in the Odyssey and the Aeneid; but the iteration\nof \"Through me men go\" far more directly suggests the legend\non Dante's gate of Hell:--\n\nPer me si va nella citta dolente,\nPer me si va nell' eterno dolore;\nPer me si va tra la perduta gente.\n\n(\"Through me is the way to the city of sorrow,\nThrough me is the way to eternal suffering;\nThrough me is the way of the lost people\")\n\nThe famous line, \"Lasciate ogni speranza, voi che entrate\" --\n\"All hope abandon, ye who enter here\" -- is evidently\nparaphrased in Chaucer's words \"Th'eschewing is the only\nremedy;\" that is, the sole hope consists in the avoidance of that\ndismal gate.\n\n10. A powerful though homely description of torment; the\nsufferers being represented as fish enclosed in a weir from\nwhich all the water has been withdrawn.\n\n11. Compare with this catalogue raisonne of trees the ampler\nlist given by Spenser in \"The Faerie Queen,\" book i. canto i. In\nseveral instances, as in \"the builder oak\" and \"the sailing pine,\"\nthe later poet has exactly copied the words of the earlier.\nThe builder oak: In the Middle Ages the oak was as\ndistinctively the building timber on land, as it subsequently\nbecame for the sea.\nThe pillar elm:  Spenser explains this in paraphrasing it into \"the\nvineprop elm\" -- because it was planted as a pillar or  prop to\nthe vine; it is called \"the coffer unto carrain,\" or \"carrion,\"\nbecause coffins for the dead were made from it.\nThe box, pipe tree: the box tree was used for making pipes or horns.\nHolm: the holly, used for whip-handles.\nThe sailing fir: Because ships' masts and spars were made of its\nwood.\nThe cypress death to plain: in Spenser's imitation, \"the cypress\nfuneral.\"\nThe shooter yew: yew wood was used for bows.\nThe aspe for shaftes plain: of the aspen, or black poplar, arrows\nwere made.\nThe laurel divine: So called, either because it was Apollo's\ntree -- Horace says that Pindar is \"laurea donandus Apollinari\" (\"to\nbe given Apollo's laurel\") -- or because the honour which it\nsignified, when placed on the head of a poet or conqueror, lifted\na man as it were into the rank of the gods.\n\n12. If Chaucer had any special trio of courtiers in his mind when\nhe excluded so many names, we may suppose them to be\nCharms, Sorcery, and Leasings who, in The Knight's Tale, come\nafter Bawdry and Riches -- to whom Messagerie (the carrying\nof messages) and Meed (reward, bribe) may correspond.\n\n13. The dove was the bird sacred to Venus; hence Ovid\nenumerates the peacock of Juno, Jove's armour bearing bird,\n\"Cythereiadasque columbas\" (\"And the Cythereian doves\") --\n\"Metamorphoses. xv. 386\n\n14. Priapus:  fitly endowed with a place in the Temple of Love,\nas being the embodiment of the principle of fertility in flocks\nand the fruits of the earth. See note 23 to the Merchant's Tale.\n\n15. Ovid, in the \"Fasti\" (i. 433), describes the confusion of\nPriapus when, in the night following a feast of sylvan and\nBacchic deities, the braying of the ass of Silenus wakened the\ncompany to detect the god in a furtive amatory expedition.\n\n16. Hautain: haughty, lofty; French, \"hautain.\"\n\n17. Well to my pay: Well to my satisfaction; from French,\n\"payer,\" to pay, satisfy; the same word often occurs, in the\nphrases \"well apaid,\" and \"evil apaid.\"\n\n18. Valentia, in Spain, was famed for the fabrication of fine and\ntransparent stuffs.\n\n19. The obvious reference is to the proverbial \"Sine Cerere et\nLibero friget Venus,\" (\"Love is frozen without freedom and\nfood\") quoted in Terence, \"Eunuchus,\" act iv. scene v.\n\n20. Cypride: Venus; called \"Cypria,\" or \"Cypris,\" from the\nisland of Cyprus, in which her worship was especially\ncelebrated.\n\n21. Callisto, daughter of Lycaon, was seduced by Jupiter,\nturned into a bear by Diana, and placed afterwards, with her\nson, as the Great Bear among the stars.\nAtalanta challenged Hippomenes, a Boetian youth, to a race in\nwhich the prize was her hand in marriage -- the penalty of\nfailure, death by her hand. Venus gave Hippomenes three\ngolden apples, and he won by dropping them one at a time\nbecause Atalanta stopped to pick them up.\nSemiramis was Queen of Ninus, the mythical founder of\nBabylon; Ovid mentions her, along with Lais, as a type of\nvoluptuousness, in his \"Amores,\" 1.5, 11.\nCanace, daughter of Aeolus, is named in the prologue to The\nMan of Law's Tale as one of the ladies whose \"cursed stories\"\nChaucer refrained from writing. She loved her brother\nMacareus, and was slain by her father.\nHercules was conquered by his love for Omphale, and spun\nwool for her in a woman's dress, while she wore his lion's skin.\nBiblis vainly pursued her brother Caunus with her love, till she\nwas changed to a fountain; Ovid, \"Metamorphoses.\" lib. ix.\nThisbe and Pyramus: the Babylonian lovers, whose death,\nthrough the error of Pyramus in fancying that a lion had slain his\nmistress, forms the theme of the interlude in the \"Midsummer\nNight's Dream.\"\nSir Tristram was one of the most famous among the knights of\nKing Arthur, and La Belle Isoude was his mistress. Their story\nis mixed up with the Arthurian romance; but it was also the\nsubject of separate treatment, being among the most popular of\nthe Middle Age legends.\nAchilles is reckoned among Love's conquests, because,\naccording to some traditions, he loved Polyxena, the daughter\nof Priam, who was promised to him if he consented to join the\nTrojans; and, going without arms into Apollo's temple at\nThymbra, he was there slain by Paris.\nScylla: Love-stories are told of two maidens of this name; one\nthe daughter of Nisus, King of Megara, who, falling in love with\nMinos when he besieged the city, slew  her father by pulling\nout the golden hair which grew on the top of his head, and on\nwhich  which his life and kingdom depended. Minos won the\ncity, but rejected her love in horror. The other Scylla, from\nwhom the rock opposite Charybdis was named, was a beautiful\nmaiden, beloved by the sea-god Glaucus, but changed into a\nmonster through the jealousy and enchantments of Circe.\nThe mother of Romulus:  Silvia, daughter and only living child\nof Numitor, whom her uncle Amulius made a vestal virgin, to\npreclude the possibility that his brother's descendants could\nwrest from him the kingdom of Alba Longa. But the maiden\nwas violated by Mars as she went to bring water from a\nfountain; she bore Romulus and Remus; and she was drowned\nin the Anio, while the cradle with the children was carried down\nthe stream in safety to the Palatine Hill, where the she-wolf\nadopted them.\n\n22. Prest: ready; French, \"pret.\"\n\n23. Alanus de Insulis, a Sicilian poet and orator of the twelfth\ncentury, who wrote a book \"De Planctu Naturae\" -- \"The\nComplaint of Nature.\"\n\n24. The falcon was borne on the hand by the highest\npersonages, not merely in actual sport, but to be caressed and\npetted, even on occasions of ceremony, Hence also it is called\nthe \"gentle\" falcon -- as if its high birth and breeding gave it a\nright to august society.\n\n25. The merlion: elsewhere in the same poem called \"emerlon;\"\nFrench, \"emerillon;\" the merlin, a small hawk carried by ladies.\n\n26. The scorning jay: scorning humbler birds, out of pride of his\nfine plumage.\n\n27. The false lapwing: full of stratagems and pretences to divert\napproaching danger from the nest where her young ones are.\n\n28. The sparrow, Venus' son: Because sacred to Venus.\n\n29. Coming with the spring, the nightingale is charmingly said\nto call forth the new leaves.\n\n30. Many- wings, like those of peacocks, were often\ngiven to angels in paintings of the Middle Ages; and in\naccordance with this fashion Spenser represents the Angel that\nguarded Sir Guyon (\"Faerie Queen,\" book ii. canto vii.) as\nhaving wings \"decked with diverse plumes, like painted jay's.\"\n\n31. The pheasant, scorner of the cock by night:  The meaning of\nthis passage is not very plain; it has been supposed, however, to\nrefer to the frequent breeding of pheasants at night with\ndomestic poultry in the farmyard -- thus scorning the sway of\nthe cock, its rightful monarch.\n\n32. The waker goose:  Chaucer evidently alludes to the passage\nin Ovid describing the crow of Apollo, which rivalled the\nspotless doves, \"Nec servataris vigili Capitolia voce cederet\nanseribus\" -- \"nor would it yield (in whiteness) to the geese\ndestined with wakeful or vigilant voice to save the Capitol\"\n(\"Metam.,\" ii. 538) when about to be surprised by the Gauls in\na night attack.\n\n33. The cuckoo ever unkind: the significance of this epithet is\namply explained by the poem of \"The Cuckoo and the\nNightingale.\"\n\n34. The drake, destroyer: of the ducklings -- which, if not\nprevented, he will kill wholesale.\n\n35. The stork is conspicuous for faithfulness to all family\nobligations, devotion to its young, and care of its parent birds in\ntheir old age. Mr Bell quotes from Bishop Stanley's \"History of\nBirds\" a little story which peculiarly justifies the special\ncharacter Chaucer has given: --  \"A French surgeon, at Smyrna,\nwishing to procure a stork, and finding great difficulty, on\naccount of the extreme veneration in which they are held by the\nTurks, stole all the eggs out of a nest, and replaced them with\nthose of a hen: in process of time the young chickens came\nforth, much to the astonishment of Mr and Mrs Stork. In a\nshort time Mr S. went off, and was not seen for two or three\ndays, when he returned with an immense crowd of his\ncompanions, who all assembled in the place, and formed a\ncircle, taking no notice of the numerous spectators whom so\nunusual an occurrence had collected. Mrs Stork was brought\nforward into the midst of the circle, and, after some\nconsultation, the whole flock fell upon her and tore her to\npieces; after which they immediately dispersed, and the nest was\nentirely abandoned.\"\n\n36. The cormorant feeds upon fish, so voraciously, that when\nthe stomach is crammed it will often have the gullet and bill\nlikewise full, awaiting the digestion of the rest.\n\n37. So called from the evil omens supposed to be afforded by\ntheir harsh cries.\n\n38. The fieldfare visits this country only in hard wintry weather.\n\n39. \"Formel,\" strictly or originally applied to the female of the\neagle and hawk, is here used generally of the female of all birds;\n\"tercel\" is the corresponding word applied to the male.\n\n40. Entriketh: entangles, ensnares; french, \"intriguer,\" to\nperplex; hence \"intricate.\"\n\n41. Entremette him of: meddle with; French, ' entremettre,\" to\ninterfere.\n\n42. The duck exhorts the contending lovers to be of light heart\nand sing, for abundance of other ladies were at their command.\n\n43. Solain: single, alone; the same word originally as \"sullen.\"\n\n44. The cuckoo is distinguished by its habit of laying its eggs in\nthe nests of other and smaller birds, such as the hedge-sparrow\n(\"heggsugg\"); and its young, when hatched, throw the eggs or\nnestlings of the true parent bird out of the nest, thus engrossing\nthe mother's entire care. The crime on which the emerlon\ncomments so sharply, is explained by the migratory habits of the\ncuckoo, which prevent its bringing up its own young; and\nnature has provided facilities for the crime, by furnishing the\nyoung bird with a peculiarly strong and broad back, indented by\na hollow in which the sparrow's egg is lifted till it is thrown out\nof the nest.\n\n45. \"Who well loves, late forgets;\" the refrain of the roundel\ninculcates the duty of constancy, which has been imposed on\nthe three tercels by the decision of the Court.\n\n\n\n                     THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF\n\n\n[\"The Flower and the Leaf\" is pre-eminently one of those\npoems by which Chaucer may be triumphantly defended against\nthe charge of licentious coarseness, that, founded upon his\nfaithful representation of the manners, customs, and daily life\nand speech of his own time, in \"The Canterbury Tales,\" are\nsweepingly advanced against his works at large. In an allegory --\nrendered perhaps somewhat cumbrous by the detail of chivalric\nceremonial, and the heraldic minuteness, which entered so liberally\ninto poetry, as into the daily life of the classes for whom poetry\nwas then written -- Chaucer beautifully enforces the lasting\nadvantages of purity, valour, and faithful love, and the fleeting\nand disappointing character of mere idle pleasure, of sloth\nand listless retirement from the battle of life. In the\n\"season sweet\" of spring, which the great singer of Middle Age\nEngland loved so well, a gentle woman is supposed to seek\nsleep in vain, to rise \"about the springing of the gladsome day,\"\nand, by an unfrequented path in a pleasant grove, to arrive at an\narbour. Beside the arbour stands a medlar-tree, in which a\nGoldfinch sings passing sweetly; and the Nightingale answers\nfrom a green laurel tree, with so merry and ravishing a note,\nthat the lady resolves to proceed no farther, but sit down on the\ngrass to listen. Suddenly the sound of many voices singing\nsurprises her; and she sees \"a world of ladies\" emerge from a\ngrove, clad in white, and wearing garlands of laurel, of agnus\ncastus, and woodbind. One, who wears a crown and bears a\nbranch of agnus castus in her hand, begins a roundel, in honour\nof the Leaf, which all the others take up, dancing and singing in\nthe meadow before the arbour. Soon, to the sound of\nthundering trumps, and attended by a splendid and warlike\nretinue, enter nine knights, in white, crowned like the ladies;\nand after they have jousted an hour and more, they alight and\nadvance to the ladies. Each dame takes a knight by the hand;\nand all incline reverently to the laurel tree, which they\nencompass, singing of love, and dancing. Soon, preceded by a\nband of minstrels, out of the open field comes a lusty company\nof knights and ladies in green, crowned with chaplets of\nflowers; and they do reverence to a tuft of flowers in the middle\nof the meadow, while one of their number sings a bergerette in\npraise of the daisy. But now it is high noon; the sun waxes\nfervently hot; the flowers lose their beauty, and wither with the\nheat; the ladies in green are scorched, the knights faint for lack\nof shade. Then a strong wind beats down all the flowers, save\nsuch as are protected by the leaves of hedges and groves; and a\nmighty storm of rain and hail drenches the ladies and knights,\nshelterless in the now flowerless meadow. The storm overpast,\nthe company in white, whom the laurel-tree has safely shielded\nfrom heat and storm, advance to the relief of the others; and\nwhen their clothes have been dried, and their wounds from sun\nand storm healed, all go together to sup with the Queen in\nwhite -- on whose hand, as they pass by the arbour, the\nNightingale perches, while the Goldfinch flies to the Lady of the\nFlower. The pageant gone, the gentlewoman quits the arbour,\nand meets a lady in white, who, at her request, unfolds the\nhidden meaning of all that she has seen; \"which,\" says Speght\nquaintly, \"is this: They which honour the Flower, a thing fading\nwith every blast, are such as look after beauty and worldly\npleasure. But they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the\nroot, notwithstanding the frosts and winter storms, are they\nwhich follow Virtue and during qualities, without regard of\nworldly respects.\" Mr Bell, in his edition, has properly noticed\nthat there is no explanation of the emblematical import of the\nmedlar-tree, the goldfinch, and the nightingale. \"But,\" he says,\n\"as the fruit of the medlar, to use Chaucer's own expression (see\nPrologue to the Reeve's Tale), is rotten before it is ripe, it may\nbe the emblem of sensual pleasure, which palls before it confers\nreal enjoyment. The goldfinch is remarkable for the beauty of its\nplumage, the sprightliness of its movements, and its gay,\ntinkling song, and may be supposed to represent the showy and\nunsubstantial character of frivolous pleasures. The nightingale's\nsober outward appearance and impassioned song denote greater\ndepth of feeling.\" The poem throughout is marked by the purest\nand loftiest moral tone; and it amply deserved Dryden's special\nrecommendation, \"both for the invention and the moral.\" It is\ngiven without abridgement.]\n(Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was\nnot the author of this poem)\n\nWHEN that Phoebus his car of gold so high\nHad whirled up the starry sky aloft,\nAnd in the Bull <1> enter'd certainly;\nWhen showers sweet of rain descended soft,\nCausing the grounde, fele* times and oft,                          *many\nUp for to give many a wholesome air,\nAnd every plain was y-clothed fair\n\nWith newe green, and maketh smalle flow'rs\nTo springe here and there in field and mead;\nSo very good and wholesome be the show'rs,\nThat they renewe what was old and dead\nIn winter time; and out of ev'ry seed\nSpringeth the herbe, so that ev'ry wight\nOf thilke* season waxeth glad and light.                           *this\n\nAnd I, so glad of thilke season sweet,\nWas *happed thus* upon a certain night,             *thus circumstanced*\nAs I lay in my bed, sleep full unmeet*               *unfit, uncompliant\nWas unto me; but why that I not might\nRest, I not wist; for there n'as* earthly wight,                *was not\nAs I suppose, had more hearte's ease\nThan I, for I n'had* sickness nor disease.**         *had not **distress\n\nWherefore I marvel greatly of myself,\nThat I so long withoute sleepe lay;\nAnd up I rose three houres after twelf,\nAbout the springing of the [gladsome] day;\nAnd on I put my gear* and mine array,                          *garments\nAnd to a pleasant grove I gan to pass,\nLong ere the brighte sun uprisen was;\n\nIn which were oakes great, straight as a line,\nUnder the which the grass, so fresh of hue,\nWas newly sprung; and an eight foot or nine\nEvery tree well from his fellow grew,\nWith branches broad, laden with leaves new,\nThat sprangen out against the sunne sheen;\nSome very red;<2> and some a glad light green;\n\nWhich, as me thought, was right a pleasant sight.\nAnd eke the birdes' songes for to hear\nWould have rejoiced any earthly wight;\nAnd I, that could not yet, in no mannere,\nHeare the nightingale of* all the year,<3>                       *during\nFull busy hearkened with heart and ear,\nIf I her voice perceive could anywhere.\n\nAnd at the last a path of little brede*                         *breadth\nI found, that greatly had not used be;\nFor it forgrowen* was with grass and weed,                    *overgrown\nThat well unneth* a wight mighte see:                          *scarcely\nThought I, \"This path some whither goes, pardie!\"*          *of a surety\nAnd so I follow'd [it], till it me brought\nTo a right pleasant arbour, well y-wrought,\n\nThat benched  was, and [all] with turfes new\nFreshly y-turf'd, <4> whereof the greene grass,\nSo small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hue,\nThat most like to green wool, I wot, it was;\nThe hedge also, that *yeden in compass,*           *went all around <5>*\nAnd closed in all the greene herbere,*                           *arbour\nWith sycamore was set and eglatere,*             *eglantine, sweet-briar\n\nWreathed *in fere* so well and cunningly,                     *together*\nThat ev'ry branch and leaf grew *by measure,*                *regularly*\nPlain as a board, of *a height by and by:*         *the same height side\nI saw never a thing, I you ensure,                              by side*\nSo well y-done; for he that took the cure*                  *pains, care\nTo maken it, I trow did all his pain\nTo make it pass all those that men have seen.\n\nAnd shapen was this arbour, roof and all,\nAs is a pretty parlour; and also\nThe hedge as thick was as a castle wall,\nThat whoso list without to stand or go,\nThough he would all day pryen to and fro,\nHe should not see if there were any wight\nWithin or no; but one within well might\n\nPerceive all those that wente there without\nInto the field, that was on ev'ry side\nCover'd with corn and grass; that out of doubt,\nThough one would seeken all the worlde wide,\nSo rich a fielde could not be espied\nUpon no coast, *as of the quantity;*                  *for its abundance\nFor of all goode thing there was plenty.                   or fertility*\n\nAnd I, that all this pleasant sight [did] see,\nThought suddenly I felt so sweet an air\nOf the eglentere, that certainly\nThere is no heart, I deem, in such despair,\nNor yet with thoughtes froward and contrair\nSo overlaid, but it should soon have boot,*             *remedy, relief*\nIf it had ones felt this *savour swoot.*                   *sweet smell*\n\nAnd as I stood, and cast aside mine eye,\nI was ware of the fairest medlar tree\nThat ever yet in all my life I seye,*                               *saw\nAs full of blossoms as it mighte be;\nTherein a goldfinch leaping prettily\nFrom bough to bough; and as him list he eat\nHere and there of the buds and flowers sweet.\n\nAnd to the arbour side was adjoining\nThis fairest tree, of which I have you told;\nAnd at the last the bird began to sing\n(When he had eaten what he eate wo'ld)\nSo passing sweetly, that by many fold\nIt was more pleasant than I could devise;*               *tell, describe\nAnd, when his song was ended in this wise,\n\nThe nightingale with so merry a note\nAnswered him, that all the woode rung,\nSo suddenly, that, *as it were a sote,*                *like a fool <6>*\nI stood astound'; so was I with the song\nThorough ravished, that, *till late and long,*         *for a long time*\nI wist not in what place I was, nor where;\nAgain, me thought, she sung e'en by mine ear.\n\nWherefore I waited about busily\nOn ev'ry side, if that I might her see;\nAnd at the last I gan full well espy\nWhere she sat in a fresh green laurel tree,\nOn the further side, even right by me,\nThat gave so passing a delicious smell,\n*According to* the eglantere full well.                  *blending with*\n\nWhereof I had so inly great pleasure,\nThat, as me thought, I surely ravish'd was\nInto Paradise, where [as] my desire\nWas for to be, and no farther to pass,\nAs for that day; and on the sweete grass\nI sat me down; for, *as for mine intent,*                   *to my mind*\nThe birde's song was more *convenient,*       *appropriate to my humour*\n\nAnd more pleasant to me, by many fold,\nThan meat, or drink, or any other thing;\nThereto the arbour was so fresh and cold,\nThe wholesome savours eke so comforting,\nThat, as I deemed, since the beginning\nOf the world was [there] never seen *ere than*             *before then*\nSo pleasant a ground of none earthly man.\n\nAnd as I sat, the birdes heark'ning thus,\nMe thought that I heard voices suddenly,\nThe most sweetest and most delicious\nThat ever any wight, I *trow truely,*                   *verily believe*\nHeard in their life; for the harmony\nAnd sweet accord was in so good musike,\nThat the voices to angels' most were like.\n\nAt the last, out of a grove even by,\nThat was right goodly, and pleasant to sight,\nI saw where there came, singing lustily,\nA world of ladies; but to tell aright\nTheir greate beauty, lies not in my might,\nNor their array; nevertheless I shall\nTell you a part, though I speak not of all.\n\nIn surcoats* white, of velvet well fitting,                 *upper robes\nThey were clad, and the seames each one,\nAs it were a mannere [of] garnishing,\nWas set with emeraldes, one and one,\n*By and by;* but many a riche stone                           *in a row*\nWas set upon the purfles,* out of doubt,              *embroidered edges\nOf collars, sleeves, and traines round about;\n\nAs greate pearles, round and orient,*                         *brilliant\nAnd diamondes fine, and rubies red,\nAnd many another stone, of which I went*                  *cannot recall\nThe names now; and ev'reach on her head\n[Had] a rich fret* of gold, which, without dread,**        *band **doubt\nWas full of stately* riche stones set;                  *valuable, noble\nAnd ev'ry lady had a chapelet\n\nUpon her head of branches fresh and green, <7>\nSo well y-wrought, and so marvellously,\nThat it was a right noble sight to see'n;\nSome of laurel, and some full pleasantly\nHad chapelets of woodbine; and sadly,*                         *sedately\nSome of agnus castus <8> wearen also\nChapelets fresh; but there were many of tho'*                     *those\n\nThat danced and eke sung full soberly;\nAnd all they went *in manner of compass;*                  *in a circle*\nBut one there went, in mid the company,\nSole by herself; but all follow'd the pace\nThat she kept, whose heavenly figur'd face\nSo pleasant was, and her well shap'd person,\nThat in beauty she pass'd them ev'ry one.\n\nAnd more richly beseen, by many fold,\nShe was also in ev'ry manner thing:\nUpon her head, full pleasant to behold,\nA crown of golde, rich for any king;\nA branch of agnus castus eke bearing\nIn her hand, and to my sight truely\nShe Lady was of all that company.\n\nAnd she began a roundell <9> lustily,\nThat \"Suse le foyle, devers moi,\" men call,\n\"Siene et mon joly coeur est endormy;\" <10>\nAnd then the company answered all,\nWith voices sweet entuned, and so small,*                          *fine\nThat me thought it the sweetest melody\nThat ever I heard in my life, soothly.*                           *truly\n\nAnd thus they came, dancing and singing,\nInto the middest of the mead each one,\nBefore the arbour where I was sitting;\nAnd, God wot, me thought I was well-begone,*                  *fortunate\nFor then I might advise* them one by one,                      *consider\nWho fairest was, who best could dance or sing,\nOr who most womanly was in all thing.\n\nThey had not danced but a *little throw,*                   *short time*\nWhen that I hearde far off, suddenly,\nSo great a noise of thund'ring trumpets blow,\nAs though it should departed* have the sky;                *rent, divide\nAnd after that, within a while, I sigh,*                            *saw\nFrom the same grove, where the ladies came out,\nOf men of armes coming such a rout,*                            *company\n\nAs* all the men on earth had been assembled                       *as if\nUnto that place, well horsed for the nonce*                    *occasion\nStirring so fast, that all the earthe trembled\nBut for to speak of riches, and of stones,\nAnd men and horse, I trow the large ones*                   *i.e. jewels\nOf Prester John, <11> nor all his treasury,\nMight not unneth* have bought the tenth party**           *hardly **part\n\nOf their array: whoso list heare more,\nI shall rehearse so as I can a lite.*                            *little\nOut of the grove, that I spake of before,\nI saw come first, all in their cloakes white,\nA company, that wore, for their delight,\nChapelets fresh of oake cerrial, <12>\nNewly y-sprung; and trumpets* were they all.                 *trumpeters\n\nOn ev'ry trump hanging a broad bannere\nOf fine tartarium <13> was, full richly beat;*    *embroidered with gold\nEvery trumpet his lord's armes bare;\nAbout their necks, with greate pearles set,\n[Were] collars broad; for cost they would not let,*      *be hindered by\nAs it would seem, for their scutcheons each one\nWere set about with many a precious stone.\n\nTheir horses' harness was all white also.\nAnd after them next, in one company,\nCame kinges at armes and no mo',\nIn cloakes of white cloth with gold richly;\nChaplets of green upon their heads on high;\nThe crownes that they on their scutcheons bare\nWere set with pearl, and ruby, and sapphire,\n\nAnd eke great diamondes many one:\nBut all their horse harness, and other gear,\nWas in a suit according, ev'ry one,\nAs ye have heard the foresaid trumpets were;\nAnd, by seeming, they *were nothing to lear,*     *had nothing to learn*\nAnd their guiding they did all mannerly.*                     *perfectly\nAnd after them came a great company\n\nOf heraldes and pursuivantes eke,\nArrayed in clothes of white velvet;\nAnd, hardily,* they were no thing to seek,                     assuredly\nHow they on them shoulde the harness set:\nAnd ev'ry man had on a chapelet;\nScutcheones and eke harness, indeed,\nThey had *in suit of* them that 'fore them yede.*   *corresponding with*\n                                                                   *went\nNext after them in came, in armour bright,\nAll save their heades, seemly knightes nine,\nAnd ev'ry clasp and nail, as to my sight,\nOf their harness was of red golde fine;\nWith cloth of gold, and furred with ermine,\nWere the trappures* of their steedes strong,                  *trappings\nBoth wide and large, that to the grounde hung.\n\nAnd ev'ry boss of bridle and paytrel*               *horse's breastplate\nThat they had on, was worth, as I would ween,\nA thousand pound; and on their heades, well\nDressed, were crownes of the laurel green,\nThe beste made that ever I had seen;\nAnd ev'ry knight had after him riding\nThree henchemen* upon him awaiting.                               *pages\n\nOf which ev'ry [first], on a short truncheon,*                    *staff\nHis lorde's helmet bare, so richly dight,*                      *adorned\nThat the worst of them was worthy the ranson*                    *ransom\nOf any king; the second a shielde bright\nBare at his back; the thirde bare upright\nA mighty spear, full sharp y-ground and keen;\nAnd ev'ry childe* ware of leaves green                             *page\n\nA freshe chaplet on his haires bright;\nAnd cloakes white of fine velvet they ware\nTheir steedes trapped and arrayed right,\nWithout difference, as their lordes' were;\nAnd after them, on many a fresh courser,\nThere came of armed knightes such a rout,*               *company, crowd\nThat they bespread the large field about.\n\nAnd all they waren, after their degrees,\nChapelets newe made of laurel green,\nSome of the oak, and some of other trees;\nSome in their handes bare boughes sheen,*                        *bright\nSome of laurel, and some of oakes keen,\nSome of hawthorn, and some of the woodbind,\nAnd many more which I had not in mind.\n\nAnd so they came, their horses fresh stirring\nWith bloody soundes of their trumpets loud;\nThere saw I many an *uncouth disguising*           *strange manoeuvring*\nIn the array of these knightes proud;\nAnd at the last, as evenly as they could,\nThey took their place in middest of the mead,\nAnd ev'ry knight turned his horse's head\n\nTo his fellow, and lightly laid a spear\nInto the rest; and so the jousts began\nOn ev'ry part aboute, here and there;\nSome brake his spear, some threw down horse and man;\nAbout the field astray the steedes ran;\nAnd, to behold their rule and governance,*                      *conduct\nI you ensure, it was a great pleasuance.\n\nAnd so the joustes last'* an hour and more;                      *lasted\nBut those that crowned were in laurel green\nWonne the prize; their dintes* were so sore,                    *strokes\nThat there was none against them might sustene:\nAnd the jousting was alle left off clean,\nAnd from their horse the nine alight' anon,\nAnd so did all the remnant ev'ry one.\n\nAnd forth they went together, twain and twain,\nThat to behold it was a worthy sight,\nToward the ladies on the greene plain,\nThat sang and danced as I said now right;\nThe ladies, as soon as they goodly might,\nThey brake off both the song and eke the dance,\nAnd went to meet them with full glad semblance.*            *air, aspect\n\nAnd ev'ry lady took, full womanly,\nBy th'hand a knight, and so forth right they yede*                 *went\nUnto a fair laurel that stood fast by,\nWith leaves lade the boughs of greate brede;*                   *breadth\nAnd, to my doom,* there never was, indeed,                     *judgment\nMan that had seene half so fair a tree;\nFor underneath it there might well have be*                        *been\n\nA hundred persons, *at their own pleasance,*        *in perfect comfort*\nShadowed from the heat of Phoebus bright,\nSo that they shoulde have felt no grievance*                  *annoyance\nOf rain nor haile that them hurte might.\nThe savour eke rejoice would any wight\nThat had been sick or melancholious,\nIt was so very good and virtuous.*              *full of healing virtues\n\nAnd with great rev'rence they inclined low\nUnto the tree so sweet and fair of hue;*                     *appearance\nAnd after that, within a *little throw,*                    *short time*\nThey all began to sing and dance of new,\nSome song of love, some *plaining of untrue,*              *complaint of\nEnvironing* the tree that stood upright;                 unfaithfulness*\nAnd ever went a lady and a knight.                          *going round\n\nAnd at the last I cast mine eye aside,\nAnd was ware of a lusty company\nThat came roaming out of the fielde wide;\n[And] hand in hand a knight and a lady;\nThe ladies all in surcoats, that richly\nPurfiled* were with many a riche stone;          *trimmed at the borders\nAnd ev'ry knight of green ware mantles on,\n\nEmbroider'd well, so as the surcoats were;\nAnd ev'reach had a chaplet on her head\n(Which did right well upon the shining hair),\nMaked of goodly flowers, white and red.\nThe knightes eke, that they in hande led,\nIn suit of them ware chaplets ev'ry one,\nAnd them before went minstrels many one,\n\nAs harpes, pipes, lutes, and psaltry,\nAll [clad] in green; and, on their heades bare,\nOf divers flowers, made full craftily\nAll in a suit, goodly chaplets they ware;\nAnd so dancing into the mead they fare.\nIn mid the which they found a tuft that was\nAll overspread with flowers in compass*             *around, in a circle\n\nWhereunto they inclined ev'ry one,\nWith great reverence, and that full humbly\nAnd at the last there then began anon\nA lady for to sing right womanly,\nA bargaret, <14> in praising the daisy.\nFor, as me thought, among her notes sweet,\nShe saide: \"Si douce est la margarete.\"<15>\n\nThen alle they answered her in fere*                           *together\nSo passingly well, and so pleasantly,\nThat it was a [most] blissful noise to hear.\nBut, I n'ot* how, it happen'd suddenly                         *know not\nAs about noon the sun so fervently\nWax'd hote, that the pretty tender flow'rs\nHad lost the beauty of their fresh colours,\n\nForshrunk* with heat; the ladies eke to-brent,**\t*shrivelled **very burnt\nThat they knew not where they might them bestow;\nThe knightes swelt,* for lack of shade nigh shent**\t*fainted **destroyed\nAnd after that, within a little throw,\nThe wind began so sturdily to blow,\nThat down went all the flowers ev'ry one,\nSo that in all the mead there left not one;\n\nSave such as succour'd were among the leaves\nFrom ev'ry storm that mighte them assail,\nGrowing under the hedges and thick greves;*              *groves, boughs\nAnd after that there came a storm of hail\nAnd rain in fere,* so that withoute fail                       *together\nThe ladies nor the knights had not one thread\nDry on them, so dropping was [all] their weed.*                *clothing\n\nAnd when the storm was passed clean away,\nThose in the white, that stood under the tree,\nThey felt no thing of all the great affray\nThat they in green without *had in y-be:*                  *had been in*\nTo them they went for ruth, and for pity,\nThem to comfort after their great disease;*                     *trouble\nSo fain* they were the helpless for to ease.                *glad, eager\n\nThen I was ware how one of them in green\nHad on a crowne, rich and well sitting;*                       *becoming\nWherefore I deemed well she was a queen,\nAnd those in green on her were awaiting.*                 *in attendance\nThe ladies then in white that were coming\nToward them, and the knightes eke *in fere,*                  *together*\nBegan to comfort them, and make them cheer.\n\nThe queen in white, that was of great beauty,\nTook by the hand the queen that was in green,\nAnd saide: \"Sister, I have great pity\nOf your annoy, and of your troublous teen,*               *injury, grief\nWherein you and your company have been\nSo long, alas! and if that it you please\nTo go with me, I shall you do the ease,\n\n\"In all the pleasure that I can or may;\"\nWhereof the other, humbly as she might,\nThanked her; for in right evil array\nShe was, with storm and heat, I you behight;*                    *assure\nArid ev'ry lady then anon aright,\nThat were in white, one of them took in green\nBy the hand; which when that the knights had seen,\n\nIn like mannere each of them took a knight\nY-clad in green, and forth with them they fare\nUnto a hedge, where that they anon right,\nTo make their joustes,<16> they would not spare\nBoughes to hewe down, and eke trees square,\nWherewith they made them stately fires great,\nTo dry their clothes, that were wringing wet.\n\nAnd after that, of herbes that there grew,\nThey made, for blisters of the sun's burning,\nOintmentes very good, wholesome, and new,\nWherewith they went the sick fast anointing;\nAnd after that they went about gath'ring\nPleasant salades, which they made them eat,\nFor to refresh their great unkindly heat.\n\nThe Lady of the Leaf then gan to pray\nHer of the Flower (for so, to my seeming,\nThey should be called, as by their array),\nTo sup with her; and eke, for anything,\nThat she should with her all her people bring;\nAnd she again in right goodly mannere\nThanked her fast of her most friendly cheer;\n\nSaying plainely, that she would obey,\nWith all her heart, all her commandement:\nAnd then anon, without longer delay,\nThe Lady of the Leaf hath one y-sent\nTo bring a palfrey, *after her intent,*          *according to her wish*\nArrayed well in fair harness of gold;\nFor nothing lack'd, that *to him longe sho'ld.*   *should belong to him*\n\nAnd, after that, to all her company\nShe made to purvey* horse and ev'rything                        *provide\nThat they needed; and then full lustily,\nEv'n by the arbour where I was sitting,\nThey passed all, so merrily singing,\nThat it would have comforted any wight.\nBut then I saw a passing wondrous sight;\n\nFor then the nightingale, that all the day\nHad in the laurel sat, and did her might\nThe whole service to sing longing to May,\nAll suddenly began to take her flight;\nAnd to the Lady of the Leaf forthright\nShe flew, and set her on her hand softly;\nWhich was a thing I marvell'd at greatly.\n\nThe goldfinch eke, that from the medlar tree\nWas fled for heat into the bushes cold,\nUnto the Lady of the Flower gan flee,\nAnd on her hand he set him as he wo'ld,\nAnd pleasantly his winges gan to fold;\nAnd for to sing they *pain'd them* both, as sore  *made great exertions*\nAs they had done *of all* the day before.                        *during\n\nAnd so these ladies rode forth *a great pace,*                 *rapidly*\nAnd all the rout of knightes eke in fere;\nAnd I, that had seen all this *wonder case,*         *wondrous incident*\nThought that I would assay in some mannere\nTo know fully the truth of this mattere,\nAnd what they were that rode so pleasantly;\nAnd when they were the arbour passed by,\n\nI *dress'd me forth,* and happ'd to meet anon             *issued forth*\nA right fair lady, I do you ensure;*                             *assure\nAnd she came riding by herself alone,\nAll in white; [then] with semblance full demure\nI her saluted, and bade good adventure*                         *fortune\nMight her befall, as I could most humbly;\nAnd she answer'd: \"My daughter, gramercy!\"*           *great thanks <17>\n\n\"Madame,\" quoth I, \"if that I durst enquere\nOf you, I would fain, of that company,\nWit what they be that pass'd by this herbere?\nAnd she again answered right friendly:\n\"My faire daughter, all that pass'd hereby\nIn white clothing, be servants ev'ry one\nUnto the Leaf; and I myself am one.\n\n\"See ye not her that crowned is,\" quoth she\n\"[Clad] all in white?\" -- \"Madame,\" then quoth I, \"yes:\"\n\"That is Dian', goddess of chastity;\nAnd for because that she a maiden is,\nIn her hande the branch she beareth this,\nThat agnus castus <8> men call properly;\nAnd all the ladies in her company,\n\n\"Which ye see of that herbe chaplets wear,\nBe such as have kept alway maidenhead:\nAnd all they that of laurel chaplets bear,\nBe such as hardy* were in manly deed,  --                    *courageous\nVictorious name which never may be dead!\nAnd all they were so *worthy of their hand*           *valiant in fight*\nIn their time, that no one might them withstand,\n\n\"And those that weare chaplets on their head\nOf fresh woodbind, be such as never were\nTo love untrue in word, in thought, nor deed,\nBut ay steadfast; nor for pleasance, nor fear,\nThough that they should their heartes all to-tear,*     *rend in pieces*\nWould never flit,* but ever were steadfast,                      *change\n*Till that their lives there asunder brast.\"*           *till they died*\n\n\"Now fair Madame,\" quoth I, \"yet would I pray\nYour ladyship, if that it mighte be,\nThat I might knowe, by some manner way\n(Since that it hath liked your beauty,\nThe truth of these ladies for to tell me),\nWhat that these knightes be in rich armour,\nAnd what those be in green and wear the flow'r?\n\n\"And why that some did rev'rence to that tree,\nAnd some unto the plot of flowers fair?\"\n\"With right good will, my daughter fair,\" quoth she,\n\"Since your desire is good and debonair;*             *gentle, courteous\nThe nine crowned be *very exemplair*                 *the true examples*\nOf all honour longing to chivalry;\nAnd those certain be call'd The Nine Worthy, <18>\n\n\"Which ye may see now riding all before,\nThat in their time did many a noble deed,\nAnd for their worthiness full oft have bore\nThe crown of laurel leaves upon their head,\nAs ye may in your olde bookes read;\nAnd how that he that was a conquerour\nHad by laurel alway his most honour.\n\n\"And those that beare boughes in their hand\nOf the precious laurel so notable,\nBe such as were, I will ye understand,\nMost noble Knightes of the Rounde Table,<19>\nAnd eke the Douceperes honourable; <20>\nWhiche they bear in sign of victory,\nAs witness of their deedes mightily.\n\n\"Eke there be knightes old <21> of the Garter,\nThat in their time did right worthily;\nAnd the honour they did to the laurer*                      *laurel <22>\nIs for* by it they have their laud wholly,                      *because\nTheir triumph eke, and martial glory;\nWhich unto them is more perfect richess\nThan any wight imagine can, or guess.\n\n\"For one leaf given of that noble tree\nTo any wight that hath done worthily,\nAn'* it be done so as it ought to be,                                *if\nIs more honour than any thing earthly;\nWitness of Rome, that founder was truly\nOf alle knighthood and deeds marvellous;\nRecord I take of Titus Livius.\" <23>\n\nAnd as for her that crowned is in green,\nIt is Flora, of these flowers goddess;\nAnd all that here on her awaiting be'n,\nIt are such folk that loved idleness,\nAnd not delighted in no business,\nBut for to hunt and hawk, and play in meads,\nAnd many other such-like idle deeds.\n\n\"And for the great delight and the pleasance\nThey have to the flow'r, and so rev'rently\nThey unto it do such obeisance\nAs ye may see.\" \"Now, fair Madame,\"quoth I,\n\"If I durst ask, what is the cause, and why,\nThat knightes have the ensign* of honour                       *insignia\nRather by the leaf than by the flow'r?\"\n\n\"Soothly, daughter,\" quoth she, \"this is the troth:\nFor knights should ever be persevering,\nTo seek honour, without feintise* or sloth,               *dissimulation\nFrom well to better in all manner thing:\nIn sign of which, with leaves aye lasting\nThey be rewarded after their degree,\nWhose lusty green may not appaired* be,               *impaired, decayed\n\n\"But ay keeping their beauty fresh and green;\nFor there is no storm that may them deface,\nNor hail nor snow, nor wind nor frostes keen;\nWherefore they have this property and grace:\nAnd for the flow'r, within a little space,\nWolle* be lost, so simple of nature                                *will\nThey be, that they no grievance* may endure;           *injury, hardship\n\n\"And ev'ry storm will blow them soon away,\nNor they laste not but for a season;\nThat is the cause, the very truth to say,\nThat they may not, by no way of reason,\nBe put to no such occupation.\"\n\"Madame,\" quoth I, \"with all my whole service\nI thank you now, in my most humble wise;\n\n\"For now I am ascertain'd thoroughly\nOf ev'ry thing that I desir'd to know.\"\n\"I am right glad that I have said, soothly,\nAught to your pleasure, if ye will me trow,\"*                   *believe\nQuoth she again; \"but to whom do ye owe\nYour service? and which wolle* ye honour,                          *will\nTell me, I pray, this year, the Leaf or the Flow'r?\"\n\n\"Madame,\" quoth I, \"though I be least worthy,\nUnto the Leaf I owe mine observance:\"\n\"That is,\" quoth she, \"right well done, certainly;\nAnd I pray God, to honour you advance,\nAnd keep you from the wicked remembrance\nOf Malebouche,* and all his cruelty;                       *Slander <24>\nAnd all that good and well-condition'd be.\n\n\"For here may I no longer now abide;\nI must follow the greate company,\nThat ye may see yonder before you ride.\"\nAnd forthwith, as I coulde, most humbly\nI took my leave of her, and she gan hie*                          *haste\nAfter them as fast as she ever might;\nAnd I drew homeward, for it was nigh night,\n\nAnd put all that I had seen in writing,\nUnder support of them that list it read. <25>\nO little book! thou art so uncunning,*                        *unskilful\nHow dar'st thou put thyself in press, <26> for dread?\nIt is wonder that thou waxest not red!\nSince that thou know'st full lite* who shall behold              *little\nThy rude language, full *boistously unfold.*     *unfolded in homely and\n                                                     unpolished fashion*\n\n\nExplicit.*                                                      *The End\n\n\nNotes to the Flower and the Leaf\n\n\n1. The Bull: the sign of Taurus, which the sun enters\nin May.\n\n2. The young oak leaves are red or ashen .\n\n3. Chaucer here again refers to the superstition,\nnoticed in \"The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,\" that it\nwas of good omen to hear the nightingale before the\ncuckoo upon the advent of both with spring.\n\n4. The arbour was furnished with seats, which had\nbeen newly covered with turf.\n\n5. \"Yede\" or \"yead,\" is the old form of go.\n\n6. Sote: fool -- French \"sot.\"\n\n7. See note 59 to The Court of Love\n\n8. Agnus castus:  the chaste-tree; a kind of willow.\n\n9. Roundell:  French, \"rondeau;\" a song that comes\nround again to the verse with which it opened, or that\nis taken up in turn by each of the singers.\n\n10.  In modern French form, \"Sous la feuille, devers\nmoi, son et mon joli coeur est endormi\" -- \"Under the\nfoliage, towards me, his and my jolly heart is gone to\nsleep.\"\n\n11. Prester John: The half-mythical Eastern potentate,\nwho is now supposed to have been, not a Christian\nmonarch of Abyssinia, but the head of the Indian\nempire before Zenghis Khan's conquest.\n\n12. Oak cerrial: of the species of oak which Pliny, in\nhis \"Natural History,\" calls \"cerrus.\"\n\n13. Tartarium: Cloth of Tars, or of Tortona.\n\n14. Bargaret: bergerette, or pastoral song.\n\n15. \"Si douce est la margarete.\": \"So sweet is the\ndaisy\" (\"la marguerite\").\n\n16. To make their joustes:  the meaning is not very\nobvious; but in The Knight's Tale \"jousts and array\"\nare in some editions made part of the adornment of\nthe Temple of Venus; and as the word \"jousts\" would\nthere carry the general meaning of \"preparations\" to\nentertain or please a lover, in the present case it may\nhave a similar force.\n\n17. Gramercy:  \"grand merci,\" French; great thanks.\n\n18. The Nine Worthies, who at our day survive in the\nSeven Champions of Christendom. The Worthies\nwere favourite subjects for representation at popular\nfestivals or in masquerades.\n\n19. The famous Knights of King Arthur, who, being\nall esteemed equal in valour and noble qualities, sat at\na round table, so that none should seem to have\nprecedence over the rest.\n\n20. The twelve peers of Charlemagne (les douze\npairs), chief among whom were Roland and Oliver.\n\n21. Chaucer speaks as if, at least for the purposes of\nhis poetry, he believed that Edward III. did not\nestablish a new, but only revived an old, chivalric\ninstitution, when be founded the Order of the Garter.\n\n22. Laurer: laurel-tree; French, \"laurier.\"\n\n23.  The meaning is: \"Witness the practice of Rome,\nthat was the founder of all knighthood and marvellous\ndeeds; and I refer for corroboration to Titus Livius\"  --\nwho, in several passages, has mentioned the laurel\ncrown as the highest military honour. For instance, in\n1. vii. c. 13, Sextus Tullius, remonstrating for the\narmy against the inaction in which it is kept, tells the\nDictator Sulpicius, \"Duce te vincere cupimus; tibi\nlauream insignem deferre; tecum triumphantes urbem\ninire.\" (\"Commander, we want you to conquer; to\nbring you the laurel insignia; to enter the city with you\nin triumph\")\n\n24. Malebouche:  Slander, personified under the title\nof Evil-mouth  -- Italian, \"Malbocca;\" French,\n\"Malebouche.\"\n\n25. Under support of them that list it read: the phrase\nmeans --  trusting to the goodwill of my reader.\n\n26. In press:  into a crowd, into the press of\ncompetitors for favour; not, it need hardly be said,\n\"into the press\" in the modern sense -- printing was\nnot invented for a century after this was written.\n\n\n\n                       THE HOUSE OF FAME\n\n\n[Thanks partly to Pope's brief and elegant paraphrase, in his\n\"Temple of Fame,\" and partly to the familiar force of the style\nand the satirical significance of the allegory, \"The House of\nFame\" is among the best known and relished of Chaucer's minor\npoems. The octosyllabic measure in which it is written -- the\nsame which the author of \"Hudibras\" used with such admirable\neffect -- is excellently adapted for the vivid descriptions, the\nlively sallies of humour and sarcasm, with which the poem\nabounds; and when the poet actually does get to his subject, he\ntreats it with a zest, and a corresponding interest on the part of\nthe reader, which are scarcely surpassed by the best of The\nCanterbury Tales. The poet, however, tarries long on the way\nto the House of Fame; as Pope says in his advertisement, the\nreader who would compare his with Chaucer's poem, \"may\nbegin with [Chaucer's] third Book of Fame, there being nothing\nin the two first books that answers to their title.\" The first book\nopens with a kind of prologue (actually so marked and called in\nearlier editions) in which the author speculates on the causes of\ndreams; avers that never any man had such a dream as he had\non the tenth of December; and prays the God of Sleep to help\nhim to interpret the dream, and the Mover of all things to\nreward or afflict those readers who take the dream well or ill.\nThen he relates that, having fallen asleep, he fancied himself\nwithin a temple of glass -- the abode of Venus -- the walls of\nwhich were painted with the story of Aeneas. The paintings are\ndescribed at length; and then the poet tells us that, coming out\nof the temple, he found himself on a vast sandy plain, and saw\nhigh in heaven an eagle, that began to descend towards him.\nWith the prologue, the first book numbers 508 lines; of which\n192 only -- more than are actually concerned with or directly\nlead towards the real subject of the poem -- are given here. The\nsecond book, containing 582 lines, of which 176 will be found\nin this edition, is wholly devoted to the voyage from the Temple\nof Venus to the House of Fame, which the dreamer\naccomplishes in the eagle's claws. The bird has been sent by\nJove to do the poet some \"solace\" in reward of his labours for\nthe cause of Love; and during the transit through the air the\nmessenger discourses obligingly and learnedly with his human\nburden on the theory of sound, by which all that is spoken must\nneeds reach the House of Fame; and on other matters suggested\nby their errand and their observations by the way. The third\nbook (of 1080 lines, only a score of which, just at the outset,\nhave been omitted) brings us to the real pith of the poem. It\nfinds the poet close to the House of Fame, built on a rock of ice\nengraved with names, many of which are half-melted away.\nEntering the gorgeous palace, he finds all manner of minstrels\nand historians; harpers, pipers, and trumpeters of fame;\nmagicians, jugglers, sorcerers, and many others. On a throne of\nruby sits the goddess, seeming at one moment of but a cubit's\nstature, at the next touching heaven; and at either hand, on\npillars, stand the great authors who \"bear up the name\" of\nancient nations. Crowds of people enter the hall from all regions\nof earth, praying the goddess to give them good or evil fame,\nwith and without their own deserts; and they receive answers\nfavourable, negative, or contrary, according to the caprice of\nFame. Pursuing his researches further, out of the region of\nreputation or fame proper into that of tidings or rumours, the\npoet is led, by a man who has entered into conversation with\nhim, to a vast whirling house of twigs, ever open to the arrival\nof tidings, ever full of murmurings, whisperings, and clatterings,\ncoming from the vast crowds that fill it -- for every rumour,\nevery piece of news, every false report, appears there in the\nshape of the person who utters it, or passes it on, down in earth.\nOut at the windows innumerable, the tidings pass to Fame, who\ngives to each report its name and duration; and in the house\ntravellers, pilgrims, pardoners, couriers, lovers, &c., make a\nhuge clamour. But here the poet meets with a man \"of great\nauthority,\" and, half afraid, awakes; skilfully  -- whether by\nintention, fatigue, or accident -- leaving the reader disappointed\nby the nonfulfilment of what seemed to be promises of further\ndisclosures. The poem, not least in the passages the omission of\nwhich has been dictated by the exigencies of the present\nvolume, is full of testimony to the vast acquaintance of Chaucer\nwith learning ancient and modern; Ovid, Virgil, Statius, are\nequally at his command to illustrate his narrative or to furnish\nthe ground-work of his descriptions; while architecture, the\nArabic numeration, the theory of sound, and the effects of\ngunpowder, are only a few among the topics of his own time of\nwhich the poet treats with the ease of proficient knowledge.\nNot least interesting are the vivid touches in which Chaucer\nsketches the routine of his laborious and almost recluse daily\nlife; while the strength, individuality, and humour that mark the\ndidactic portion of the poem prove that \"The House of Fame\"\nwas one of the poet's riper productions.]\n\n\nGOD turn us ev'ry dream to good!\nFor it is wonder thing, by the Rood,*                         *Cross <1>\nTo my witte, what causeth swevens,*                              *dreams\nEither on morrows or on evens;\nAnd why th'effect followeth of some,\nAnd of some it shall never come;\nWhy this is an avision\nAnd this a revelation;\nWhy this a dream, why that a sweven,\nAnd not to ev'ry man *like even;*                                *alike*\nWhy this a phantom, why these oracles,\nI n'ot; but whoso of these miracles\nThe causes knoweth bet than I,\nDivine* he; for I certainly                                      *define\n*Ne can them not,* nor ever think                     *do not know them*\nTo busy my wit for to swink*                                     *labour\nTo know of their significance\nThe genders, neither the distance\nOf times of them, nor the causes\nFor why that this more than that cause is;\nOr if folke's complexions\nMake them dream of reflections;\nOr elles thus, as others sayn,\nFor too great feebleness of the brain\nBy abstinence, or by sickness,\nBy prison, strife, or great distress,\nOr elles by disordinance*                                   *derangement\nOf natural accustomance;*                                  *mode of life\nThat some men be too curious\nIn study, or melancholious,\nOr thus, so inly full of dread,\nThat no man may them *boote bede;*                  *afford them relief*\nOr elles that devotion\nOf some, and contemplation,\nCauseth to them such dreames oft;\nOr that the cruel life unsoft\nOf them that unkind loves lead,\nThat often hope much or dread,\nThat purely their impressions\nCause them to have visions;\nOr if that spirits have the might\nTo make folk to dream a-night;\nOr if the soul, of *proper kind,*                       *its own nature*\nBe so perfect as men find,\nThat it forewot* what is to come,                             *foreknows\nAnd that it warneth all and some\nOf ev'reach of their adventures,\nBy visions, or by figures,\nBut that our fleshe hath no might\nTo understanden it aright,\nFor it is warned too darkly;\nBut why the cause is, not wot I.\nWell worth of this thing greate clerks, <2>\nThat treat of this and other works;\nFor I of none opinion\nWill as now make mention;\nBut only that the holy Rood\nTurn us every dream to good.\nFor never since that I was born,\nNor no man elles me beforn,\nMette,* as I trowe steadfastly,                                 *dreamed\nSo wonderful a dream as I,\nThe tenthe day now of December;\nThe which, as I can it remember,\nI will you tellen ev'ry deal.*                                     *whit\n\nBut at my beginning, truste weel,*                                 *well\nI will make invocation,\nWith special devotion,\nUnto the god of Sleep anon,\nThat dwelleth in a cave of stone, <3>\nUpon a stream that comes from Lete,\nThat is a flood of hell unsweet,\nBeside a folk men call Cimmerie;\nThere sleepeth ay this god unmerry,\nWith his sleepy thousand sones,\nThat alway for to sleep their won* is;                     *wont, custom\nAnd to this god, that I *of read,*                             *tell of*\nPray I, that he will me speed\nMy sweven for to tell aright,\nIf ev'ry dream stands in his might.\nAnd he that Mover is of all\nThat is, and was, and ever shall,\nSo give them joye that it hear,\nOf alle that they dream to-year;*                             *this year\nAnd for to standen all in grace*                                 *favour\nOf their loves, or in what place\nThat them were liefest* for to stand,                      *most desired\nAnd shield them from povert' and shand,*                          *shame\nAnd from ev'ry unhap and disease,\nAnd send them all that may them please,\nThat take it well, and scorn it not,\nNor it misdeemen* in their thought,                            *misjudge\nThrough malicious intention;\nAnd whoso, through presumption.\nOr hate, or scorn, or through envy,\nDespite, or jape,* or villainy,                                 *jesting\nMisdeem it, pray I Jesus God,\nThat dream he barefoot, dream he shod,\nThat ev'ry harm that any man\nHath had since that the world began,\nBefall him thereof, ere he sterve,*                                 *die\nAnd grant that he may it deserve,*                         *earn, obtain\nLo! with such a conclusion\nAs had of his avision\nCroesus, that was the king of Lyde,<4>\nThat high upon a gibbet died;\nThis prayer shall he have of me;\nI am *no bet in charity.*                           *no more charitable*\n\nNow hearken, as I have you said,\nWhat that I mette ere I abraid,*                                  *awoke\nOf December the tenthe day;\nWhen it was night to sleep I lay,\nRight as I was wont for to do'n,\nAnd fell asleepe wonder soon,\nAs he that *weary was for go*<5>                  *was weary from going*\nOn pilgrimage miles two\nTo the corsaint* Leonard,                                 *relics of <6>\nTo make lithe that erst was hard.\nBut, as I slept, me mette I was\nWithin a temple made of glass;\nIn which there were more images\nOf gold, standing in sundry stages,\nAnd more riche tabernacles,\nAnd with pierrie* more pinnacles,                                  *gems\nAnd more curious portraitures,\nAnd *quainte manner* of figures                          *strange kinds*\nOf golde work, than I saw ever.\nBut, certainly, I wiste* never                                     *knew\nWhere that it was, but well wist I\nIt was of Venus readily,\nThis temple; for in portraiture\nI saw anon right her figure\nNaked floating in a sea, <7>\nAnd also on her head, pardie,\nHer rose garland white and red,\nAnd her comb to comb her head,\nHer doves, and Dan Cupido,\nHer blinde son, and Vulcano, <8>\nThat in his face was full brown.\n\nAs he \"roamed up and down,\" the dreamer saw on the wall a\ntablet of brass inscribed with the opening lines of the Aeneid;\nwhile the whole story of Aeneas was told in the \"portraitures\"\nand gold work. About three hundred and fifty lines are devoted\nto the description; but they merely embody Virgil's account of\nAeneas' adventures from the destruction of Troy to his arrival in\nItaly; and the only characteristic passage is the following\nreflection, suggested by the death of Dido for her perfidious but\nfate-compelled guest:\n\nLo! how a woman doth amiss,\nTo love him that unknowen is!\nFor, by Christ, lo! thus it fareth,\nIt is not all gold that glareth.*                              *glitters\nFor, all so brook I well my head,\nThere may be under goodlihead*                          *fair appearance\nCover'd many a shrewed* vice;                                    *cursed\nTherefore let no wight be so nice*                              *foolish\nTo take a love only for cheer,*                                   *looks\nOr speech, or for friendly mannere;\nFor this shall ev'ry woman find,\nThat some man, *of his pure kind,*               *by force of his nature\nWill showen outward the fairest,\nTill he have caught that which him lest;*                       *pleases\nAnd then anon will causes find,\nAnd sweare how she is unkind,\nOr false, or privy* double was.                                *secretly\nAll this say I by* Aeneas                             *with reference to\nAnd Dido, and her *nice lest,*                        *foolish pleasure*\nThat loved all too soon a guest;\nTherefore I will say a proverb,\nThat he that fully knows the herb\nMay safely lay it to his eye;\nWithoute dread,* this is no lie.                                  *doubt\n\nWhen the dreamer had seen all the sights in the temple, he\nbecame desirous to know who had worked all those wonders,\nand in what country he was; so he resolved to go out at the\nwicket, in search of somebody who might tell him.\n\nWhen I out at the doores came,\nI fast aboute me beheld;\nThen saw I but a large feld,*                              *open country\nAs far as that I mighte see,\nWIthoute town, or house, or tree,\nOr bush, or grass, or ered* land,                          *ploughed <9>\nFor all the field was but of sand,\nAs small* as men may see it lie                                    *fine\nIn the desert of Libye;\nNor no manner creature\nThat is formed by Nature,\nThere saw I, me to *rede or wiss.*                    *advise or direct*\n\"O Christ!\" thought I, \"that art in bliss,\nFrom *phantom and illusion*                   *vain fancy and deception*\nMe save!\" and with devotion\nMine eyen to the heav'n I cast.\nThen was I ware at the last\nThat, faste by the sun on high,\n*As kennen might I* with mine eye,          *as well as I might discern*\nMe thought I saw an eagle soar,\nBut that it seemed muche more*                                   *larger\nThan I had any eagle seen;\nThis is as sooth as death, certain,\nIt was of gold, and shone so bright,\nThat never saw men such a sight,\nBut if* the heaven had y-won,                                    *unless\nAll new from God, another sun;\nSo shone the eagle's feathers bright:\nAnd somewhat downward gan it light.*                    *descend, alight\n\nThe Second Book opens with a brief invocation of Venus and\nof Thought; then it proceeds:\n\nThis eagle, of which I have you told,\nThat shone with feathers as of gold,\nWhich that so high began to soar,\nI gan beholde more and more,\nTo see her beauty and the wonder;\nBut never was there dint of thunder,\nNor that thing that men calle foudre,*                      *thunderbolt\nThat smote sometimes a town to powder,\nAnd in his swifte coming brenn'd,*                               *burned\nThat so swithe* gan descend,                                    *rapidly\nAs this fowl, when that it beheld\nThat I a-roam was in the feld;\nAnd with his grim pawes strong,\nWithin his sharpe nailes long,\nMe, flying, at a swap* he hent,**                         *swoop *seized\nAnd with his sours <10> again up went,\nMe carrying in his clawes stark*                                 *strong\nAs light as I had been a lark,\nHow high, I cannot telle you,\nFor I came up, I wist not how.\n\nThe poet faints through bewilderment and fear; but the eagle,\nspeaking with the voice of a man, recalls him to himself, and\ncomforts him by the assurance that what now befalls him is for\nhis instruction and profit. Answering the poet's unspoken\ninquiry whether he is not to die otherwise, or whether Jove will\nhim stellify, the eagle says that he has been sent by Jupiter out\nof his \"great ruth,\"\n\n\"For that thou hast so truely\nSo long served ententively*                         *with attentive zeal\nHis blinde nephew* Cupido,                                     *grandson\nAnd faire Venus also,\nWithoute guuerdon ever yet,\nAnd natheless hast set thy wit\n(Although that in thy head full lite* is)                        *little\nTo make bookes, songs, and ditties,\nIn rhyme or elles in cadence,\nAs thou best canst, in reverence\nOf Love, and of his servants eke,\nThat have his service sought, and seek,\nAnd pained thee to praise his art,\nAlthough thou haddest never part; <11>\nWherefore, all so God me bless,\nJovis holds it great humbless,\nAnd virtue eke, that thou wilt make\nA-night full oft thy head to ache,\nIn thy study so thou writest,\nAnd evermore of love enditest,\nIn honour of him and praisings,\nAnd in his folke's furtherings,\nAnd in their matter all devisest,*                              *relates\nAnd not him nor his folk despisest,\nAlthough thou may'st go in the dance\nOf them that him list not advance.\nWherefore, as I said now, y-wis,\nJupiter well considers this;\nAnd also, beausire,* other things;                             *good sir\nThat is, that thou hast no tidings\nOf Love's folk, if they be glad,\nNor of naught elles that God made;\nAnd not only from far country\nThat no tidings come to thee,\nBut of thy very neighebours,\nThat dwellen almost at thy doors,\nThou hearest neither that nor this.\nFor when thy labour all done is,\nAnd hast y-made thy reckonings, <12>\nInstead of rest and newe things,\nThou go'st home to thy house anon,\nAnd, all so dumb as any stone,\nThou sittest at another book,\nTill fully dazed* is thy look;                                  *blinded\nAnd livest thus as a hermite\nAlthough thine abstinence is lite.\"* <13>                        *little\n\nTherefore has Jove appointed the eagle to take the poet to the\nHouse of Fame, to do him some pleasure in recompense for his\ndevotion to Cupid; and he will hear, says the bird,\n\n\"When we be come there as I say,\nMore wondrous thinges, dare I lay,*                                 *bet\nOf Love's folke more tidings,\nBoth *soothe sawes and leasings;*                *true sayings and lies*\nAnd more loves new begun,\nAnd long y-served loves won,\nAnd more loves casually\nThat be betid,* no man knows why,                    *happened by chance\nBut as a blind man starts a hare;\nAnd more jollity and welfare,\nWhile that they finde *love of steel,*              *love true as steel*\nAs thinketh them, and over all weel;\nMore discords, and more jealousies,\nMore murmurs, and more novelties,\nAnd more dissimulations,\nAnd feigned reparations;\nAnd more beardes, in two hours,\nWithoute razor or scissours\nY-made, <14> than graines be of sands;\nAnd eke more holding in hands,*                              *embracings\nAnd also more renovelances*                                   *renewings\nOf old *forleten acquaintances;*          *broken-off acquaintanceships*\nMore love-days,<15> and more accords,*                       *agreements\nThan on instruments be chords;\nAnd eke of love more exchanges\nThan ever cornes were in granges.\"*                               *barns\n\nThe poet can scarcely believe that, though Fame had all the pies\n[magpies] and all the spies in a kingdom, she should hear so\nmuch; but the eagle proceeds to prove that she can.\n\nFirst shalt thou heare where she dwelleth;\nAnd, so as thine own booke telleth, <16>\nHer palace stands, as I shall say,\nRight ev'n in middes of the way\nBetweene heav'n, and earth, and sea,\nThat whatsoe'er in all these three\nIs spoken, *privy or apert,*                        *secretly or openly*\nThe air thereto is so overt,*                                     *clear\nAnd stands eke in so just* a place,                            *suitable\nThat ev'ry sound must to it pace,\nOr whatso comes from any tongue,\nBe it rowned,* read, or sung,                                 *whispered\nOr spoken in surety or dread,*                                    *doubt\nCertain *it must thither need.\"*              *it must needs go thither*\n\nThe eagle, in a long discourse, demonstrates that, as all natural\nthings have a natural place towards which they move by natural\ninclination, and as sound is only broken air, so every sound\nmust come to Fame's House, \"though it were piped of a mouse\"\n-- on the same principle by which every part of a mass of water\nis affected by the casting in of a stone. The poet is all the while\nborne upward, entertained with various information by the bird;\nwhich at last cries out --\n\n\"Hold up thy head, for all is well!\nSaint Julian, lo! bon hostel! <17>\nSee here the House of Fame, lo\nMay'st thou not heare that I do?\"\n\"What?\" quoth I. \"The greate soun',\"\nQuoth he, \"that rumbleth up and down\nIn Fame's House, full of tidings,\nBoth of fair speech and of chidings,\nAnd of false and sooth compouned;*                  *compounded, mingled\nHearken well; it is not rowned.*                              *whispered\nHearest thou not the greate swough?\"*                    *confused sound\n\"Yes, pardie!\" quoth I, \"well enough.\"\nAnd what sound is it like?\" quoth he\n\"Peter! the beating of the sea,\"\nQuoth I, \"against the rockes hollow,\nWhen tempests do the shippes swallow.\nAnd let a man stand, out of doubt,\nA mile thence, and hear it rout.*                                  *roar\nOr elles like the last humbling*                 *dull low distant noise\nAfter the clap of a thund'ring,\nWhen Jovis hath the air y-beat;\nBut it doth me for feare sweat.\"\n\"Nay, dread thee not thereof,\" quoth he;\n\"It is nothing will bite thee,\nThou shalt no harme have, truly.\"\n\nAnd with that word both he and I\nAs nigh the place arrived were,\nAs men might caste with a spear.\nI wist not how, but in a street\nHe set me fair upon my feet,\nAnd saide: \"Walke forth apace,\nAnd take *thine adventure or case,*                  *thy chance of what\nThat thou shalt find in Fame's place.\"                       may befall*\n\"Now,\" quoth I, \"while we have space\nTo speak, ere that I go from thee,\nFor the love of God, as telle me,\nIn sooth, that I will of thee lear,*                              *learn\nIf this noise that I hear\nBe, as I have heard thee tell,\nOf folk that down in earthe dwell,\nAnd cometh here in the same wise\nAs I thee heard, ere this, devise?\nAnd that there living body n'is*                                 *is not\nIn all that house that yonder is,\nThat maketh all this loude fare?\"*                          *hubbub, ado\n\"No,\" answered he, \"by Saint Clare,\nAnd all *so wisly God rede me;*                           *so surely god\nBut one thing I will warne thee,                               guide me*\nOf the which thou wilt have wonder.\nLo! to the House of Fame yonder,\nThou know'st how cometh ev'ry speech;\nIt needeth not thee eft* to teach.                                *again\nBut understand now right well this;\nWhen any speech y-comen is\nUp to the palace, anon right\nIt waxeth* like the same wight**                       *becomes **person\nWhich that the word in earthe spake,\nBe he cloth'd in red or black;\nAnd so weareth his likeness,\nAnd speaks the word, that thou wilt guess*                        *fancy\nThat it the same body be,\nWhether man or woman, he or she.\nAnd is not this a wondrous thing?\"\n\"Yes,\" quoth I then, \"by Heaven's king!\"\nAnd with this word, \"Farewell,\" quoth he,\nAnd here I will abide* thee,                                   *wait for\nAnd God of Heaven send thee grace\nSome good to learen* in this place.\"                              *learn\nAnd I of him took leave anon,\nAnd gan forth to the palace go'n.\n\nAt the opening of the Third Book, Chaucer briefly invokes\nApollo's guidance, and entreats him, because \"the rhyme is light\nand lewd,\" to \"make it somewhat agreeable, though some verse\nfail in a syllable.\" If the god answers the prayer, the poet\npromises to kiss the next laurel-tree <18> he sees; and he\nproceeds:\n\nWhen I was from this eagle gone,\nI gan behold upon this place;\nAnd certain, ere I farther pace,\nI will you all the shape devise*                               *describe\nOf house and city; and all the wise\nHow I gan to this place approach,\nThat stood upon so high a roche,*                             *rock <19>\nHigher standeth none in Spain;\nBut up I climb'd with muche pain,\nAnd though to climbe *grieved me,*              *cost me painful effort*\nYet I ententive* was to see,                                  *attentive\nAnd for to pore* wondrous low,                             *gaze closely\nIf I could any wise know\nWhat manner stone this rocke was,\nFor it was like a thing of glass,\nBut that it shone full more clear\nBut of what congealed mattere\nIt was, I wist not readily,\nBut at the last espied I,\nAnd found that it was *ev'ry deal*                            *entirely*\nA rock of ice, and not of steel.\nThought I, \"By Saint Thomas of Kent, <20>\nThis were a feeble fundament*                                *foundation\n*To builden* a place so high;                         *on which to build\nHe ought him lite* to glorify                                    *little\nThat hereon built, God so me save!\"\n\nThen saw I all the half y-grave <21>\nWith famous folke's names fele,*                                   *many\nThat hadde been in muche weal,*                            *good fortune\nAnd their fames wide y-blow.\nBut well unnethes* might I know                                *scarcely\nAny letters for to read\nTheir names by; for out of dread*                                 *doubt\nThey were almost off thawed so,\nThat of the letters one or two\nWere molt* away of ev'ry name,                                   *melted\nSo unfamous was wox* their fame;                                 *become\nBut men say, \"What may ever last?\"\nThen gan I in my heart to cast*                              *conjecture\nThat they were molt away for heat,\nAnd not away with stormes beat;\nFor on the other side I sey*                                        *saw\nOf this hill, that northward lay,\nHow it was written full of names\nOf folke that had greate fames\nOf olde times, and yet they were\nAs fresh as men had writ them there\nThe selfe day, right ere that hour\nThat I upon them gan to pore.\nBut well I wiste what it made;*                                   *meant\nIt was conserved with the shade,\nAll the writing which I sigh,*                                      *saw\nOf a castle that stood on high;\nAnd stood eke on so cold a place,\nThat heat might it not deface.*                         *injure, destroy\n\nThen gan I on this hill to go'n,\nAnd found upon the cop* a won,**                    *summit <22> **house\nThat all the men that be alive\nHave not the *cunning to descrive*                   *skill to describe*\nThe beauty of that like place,\nNor coulde *caste no compass*                      *find no contrivance*\nSuch another for to make,\nThat might of beauty be its make,*                         *match, equal\nNor one so wondrously y-wrought,\nThat it astonieth yet my thought,\nAnd maketh all my wit to swink,*                                 *labour\nUpon this castle for to think;\nSo that the greate beauty,\nCast,* craft, and curiosity,                                  *ingenuity\nNe can I not to you devise;*                                   *describe\nMy witte may me not suffice.\nBut natheless all the substance\nI have yet in my remembrance;\nFor why, me thoughte, by Saint Gile,\nAlle was of stone of beryle,\nBothe the castle and the tow'r,\nAnd eke the hall, and ev'ry bow'r,*                             *chamber\nWithoute pieces or joinings,\nBut many subtile compassings,*                             *contrivances\nAs barbicans* and pinnacles,                               *watch-towers\nImageries and tabernacles,\nI saw; and eke full of windows,\nAs flakes fall in greate snows.\nAnd eke in each of the pinnacles\nWere sundry habitacles,*                           *apartments or niches\nIn which stooden, all without,\nFull the castle all about,\nOf all manner of minstrales\nAnd gestiours,<23> that telle tales\nBoth of weeping and of game,*                                     *mirth\nOf all that longeth unto Fame.\n\nThere heard I play upon a harp,\nThat sounded bothe well and sharp,\nHim, Orpheus, full craftily;\nAnd on this side faste by\nSatte the harper Arion,<24>\nAnd eke Aeacides Chiron <25>\nAnd other harpers many a one,\nAnd the great Glasgerion; <26>\nAnd smalle harpers, with their glees,*                      *instruments\nSatten under them in sees,*                                       *seats\nAnd gan on them upward to gape,\nAnd counterfeit them as an ape,\nOr as *craft counterfeiteth kind.*             *art counterfeits nature*\nThen saw I standing them behind,\nAfar from them, all by themselve,\nMany thousand times twelve,\nThat made loude minstrelsies\nIn cornmuse and eke in shawmies, <27>\nAnd in many another pipe,\nThat craftily began to pipe,\nBoth in dulcet <28> and in reed,\nThat be at feastes with the bride.\nAnd many a flute and lilting horn,\nAnd pipes made of greene corn,\nAs have these little herde-grooms,*                       *shepherd-boys\nThat keepe beastes in the brooms.\nThere saw I then Dan Citherus,\nAnd of Athens Dan Pronomus, <29>\nAnd Marsyas <30> that lost his skin,\nBoth in the face, body, and chin,\nFor that he would envyen, lo!\nTo pipe better than Apollo.\nThere saw I famous, old and young,\nPipers of alle Dutche tongue, <31>\nTo learne love-dances and springs,\nReyes, <32> and these strange things.\nThen saw I in another place,\nStanding in a large space,\nOf them that make bloody* soun',                                *martial\nIn trumpet, beam,* and clarioun;                              *horn <33>\nFor in fight and blood-sheddings\nIs used gladly clarionings.\nThere heard I trumpe Messenus. <34>\nOf whom speaketh Virgilius.\nThere heard I Joab trump also, <35>\nTheodamas, <36> and other mo',\nAnd all that used clarion\nIn Catalogne and Aragon,\nThat in their times famous were\nTo learne, saw I trumpe there.\nThere saw I sit in other sees,\nPlaying upon sundry glees,\nWhiche that I cannot neven,*                                       *name\nMore than starres be in heaven;\nOf which I will not now rhyme,\nFor ease of you, and loss of time:\nFor time lost, this knowe ye,\nBy no way may recover'd be.\n\nThere saw I play jongelours,*                             *jugglers <37>\nMagicians, and tregetours,<38>\nAnd Pythonesses, <39>  charmeresses,\nAnd old witches, and sorceresses,\nThat use exorcisations,\nAnd eke subfumigations; <40>\nAnd clerkes* eke, which knowe well                             *scholars\nAll this magic naturel,\nThat craftily do their intents,\nTo make, in certain ascendents, <41>\nImages, lo! through which magic\nTo make a man be whole or sick.\nThere saw I the queen Medea, <42>\nAnd Circes <43> eke, and Calypsa.<44>\nThere saw I Hermes Ballenus, <45>\nLimote, <46> and eke Simon Magus. <47>\nThere saw I, and knew by name,\nThat by such art do men have fame.\nThere saw I Colle Tregetour <46>\nUpon a table of sycamore\nPlay an uncouth* thing to tell;                           *strange, rare\nI saw him carry a windmell\nUnder a walnut shell.\nWhy should I make longer tale\nOf all the people I there say,*                                     *saw\nFrom hence even to doomesday?\n\nWhen I had all this folk behold,\nAnd found me *loose, and not y-hold,*      *at liberty and unrestrained*\nAnd I had mused longe while\nUpon these walles of beryle,\nThat shone lighter than any glass,\nAnd made *well more* than it was                           *much greater\nTo seemen ev'rything, y-wis,\nAs kindly* thing of Fame it is; <48>                            *natural\nI gan forth roam until I fand*                                    *found\nThe castle-gate on my right hand,\nWhich all so well y-carven was,\nThat never such another n'as;*                                  *was not\nAnd yet it was by Adventure*                                     *chance\nY-wrought, and not by *subtile cure.*                      *careful art*\nIt needeth not you more to tell,\nTo make you too longe dwell,\nOf these gates' flourishings,\nNor of compasses,* nor carvings,                                *devices\nNor how they had in masonries,\nAs corbets, <49> full of imageries.\nBut, Lord! so fair it was to shew,\nFor it was all with gold behew.*                               *\nBut in I went, and that anon;\nThere met I crying many a one\n\"A largess! largess! <50> hold up well!\nGod save the Lady of this pell,*                                 *palace\nOur owen gentle Lady Fame,\nAnd them that will to have name\nOf us!\" Thus heard I cryen all,\nAnd fast they came out of the hall,\nAnd shooke *nobles and sterlings,*                           *coins <51>\nAnd some y-crowned were as kings,\nWith crownes wrought fall of lozenges;\nAnd many ribands, and many fringes,\nWere on their clothes truely\nThen at the last espied I\nThat pursuivantes and herauds,*                                 *heralds\nThat cry riche folke's lauds,*                                  *praises\nThey weren all; and ev'ry man\nOf them, as I you telle can,\nHad on him throwen a vesture\nWhich that men call a coat-armure, <52>\nEmbroidered wondrously rich,\nAs though there were *naught y-lich;*                  *nothing like it*\nBut naught will I, so may I thrive,\n*Be aboute to descrive*                 *concern myself with describing*\nAll these armes that there were,\nThat they thus on their coates bare,\nFor it to me were impossible;\nMen might make of them a bible\nTwenty foote thick, I trow.\nFor, certain, whoso coulde know\nMight there all the armes see'n\nOf famous folk that have been\nIn Afric', Europe, and Asie,\nSince first began the chivalry.\n\nLo! how should I now tell all this?\nNor of the hall eke what need is\nTo telle you that ev'ry wall\nOf it, and floor, and roof, and all,\nWas plated half a foote thick\nOf gold, and that was nothing wick',*                       *counterfeit\nBut for to prove in alle wise\nAs fine as ducat of Venise, <53>\nOf which too little in my pouch is?\nAnd they were set as thick of nouches*                        *ornaments\nFine, of the finest stones fair,\nThat men read in the Lapidaire, <54>\nAs grasses growen in a mead.\nBut it were all too long to read*                               *declare\nThe names; and therefore I pass.\nBut in this rich and lusty place,\nThat Fame's Hall y-called was,\nFull muche press of folk there n'as,*                           *was not\nNor crowding for too muche press.\nBut all on high, above a dais,\nSet on a see* imperial, <55>                                       *seat\nThat made was of ruby all,\nWhich that carbuncle is y-call'd,\nI saw perpetually install'd\nA feminine creature;\nThat never formed by Nature\nWas such another thing y-sey.*                                     *seen\nFor altherfirst,* sooth to say,                            *first of all\nMe thoughte that she was so lite,*                               *little\nThat the length of a cubite\nWas longer than she seem'd to be;\nBut thus soon in a while she\nHerself then wonderfully stretch'd,\nThat with her feet the earth she reach'd,\nAnd with her head she touched heaven,\nWhere as shine the starres seven. <56>\nAnd thereto* eke, as to my wit,                                *moreover\nI saw a greater wonder yet,\nUpon her eyen to behold;\nBut certes I them never told.\nFor *as fele eyen* hadde she,                             *as many eyes*\nAs feathers upon fowles be,\nOr were on the beastes four\nThat Godde's throne gan honour,\nAs John writ in th'Apocalypse. <57>\nHer hair, that *oundy was and crips,*              *wavy <58> and crisp*\nAs burnish'd gold it shone to see;\nAnd, sooth to tellen, also she\nHad all so fele* upstanding ears,                                  *many\nAnd tongues, as on beasts be hairs;\nAnd on her feet waxen saw I\nPartridges' winges readily.<59>\nBut, Lord! the pierrie* and richess                     *gems, jewellery\nI saw sitting on this goddess,\nAnd the heavenly melody\nOf songes full of harmony,\nI heard about her throne y-sung,\nThat all the palace walles rung!\n(So sung the mighty Muse, she\nThat called is Calliope,\nAnd her eight sisteren* eke,                                    *sisters\nThat in their faces seeme meek);\nAnd evermore eternally\nThey sang of Fame as then heard I:\n\"Heried* be thou and thy name,                                  *praised\nGoddess of Renown and Fame!\"\nThen was I ware, lo! at the last,\nAs I mine eyen gan upcast,\nThat this ilke noble queen\nOn her shoulders gan sustene*                                   *sustain\nBoth the armes, and the name\nOf those that hadde large fame;\nAlexander, and Hercules,\nThat with a shirt his life lese.* <60>                             *lost\nThus found I sitting this goddess,\nIn noble honour and richess;\nOf which I stint* a while now,                  *refrain (from speaking)\nOf other things to telle you.\n\nThen saw I stand on either side,\nStraight down unto the doores wide,\nFrom the dais, many a pillere\nOf metal, that shone not full clear;\nBut though they were of no richess,\nYet were they made for great nobless,\nAnd in them greate sentence.*                              *significance\nAnd folk of digne* reverence,                             *worthy, lofty\nOf which *I will you telle fand,*               *I will try to tell you*\nUpon the pillars saw I stand.\nAltherfirst, lo! there I sigh*                                      *saw\nUpon a pillar stand on high,\nThat was of lead and iron fine,\nHim of the secte Saturnine, <61>\nThe Hebrew Josephus the old,\nThat of Jewes' gestes* told;                            *deeds of braver\nAnd he bare on his shoulders high\nAll the fame up of Jewry.\nAnd by him stooden other seven,\nFull wise and worthy for to neven,*                                *name\nTo help him bearen up the charge,*                               *burden\nIt was so heavy and so large.\nAnd, for they writen of battailes,\nAs well as other old marvailes,\nTherefore was, lo! this pillere,\nOf which that I you telle here,\nOf lead and iron both, y-wis;\nFor iron Marte's metal is, <62>\nWhich that god is of battaile;\nAnd eke the lead, withoute fail,\nIs, lo! the metal of Saturn,\nThat hath full large wheel* to turn.                              *orbit\nThen stoode forth, on either row,\nOf them which I coulde know,\nThough I them not by order tell,\nTo make you too longe dwell.\nThese, of the which I gin you read,\nThere saw I standen, out of dread,\nUpon an iron pillar strong,\nThat painted was all endelong*                      *from top to bottom*\nWith tiger's blood in ev'ry place,\nThe Tholosan that highte Stace, <63>\nThat bare of Thebes up the name\nUpon his shoulders, and the fame\nAlso of cruel Achilles.\nAnd by him stood, withoute lease,*                            *falsehood\nFull wondrous high on a pillere\nOf iron, he, the great Homere;\nAnd with him Dares and Dytus, <64>\nBefore, and eke he, Lollius, <65>\nAnd Guido eke de Colempnis, <66>\nAnd English Gaufrid <67> eke, y-wis.\nAnd each of these, as I have joy,\nWas busy for to bear up Troy;\nSo heavy thereof was the fame,\nThat for to bear it was no game.\nBut yet I gan full well espy,\nBetwixt them was a little envy.\nOne said that Homer made lies,\nFeigning in his poetries,\nAnd was to the Greeks favourable;\nTherefore held he it but a fable.\nThen saw I stand on a pillere\nThat was of tinned iron clear,\nHim, the Latin poet Virgile,\nThat borne hath up a longe while\nThe fame of pious Aeneas.\nAnd next him on a pillar was\nOf copper, Venus' clerk Ovide,\nThat hath y-sowen wondrous wide\nThe greate god of Love's fame.\nAnd there he bare up well his name\nUpon this pillar all so high,\nAs I might see it with mine eye;\nFor why? this hall whereof I read\nWas waxen in height, and length, and bread,*                    *breadth\nWell more by a thousand deal*                                     *times\nThan it was erst, that saw I weel.\nThen saw I on a pillar by,\nOf iron wrought full sternely,\nThe greate poet, Dan Lucan,\nThat on his shoulders bare up than,\nAs high as that I might it see,\nThe fame of Julius and Pompey; <68>\nAnd by him stood all those clerks\nThat write of Rome's mighty works,\nThat if I would their names tell,\nAll too longe must I dwell.\nAnd next him on a pillar stood\nOf sulphur, like as he were wood,*                                  *mad\nDan Claudian, <69> the sooth to tell,\nThat bare up all the fame of hell,\nOf Pluto, and of Proserpine,\nThat queen is of *the darke pine*               *the dark realm of pain*\nWhy should I telle more of this?\nThe hall was alle fulle, y-wis,\nOf them that writen olde gests,*               *histories of great deeds\nAs be on trees rookes' nests;\nBut it a full confus'd mattere\nWere all these gestes for to hear,\nThat they of write, and how they hight.*                     *are called\n\n But while that I beheld this sight,\nI heard a noise approache blive,*                               *quickly\nThat far'd* as bees do in a hive,                                  *went\nAgainst their time of outflying;\nRight such a manner murmuring,\nFor all the world, it seem'd to me.\nThen gan I look about, and see\nThat there came entering the hall\nA right great company withal,\nAnd that of sundry regions,\nOf all kinds and conditions\nThat dwell in earth under the moon,\nBoth poor and rich; and all so soon\nAs they were come into the hall,\nThey gan adown on knees to fall,\nBefore this ilke* noble queen,                                     *same\nAnd saide, \"Grant us, Lady sheen,*                       *bright, lovely\nEach of us of thy grace a boon.\"*                                *favour\nAnd some of them she granted soon,\nAnd some she warned* well and fair,                             *refused\nAnd some she granted the contrair*                             *contrary\nOf their asking utterly;\nBut this I say you truely,\nWhat that her cause was, I n'ist;*                   *wist not, know not\nFor of these folk full well I wist,\nThey hadde good fame each deserved,\nAlthough they were diversely served.\nRight as her sister, Dame Fortune,\nIs wont to serven *in commune.*                      *commonly, usually*\n\nNow hearken how she gan to pay\nThem that gan of her grace to pray;\nAnd right, lo! all this company\nSaide sooth,* and not a lie.                                      *truth\n\"Madame,\" thus quoth they, \"we be\nFolk that here beseeche thee\nThat thou grant us now good fame,\nAnd let our workes have good name\nIn full recompensatioun\nOf good work, give us good renown\n\"I warn* it you,\" quoth she anon;                                *refuse\n\"Ye get of me good fame none,\nBy God! and therefore go your way.\"\n\"Alas,\" quoth they, \"and well-away!\nTell us what may your cause be.\"\n\"For that it list* me not,\" quoth she,                          *pleases\nNo wight shall speak of you, y-wis,\nGood nor harm, nor that nor this.\"\n\nAnd with that word she gan to call\nHer messenger, that was in hall,\nAnd bade that he should faste go'n,\nUpon pain to be blind anon,\nFor Aeolus, the god of wind;\n\"In Thrace there ye shall him find,\nAnd bid him bring his clarioun,\nThat is full diverse of his soun',\nAnd it is called Cleare Laud,\nWith which he wont is to heraud*                               *proclaim\nThem that me list y-praised be,\nAnd also bid him how that he\nBring eke his other clarioun,\nThat hight* Slander in ev'ry town,                            *is called\nWith which he wont is to diffame*                     *defame, disparage\nThem that me list, and do them shame.\"\nThis messenger gan faste go'n,\nAnd found where, in a cave of stone,\nIn a country that highte Thrace,\nThis Aeolus, *with harde grace,*               *Evil favour attend him!*\nHelde the windes in distress,*                               *constraint\nAnd gan them under him to press,\nThat they began as bears to roar,\nHe bound and pressed them so sore.\nThis messenger gan fast to cry,\n\"Rise up,\" quoth he, \"and fast thee hie,\nUntil thou at my Lady be,\nAnd take thy clarions eke with thee,\nAnd speed thee forth.\" And he anon\nTook to him one that hight Triton, <70>\nHis clarions to beare tho,*                                        *then\nAnd let a certain winde go,\nThat blew so hideously and high,\nThat it lefte not a sky*                                     *cloud <71>\nIn all the welkin* long and broad.                                  *sky\nThis Aeolus nowhere abode*                                      *delayed\nTill he was come to Fame's feet,\nAnd eke the man that Triton hete,*                            *is called\nAnd there he stood as still as stone.\n\nAnd therewithal there came anon\nAnother huge company\nOf goode folk, and gan to cry,\n\"Lady, grant us goode fame,\nAnd let our workes have that name,\nNow in honour of gentleness;\nAnd all so God your soule bless;\nFor we have well deserved it,\nTherefore is right we be well quit.\"*                          *requited\n\"As thrive I,\" quoth she, \"ye shall fail;\nGood workes shall you not avail\nTo have of me good fame as now;\nBut, wot ye what, I grante you.\nThat ye shall have a shrewde* fame,                        *evil, cursed\nAnd wicked los,* and worse name,                        *reputation <72>\nThough ye good los have well deserv'd;\nNow go your way, for ye be serv'd.\nAnd now, Dan Aeolus,\" quoth she,\n\"Take forth thy trump anon, let see,\nThat is y-called Slander light,\nAnd blow their los, that ev'ry wight\nSpeak of them harm and shrewedness,*                 *wickedness, malice\nInstead of good and worthiness;\nFor thou shalt trump all the contrair\nOf that they have done, well and fair.\"\nAlas! thought I, what adventures*                       *(evil) fortunes\nHave these sorry creatures,\nThat they, amonges all the press,\nShould thus be shamed guilteless?\nBut what! it muste needes be.\nWhat did this Aeolus, but he\nTook out his blacke trump of brass,\nThat fouler than the Devil was,\nAnd gan this trumpet for to blow,\nAs all the world 't would overthrow.\nThroughout every regioun\nWent this foule trumpet's soun',\nAs swift as pellet out of gun\nWhen fire is in the powder run.\nAnd such a smoke gan out wend,*                                      *go\nOut of this foule trumpet's end,\nBlack, blue, greenish, swart,* and red,                      *black <73>\nAs doth when that men melt lead,\nLo! all on high from the tewell;*                          *chimney <74>\nAnd thereto* one thing saw I well,                                 *also\nThat the farther that it ran,\nThe greater waxen it began,\nAs doth the river from a well,*                                *fountain\nAnd it stank as the pit of hell.\nAlas! thus was their shame y-rung,\nAnd guilteless, on ev'ry tongue.\n\nThen came the thirde company,\nAnd gan up to the dais to hie,*                                  *hasten\nAnd down on knees they fell anon,\nAnd saide, \"We be ev'ry one\nFolk that have full truely\nDeserved fame right fully,\nAnd pray you that it may be know\nRight as it is, and forth y-blow.\"\n\"I grante,\" quoth she, \"for me list\nThat now your goode works be wist;*                               *known\nAnd yet ye shall have better los,\nIn despite of all your foes,\nThan worthy* is, and that anon.                                 *merited\nLet now,\" quoth she, \"thy trumpet go'n,\nThou Aeolus, that is so black,\nAnd out thine other trumpet take,\nThat highte Laud, and blow it so\nThat through the world their fame may go,\nEasily and not too fast,\nThat it be knowen at the last.\"\n\"Full gladly, Lady mine,\" he said;\nAnd out his trump of gold he braid*                        *pulled forth\nAnon, and set it to his mouth,\nAnd blew it east, and west, and south,\nAnd north, as loud as any thunder,\nThat ev'ry wight had of it wonder,\nSo broad it ran ere that it stent.*                              *ceased\nAnd certes all the breath that went\nOut of his trumpet's mouthe smell'd\nAs* men a pot of balme held                                       *as if\nAmong a basket full of roses;\nThis favour did he to their loses.*                         *reputations\n\nAnd right with this I gan espy\nWhere came the fourthe company.\nBut certain they were wondrous few;\nAnd gan to standen in a rew,*                                       *row\nAnd saide, \"Certes, Lady bright,\nWe have done well with all our might,\nBut we *not keep* to have fame;                                *care not\nHide our workes and our name,\nFor Godde's love! for certes we\nHave surely done it for bounty,*                       *goodness, virtue\nAnd for no manner other thing.\"\n\"I grante you all your asking,\"\nQuoth she; \"let your workes be dead.\"\n\nWith that I turn'd about my head,\nAnd saw anon the fifthe rout,*                                  *company\nThat to this Lady gan to lout,*                                *bow down\nAnd down on knees anon to fall;\nAnd to her then besoughten all\nTo hide their good workes eke,\nAnd said, they gave* not a leek                                   *cared\nFor no fame, nor such renown;\nFor they for contemplatioun\nAnd Godde's love had y-wrought,\nNor of fame would they have aught.\n\"What!\" quoth she, \"and be ye wood?\nAnd *weene ye* for to do good,                           *do ye imagine*\nAnd for to have of that no fame?\n*Have ye despite* to have my name?                       *do ye despise*\nNay, ye shall lie every one!\nBlow thy trump, and that anon,\"\nQuoth she, \"thou Aeolus, I hote,*                               *command\nAnd ring these folkes works by note,\nThat all the world may of it hear.\"\nAnd he gan blow their los* so clear                          *reputation\nWithin his golden clarioun,\nThat through the worlde went the soun',\nAll so kindly, and so soft,\nThat their fame was blown aloft.\n\nAnd then came the sixth company,\nAnd gunnen* fast on Fame to cry;                                  *began\nRight verily in this mannere\nThey saide; \"Mercy, Lady dear!\nTo telle certain as it is,\nWe have done neither that nor this,\nBut idle all our life hath be;*                                    *been\nBut natheless yet praye we\nThat we may have as good a fame,\nAnd great renown, and knowen* name,                          *well-known\nAs they that have done noble gests,*                             *feats.\nAnd have achieved all their quests,*               *enterprises; desires\nAs well of Love, as other thing;\nAll* was us never brooch, nor ring,                            *although\nNor elles aught from women sent,\nNor ones in their hearte meant\nTo make us only friendly cheer,\nBut mighte *teem us upon bier;*                *might lay us on our bier\nYet let us to the people seem              (by their adverse demeanour)*\nSuch as the world may of us deem,*                                *judge\nThat women loven us for wood.*                                    *madly\nIt shall us do as muche good,\nAnd to our heart as much avail,\nThe counterpoise,* ease, and travail,                      *compensation\nAs we had won it with labour;\nFor that is deare bought honour,\n*At the regard of* our great ease.                  *in comparison with*\n*And yet* ye must us more please;                          *in addition*\nLet us be holden eke thereto\nWorthy, and wise, and good also,\nAnd rich, and happy unto love,\nFor Godde's love, that sits above;\nThough we may not the body have\nOf women, yet, so God you save,\nLet men glue* on us the name;                                    *fasten\nSufficeth that we have the fame.\"\n\"I grante,\" quoth she, \"by my troth;\nNow Aeolus, withoute sloth,\nTake out thy trump of gold,\" quoth she,\n\"And blow as they have asked me,\nThat ev'ry man ween* them at ease,                              *believe\nAlthough they go in full *bad leas.\"*                     *sorry plight*\nThis Aeolus gan it so blow,\nThat through the world it was y-know.\n\nThen came the seventh rout anon,\nAnd fell on knees ev'ry one,\nAnd saide, \"Lady, grant us soon\nThe same thing, the same boon,\nWhich *this next folk* you have done.\"       *the people just before us*\n\"Fy on you,\" quoth she, \"ev'ry one!\nYe nasty swine, ye idle wretches,\nFull fill'd of rotten slowe tetches!*                    *blemishes <75>\nWhat? false thieves! ere ye would\n*Be famous good,* and nothing n'ould                    *have good fame*\nDeserve why, nor never raught,*                *recked, cared (to do so)\nMen rather you to hangen ought.\nFor ye be like the sleepy cat,\nThat would have fish; but, know'st thou what?\nHe woulde no thing wet his claws.\nEvil thrift come to your jaws,\nAnd eke to mine, if I it grant,\nOr do favour you to avaunt.*                           *boast your deeds\nThou Aeolus, thou King of Thrace,\nGo, blow this folk a *sorry grace,\"*                           *disgrace\nQuoth she, \"anon; and know'st thou how?\nAs I shall telle thee right now,\nSay, these be they that would honour\nHave, and do no kind of labour,\nNor do no good, and yet have laud,\nAnd that men ween'd that Belle Isaude <76>\n*Could them not of love wern;*          *could not refuse them her love*\nAnd yet she that grinds at the quern*                         *mill <77>\nIs all too good to ease their heart.\"\nThis Aeolus anon upstart,\nAnd with his blacke clarioun\nHe gan to blazen out a soun'\nAs loud as bellows wind in hell;\nAnd eke therewith, the sooth to tell,\nThis sounde was so full of japes,*                                *jests\nAs ever were mows* in apes;                                    *grimaces\nAnd that went all the world about,\nThat ev'ry wight gan on them shout,\nAnd for to laugh as they were wood;*                                *mad\n*Such game found they in their hood.* <78>      *so were they ridiculed*\n\nThen came another company,\nThat hadde done the treachery,\nThe harm, and the great wickedness,\nThat any hearte coulde guess;\nAnd prayed her to have good fame,\nAnd that she would do them no shame,\nBut give them los and good renown,\nAnd *do it blow* in clarioun.                     *cause it to be blown*\n\"Nay, wis!\" quoth she, \"it were a vice;\nAll be there in me no justice,\nMe liste not to do it now,\nNor this will I grant to you.\"\n\nThen came there leaping in a rout,*                               *crowd\nAnd gan to clappen* all about                             *strike, knock\nEvery man upon the crown,\nThat all the hall began to soun';\nAnd saide; \"Lady lefe* and dear,                                  *loved\nWe be such folk as ye may hear.\nTo tellen all the tale aright,\nWe be shrewes* every wight,                      *wicked, impious people\nAnd have delight in wickedness,\nAs goode folk have in goodness,\nAnd joy to be y-knowen shrews,\nAnd full of vice and *wicked thews;*                    *evil qualities*\nWherefore we pray you *on a row,*                         *all together*\nThat our fame be such y-know\nIn all things right as it is.\"\n\"I grant it you,\" quoth she, \"y-wis.\nBut what art thou that say'st this tale,\nThat wearest on thy hose a pale,*                       *vertical stripe\nAnd on thy tippet such a bell?\"\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"sooth to tell,\nI am *that ilke shrew,* y-wis,                         *the same wretch*\nThat burnt the temple of Isidis,\nIn Athenes, lo! that city.\" <79>\n\"And wherefore didst thou so?\" quoth she.\n\"By my thrift!\" quoth he, \"Madame,\nI woulde fain have had a name\nAs other folk had in the town;\nAlthough they were of great renown\nFor their virtue and their thews,*                       *good qualities\nThought I, as great fame have shrews\n(Though it be naught) for shrewdeness,\nAs good folk have for goodeness;\nAnd since I may not have the one,\nThe other will I not forgo'n.\nSo for to gette *fame's hire,*                      *the reward of fame*\nThe temple set I all afire.\n*Now do our los be blowen swithe,\nAs wisly be thou ever blithe.\"*                           *see note <80>\n\"Gladly,\" quoth she; \"thou Aeolus,\nHear'st thou what these folk prayen us?\"\n\"Madame, I hear full well,\" quoth he,\n\"And I will trumpen it, pardie!\"\nAnd took his blacke trumpet fast,\nAnd gan to puffen and to blast,\nTill it was at the worlde's end.\n\nWith that I gan *aboute wend,*                                    *turn*\nFor one that stood right at my back\nMe thought full goodly* to me spake,                *courteously, fairly\nAnd saide, \"Friend, what is thy name?\nArt thou come hither to have fame?\"\n\"Nay, *for soothe,* friend!\" quoth I;                           *surely*\n\"I came not hither, *grand mercy,*                        *great thanks*\nFor no such cause, by my head!\nSufficeth me, as I were dead,\nThat no wight have my name in hand.\nI wot myself best how I stand,\nFor what I dree,* or what I think,                               *suffer\nI will myself it alle drink,\nCertain, for the more part,\nAs far forth as I know mine art.\"\n\"What doest thou here, then,\" quoth he.\nQuoth I, \"That will I telle thee;\nThe cause why I stande here,\nIs some new tidings for to lear,*                                 *learn\nSome newe thing, I know not what,\nTidings either this or that,\nOf love, or suche thinges glad.\nFor, certainly, he that me made\nTo come hither, said to me\nI shoulde bothe hear and see\nIn this place wondrous things;\nBut these be not such tidings\nAs I meant of.\" \"No?\" quoth he.\nAnd I answered, \"No, pardie!\nFor well I wot ever yet,\nSince that first I hadde wit,\nThat some folk have desired fame\nDiversely, and los, and name;\nBut certainly I knew not how\nNor where that Fame dwelled, ere now\nNor eke of her description,\nNor also her condition,\nNor *the order of her doom,*            *the principle of her judgments*\nKnew I not till I hither come.\"\n\"Why, then, lo! be these tidings,\nThat thou nowe hither brings,\nThat thou hast heard?\" quoth he to me.\n\"But now *no force,* for well I see                          *no matter*\nWhat thou desirest for to lear.\"\nCome forth, and stand no longer here.\nAnd I will thee, withoute dread,*                                 *doubt\nInto another place lead,\nWhere thou shalt hear many a one.\"\n\nThen gan I forth with him to go'n\nOut of the castle, sooth to say.\nThen saw I stand in a vally,\nUnder the castle faste by,\nA house, that domus Daedali,\nThat Labyrinthus <81> called is,\nN'as* made so wondrously, y-wis,                                *was not\nNor half so quaintly* was y-wrought.                          *strangely\nAnd evermore, as swift as thought,\nThis quainte* house aboute went,                                *strange\nThat nevermore it *stille stent;*                       *ceased to move*\nAnd thereout came so great a noise,\nThat had it stooden upon Oise, <82>\nMen might have heard it easily\nTo Rome, I *trowe sickerly.*                       *confidently believe*\nAnd the noise which I heard,\nFor all the world right so it far'd\nAs doth the routing* of the stone                        *rushing noise*\nThat from the engine<83> is let go'n.\nAnd all this house of which I read*                            *tell you\nWas made of twigges sallow,* red,                                *willow\nAnd green eke, and some were white,\nSuch as men *to the cages twight,*                  *pull to make cages*\nOr maken of  these panniers,\nOr elles hutches or dossers;*                              *back-baskets\nThat, for the swough* and for the twigs,                  *rushing noise\nThis house was all so full of gigs,*                     *sounds of wind\nAnd all so full eke of chirkings,*                            *creakings\nAnd of many other workings;\nAnd eke this house had of entries\nAs many as leaves be on trees,\nIn summer when that they be green,\nAnd on the roof men may yet see'n\nA thousand holes, and well mo',\nTo let the soundes oute go.\nAnd by day *in ev'ry tide*                                 *continually*\nBe all the doores open wide,\nAnd by night each one unshet;*                             *unshut, open\nNor porter there is none to let*                                 *hinder\nNo manner tidings in to pace;\nNor ever rest is in that place,\nThat it n'is* fill'd full of tidings,                            *is not\nEither loud, or of whisperings;\nAnd ever all the house's angles\nAre full of *rownings and of jangles,*     *whisperings and chatterings*\nOf wars, of peace, of marriages,\nOf rests, of labour, of voyages,\nOf abode, of death, of life,\nOf love, of hate, accord, of strife,\nOf loss, of lore, and of winnings,\nOf health, of sickness, of buildings,\nOf faire weather and tempests,\nOf qualm* of folkes and of beasts;                             *sickness\nOf divers transmutations\nOf estates and of regions;\nOf trust, of dread,* of jealousy,                                 *doubt\nOf wit, of cunning, of folly,\nOf plenty, and of great famine,\nOf *cheap, of dearth,* and of ruin;     *cheapness & dearness (of food)*\nOf good or of mis-government,\nOf fire, and diverse accident.\nAnd lo! this house of which I write,\n*Sicker be ye,* it was not lite;*                    *be assured* *small\nFor it was sixty mile of length,\nAll* was the timber of no strength;                            *although\nYet it is founded to endure,\n*While that it list to Adventure,*               *while fortune pleases*\nThat is the mother of tidings,\nAs is the sea of wells and springs;\nAnd it was shapen like a cage.\n\"Certes,\" quoth I, \"in all mine age,*                              *life\nNe'er saw I such a house as this.\"\n\nAnd as I wonder'd me, y-wis,\nUpon this house, then ware was I\nHow that mine eagle, faste by,\nWas perched high upon a stone;\nAnd I gan straighte to him go'n,\nAnd saide thus; \"I praye thee\nThat thou a while abide* me,                                   *wait for\nFor Godde's love, and let me see\nWhat wonders in this place be;\nFor yet parauntre* I may lear**                    *peradventure **learn\nSome good thereon, or somewhat hear,\nThat *lefe me were,* ere that I went.\"             *were pleasing to me*\n\"Peter! that is mine intent,\"\nQuoth he to me; \"therefore I dwell;*                              *tarry\nBut, certain, one thing I thee tell,\nThat, but* I bringe thee therein,                                *unless\nThou shalt never *can begin*                                   *be able*\nTo come into it, out of doubt,\nSo fast it whirleth, lo! about.\nBut since that Jovis, of his grace,\nAs I have said, will thee solace\nFinally with these ilke* things,                                   *same\nThese uncouth sightes and tidings,\nTo pass away thy heaviness,\nSuch ruth* hath he of thy distress                           *compassion\nThat thou suff'rest debonairly,*                                 *gently\nAnd know'st thyselven utterly\nDesperate of alle bliss,\nSince that Fortune hath made amiss\nThe fruit of all thy hearte's rest\nLanguish, and eke *in point to brest;*        *on the point of breaking*\nBut he, through his mighty merite,\nWill do thee ease, all be it lite,*                              *little\nAnd gave express commandement,\nTo which I am obedient,\nTo further thee with all my might,\nAnd wiss* and teache thee aright,                                *direct\nWhere thou may'st moste tidings hear,\nShalt thou anon many one lear.\"\n\nAnd with this word he right anon\nHent* me up betwixt his tone,**                           *caught **toes\nAnd at a window in me brought,\nThat in this house was, as me thought;\nAnd therewithal me thought it stent,*                           *stopped\nAnd nothing it aboute went;\nAnd set me in the floore down.\nBut such a congregatioun\nOf folk, as I saw roam about,\nSome within and some without,\nWas never seen, nor shall be eft,*                     *again, hereafter\nThat, certes, in the world n' is* left                           *is not\nSo many formed by Nature,\nNor dead so many a creature,\nThat well unnethes* in that place                              *scarcely\nHad I a foote breadth of space;\nAnd ev'ry wight that I saw there\nRown'd* evereach in other's ear                               *whispered\nA newe tiding privily,\nOr elles told all openly\nRight thus, and saide, \"Know'st not thou\nWhat is betid,* lo! righte now?\"                               *happened\n\"No,\" quoth he; \"telle me what.\"\nAnd then he told him this and that,\nAnd swore thereto, that it was sooth;\n\"Thus hath he said,\" and \"Thus he do'th,\"\nAnd \"Thus shall 't be,\" and \"Thus heard I say\n\"That shall be found, that dare I lay;\"*                          *wager\nThat all the folk that is alive\nHave not the cunning to descrive*                              *describe\nThe thinges that I hearde there,\nWhat aloud, and what in th'ear.\nBut all the wonder most was this;\nWhen one had heard a thing, y-wis,\nHe came straight to another wight,\nAnd gan him tellen anon right\nThe same tale that to him was told,\nOr it a furlong way was old, <84>\nAnd gan somewhat for to eche*                                  *eke, add\nTo this tiding in his speech,\nMore than it ever spoken was.\nAnd not so soon departed n'as*                                      *was\nHe from him, than that he met\nWith the third; and *ere he let\nAny stound,* he told him als';                *without delaying a momen*\nWere the tidings true or false,\nYet would he tell it natheless,\nAnd evermore with more increase\nThan it was erst.* Thus north and south                        *at first\nWent ev'ry tiding from mouth to mouth,\nAnd that increasing evermo',\nAs fire is wont to *quick and go*             *become alive, and spread*\nFrom a spark y-sprung amiss,\nTill all a city burnt up is.\nAnd when that it was full up-sprung,\nAnd waxen* more on ev'ry tongue                               *increased\nThan e'er it was, it went anon\nUp to a window out to go'n;\nOr, but it mighte thereout pass,\nIt gan creep out at some crevass,*                       *crevice, chink\nAnd fly forth faste for the nonce.\nAnd sometimes saw I there at once\n*A leasing, and a sad sooth saw,*            *a falsehood and an earnest\nThat gan *of adventure* draw                     true saying* *by chance\nOut at a window for to pace;\nAnd when they metten in that place,\nThey were checked both the two,\nAnd neither of them might out go;\nFor other so they gan *to crowd,*            *push, squeeze, each other*\nTill each of them gan cryen loud,\n\"Let me go first!\" -- \"Nay, but let me!\nAnd here I will ensure thee,\nWith vowes, if thou wilt do so,\nThat I shall never from thee go,\nBut be thine owen sworen brother!\nWe will us medle* each with other,                               *mingle\nThat no man, be he ne'er so wroth,\nShall have one of us two, but both\nAt ones, as *beside his leave,*                     *despite his desire*\nCome we at morning or at eve,\nBe we cried or *still y-rowned.\"*                    *quietly whispered*\nThus saw I false and sooth, compouned,*                      *compounded\nTogether fly for one tiding.\nThen out at holes gan to wring*                       *squeeze, struggle\nEvery tiding straight to Fame;\nAnd she gan give to each his name\nAfter her disposition,\nAnd gave them eke duration,\nSome to wax and wane soon,\nAs doth the faire white moon;\nAnd let them go. There might I see\nWinged wonders full fast flee,\nTwenty thousand in a rout,*                                     *company\nAs Aeolus them blew about.\nAnd, Lord! this House in alle times\nWas full of shipmen and pilgrimes, <85>\nWith *scrippes bretfull of leasings,*    *wallets brimful of falsehoods*\nEntremedled with tidings*                                  *true stories\nAnd eke alone by themselve.\nAnd many thousand times twelve\nSaw I eke of these pardoners,<86>\nCouriers, and eke messengers,\nWith boistes* crammed full of lies                                *boxes\nAs ever vessel was with lyes.*                             *lees of wine\nAnd as I altherfaste* went                               *with all speed\nAbout, and did all mine intent\nMe *for to play and for to lear,*         *to amuse and instruct myself*\nAnd eke a tiding for to hear\nThat I had heard of some country,\nThat shall not now be told for me; --\nFor it no need is, readily;\nFolk can sing it better than I.\nFor all must out, or late or rath,*                                *soon\nAll the sheaves in the lath;*                                 *barn <87>\nI heard a greate noise withal\nIn a corner of the hall,\nWhere men of love tidings told;\nAnd I gan thitherward behold,\nFor I saw running ev'ry wight\nAs fast as that they hadde might,\nAnd ev'reach cried, \"What thing is that?\"\nAnd some said, \"I know never what.\"\nAnd when they were all on a heap,\nThose behinde gan up leap,\nAnd clomb* upon each other fast, <88>                           *climbed\nAnd up the noise on high they cast,\nAnd trodden fast on others' heels,\nAnd stamp'd, as men do after eels.\n\nBut at the last I saw a man,\nWhich that I not describe can;\nBut that he seemed for to be\nA man of great authority.\nAnd therewith I anon abraid*                                      *awoke\nOut of my sleepe, half afraid;\nRememb'ring well what I had seen,\nAnd how high and far I had been\nIn my ghost; and had great wonder\nOf what the mighty god of thunder\nHad let me know; and gan to write\nLike as ye have me heard endite.\nWherefore to study and read alway\nI purpose to do day by day.\nAnd thus, in dreaming and in game,\nEndeth this little book of Fame.\n\nHere endeth the Book of Fame\n\n\nNotes to The House of Fame\n\n\n1. Rood: the cross on which Christ was crucified; Anglo-Saxon,\n\"Rode.\"\n\n2. Well worth of this thing greate clerks: Great scholars set\nmuch worth upon this thing --  that is, devote much labour,\nattach much importance, to the subject of dreams.\n\n3. The poet briefly refers to the description of the House of\nSomnus, in Ovid's \"Metamorphoses,\" 1. xi. 592, et seqq.; where\nthe cave of Somnus is said to be \"prope Cimmerios,\" (\"near the\nCimmerians\") and \"Saxo tamen exit ab imo Rivus aquae\nLethes.\" (\"A stream of Lethe's water issues from the base of the\nrock\")\n\n4. See the account of the vision of Croesus in The Monk's Tale.\n\n5. The meaning of the allusion is not clear; but the story of the\npilgrims and the peas is perhaps suggested by the line following\n-- \"to make lithe [soft] what erst was hard.\" St Leonard was the\npatron of captives.\n\n5. Corsaint:  The \"corpus sanctum\" -- the holy body, or relics,\npreserved in the shrine.\n\n7. So, in the Temple of Venus described in The Knight's Tale,\nthe Goddess is represented as \"naked floating in the large sea\".\n\n8. Vulcano: Vulcan, the husband of Venus.\n\n9. Ered: ploughed; Latin, \"arare,\" Anglo-Saxon, \"erean,\"\nplough.\n\n10. Sours: Soaring ascent; a hawk was said to be \"on the soar\"\nwhen he mounted, \"on the sours\" or \"souse\" when he\ndescended on the prey, and took it in flight.\n\n11. This is only one among many instances in which Chaucer\ndisclaims the pursuits of love; and the description of his manner\nof life which follows is sufficient to show that the disclaimer\nwas no mere mock-humble affectation of a gallant.\n\n12. This reference, approximately fixing the date at which the\npoem was composed, points clearly to Chaucer's daily work as\nComptroller of the Customs -- a post which he held from 1374\nto 1386.\n\n13. This is a frank enough admission that the poet was fond of\ngood cheer; and the effect of his \"little abstinence\" on his\ncorporeal appearance is humorously described in the Prologue\nto the Tale of Sir Thopas, where the Host compliments Chaucer\non being as well shapen in the waist as himself.\n\n14. \"To make the beard\" means to befool or deceive. See note\n15 to the Reeve's Tale. Precisely the same idea is conveyed in\nthe modern slang word \"shave\" -- meaning a trick or fraud.\n\n15. Love-days: see note 21 to the Prologue to the Canterbury\nTales.\n\n16. If this reference is to any book of Chaucer's in which the\nHouse of Fame was mentioned, the book has not come down to\nus. It has been reasonably supposed, however, that Chaucer\nmeans by \"his own book\" Ovid's \"Metamorphoses,\" of which he\nwas evidently very fond; and in the twelfth book of that poem\nthe Temple of Fame is described.\n\n17. Saint Julian was the patron of hospitality; so the Franklin, in\nthe Prologue to The Canterbury Tales is said to be \"Saint Julian\nin his country,\" for his open house and liberal cheer. The eagle,\nat sight of the House of Fame, cries out \"bon hostel!\" -- \"a fair\nlodging, a glorious house, by St Julian!\"\n\n18. The laurel-tree is sacred to Apollo.  See note 11 to The\nAssembly of Fowls.\n\n19. French, \"roche,\" a rock.\n\n20. St. Thomas of Kent:  Thomas a Beckett, whose shrine was\nat Canterbury.\n\n21. The half or side of the rock which was towards the poet,\nwas inscribed with, etc.\n\n22. Cop: summit; German, \"kopf\"; the head.\n\n23. Gestiours:  tellers of stories; reciters of brave feats or\n\"gests.\"\n\n24. Arion: the celebrated Greek bard and citharist, who, in the\nseventh century before Christ, lived at the court of Periander,\ntyrant of Corinth. The story of his preservation by the dolphin,\nwhen the covetous sailors forced him to leap into the sea, is\nwell known.\n\n25. Chiron the Centaur was renowned for skill in music and the\narts, which he owed to the teaching of Apollo and Artemis. He\nbecame in turn the instructor of Peleus, Achilles, and other\ndescendants of Aeacus; hence he is called \"Aeacides\" -- because\ntutor to the Aeacides, and thus, so to speak, of that \"family.\"\n\n26. Glasgerion is the subject of a ballad given in \"Percy's\nReliques,\" where we are told that\n\"Glasgerion was a king's own son,\n And a harper he was good;\n He harped in the king's chamber,\n Where cup and candle stood.\"\n\n27. Cornemuse: bagpipe; French, \"cornemuse.\" Shawmies:\nshalms or psalteries; an instrument resembling a harp.\n\n28. Dulcet: a kind of pipe, probably corresponding with the\n\"dulcimer;\" the idea of sweet -- French, \"doux;\" Latin, \"dulcis\"\n-- is at the root of both words.\n\n29. In the early printed editions of Chaucer, the two names are\n\"Citherus\" and \"Proserus;\" in the manuscript which Mr Bell\nfollowed (No. 16 in the Fairfax collection) they are \"Atileris\"\nand \"Pseustis.\" But neither alternative gives more than the\nslightest clue to identification. \"Citherus\" has been retained in\nthe text; it may have been employed as an appellative of Apollo,\nderived from \"cithara,\" the instrument on which he played; and\nit is not easy to suggest a better substitute for it than \"Clonas\" -\n- an early Greek poet and musician who flourished six hundred\nyears before Christ. For \"Proserus,\" however, has been\nsubstituted \"Pronomus,\" the name of a celebrated Grecian\nplayer on the pipe, who taught Alcibiades the flute, and who\ntherefore, although Theban by birth, might naturally be said by\nthe poet to be \"of Athens.\"\n\n30. Marsyas: The Phrygian, who, having found the flute of\nAthena, which played of itself most exquisite music, challenged\nApollo to a contest, the victor in which was to do with the\nvanquished as he pleased. Marsyas was beaten, and Apollo\nflayed him alive.\n\n31. The German (Deutsche) language, in Chaucer's time, had\nnot undergone that marked literary division into German and\nDutch which was largely accomplished through the influence of\nthe works of Luther and the other Reformers. Even now, the\nflute is the favourite musical instrument of the Fatherland; and\nthe devotion of the Germans to poetry and music has been\ncelebrated since the days of Tacitus.\n\n32. Reyes: a kind of dance, or song to be accompanied with\ndancing.\n\n33. Beam: horn, trumpet; Anglo-Saxon, \"bema.\"\n\n34. Messenus: Misenus, son of Aeolus, the companion and\ntrumpeter of Aeneas, was drowned near the Campanian\nheadland called Misenum after his name. (Aeneid, vi. 162 et\nseqq.)\n\n35. Joab's fame as a trumpeter is founded on two verses in 2\nSamuel (ii. 28, xx. 22), where we are told that he \"blew a\ntrumpet,\" which all the people of Israel obeyed, in the one case\ndesisting from a pursuit, in the other raising a siege.\n\n36. Theodamas or Thiodamas, king of the Dryopes, plays a\nprominent part in the tenth book of Statius' \"Thebaid.\" Both he\nand Joab are also mentioned as great trumpeters in The\nMerchant's Tale.\n\n37. Jongelours: jugglers; French, \"jongleur.\"\n\n38. Tregetours: tricksters, jugglers. For explanation of this\nword, see note 14 to the Franklin's tale.\n\n39. Pythonesses:  women who, like the Pythia in Apollo's\ntemple at Delphi, were possessed with a spirit of divination or\nprophecy. The barbarous Latin form of the word was\n\"Pythonissa\" or \"Phitonissa.\" See note 9 to the Friar's Tale.\n\n40. Subfumigations:  a ceremony employed to drive away evil\nspirits by burning incense; the practice of smoking cattle, corn,\n&c., has not died out in some country districts.\n\n41. In certain ascendents: under certain planetary influences.\nThe next lines recall the alleged malpractices of witches, who\ntortured little images of wax, in the design of causing the same\ntorments to the person represented -- or, vice versa, treated\nthese images for the cure of hurts or sickness.\n\n42. Medea: celebrated for her magical power, through which\nshe restored to youth Aeson, the father of Jason; and caused the\ndeath of Jason's wife, Creusa, by sending her a poisoned\ngarment which consumed her to ashes.\n\n43. Circes: the sorceress Circe, who changed the companions of\nUlysses into swine.\n\n44. Calypsa: Calypso, on whose island of Ogygia Ulysses was\nwrecked. The goddess promised the hero immortality if he\nremained with her; but he refused, and, after a detention of\nseven years, she had to let him go.\n\n45. Hermes Ballenus: this is supposed to mean Hermes\nTrismegistus (of whom see note 19 to the Canon's Yeoman's\nTale); but the explanation of the word \"Ballenus\" is not quite\nobvious. The god Hermes of the Greeks (Mercurius of the\nRomans) had the surname \"Cyllenius,\" from the mountain\nwhere he was born -- Mount Cyllene, in Arcadia; and the\nalteration into \"Ballenus\" would be quite within the range of a\ncopyist's capabilities, while we find in the mythological\ncharacter of Hermes enough to warrant his being classed with\njugglers and magicians.\n\n46. Limote and Colle Tregetour seem to have been famous\nsorcerers or jugglers, but nothing is now known of either.\n\n47. Simon Magus: of whom we read in Acts viii. 9, et seqq.\n\n48. \"And made well more than it was\n     To seemen ev'rything, y-wis,\n     As kindly thing of Fame it is;\"\ni.e. It is in the nature of fame to exaggerate everything.\n\n49. Corbets: the corbels, or capitals of pillars in a Gothic\nbuilding; they were often carved with fantastic figures and\ndevices.\n\n50. A largess!: the cry with which heralds and pursuivants at a\ntournament acknowledged the gifts or largesses of the knights\nwhose achievements they celebrated.\n\n51. Nobles: gold coins of exceptional fineness. Sterlings:\nsterling coins; not \"luxemburgs\", but stamped and authorised\nmoney. See note 9 to the Miller's Tale and note 6 to the\nPrologue to the Monk's tale.\n\n52. Coat-armure: the sleeveless coat or \"tabard,\" on which the\narms of the wearer or his lord were emblazoned.\n\n53. \"But for to prove in alle wise\n     As fine as ducat of Venise\"\ni.e. In whatever way it might be proved or tested, it would be\nfound as fine as a Venetian ducat.\n\n54. Lapidaire: a treatise on precious stones.\n\n55. See imperial: a seat placed on the dais, or elevated portion\nof the hall at the upper end, where the lord and the honoured\nguests sat.\n\n56. The starres seven: Septentrion; the Great Bear or Northern\nWain, which in this country appears to be at the top of heaven.\n\n57. The Apocalypse: The last book of the New Testament, also\ncalled Revelations. The four beasts are in chapter iv. 6.\n\n58. \"Oundy\" is the French \"ondoye,\" from \"ondoyer,\" to\nundulate or wave.\n\n59. Partridges' wings: denoting swiftness.\n\n60. Hercules lost his life with the poisoned shirt of Nessus, sent\nto him by the jealous Dejanira.\n\n61. Of the secte Saturnine: Of the Saturnine school; so called\nbecause his history of the Jewish wars narrated many horrors,\ncruelties, and sufferings, over which Saturn was the presiding\ndeity. See note 71 to the Knight's tale.\n\n62. Compare the account of the \"bodies seven\" given by the\nCanon's Yeoman:\n\"Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe;\n Mars iron, Mercury quicksilver we clepe;\n Saturnus lead, and Jupiter is tin,\n And Venus copper, by my father's kin.\"\n\n63. Statius is called a \"Tholosan,\" because by some, among\nthem Dante, he was believed to have been a native of Tolosa,\nnow Toulouse. He wrote the \"Thebais,\" in twelve books, and\nthe \"Achilleis,\" of which only two were finished.\n\n64. Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis were the names\nattached to histories of the Trojan War pretended to have been\nwritten immediately after the fall of Troy.\n\n65. Lollius:  The unrecognisable author whom Chaucer\nprofesses to follow in his \"Troilus and Cressida,\" and who has\nbeen thought to mean Boccaccio.\n\n66. Guido de Colonna, or de Colempnis, was a native of\nMessina, who lived about the end of the thirteenth century, and\nwrote in Latin prose a history including the war of Troy.\n\n67. English Gaufrid: Geoffrey of Monmouth, who drew from\nTroy the original of the British race. See Spenser's \"Faerie\nQueen,\" book ii. canto x.\n\n68. Lucan, in his \"Pharsalia,\" a poem in ten books, recounted\nthe incidents of the war between Caesar and Pompey.\n\n69. Claudian of Alexandria, \"the most modern of the ancient\npoets,\" lived some three centuries after Christ, and among other\nworks wrote three books on \"The Rape of Proserpine.\"\n\n70. Triton was a son of Poseidon or Neptune, and represented\nusually as blowing a trumpet made of a conch or shell; he is\ntherefore introduced by Chaucer as the squire of Aeolus.\n\n71. Sky: cloud; Anglo-Saxon, \"scua;\" Greek, \"skia.\"\n\n72. Los: reputation. See note 5 to Chaucer's Tale of Meliboeus.\n\n73. Swart: black; German, \"schwarz.\"\n\n74. Tewell: the pipe, chimney, of the furnace; French \"tuyau.\"\nIn the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales, the Monk's head is\ndescribed as steaming like a lead furnace.\n\n75. Tetches: blemishes, spots; French, \"tache.\"\n\n76. For the story of Belle Isaude see note 21 to the Assembly of\nFowls.\n\n77. Quern:  mill. See note 6 to the Monk's Tale.\n\n78. To put an ape into one's hood, upon his head, is to befool\nhim; see the prologue  to the Prioresses's Tale, l.6.\n\n79. Obviously Chaucer should have said the temple of Diana, or\nArtemis (to whom, as Goddess of the Moon, the Egyptian Isis\ncorresponded), at Ephesus. The building, famous for its\nsplendour, was set on fire, in B.C. 356, by Erostatus, merely\nthat he might perpetuate his name.\n\n80. \"Now do our los be blowen swithe,\n     As wisly be thou ever blithe.\" i.e.\nCause our renown to be blown abroad quickly, as surely as you\nwish to be glad.\n\n81. The Labyrinth at Cnossus in Crete, constructed by Dedalus\nfor the safe keeping of the Minotaur, the fruit of Pasiphae's\nunnatural love.\n\n82. The river Oise, an affluent of the Seine, in France.\n\n83. The engine:  The machines for casting stones, which in\nChaucer time served the purpose of great artillery; they were\ncalled \"mangonells,\" \"springolds,\" &c.; and resembled in\nconstruction the \"ballistae\" and \"catapultae\" of the ancients.\n\n84. Or it a furlong way was old:  before it was older than the\nspace of time during which one might walk a furlong; a measure\nof time often employed by Chaucer.\n\n85. Shipmen and pilgrimes: sailors and pilgrims, who seem to\nhave in Chaucer's time amply warranted the proverbial\nimputation against \"travellers' tales.\"\n\n86. Pardoners: of whom Chaucer, in the Prologue to The\nCanterbury Tales, has given us no flattering typical portrait\n\n87. Lath: barn; still used in Lincolnshire and some parts of the\nnorth. The meaning is, that the poet need not tell what tidings\nhe wanted to hear, since everything of the kind must some day\ncome out -- as sooner or later every sheaf in the barn must be\nbrought forth (to be threshed).\n\n88. A somewhat similar heaping-up of people is de scribed in\nSpenser's account of the procession of Lucifera (\"The Faerie\nQueen,\" book i. canto iv.), where, as the royal dame passes to\nher coach,\n\"The heaps of people, thronging in the hall,\n Do ride each other, upon her to gaze.\"\n\n\n\nTROILUS AND CRESSIDA.\n\n\n[In several respects, the story of \"Troilus and Cressida\" may be\nregarded as Chaucer's noblest poem. Larger in scale than any\nother of his individual works -- numbering nearly half as many\nlines as The Canterbury Tales contain, without reckoning the\ntwo in prose -- the conception of the poem is yet so closely and\nharmoniously worked out, that all the parts are perfectly\nbalanced, and from first to last scarcely a single line is\nsuperfluous or misplaced. The finish and beauty of the poem as\na work of art, are not more conspicuous than the knowledge of\nhuman nature displayed in the portraits of the principal\ncharacters. The result is, that the poem is more modern, in form\nand in spirit, than almost any other work of its author; the\nchaste style and sedulous polish of the stanzas admit of easy\nchange into the forms of speech now current in England; while\nthe analytical and subjective character of the work gives it, for\nthe nineteenth century reader, an interest of the same kind as\nthat inspired, say, by George Eliot's wonderful study of\ncharacter in \"Romola.\" Then, above all, \"Troilus and Cressida\"\nis distinguished by a purity and elevation of moral tone, that\nmay surprise those who judge of Chaucer only by the coarse\ntraits of his time preserved in The Canterbury Tales, or who\nmay expect to find here the Troilus, the Cressida, and the\nPandarus of Shakspeare's play. It is to no trivial gallant, no\nwoman of coarse mind and easy virtue, no malignantly\nsubservient and utterly debased procurer, that Chaucer\nintroduces us. His Troilus is a noble, sensitive, generous, pure-\nsouled, manly, magnanimous hero, who is only confirmed and\nstimulated in all virtue by his love, who lives for his lady, and\ndies for her falsehood, in a lofty and chivalrous fashion. His\nCressida is a stately, self-contained, virtuous, tender-hearted\nwoman, who loves with all the pure strength and trustful\nabandonment of a generous and exalted nature, and who is\ndriven to infidelity perhaps even less by pressure of\ncircumstances, than by the sheer force of her love, which will go\non loving -- loving what it can have, when that which it would\nrather have is for the time unattainable. His Pandarus is a\ngentleman, though a gentleman with a flaw in him; a man who,\nin his courtier-like good-nature, places the claims of\ncomradeship above those of honour, and plots away the virtue\nof his niece, that he may appease the love-sorrow of his friend;\nall the time conscious that he is not acting as a gentleman\nshould, and desirous that others should give him that\njustification which he can get but feebly and diffidently in\nhimself. In fact, the \"Troilus and Cressida\" of Chaucer is the\n\"Troilus and Cressida\" of Shakespeare transfigured; the\natmosphere, the colour, the spirit, are wholly different; the older\npoet presents us in the chief characters to noble natures, the\nyounger to ignoble natures in all the characters; and the poem\nwith which we have now to do stands at this day among the\nnoblest expositions of love's workings in the human heart and\nlife. It is divided into five books, containing altogether 8246\nlines. The First Book (1092 lines) tells how Calchas, priest of\nApollo, quitting beleaguered Troy, left there his only daughter\nCressida; how Troilus, the youngest brother of Hector and son\nof King Priam, fell in love with her at first sight, at a festival in\nthe temple of Pallas, and sorrowed bitterly for her love; and\nhow his friend, Cressida's uncle, Pandarus, comforted him by\nthe promise of aid in his suit. The Second Book (1757 lines)\nrelates the subtle manoeuvres of Pandarus to induce Cressida to\nreturn the love of Troilus; which he accomplishes mainly by\ntouching at once the lady's admiration for his heroism, and her\npity for his love-sorrow on her account. The Third Book (1827\nlines) opens with an account of the first interview between the\nlovers; ere it closes, the skilful stratagems of Pandarus have\nplaced the pair in each other's arms under his roof, and the\nlovers are happy in perfect enjoyment of each other's love and\ntrust. In the Fourth Book (1701 lines) the course of true love\nceases to run smooth; Cressida is compelled to quit the city, in\nransom for Antenor, captured in a skirmish; and she sadly\ndeparts to the camp of the Greeks, vowing that she will make\nher escape, and return to Troy and Troilus within ten days. The\nFifth Book (1869 lines) sets out by describing the court which\nDiomedes, appointed to escort her, pays to Cressida on the way\nto the camp; it traces her gradual progress from indifference to\nher new suitor, to incontinence with him, and it leaves the\ndeserted Troilus dead on the field of battle, where he has sought\nan eternal refuge from the new grief provoked by clear proof of\nhis mistress's infidelity. The polish, elegance, and power of the\nstyle, and the acuteness of insight into character, which mark\nthe poem, seem to claim for it a date considerably later than that\nadopted by those who assign its composition to Chaucer's\nyouth: and the literary allusions and proverbial expressions with\nwhich it abounds, give ample evidence that, if Chaucer really\nwrote it at an early age, his youth must have been precocious\nbeyond all actual record. Throughout the poem there are\nrepeated references to the old authors of Trojan histories who\nare named in \"The House of Fame\"; but Chaucer especially\nmentions one Lollius as the author from whom he takes the\ngroundwork of the poem. Lydgate is responsible for the\nassertion that Lollius meant Boccaccio; and though there is no\nauthority for supposing that the English really meant to\ndesignate the Italian poet under that name, there is abundant\ninternal proof that the poem was really founded on the\n\"Filostrato\" of Boccaccio. But the tone of Chaucer's work is\nmuch higher than that of his Italian \"auctour;\" and while in\nsome passages the imitation is very close, in all that is\ncharacteristic in \"Troilus and Cressida,\" Chaucer has fairly\nthrust his models out of sight. In the present edition, it has been\npossible to give no more than about one-fourth of the poem --\n274 out of the 1178 seven-line stanzas that compose it; but\npains have been taken to convey, in the connecting prose\npassages, a faithful idea of what is perforce omitted.]\n\n\nTHE FIRST BOOK.\n\n\nTHE double sorrow <1> of Troilus to tell,\nThat was the King Priamus' son of Troy,\nIn loving how his adventures* fell                             *fortunes\nFrom woe to weal, and after* out of joy,                     *afterwards\nMy purpose is, ere I you parte froy.*                              *from\nTisiphone,<2> thou help me to indite\nThese woeful words, that weep as I do write.\n\nTo thee I call, thou goddess of torment!\nThou cruel wight, that sorrowest ever in pain;\nHelp me, that am the sorry instrument\nThat helpeth lovers, as I can, to plain.*                      *complain\nFor well it sits,* the soothe for to sayn,                       *befits\nUnto a woeful wight a dreary fere,*                           *companion\nAnd to a sorry tale a sorry cheer.*                         *countenance\n\nFor I, that God of Love's servants serve,\nNor dare to love for mine unlikeliness,* <3>             *unsuitableness\nPraye for speed,* although I shoulde sterve,**            *success **die\nSo far I am from his help in darkness;\nBut natheless, might I do yet gladness\nTo any lover, or any love avail,*                               *advance\nHave thou the thank, and mine be the travail.\n\nBut ye lovers that bathen in gladness,\nIf any drop of pity in you be,\nRemember you for old past heaviness,\nFor Godde's love, and on adversity\nThat others suffer; think how sometime ye\nFounde how Love durste you displease;\nOr elles ye have won it with great ease.\n\nAnd pray for them that been in the case\nOf Troilus, as ye may after hear,\nThat Love them bring in heaven to solace;*             *delight, comfort\nAnd for me pray also, that God so dear\nMay give me might to show, in some mannere,\nSuch pain or woe as Love's folk endure,\nIn Troilus' *unseely adventure*                        *unhappy fortune*\n\nAnd pray for them that eke be despair'd\nIn love, that never will recover'd be;\nAnd eke for them that falsely be appair'd*                    *slandered\nThrough wicked tongues, be it he or she:\nOr thus bid* God, for his benignity,                               *pray\nTo grant them soon out of this world to pace,*                 *pass, go\nThat be despaired of their love's grace.\n\nAnd bid also for them that be at ease\nIn love, that God them grant perseverance,\nAnd send them might their loves so to please,\nThat it to them be *worship and pleasance;*        *honour and pleasure*\nFor so hope I my soul best to advance,\nTo pray for them that Love's servants be,\nAnd write their woe, and live in charity;\n\nAnd for to have of them compassion,\nAs though I were their owen brother dear.\nNow listen all with good entention,*                          *attention\nFor I will now go straight to my mattere,\nIn which ye shall the double sorrow hear\nOf Troilus, in loving of Cresside,\nAnd how that she forsook him ere she died.\n\nIn Troy, during the siege, dwelt \"a lord of great authority, a\ngreat divine,\" named Calchas; who, through the oracle of\nApollo, knew that Troy should be destroyed. He stole away\nsecretly to the Greek camp, where he was gladly received, and\nhonoured for his skill in divining, of which the besiegers hoped\nto make use. Within the city there was great anger at the\ntreason of Calchas; and the people declared that he and all his\nkin were worthy to be burnt. His daughter, whom he had left in\nthe city, a widow and alone, was in great fear for her life.\n\nCressida was this lady's name aright;\n*As to my doom,* in alle Troy city                      *in my judgment*\nSo fair was none, for over ev'ry wight\nSo angelic was her native beauty,\nThat like a thing immortal seemed she,\nAs sooth a perfect heav'nly creature,\nThat down seem'd sent in scorning of Nature.\n\nIn her distress, \"well nigh out of her wit for pure fear,\" she\nappealed for protection to Hector; who, \"piteous of nature,\"\nand touched by her sorrow and her beauty, assured her of\nsafety, so long as she pleased to dwell in Troy. The siege went\non; but they of Troy did not neglect the honour and worship of\ntheir deities; most of all of \"the relic hight Palladion, <4> that\nwas their trust aboven ev'ry one.\" In April, \"when clothed is the\nmead with newe green, of jolly Ver [Spring] the prime,\" the\nTrojans went to hold the festival of Palladion --  crowding to\nthe temple, \"in all their beste guise,\" lusty knights, fresh ladies,\nand maidens bright.\n\nAmong the which was this Cresseida,\nIn widow's habit black; but natheless,\nRight as our firste letter is now A,\nIn beauty first so stood she makeless;*                       *matchless\nHer goodly looking gladded all the press;*                        *crowd\nWas never seen thing to be praised derre,*          *dearer, more worthy\nNor under blacke cloud so bright a sterre,*                        *star\n\nAs she was, as they saiden, ev'ry one\nThat her behelden in her blacke weed;*                          *garment\nAnd yet she stood, full low and still, alone,\nBehind all other folk, *in little brede,*              *inconspicuously*\nAnd nigh the door, ay *under shame's drede;*        *for dread of shame*\nSimple of bearing, debonair* of cheer,                         *gracious\nWith a full sure* looking and mannere.                          *assured\n\nDan Troilus, as he was wont to guide\nHis younge knightes, led them up and down\nIn that large temple upon ev'ry side,\nBeholding ay the ladies of the town;\nNow here, now there, for no devotioun\nHad he to none, to *reave him* his rest,                *deprive him of*\nBut gan to *praise and lacke whom him lest;*       *praise and disparage\n                                                        whom he pleased*\nAnd in his walk full fast he gan to wait*                *watch, observe\nIf knight or squier of his company\nGan for to sigh, or let his eyen bait*                             *feed\nOn any woman that he could espy;\nThen he would smile, and hold it a folly,\nAnd say him thus: \"Ah, Lord, she sleepeth soft\nFor love of thee, when as thou turnest oft.\n\n\"I have heard told, pardie, of your living,\nYe lovers, and your lewed* observance,                *ignorant, foolish\nAnd what a labour folk have in winning\nOf love, and in it keeping with doubtance;*                       *doubt\nAnd when your prey is lost, woe and penance;*                 *suffering\nOh, very fooles! may ye no thing see?\nCan none of you aware by other be?\"\n\nBut the God of Love vowed vengeance on Troilus for that\ndespite, and, showing that his bow was not broken, \"hit him at\nthe full.\"\n\nWithin the temple went he forth playing,\nThis Troilus, with ev'ry wight about,\nOn this lady and now on that looking,\nWhether she were of town, or *of without;*       *from beyond the walls*\nAnd *upon cas* befell, that through the rout*         *by chance* *crowd\nHis eye pierced, and so deep it went,\nTill on Cresside it smote, and there it stent;*                  *stayed\n\nAnd suddenly wax'd wonder sore astoned,*                         *amazed\nAnd gan her bet* behold in busy wise:                            *better\n\"Oh, very god!\" <5> thought he; \"where hast thou woned*           *dwelt\nThat art so fair and goodly to devise?*                        *describe\nTherewith his heart began to spread and rise;\nAnd soft he sighed, lest men might him hear,\nAnd caught again his former *playing cheer.*         *jesting demeanour*\n\n*She was not with the least of her stature,*              *she was tall*\nBut all her limbes so well answering\nWere to womanhood, that creature\nWas never lesse mannish in seeming.\nAnd eke *the pure wise of her moving*                   *by very the way\nShe showed well, that men might in her guess                  she moved*\nHonour, estate,* and womanly nobless.                           *dignity\n\nThen Troilus right wonder well withal\nBegan to like her moving and her cheer,*                    *countenance\nWhich somedeal dainous* was, for she let fall                *disdainful\nHer look a little aside, in such mannere\nAscaunce* \"What! may I not stande here?\"               *as if to say <6>\nAnd after that *her looking gan she light,*       *her expression became\nThat never thought him see so good a sight.               more pleasant*\n\nAnd of her look in him there gan to quicken\nSo great desire, and strong affection,\nThat in his hearte's bottom gan to sticken\nOf her the fix'd and deep impression;\nAnd though he erst* had pored** up and down,        *previously **looked\nThen was he glad his hornes in to shrink;\nUnnethes* wist he how to look or wink.                         *scarcely\n\nLo! he that held himselfe so cunning,\nAnd scorned them that Love's paines drien,*                      *suffer\nWas full unware that love had his dwelling\nWithin the subtile streames* of her eyen;                 *rays, glances\nThat suddenly he thought he felte dien,\nRight with her look, the spirit in his heart;\nBlessed be Love, that thus can folk convert!\n\nShe thus, in black, looking to Troilus,\nOver all things he stoode to behold;\nBut his desire, nor wherefore he stood thus,\nHe neither *cheere made,* nor worde told;    *showed by his countenance*\nBut from afar, *his manner for to hold,*       *to observe due courtesy*\nOn other things sometimes his look he cast,\nAnd eft* <7> on her, while that the service last.**      *again **lasted\n\nAnd after this, not fully all awhaped,*                         *daunted\nOut of the temple all easily be went,\nRepenting him that ever he had japed*                            *jested\nOf Love's folk, lest fully the descent\nOf scorn fell on himself; but what he meant,\nLest it were wist on any manner side,\nHis woe he gan dissemble and eke hide.\n\nReturning to his palace, he begins hypocritically to smile and\njest at Love's servants and their pains; but by and by he has to\ndismiss his attendants, feigning \"other busy needs.\" Then, alone\nin his chamber, he begins to groan and sigh, and call up again\nCressida's form as he saw her in the temple -- \"making a mirror\nof his mind, in which he saw all wholly her figure.\" He thinks no\ntravail or sorrow too high a price for the love of such a goodly\nwoman; and, \"full unadvised of his woe coming,\"\n\nThus took he purpose Love's craft to sue,*                       *follow\nAnd thought that he would work all privily,\nFirst for to hide his desire all *in mew*           *in a cage, secretly\nFrom every wight y-born, all utterly,\n*But he might aught recover'd be thereby;*      *unless he gained by it*\nRememb'ring him, that love *too wide y-blow*        *too much spoken of*\nYields bitter fruit, although sweet seed be sow.\n\nAnd, over all this, muche more he thought\nWhat thing to speak, and what to holden in;\nAnd what to arten* her to love, he sought;                *constrain <8>\nAnd on a song anon right to begin,\nAnd gan loud on his sorrow for to win;*                        *overcome\nFor with good hope he gan thus to assent*                       *resolve\nCressida for to love, and not repent.\n\nThe Song of Troilus. <9>\n\n\"If no love is, O God! why feel I so?\nAnd if love is, what thing and which is he?\nIf love be good, from whence cometh my woe?\nIf it be wick', a wonder thinketh me\nWhence ev'ry torment and adversity\nThat comes of love *may to me savoury think:*    *seem acceptable to me*\nFor more I thirst the more that I drink.\n\n\"And if I *at mine owen luste bren*                *burn by my own will*\nFrom whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?\nIf maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then?\t*to what avail do I complain?*\nI wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint.                          *neither\nO quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!*                       *strange\nHow may I see in me such quantity,\nBut if that I consent that so it be?\n\n\"And if that I consent, I wrongfully\nComplain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,\nAll starreless within a boat am I,\nMiddes the sea, betwixte windes two,\nThat in contrary standen evermo'.\nAlas! what wonder is this malady! --\nFor heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!\"\n\nDevoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida -- though he\nyet knew not whether she was woman or goddess -- Troilus, in\nspite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at\nnaught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he\ncould; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only\nburned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against\nthe Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown;\nthen love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till\nhe had to \"borrow a title of other sickness,\" that men might not\nknow he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no\nsign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he\nwas now consumed with a new fear -- lest she loved some other\nman. Bewailing his sad lot -- ensnared, exposed to the scorn of\nthose whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at\nthe port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him\nwith some kind look -- Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his\nfriend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to\ndivert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether\nremorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has\ncaused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave\nhim to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must\nkeep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus' cruelty in\nhiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses\nthat his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved\nobject may be such that his counsel might advance his friend's\ndesires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus\ncould never govern himself in love.\n\n\"Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,\" quoth Pandare,\n\"Though I be nice;* it happens often so,                        *foolish\nThat one that access* doth full evil fare,        *in an access of fever\nBy good counsel can keep his friend therefro'.\nI have my selfe seen a blind man go\nWhere as he fell that looke could full wide;\nA fool may eke a wise man often guide.\n\n\"A whetstone is no carving instrument,\nBut yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles;\nAnd, if thou know'st that I have aught miswent,*          *erred, failed\nEschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is.  *schooling, lesson\nThus oughte wise men to beware by fooles;\nIf so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;\nBy its contrary is everything declared.\n\n\"For how might ever sweetness have been know\nTo him that never tasted bitterness?\nAnd no man knows what gladness is, I trow,\nThat never was in sorrow or distress:\nEke white by black, by shame eke worthiness,\nEach set by other, *more for other seemeth,*        *its quality is made\nAs men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.\"            more obvious by\n                                                           the contrast*\nTroilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in\npeace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus\ninsists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments,\nreproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may\nimpute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces\nTroilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is\ncalled Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and\ncongratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he\nmakes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at\nlovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his\nwoe, hereafter may his comfort be also.\n\n\"For thilke* ground, that bears the weedes wick'              *that same\nBears eke the wholesome herbes, and full oft\nNext to the foule nettle, rough and thick,\nThe lily waxeth,* white, and smooth, and soft;                    *grows\nAnd next the valley is the hill aloft,\nAnd next the darke night is the glad morrow,\nAnd also joy is next the fine* of sorrow.\"                  *end, border\n\nPandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his\ndesire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his\nwicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of\nall Love's law, and most grieve Love's enemies. Troilus gives\nutterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with\nanother proverb --  \"Thou hast full great care, lest that the carl\nshould fall out of the moon.\" Then the lovesick youth breaks\ninto a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he\nmounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus\nretires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the\nsuit of Troilus.\n\n\nTHE SECOND BOOK.\n\n\nIN the Proem to the Second Book, the poet hails the clear\nweather that enables him to sail out of those black waves in\nwhich his boat so laboured that he could scarcely steer -- that is,\n\"the tempestuous matter of despair, that Troilus was in; but\nnow of hope the kalendes begin.\" He invokes the aid of Clio;\nexcuses himself to every lover for what may be found amiss in a\nbook which he only translates; and, obviating any lover's\nobjection to the way in which Troilus obtained his lady's grace -\n- through Pandarus' mediation -- says it seems to him no\nwonderful thing:\n\n\"For ev'ry wighte that to Rome went\nHeld not one path, nor alway one mannere;\nEke in some lands were all the game y-shent\nIf that men far'd in love as men do here,\nAs thus, in open dealing and in cheer,\nIn visiting, in form, or saying their saws;*                   *speeches\nFor thus men say: Each country hath its laws.\n\n\"Eke scarcely be there in this place three\nThat have in love done or said *like in all;\"*   *alike in all respects*\n\nAnd so that which the poem relates may not please the reader --\nbut it actually was done, or it shall yet be done. The Book sets\nout with the visit of Pandarus to Cressida:--\n\nIn May, that mother is of monthes glade,*                          *glad\nWhen all the freshe flowers, green and red,\nBe quick* again, that winter deade made,                          *alive\nAnd full of balm is floating ev'ry mead;\nWhen Phoebus doth his brighte beames spread\nRight in the white Bull, so it betid*                          *happened\nAs I shall sing, on Maye's day the thrid, <11>\n\nThat Pandarus, for all his wise speech,\nFelt eke his part of Love's shottes keen,\nThat, could he ne'er so well of Love preach,\nIt made yet his hue all day full green;*                           *pale\nSo *shope it,* that him fell that day a teen*      *it happened* *access\nIn love, for which full woe to bed he went,\nAnd made ere it were day full many a went.*                *turning <12>\n\nThe swallow Progne, <13> with a sorrowful lay,\nWhen morrow came, gan make her waimenting,*                   *lamenting\nWhy she foshapen* was; and ever lay                         *transformed\nPandare a-bed, half in a slumbering,\nTill she so nigh him made her chittering,\nHow Tereus gan forth her sister take,\nThat with the noise of her he did awake,\n\nAnd gan to call, and dress* him to arise,                       *prepare\nRememb'ring him his errand was to do'n\nFrom Troilus, and eke his great emprise;\nAnd cast, and knew in *good plight* was the Moon     *favourable aspect*\nTo do voyage, and took his way full soon\nUnto his niece's palace there beside\nNow Janus, god of entry, thou him guide!\n\nPandarus finds his niece, with two other ladies, in a paved\nparlour, listening to a maiden who reads aloud the story of the\nSiege of Thebes. Greeting the company, he is welcomed by\nCressida, who tells him that for three nights she has dreamed of\nhim. After some lively talk about the book they had been\nreading, Pandarus asks his niece to do away her hood, to show\nher face bare, to lay aside the book, to rise up and dance, \"and\nlet us do to May some observance.\" Cressida cries out, \"God\nforbid!\" and asks if he is mad -- if that is a widow's life, whom it\nbetter becomes to sit in a cave and read of holy saints' lives.\nPandarus intimates that he could tell her something which could\nmake her merry; but he refuses to gratify her curiosity; and, by\nway of the siege and of Hector, \"that was the towne's wall, and\nGreekes' yerd\" or scourging-rod, the conversation is brought\nround to Troilus, whom Pandarus highly extols as \"the wise\nworthy Hector the second.\" She has, she says, already heard\nTroilus praised for his bravery \"of them that her were liefest\npraised be\" [by whom it would be most welcome to her to be\npraised].\n\n\"Ye say right sooth, y-wis,\" quoth Pandarus;\nFor yesterday, who so had with him been,\nMight have wonder'd upon Troilus;\nFor never yet so thick a swarm of been*                            *bees\nNe flew, as did of Greekes from him flee'n;\nAnd through the field, in ev'ry wighte's ear,\nThere was no cry but 'Troilus is here.'\n\n\"Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,\nThere was but Greekes' blood; and Troilus\nNow him he hurt, now him adown he cast;\nAy where he went it was arrayed thus:\nHe was their death, and shield of life for us,\nThat as that day there durst him none withstand,\nWhile that he held his bloody sword in hand.\"\n\nPandarus makes now a show of taking leave, but Cressida\ndetains him, to speak of her affairs; then, the business talked\nover, he would again go, but first again asks his niece to arise\nand dance, and cast her widow's garments to mischance,\nbecause of the glad fortune that has befallen her. More curious\nthan ever, she seeks to find out Pandarus' secret; but he still\nparries her curiosity, skilfully hinting all the time at her good\nfortune, and the wisdom of seizing on it when offered. In the\nend he tells her that the noble Troilus so loves her, that with her\nit lies to make him live or die -- but if Troilus dies, Pandarus\nshall die with him; and then she will have \"fished fair.\" <14> He\nbeseeches mercy for his friend:\n\n\"*Woe worth* the faire gemme virtueless! <15>             *evil befall!*\nWoe worth the herb also that *doth no boot!*     *has no remedial power*\nWoe worth the beauty that is rutheless!*                      *merciless\nWoe worth that wight that treads each under foot!\nAnd ye that be of beauty *crop and root*                *perfection <16>\nIf therewithal in you there be no ruth,*                           *pity\nThen is it harm ye live, by my truth!\"\n\nPandarus makes only the slight request that she will show\nTroilus somewhat better cheer, and receive visits from him, that\nhis life may be saved; urging that, although a man be soon going\nto the temple, nobody will think that he eats the images; and\nthat \"such love of friends reigneth in all this town.\"\n\nCressida, which that heard him in this wise,\nThought: \"I shall feele* what he means, y-wis;\"                    *test\n\"Now, eme* quoth she, \"what would ye me devise?                   *uncle\nWhat is your rede* that I should do of this?\"          *counsel, opinion\n\"That is well said,\" quoth he;\" certain best it is\nThat ye him love again for his loving,\nAs love for love is *skilful guerdoning.*        *reasonable recompense*\n\n\"Think eke how elde* wasteth ev'ry hour                             *age\nIn each of you a part of your beauty;\nAnd therefore, ere that age do you devour,\nGo love, for, old, there will no wight love thee\nLet this proverb a lore* unto you be:                            *lesson\n'\"Too late I was ware,\" quoth beauty when it past;\nAnd *elde daunteth danger* at the last.'     *old age overcomes disdain*\n\n\"The kinge's fool is wont to cry aloud,\nWhen that he thinks a woman bears her high,\n'So longe may ye liven, and all proud,\nTill crowes' feet be wox* under your eye!                         *grown\nAnd send you then a mirror *in to pry*                      *to look in*\nIn which ye may your face see a-morrow!*                 *in the morning\n*I keep then wishe you no more sorrow.'\"*            *I care to wish you\n                                                          nothing worse*\nWeeping, Cressida reproaches her uncle for giving her such\ncounsel; whereupon Pandarus, starting up, threatens to kill\nhimself, and would fain depart, but that his niece detains him,\nand, with much reluctance, promises to \"make Troilus good\ncheer in honour.\" Invited by Cressida to tell how first he know\nher lover's woe, Pandarus then relates two soliloquies which he\nhad accidentally overheard, and in which Troilus had poured\nout all the sorrow of his passion.\n\nWith this he took his leave, and home he went\nAh! Lord, so was he glad and well-begone!*                        *happy\nCresside arose, no longer would she stent,*                        *stay\nBut straight into her chamber went anon,\nAnd sat her down, as still as any stone,\nAnd ev'ry word gan up and down to wind\nThat he had said, as it came to her mind.\n\nAnd wax'd somedeal astonish'd in her thought,\nRight for the newe case; but when that she\n*Was full advised,* then she found right naught   *had fully considered*\nOf peril, why she should afeared be:\nFor a man may love, of possibility,\nA woman so, that his heart may to-brest,*                 *break utterly\nAnd she not love again, *but if her lest.*     *unless it so please her*\n\nBut as she sat alone, and thoughte thus,\nIn field arose a skirmish all without;\nAnd men cried in the street then:\"\nTroilus hath right now put to flight the Greekes' rout.\"*          *host\nWith that gan all the meinie* for to shout:      *(Cressida's) household\n\"Ah! go we see, cast up the lattice wide,\nFor through this street he must to palace ride;\n\n\"For other way is from the gates none,\nOf Dardanus,<18> where open is the chain.\" <19>\nWith that came he, and all his folk anon,\nAn easy pace riding, in *routes twain,*                     *two troops*\nRight as his *happy day* was, sooth to sayn:         *good fortune <20>*\nFor which men say may not disturbed be\nWhat shall betiden* of necessity.                                *happen\n\nThis Troilus sat upon his bay steed\nAll armed, save his head, full richely,\nAnd wounded was his horse, and gan to bleed,\nFor which he rode a pace full softely\nBut such a knightly sighte* truly                                *aspect\nAs was on him, was not, withoute fail,\nTo look on Mars, that god is of Battaile.\n\nSo like a man of armes, and a knight,\nHe was to see, full fill'd of high prowess;\nFor both he had a body, and a might\nTo do that thing, as well as hardiness;*                        *courage\nAnd eke to see him in his gear* him dress,                       *armour\nSo fresh, so young, so wieldy* seemed he,                        *active\nIt was a heaven on him for to see.*                                *look\n\nHis helmet was to-hewn in twenty places,\nThat by a tissue* hung his back behind;                          *riband\nHis shield to-dashed was with swords and maces,\nIn which men might many an arrow find,\nThat thirled* had both horn, and nerve, and rind; <21>          *pierced\nAnd ay the people cried, \"Here comes our joy,\nAnd, next his brother, <22> holder up of Troy.\"\n\nFor which he wax'd a little red for shame,\nWhen he so heard the people on him cryen\nThat to behold it was a noble game,\nHow soberly he cast adown his eyen:\nCresside anon gan all his cheer espien,\nAnd let it in her heart so softly sink,\nThat to herself she said, \"Who gives me drink?\"<23>\n\nFor of her owen thought she wax'd all red,\nRememb'ring her right thus: \"Lo! this is he\nWhich that mine uncle swears he might be dead,\nBut* I on him have mercy and pity:\"                              *unless\nAnd with that thought for pure shame she\nGan in her head to pull, and that full fast,\nWhile he and all the people forth by pass'd.\n\nAnd gan to cast,* and rollen up and down                         *ponder\nWithin her thought his excellent prowess,\nAnd his estate, and also his renown,\nHis wit, his shape, and eke his gentleness\nBut most her favour was, for his distress\nWas all for her, and thought it were ruth\nTo slay such one, if that he meant but truth.\n\n.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .\n\nAnd, Lord! so gan she in her heart argue\nOf this mattere, of which I have you told\nAnd what to do best were, and what t'eschew,\nThat plaited she full oft in many a fold.<24>\nNow was her hearte warm, now was it cold.\nAnd what she thought of, somewhat shall I write,\nAs to mine author listeth to endite.\n\nShe thoughte first, that Troilus' person\nShe knew by sight, and eke his gentleness;\nAnd saide thus: *\"All were it not to do'n,'*           *although it were\nTo grant him love, yet for the worthiness                    impossible*\nIt were honour, with play* and with gladness,    *pleasing entertainment\nIn honesty with such a lord to deal,\nFor mine estate,* and also for his heal.**          *reputation **health\n\n\"Eke well I wot* my kinge's son is he;                             *know\nAnd, since he hath to see me such delight,\nIf I would utterly his sighte flee,\nParauntre* he might have me in despite,                    *peradventure\nThrough which I mighte stand in worse plight. <25>\nNow were I fool, me hate to purchase*                 *obtain for myself\nWithoute need, where I may stand in grace,*                      *favour\n\n\"In ev'rything, I wot, there lies measure;*              *a happy medium\nFor though a man forbidde drunkenness,\nHe not forbids that ev'ry creature\nBe drinkeless for alway, as I guess;\nEke, since I know for me is his distress,\nI oughte not for that thing him despise,\nSince it is so he meaneth in good wise.\n\n\"Now set a case, that hardest is, y-wis,\nMen mighte deeme* that he loveth me;                            *believe\nWhat dishonour were it unto me, this?\nMay I *him let of* that? Why, nay, pardie!            *prevent him from*\nI know also, and alway hear and see,\nMen love women all this town about;\nBe they the worse? Why, nay, withoute doubt!\n\n\"Nor me to love a wonder is it not;\nFor well wot I myself, so God me speed! --\n*All would I* that no man wist of this thought --     *although I would*\nI am one of the fairest, without drede,*                          *doubt\nAnd goodlieste, who so taketh heed;\nAnd so men say in all the town of Troy;\nWhat wonder is, though he on me have joy?\n\n\"I am mine owen woman, well at ease,\nI thank it God, as after mine estate,\nRight young, and stand untied in *lusty leas,*           *pleasant leash\nWithoute jealousy, or such debate:                            (of love)*\nShall none husband say to me checkmate;\nFor either they be full of jealousy,\nOr masterful, or love novelty.\n\n\"What shall I do? to what fine* live I thus?                        *end\nShall I not love, in case if that me lest?\nWhat? pardie! I am not religious;<26>\nAnd though that I mine hearte set at rest\nAnd keep alway mine honour and my name,\nBy all right I may do to me no shame.\"\n\nBut right as when the sunne shineth bright\nIn March, that changeth oftentime his face,\nAnd that a cloud is put with wind to flight,\nWhich overspreads the sun as for a space;\nA cloudy thought gan through her hearte pace,*                     *pass\nThat overspread her brighte thoughtes all,\nSo that for fear almost she gan to fall.\n\nThe cloudy thought is of the loss of liberty and security, the\nstormy life, and the malice of wicked tongues, that love entails:\n\n[But] after that her thought began to clear,\nAnd saide, \"He that nothing undertakes\nNothing achieveth, be him *loth or dear.\"*       *unwilling or desirous*\nAnd with another thought her hearte quakes;\nThen sleepeth hope, and after dread awakes,\nNow hot, now cold; but thus betwixt the tway*                       *two\nShe rist* her up, and wente forth to play.**     *rose **take recreation\n\nAdown the stair anon right then she went\nInto a garden, with her nieces three,\nAnd up and down they made many a went,*              *winding, turn <12>\nFlexippe and she, Tarke, Antigone,\nTo playe, that it joy was for to see;\nAnd other of her women, a great rout,*                            *troop\nHer follow'd in the garden all about.\n\nThis yard was large, and railed the alleys,\nAnd shadow'd well with blossomy boughes green,\nAnd benched new, and sanded all the ways,\nIn which she walked arm and arm between;\nTill at the last Antigone the sheen*                     *bright, lovely\nGan on a Trojan lay to singe clear,\nThat it a heaven was her voice to hear.\n\nAntigone's song is of virtuous love for a noble object; and it is\nsingularly fitted to deepen the impression made on the mind of\nCressida by the brave aspect of Troilus, and by her own\ncogitations. The singer, having praised the lover and rebuked\nthe revilers of love, proceeds:\n\n\"What is the Sunne worse of his *kind right,*              *true nature*\nThough that a man, for feebleness of eyen,\nMay not endure to see on it for bright? <27>\nOr Love the worse, tho' wretches on it cryen?\nNo weal* is worth, that may no sorrow drien;** <28>  *happiness **endure\nAnd forthy,* who that hath a head of verre,**    *therefore **glass <29>\nFrom cast of stones ware him in the werre. <30>\n\n\"But I, with all my heart and all my might,\nAs I have lov'd, will love unto my last\nMy deare heart, and all my owen knight,\nIn which my heart y-growen is so fast,\nAnd his in me, that it shall ever last\n*All dread I* first to love him begin,               *although I feared*\nNow wot I well there is no pain therein.\"\n\nCressida sighs, and asks Antigone whether there is such bliss\namong these lovers, as they can fair endite; Antigone replies\nconfidently in the affirmative; and Cressida answers nothing,\n\"but every worde which she heard she gan to printen in her\nhearte fast.\" Night draws on:\n\nThe daye's honour, and the heaven's eye,\nThe nighte's foe, -- all this call I the Sun, --\nGan westren* fast, and downward for to wry,**       *go west <31> **turn\nAs he that had his daye's course y-run;\nAnd white thinges gan to waxe dun\nFor lack of light, and starres to appear;\nThen she and all her folk went home in fere.*                *in company\n\nSo, when it liked her to go to rest,\nAnd voided* were those that voiden ought,       *gone out (of the house)\nShe saide, that to sleepe well her lest.*                       *pleased\nHer women soon unto her bed her brought;\nWhen all was shut, then lay she still and thought\nOf all these things the manner and the wise;\nRehearse it needeth not, for ye be wise.\n\nA nightingale upon a cedar green,\nUnder the chamber wall where as she lay,\nFull loude sang against the moone sheen,\nParauntre,* in his birde's wise, a lay                        *perchance\nOf love, that made her hearte fresh and gay;\nHereat hark'd* she so long in good intent,                     *listened\nTill at the last the deade sleep her hent.*                      *seized\n\nAnd as she slept, anon right then *her mette*              *she dreamed*\nHow that an eagle, feather'd white as bone,\nUnder her breast his longe clawes set,\nAnd out her heart he rent, and that anon,\nAnd did* his heart into her breast to go'n,                      *caused\nOf which no thing she was *abash'd nor smert;*         *amazed nor hurt*\nAnd forth he flew, with hearte left for heart.\n\nLeaving Cressida to sleep, the poet returns to Troilus and his\nzealous friend -- with whose stratagems to bring the two lovers\ntogether the remainder of the Second Book is occupied.\nPandarus counsels Troilus to write a letter to his mistress,\ntelling her how he \"fares amiss,\" and \"beseeching her of ruth;\"\nhe will bear the letter to his niece; and, if Troilus will ride past\nCressida's house, he will find his mistress and his friend sitting\nat a window. Saluting Pandarus, and not tarrying, his passage\nwill give occasion for some talk of him, which may make his\nears glow. With respect to the letter, Pandarus gives some\nshrewd hints:\n\n\"Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough,\nI wot thou *n'ilt it dignely endite*       *wilt not write it haughtily*\nOr make it with these argumentes tough,\nNor scrivener-like, nor craftily it write;\nBeblot it with thy tears also a lite;*                           *little\nAnd if thou write a goodly word all soft,\nThough it be good, rehearse it not too oft.\n\n\"For though the beste harper *pon live*                           *alive\nWould on the best y-sounded jolly harp\nThat ever was, with all his fingers five\nTouch ay one string, or *ay one warble harp,*     *always play one tune*\nWere his nailes pointed ne'er so sharp,\nHe shoulde maken ev'ry wight to dull*                     *to grow bored\nTo hear his glee, and of his strokes full.\n\n\"Nor jompre* eke no discordant thing y-fere,**        *jumble **together\nAs thus, to use termes of physic;\nIn love's termes hold of thy mattere\nThe form alway, and *do that it be like;*           *make it consistent*\nFor if a painter woulde paint a pike\nWith ass's feet, and head it as an ape,<32>\nIt *'cordeth not,* so were it but a jape.\"           *is not harmonious*\n\nTroilus writes the letter, and next morning Pandarus bears it to\nCressida. She refuses to receive \"scrip or bill that toucheth such\nmattere;\" but he thrusts it into her bosom, challenging her to\nthrow it away. She retains it, takes the first opportunity of\nescaping to her chamber to read it, finds it wholly good, and,\nunder her uncle's dictation, endites a reply telling her lover that\nshe will not make herself bound in love; \"but as his sister, him\nto please, she would aye fain [be glad] to do his heart an ease.\"\nPandarus, under pretext of inquiring who is the owner of the\nhouse opposite, has gone to the window; Cressida takes her\nletter to him there, and tells him that she never did a thing with\nmore pain than write the words to which he had constrained\nher. As they sit side by side, on a stone of jasper, on a cushion\nof beaten gold, Troilus rides by, in all his goodliness. Cressida\nwaxes \"as red as rose,\" as she sees him salute humbly, \"with\ndreadful cheer, and oft his hues mue [change];\" she likes \"all\ny-fere, his person, his array, his look, his cheer, his goodly\nmanner, and his gentleness;\" so that, however she may have\nbeen before, \"to goode hope now hath she caught a thorn, she\nshall not pull it out this nexte week.\" Pandarus, striking the iron\nwhen it is hot, asks his niece to grant Troilus an interview; but\nshe strenuously declines, for fear of scandal, and because it is all\ntoo soon to allow him so great a liberty -- her purpose being to\nlove him unknown of all, \"and guerdon [reward] him with\nnothing but with sight.\" Pandarus has other intentions; and,\nwhile Troilus writes daily letters with increasing love, he\ncontrives the means of an interview. Seeking out Deiphobus,\nthe brother of Troilus, he tells him that Cressida is in danger of\nviolence from Polyphete, and asks protection for her.\nDeiphobus gladly complies, promises the protection of Hector\nand Helen, and goes to invite Cressida to dinner on the morrow.\nMeantime Pandarus instructs Troilus to go to the house of\nDeiphobus, plead an access of his fever for remaining all night,\nand keep his chamber next day. \"Lo,\" says the crafty promoter\nof love, borrowing a phrase from the hunting-field; \"Lo, hold\nthee at thy tristre [tryst <33>] close, and I shall well the deer\nunto thy bowe drive.\" Unsuspicious of stratagem, Cressida\ncomes to dinner; and at table, Helen, Pandarus, and others,\npraise the absent Troilus, until \"her heart laughs\" for very pride\nthat she has the love of such a knight. After dinner they speak\nof Cressida's business; all confirm Deiphobus' assurances of\nprotection and aid; and Pandarus suggests that, since Troilus is\nthere, Cressida shall herself tell him her case. Helen and\nDeiphobus alone accompany Pandarus to Troilus' chamber;\nthere Troilus produces some documents relating to the public\nweal, which Hector has sent for his opinion; Helen and\nDeiphobus, engrossed in perusal and discussion, roam out of\nthe chamber, by a stair, into the garden; while Pandarus goes\ndown to the hall, and, pretending that his brother and Helen are\nstill with Troilus, brings Cressida to her lover. The Second\nBook leaves Pandarus whispering in his niece's ear counsel to\nbe merciful and kind to her lover, that hath for her such pain;\nwhile Troilus lies \"in a kankerdort,\" <34> hearing the\nwhispering without, and wondering what he shall say for this\n\"was the first time that he should her pray of love; O! mighty\nGod! what shall he say?\"\n\n\nTHE THIRD BOOK.\n\n\nTo the Third Book is prefixed a beautiful invocation of Venus,\nunder the character of light:\n\nO Blissful light, of which the beames clear\nAdornen all the thirde heaven fair!\nO Sunne's love, O Jove's daughter dear!\nPleasance of love, O goodly debonair,*             *lovely and gracious*\nIn gentle heart ay* ready to repair!**         *always **enter and abide\nO very* cause of heal** and of gladness,                 *true **welfare\nY-heried* be thy might and thy goodness!                        *praised\n\nIn heav'n and hell, in earth and salte sea.\nIs felt thy might, if that I well discern;\nAs man, bird, beast, fish, herb, and greene tree,\nThey feel in times, with vapour etern, <35>\nGod loveth, and to love he will not wern                          forbid\nAnd in this world no living creature\nWithoute love is worth, or may endure. <36>\n\nYe Jove first to those effectes glad,\nThrough which that thinges alle live and be,\nCommended; and him amorous y-made\nOf mortal thing; and as ye list,* ay ye                         *pleased\nGave him, in love, ease* or adversity,                         *pleasure\nAnd in a thousand formes down him sent\nFor love in earth; and *whom ye list he hent.*       *he seized whom you\n                                                                 wished*\nYe fierce Mars appeasen of his ire,\nAnd as you list ye make heartes dign* <37>                       *worthy\nAlgates* them that ye will set afire,                     *at all events\nThey dreade shame, and vices they resign\nYe do* him courteous to be, and benign;                     *make, cause\nAnd high or low, after* a wight intendeth,                 *according as\nThe joyes that he hath your might him sendeth.\n\nYe holde realm and house in unity;\nYe soothfast* cause of friendship be also;                         *true\nYe know all thilke *cover'd quality*                      *secret power*\nOf thinges which that folk on wonder so,\nWhen they may not construe how it may go\nShe loveth him, or why he loveth her,\nAs why this fish, not that, comes to the weir.*<38>           *fish-trap\n\nKnowing that Venus has set a law in the universe, that whoso\nstrives with her shall have the worse, the poet prays to be\ntaught to describe some of the joy that is felt in her service; and\nthe Third Book opens with an account of the scene between\nTroilus and Cressida:\n\nLay all this meane while Troilus\nRecording* his lesson in this mannere;                       *memorizing\n*\"My fay!\"* thought he, \"thus will I say, and thus;       *by my faith!*\nThus will I plain* unto my lady dear;                    *make my plaint\nThat word is good; and this shall be my cheer\nThis will I not forgetten in no wise;\"\nGod let him worken as he can devise.\n\nAnd, Lord! so as his heart began to quap,*                  *quake, pant\nHearing her coming, and *short for to sike;*          *make short sighs*\nAnd Pandarus, that led her by the lap,*                           *skirt\nCame near, and gan in at the curtain pick,*                        *peep\nAnd saide: \"God do boot* alle sick!                  *afford a remedy to\nSee who is here you coming to visite;\nLo! here is she that is *your death to wite!\"*\t*to blame for your death*\n\nTherewith it seemed as he wept almost.\n\"Ah! ah! God help!\" quoth Troilus ruefully;\n\"Whe'er* me be woe, O mighty God, thou know'st!                 *whether\nWho is there? for I see not truely.\"\n\"Sir,\" quoth Cresside, \"it is Pandare and I;\n\"Yea, sweete heart? alas, I may not rise\nTo kneel and do you honour in some wise.\"\n\nAnd dressed him upward, and she right tho*                         *then\nGan both her handes soft upon him lay.\n\"O! for the love of God, do ye not so\nTo me,\" quoth she; \"ey! what is this to say?\nFor come I am to you for causes tway;*                              *two\nFirst you to thank, and of your lordship eke\nContinuance* I woulde you beseek.\"**               *protection **beseech\n\nThis Troilus, that heard his lady pray\nHim of lordship, wax'd neither quick nor dead;\nNor might one word for shame to it say, <39>\nAlthough men shoulde smiten off his head.\nBut, Lord! how he wax'd suddenly all red!\nAnd, Sir, his lesson, that he *ween'd have con,*        *thought he knew\nTo praye her, was through his wit y-run.                       by heart*\n\nCresside all this espied well enow, --\nFor she was wise, -- and lov'd him ne'er the less,\nAll n'ere he malapert, nor made avow,\nNor was so bold to sing a foole's mass;<40>\nBut, when his shame began somewhat to pass,\nHis wordes, as I may my rhymes hold,\nI will you tell, as teache bookes old.\n\nIn changed voice, right for his very dread,\nWhich voice eke quak'd, and also his mannere\nGoodly* abash'd, and now his hue is red,                     *becomingly\nNow pale, unto Cresside, his lady dear,\nWith look downcast, and humble *yielden cheer,*        *submissive face*\nLo! *altherfirste word that him astert,*        *the first word he said*\nWas twice: \"Mercy, mercy, my dear heart!\"\n\nAnd stent* a while; and when he might *out bring,*      *stopped *speak*\nThe nexte was: \"God wote, for I have,\n*As farforthly as I have conning,*                 *as far as I am able*\nBeen youres all, God so my soule save,\nAnd shall, till that I, woeful wight, *be grave;*                  *die*\nAnd though I dare not, cannot, to you plain,\nY-wis, I suffer not the lesse pain.\n\n\"This much as now, O womanlike wife!\nI may *out bring,* and if it you displease,                  *speak out*\nThat shall I wreak* upon mine owne life,                         *avenge\nRight soon, I trow, and do your heart an ease,\nIf with my death your heart I may appease:\nBut, since that ye have heard somewhat say,\nNow reck I never how soon that I dey.\"                              *die\n\nTherewith his manly sorrow to behold\nIt might have made a heart of stone to rue;\nAnd Pandare wept as he to water wo'ld, <41>\nAnd saide, \"Woe-begone* be heartes true,\"              *in woeful plight\nAnd procur'd* his niece ever new and new,                         *urged\n\"For love of Godde, make *of him an end,*          *put him out of pain*\nOr slay us both at ones, ere we wend.\"*                              *go\n\n\"Ey! what?\" quoth she; \"by God and by my truth,\nI know not what ye woulde that I say;\"\n\"Ey! what?\" quoth he; \"that ye have on him ruth,*                  *pity\nFor Godde's love, and do him not to dey.\"                           *die\n\"Now thenne thus,\" quoth she, \"I would him pray\nTo telle me the *fine of his intent;*                *end of his desire*\nYet wist* I never well what that he meant.\"                        *knew\n\n\"What that I meane, sweete hearte dear?\"\nQuoth Troilus, \"O goodly, fresh, and free!\nThat, with the streames* of your eyne so clear,          *beams, glances\nYe woulde sometimes *on me rue and see,*      *take pity and look on me*\nAnd then agreen* that I may be he,                    *take in good part\nWithoute branch of vice, in any wise,\nIn truth alway to do you my service,\n\n\"As to my lady chief, and right resort,\nWith all my wit and all my diligence;\nAnd for to have, right as you list, comfort;\nUnder your yerd,* equal to mine offence,              *rod, chastisement\nAs death, if that *I breake your defence;*                  *do what you\nAnd that ye deigne me so much honour,                       forbid <42>*\nMe to commanden aught in any hour.\n\n\"And I to be your very humble, true,\nSecret, and in my paines patient,\nAnd evermore desire, freshly new,\nTo serven, and be alike diligent,\nAnd, with good heart, all wholly your talent\nReceive in gree,* how sore that me smart;                      *gladness\nLo, this mean I, mine owen sweete heart.\"\n\n.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .\n\nWith that she gan her eyen on him* cast, <43>                  *Pandarus\nFull easily and full debonairly,*                            *graciously\n*Advising her,* and hied* not too fast,             *considering* **went\nWith ne'er a word, but said him softely,\n\"Mine honour safe, I will well truely,\nAnd in such form as ye can now devise,\nReceive him* fully to my service;                               *Troilus\n\n\"Beseeching him, for Godde's love, that he\nWould, in honour of truth and gentleness,\nAs I well mean, eke meane well to me;\nAnd mine honour, with *wit and business,*              *wisdom and zeal*\nAye keep; and if I may do him gladness,\nFrom henceforth, y-wis I will not feign:\nNow be all whole, no longer do ye plain.\n\n\"But, natheless, this warn I you,\" quoth she,\n\"A kinge's son although ye be, y-wis,\nYe shall no more have sovereignety\nOf me in love, than right in this case is;\nNor will I forbear, if ye do amiss,\nTo wrathe* you, and, while that ye me serve,       *be angry with, chide\nTo cherish you, *right after ye deserve.*               *as you deserve*\n\n\"And shortly, deare heart, and all my knight,\nBe glad, and drawe you to lustiness,*                          *pleasure\nAnd I shall truely, with all my might,\nYour bitter turnen all to sweeteness;\nIf I be she that may do you gladness,\nFor ev'ry woe ye shall recover a bliss:\"\nAnd him in armes took, and gan him kiss.\n\nPandarus, almost beside himself for joy, falls on his knees to\nthank Venus and Cupid, declaring that for this miracle he hears\nall the bells ring; then, with a warning to be ready at his call to\nmeet at his house, he parts the lovers, and attends Cressida\nwhile she takes leave of the household -- Troilus all the time\ngroaning at the deceit practised on his brother and Helen. When\nhe has got rid of them by feigning weariness, Pandarus returns\nto the chamber, and spends the night with him in converse. The\nzealous friend begins to speak \"in a sober wise\" to Troilus,\nreminding him of his love-pains now all at an end.\n\n\"So that through me thou standest now in way\nTo fare well; I say it for no boast;\nAnd know'st thou why? For, shame it is to say,\nFor thee have I begun a game to play,\nWhich that I never shall do eft* for other,**           *again **another\nAlthough he were a thousand fold my brother.\n\n\"That is to say, for thee I am become,\nBetwixte game and earnest, such a mean*               *means, instrument\nAs make women unto men to come;\nThou know'st thyselfe what that woulde mean;\nFor thee have I my niece, of vices clean,*                 *pure, devoid\nSo fully made thy gentleness* to trust,              *nobility of nature\nThat all shall be right *as thyselfe lust.*              *as you please*\n\n\"But God, that *all wot,* take I to witness,          *knows everything*\nThat never this for covetise* I wrought,                  *greed of gain\nBut only to abridge* thy distress,                                *abate\nFor which well nigh thou diedst, as me thought;\nBut, goode brother, do now as thee ought,\nFor Godde's love, and keep her out of blame;\nSince thou art wise, so save thou her name.\n\n\"For, well thou know'st, the name yet of her,\nAmong the people, as who saith hallow'd is;\nFor that man is unborn, I dare well swear,\nThat ever yet wist* that she did amiss;                            *knew\nBut woe is me, that I, that cause all this,\nMay thinke that she is my niece dear,\nAnd I her eme,* and traitor eke y-fere.**          *uncle <17> **as well\n\n\"And were it wist that I, through mine engine,*       *arts, contrivance\nHad in my niece put this fantasy*                                 *fancy\nTo do thy lust,* and wholly to be thine,                       *pleasure\nWhy, all the people would upon it cry,\nAnd say, that I the worste treachery\nDid in this case, that ever was begun,\nAnd she fordone,* and thou right naught y-won.\"                  *ruined\n\nTherefore, ere going a step further, Pandarus prays Troilus to\ngive him pledges of secrecy, and impresses on his mind the\nmischiefs that flow from vaunting in affairs of love. \"Of\nkind,\"[by his very nature] he says, no vaunter is to be believed:\n\n\"For a vaunter and a liar all is one;\nAs thus: I pose* a woman granteth me                    *suppose, assume\nHer love, and saith that other will she none,\nAnd I am sworn to holden it secre,\nAnd, after, I go tell it two or three;\nY-wis, I am a vaunter, at the least,\nAnd eke a liar, for I break my hest.*<44>                       *promise\n\n\"Now looke then, if they be not to blame,\nSuch manner folk; what shall I call them, what?\nThat them avaunt of women, and by name,\nThat never yet behight* them this nor that,              *promised (much\nNor knowe them no more than mine old hat?                  less granted)\nNo wonder is, so God me sende heal,*                         *prosperity\nThough women dreade with us men to deal!\n\n\"I say not this for no mistrust of you,\nNor for no wise men, but for fooles nice;*                   *silly <45>\nAnd for the harm that in the world is now,\nAs well for folly oft as for malice;\nFor well wot I, that in wise folk that vice\nNo woman dreads, if she be well advised;\nFor wise men be by fooles' harm chastised.\"*      *corrected, instructed\n\nSo Pandarus begs Troilus to keep silent, promises to be true all\nhis days, and assures him that he shall have all that he will in the\nlove of Cressida: \"thou knowest what thy lady granted thee; and\nday is set the charters up to make.\"\n\nWho mighte telle half the joy and feast\nWhich that the soul of Troilus then felt,\nHearing th'effect of Pandarus' behest?\nHis olde woe, that made his hearte swelt,*                   *faint, die\nGan then for joy to wasten and to melt,\nAnd all the reheating <46> of his sighes sore\nAt ones fled, he felt of them no more.\n\nBut right so as these *holtes and these hayes,*       *woods and hedges*\nThat have in winter deade been and dry,\nReveste them in greene, when that May is,\nWhen ev'ry *lusty listeth* best to play;         *pleasant (one) wishes*\nRight in that selfe wise, sooth to say,\nWax'd suddenly his hearte full of joy,\nThat gladder was there never man in Troy.\n\nTroilus solemnly swears that never, \"for all the good that God\nmade under sun,\" will he reveal what Pandarus asks him to keep\nsecret; offering to die a thousand times, if need were, and to\nfollow his friend as a slave all his life, in proof of his gratitude.\n\n\"But here, with all my heart, I thee beseech,\nThat never in me thou deeme* such folly                           *judge\nAs I shall say; me thoughte, by thy speech,\nThat this which thou me dost for company,*                   *friendship\nI shoulde ween it were a bawdery;*                      *a bawd's action\n*I am not wood, all if I lewed be;*                *I am not mad, though\nIt is not one, that wot I well, pardie!                  I be unlearned*\n\n\"But he that goes for gold, or for richess,\nOn such messages, call him *as thee lust;*             *what you please*\nAnd this that thou dost, call it gentleness,\nCompassion, and fellowship, and trust;\nDepart it so, for widewhere is wist\nHow that there is diversity requer'd\nBetwixte thinges like, as I have lear'd. <47>\n\n\"And that thou know I think it not nor ween,*                   *suppose\nThat this service a shame be or a jape,             *subject for jeering\nI have my faire sister Polyxene,\nCassandr', Helene, or any of the frape;*                       *set <48>\nBe she never so fair, or well y-shape,\nTelle me which thou wilt of ev'ry one,\nTo have for thine, and let me then alone.\"\n\nThen, beseeching Pandarus soon to perform out the great\nenterprise of crowning his love for Cressida, Troilus bade his\nfriend good night. On the morrow Troilus burned as the fire, for\nhope and pleasure; yet \"he not forgot his wise governance [self-\ncontrol];\"\n\nBut in himself with manhood gan restrain\nEach rakel* deed, and each unbridled cheer,**          *rash **demeanour\nThat alle those that live, sooth to sayn,\nShould not have wist,* by word or by mannere,                 *suspicion\nWhat that he meant, as touching this mattere;\nFrom ev'ry wight as far as is the cloud\nHe was, so well dissimulate he could.\n\nAnd all the while that I now devise*                  *describe, narrate\nThis was his life: with all his fulle might,\nBy day he was in Marte's high service,\nThat is to say, in armes as a knight;\nAnd, for the moste part, the longe night\nHe lay, and thought how that he mighte serve\nHis lady best, her thank* for to deserve.                     *gratitude\n\nI will not swear, although he laye soft,\nThat in his thought he n'as somewhat diseas'd;*                *troubled\nNor that he turned on his pillows oft,\nAnd would of that him missed have been seis'd;*               *possessed\nBut in such case men be not alway pleas'd,\nFor aught I wot, no more than was he;\nThat can I deem* of possibility.                                  *judge\n\nBut certain is, to purpose for to go,\nThat in this while, as written is in gest,*              *the history of\nHe saw his lady sometimes, and also                         these events\nShe with him spake, when that she *durst and lest;*  *dared and pleased*\nAnd, by their both advice,* as was the best,               *consultation\n*Appointed full warily* in this need,        *made careful preparations*\nSo as they durst, how far they would proceed.\n\nBut it was spoken in *so short a wise,   *so briefly, and always in such\nIn such await alway, and in such fear,       vigilance and fear of being\nLest any wight divinen or devise*                   found out by anyone*\nWould of their speech, or to it lay an ear,\n*That all this world them not so lefe were,*      *they wanted more than\nAs that Cupido would them grace send              anything in the world*\nTo maken of their speeches right an end.\n\nBut thilke little that they spake or wrought,\nHis wise ghost* took ay of all such heed,                        *spirit\nIt seemed her he wiste what she thought\nWithoute word, so that it was no need\nTo bid him aught to do, nor aught forbid;\nFor which she thought that love, all* came it late,            *although\nOf alle joy had open'd her the gate.\n\nTroilus, by his discretion, his secrecy, and his devotion, made\never a deeper lodgment in Cressida's heart; so that she thanked\nGod twenty thousand times that she had met with a man who,\nas she felt, \"was to her a wall of steel, and shield from ev'ry\ndispleasance;\" while Pandarus ever actively fanned the fire. So\npassed a \"time sweet\" of tranquil and harmonious love the only\ndrawback being, that the lovers might not often meet, \"nor\nleisure have, their speeches to fulfil.\" At last Pandarus found an\noccasion for bringing them together at his house unknown to\nanybody, and put his plan in execution.\n\nFor he, with great deliberation,\nHad ev'ry thing that hereto might avail*                  *be of service\nForecast, and put in execution,\nAnd neither left for cost nor for travail;*                      *effort\nCome if them list, them shoulde nothing fail,\n*Nor for to be in aught espied there,\nThat wiste he an impossible were.*           *he knew it was impossible*\n                                    that they could be discovered there*\nAnd dreadeless* it clear was in the wind                  *without doubt\nOf ev'ry pie, and every let-game; <49>\nNow all is well, for all this world is blind,\nIn this mattere, bothe fremd* and tame; <50>                       *wild\nThis timber is all ready for to frame;\nUs lacketh naught, but that we weete* wo'ld                        *know\nA certain hour in which we come sho'ld. <51>\n\nTroilus had informed his household, that if at any time he was\nmissing, he had gone to worship at a certain temple of Apollo,\n\"and first to see the holy laurel quake, or that the godde spake\nout of the tree.\" So, at the changing of the moon, when \"the\nwelkin shope him for to rain,\" [when the sky was preparing to\nrain] Pandarus went to invite his niece to supper; solemnly\nassuring her that Troilus was out of the town -- though all the\ntime he was safely shut up, till midnight, in \"a little stew,\"\nwhence through a hole he joyously watched the arrival of his\nmistress and her fair niece Antigone, with half a score of her\nwomen. After supper Pandaras did everything to amuse his\nniece; \"he sung, he play'd, he told a tale of Wade;\" <52> at last\nshe would take her leave; but\n\nThe bente Moone with her hornes pale,\nSaturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were, <53>\nThat made such a rain from heav'n avail,*                       *descend\nThat ev'ry manner woman that was there\nHad of this smoky rain <54> a very fear;\nAt which Pandarus laugh'd, and saide then\n\"Now were it time a lady to go hen!\"*                             *hence\n\nHe therefore presses Cressida to remain all night; she complies\nwith a good grace; and after the sleeping cup has gone round,\nall retire to their chambers -- Cressida, that she may not be\ndisturbed by the rain and thunder, being lodged in the \"inner\ncloset\" of Pandarus, who, to lull suspicion, occupies the outer\nchamber, his niece's women sleeping in the intermediate\napartment. When all is quiet, Pandarus liberates Troilus, and by\na secret passage brings him to the chamber of Cressida; then,\ngoing forward alone to his niece, after calming her fears of\ndiscovery, he tells her that her lover has \"through a gutter, by a\nprivy went,\" [a secret passage] come to his house in all this rain,\nmad with grief because a friend has told him that she loves\nHorastes. Suddenly cold about her heart, Cressida promises that\non the morrow she will reassure her lover; but Pandarus scouts\nthe notion of delay, laughs to scorn her proposal to send her\nring in pledge of her truth, and finally, by pitiable accounts of\nTroilus' grief, induces her to receive him and reassure him at\nonce with her own lips.\n\nThis Troilus full soon on knees him set,\nFull soberly, right by her bedde's head,\nAnd in his beste wise his lady gret*                            *greeted\nBut Lord! how she wax'd suddenly all red,\nAnd thought anon how that she would be dead;\nShe coulde not one word aright out bring,\nSo suddenly for his sudden coming.\n\nCressida, though thinking that her servant and her knight should\nnot have doubted her truth, yet sought to remove his jealousy,\nand offered to submit to any ordeal or oath he might impose;\nthen, weeping, she covered her face, and lay silent. \"But now,\"\nexclaims the poet --\n\nBut now help, God, to quenchen all this sorrow!\nSo hope I that he shall, for he best may;\nFor I have seen, of a full misty morrow,*                          *morn\nFollowen oft a merry summer's day,\nAnd after winter cometh greene May;\nFolk see all day, and eke men read in stories,\nThat after sharpe stoures* be victories.           *conflicts, struggles\n\nBelieving his mistress to be angry, Troilus felt the cramp of\ndeath seize on his heart, \"and down he fell all suddenly in\nswoon.\" Pandarus \"into bed him cast,\" and called on his niece to\npull out the thorn that stuck in his heart, by promising that she\nwould \"all forgive.\" She whispered in his ear the assurance that\nshe was not wroth; and at last, under her caresses, he recovered\nconsciousness, to find her arm laid over him, to hear the\nassurance of her forgiveness, and receive her frequent kisses.\nFresh vows and explanations passed; and Cressida implored\nforgiveness of \"her own sweet heart,\" for the pain she had\ncaused him. Surprised with sudden bliss, Troilus put all in God's\nhand, and strained his lady fast in his arms. \"What might or may\nthe seely [innocent] larke say, when that the sperhawk\n[sparrowhawk] hath him in his foot?\"\n\nCressida, which that felt her thus y-take,\nAs write clerkes in their bookes old,\nRight as an aspen leaf began to quake,\nWhen she him felt her in his armes fold;\nBut Troilus, all *whole of cares cold,*   *cured of painful sorrows*<55>\nGan thanke then the blissful goddes seven. <56>\nThus sundry paines bringe folk to heaven.\n\nThis Troilus her gan in armes strain,\nAnd said, \"O sweet, as ever may I go'n,*                        *prosper\nNow be ye caught, now here is but we twain,\nNow yielde you, for other boot* is none.\"                        *remedy\nTo that Cresside answered thus anon,\n\"N' had I ere now, my sweete hearte dear,\n*Been yolden,* y-wis, I were now not here!\"             *yielded myself*\n\nO sooth is said, that healed for to be\nOf a fever, or other great sickness,\nMen muste drink, as we may often see,\nFull bitter drink; and for to have gladness\nMen drinken often pain and great distress!\nI mean it here, as for this adventure,\nThat thorough pain hath founden all his cure.\n\nAnd now sweetnesse seemeth far more sweet,\nThat bitterness assayed* was beforn;                        *tasted <57>\nFor out of woe in blisse now they fleet,*                   *float, swim\nNone such they felte since that they were born;\nNow is it better than both two were lorn! <58>\nFor love of God, take ev'ry woman heed\nTo worke thus, if it come to the need!\n\nCresside, all quit from ev'ry dread and teen,*                     *pain\nAs she that juste cause had him to trust,\nMade him such feast,<59> it joy was for to see'n,\nWhen she his truth and *intent cleane wist;*            *knew the purity\nAnd as about a tree, with many a twist,                  of his purpose*\n*Bitrent and writhen* is the sweet woodbind,      *plaited and wreathed*\nGan each of them in armes other wind.*                *embrace, encircle\n\nAnd as the *new abashed* nightingale,          *newly-arrived and timid*\nThat stinteth,* first when she beginneth sing,                    *stops\nWhen that she heareth any *herde's tale,*    *the talking of a shepherd*\nOr in the hedges any wight stirring;\nAnd, after, sicker* out her voice doth ring;                *confidently\nRight so Cressida, when *her dreade stent,*           *her doubt ceased*\nOpen'd her heart, and told him her intent.*                        *mind\n\nAnd might as he that sees his death y-shapen,*                 *prepared\nAnd dien must, *in aught that he may guess,*       *for all he can tell*\nAnd suddenly *rescouse doth him escapen,*    *he is rescued and escapes*\nAnd from his death is brought *in sickerness;*               *to safety*\nFor all the world, in such present gladness\nWas Troilus, and had his lady sweet;\nWith worse hap God let us never meet!\n\nHer armes small, her straighte back and soft,\nHer sides longe, fleshly, smooth, and white,\nHe gan to stroke; and good thrift* bade full oft               *blessing\nOn her snow-white throat, her breastes round and lite;*           *small\nThus in this heaven he gan him delight,\nAnd therewithal a thousand times her kist,\nThat what to do for joy *unneth he wist.*               *he hardly knew*\n\nThe lovers exchanged vows, and kisses, and embraces, and\nspeeches of exalted love, and rings; Cressida gave to Troilus a\nbrooch of gold and azure, \"in which a ruby set was like a heart;\"\nand the too short night passed.\n\n\"When that the cock, commune astrologer, <60>\nGan on his breast to beat, and after crow,\nAnd Lucifer, the daye's messenger,\nGan for to rise, and out his beames throw;\nAnd eastward rose, to him that could it know,\nFortuna Major, <61> then anon Cresseide,\nWith hearte sore, to Troilus thus said:\n\n\"My hearte's life, my trust, and my pleasance!\nThat I was born, alas! that me is woe,\nThat day of us must make disseverance!\nFor time it is to rise, and hence to go,\nOr else I am but lost for evermo'.\nO Night! alas! why n'ilt thou o'er us hove,*                      *hover\nAs long as when Alcmena lay by Jove? <62>\n\n\"O blacke Night! as folk in bookes read\nThat shapen* art by God, this world to hide,                  *appointed\nAt certain times, with thy darke weed,*                            *robe\nThat under it men might in rest abide,\nWell oughte beastes plain, and folke chide,\nThat where as Day with labour would us brest,*          *burst, overcome\nThere thou right flee'st, and deignest* not us rest.*          *grantest\n\n\"Thou dost, alas! so shortly thine office,*                        *duty\nThou rakel* Night! that God, maker of kind,                 *rash, hasty\nThee for thy haste and thine unkinde vice,\nSo fast ay to our hemisphere bind,\nThat never more under the ground thou wind;*              *turn, revolve\nFor through thy rakel hieing* out of Troy                       *hasting\nHave I forgone* thus hastily my joy!\"                              *lost\n\nThis Troilus, that with these wordes felt,\nAs thought him then, for piteous distress,\nThe bloody teares from his hearte melt,\nAs he that never yet such heaviness\nAssayed had out of so great gladness,\nGan therewithal Cresside, his lady dear,\nIn armes strain, and said in this mannere:\n\n\"O cruel Day! accuser of the joy\nThat Night and Love have stol'n, and *fast y-wrien!*            *closely\nAccursed be thy coming into Troy!                             concealed*\nFor ev'ry bow'r* hath one of thy bright eyen:                   *chamber\nEnvious Day! Why list thee to espyen?\nWhat hast thou lost? Why seekest thou this place?\nThere God thy light so quenche, for his grace!\n\n\"Alas! what have these lovers thee aguilt?*    *offended, sinned against\nDispiteous* Day, thine be the pains of hell!            *cruel, spiteful\nFor many a lover hast thou slain, and wilt;\nThy peering in will nowhere let them dwell:\nWhat! proff'rest thou thy light here for to sell?\nGo sell it them that smalle seales grave!*               *cut devices on\nWe will thee not, us needs no day to have.\"\n\nAnd eke the Sunne, Titan, gan he chide,\nAnd said, \"O fool! well may men thee despise!\nThat hast the Dawning <63> all night thee beside,\nAnd suff'rest her so soon up from thee rise,\nFor to disease* us lovers in this wise!                           *annoy\nWhat! hold* thy bed, both thou, and eke thy Morrow!                *keep\nI bidde* God so give you bothe sorrow!\"                            *pray\n\nThe lovers part with many sighs and protestations of\nunswerving and undying love; Cressida responding to the vows\nof Troilus with the assurance --\n\n\"That first shall Phoebus* falle from his sphere,               *the sun\nAnd heaven's eagle be the dove's fere,\nAnd ev'ry rock out of his place start,\nEre Troilus out of Cressida's heart.\"\n\nWhen Pandarus visits Troilus in his palace later in the day, he\nwarns him not to mar his bliss by any fault of his own:\n\n\"For, of Fortune's sharp adversity,\nThe worste kind of infortune is this,\nA man to have been in prosperity,\nAnd it remember when it passed is.<64>\nThou art wise enough; forthy,*\" do not amiss;                 *therefore\nBe not too rakel,* though thou sitte warm;             *rash, over-hasty\nFor if thou be, certain it will thee harm.\n\n\"Thou art at ease, and hold thee well therein;\nFor, all so sure as red is ev'ry fire,\nAs great a craft is to keep weal as win; <65>\nBridle alway thy speech and thy desire,\nFor worldly joy holds not but by a wire;\nThat proveth well, it breaks all day so oft,\nForthy need is to worke with it soft.\"\n\nTroilus sedulously observes the counsel; and the lovers have\nmany renewals of their pleasure, and of their bitter chidings of\nthe Day. The effects of love on Troilus are altogether refining\nand ennobling; as may be inferred from the song which he sung\noften to Pandarus:\n\nThe Second Song of Troilus.\n\n\"Love, that of Earth and Sea hath governance!\nLove, that his hestes* hath in Heaven high!                *commandments\nLove, that with a right wholesome alliance\nHolds people joined, as him list them guy!*                       *guide\nLove, that knitteth law and company,\nAnd couples doth in virtue for to dwell,\nBind this accord, that I have told, and tell!\n\n\"That the worlde, with faith which that is stable,\nDiverseth so, his *stoundes according;*       *according to its seasons*\nThat elementes, that be discordable,*                        *discordant\nHolden a bond perpetually during;\nThat Phoebus may his rosy day forth bring;\nAnd that the Moon hath lordship o'er the night; --\nAll this doth Love, ay heried* be his might!                    *praised\n\n\"That the sea, which that greedy is to flowen,\nConstraineth to a certain ende* so                                *limit\nHis floodes, that so fiercely they not growen\nTo drenchen* earth and all for evermo';                           *drown\nAnd if that Love aught let his bridle go,\nAll that now loves asunder shoulde leap,\nAnd lost were all that Love holds now *to heap.*         *together <66>*\n\n\"So woulde God, that author is of kind,\nThat with his bond Love of his virtue list\nTo cherish heartes, and all fast to bind,\nThat from his bond no wight the way out wist!\nAnd heartes cold, them would I that he twist,*                   *turned\nTo make them love; and that him list ay rue*                  *have pity\nOn heartes sore, and keep them that be true.\"\n\nBut Troilus' love had higher fruits than singing:\n\nIn alle needes for the towne's werre*                               *war\nHe was, and ay the first in armes dight,*            *equipped, prepared\nAnd certainly, but if that bookes err,\nSave Hector, most y-dread* of any wight;                        *dreaded\nAnd this increase of hardiness* and might                       *courage\nCame him of love, his lady's grace to win,\nThat altered his spirit so within.\n\nIn time of truce, a-hawking would he ride,\nOr elles hunt the boare, bear, lioun;\nThe smalle beastes let he go beside;<67>\nAnd when he came riding into the town,\nFull oft his lady, from her window down,\nAs fresh as falcon coming out of mew,*                        *cage <68>\nFull ready was him goodly to salue.*                             *salute\n\n\nAnd most of love and virtue was his speech,\nAnd *in despite he had all wretchedness*           *he held in scorn all\nAnd doubtless no need was him to beseech             despicable actions*\nTo honour them that hadde worthiness,\nAnd ease them that weren in distress;\nAnd glad was he, if any wight well far'd,\nThat lover was, when he it wist or heard.\n\nFor he held every man lost unless he were in Love's service;\nand, so did the power of Love work within him, that he was ay\n[always] humble and benign, and \"pride, envy, ire, and avarice,\nhe gan to flee, and ev'ry other vice.\"\n\n\nTHE FOURTH BOOK\n\n\nA BRIEF Proem to the Fourth Book prepares us for the\ntreachery of Fortune to Troilus; from whom she turned away\nher bright face, and took of him no heed, \"and cast him clean\nout of his lady's grace, and on her wheel she set up Diomede.\"\nThen the narrative describes a skirmish in which the Trojans\nwere worsted, and Antenor, with many of less note, remained in\nthe hands of the Greeks. A truce was proclaimed for the\nexchange of prisoners; and as soon as Calchas heard the news,\nhe came to the assembly of the Greeks, to \"bid a boon.\" Having\ngained audience, he reminded the besiegers how he had come\nfrom Troy to aid and encourage them in their enterprise; willing\nto lose all that he had in the city, except his daughter Cressida,\nwhom he bitterly reproached himself for leaving behind. And\nnow, with streaming tears and pitiful prayer, he besought them\nto exchange Antenor for Cressida; assuring them that the day\nwas at hand when they should have both town and people. The\nsoothsayer's petition was granted; and the ambassadors charged\nto negotiate the exchange, entering the city, told their errand to\nKing Priam and his parliament.\n\nThis Troilus was present in the place\nWhen asked was for Antenor Cresside;\nFor which to change soon began his face,\nAs he that with the wordes well nigh died;\nBut natheless he no word to it seid;*                              *said\nLest men should his affection espy,\nWith manne's heart he gan his sorrows drie;*                     *endure\n\nAnd, full of anguish and of grisly dread,\nAbode what other lords would to it say,\nAnd if they woulde grant, -- as God forbid! --\nTh'exchange of her, then thought he thinges tway:*                  *two\nFirst, for to save her honour; and what way\nHe mighte best th'exchange of her withstand;\nThis cast he then how all this mighte stand.\n\nLove made him alle *prest to do her bide,*      *eager to make her stay*\nAnd rather die than that she shoulde go;\nBut Reason said him, on the other side,\n\"Without th'assent of her, do thou not so,\nLest for thy worke she would be thy foe;\nAnd say, that through thy meddling is y-blow*    *divulged, blown abroad\nYour bothe love, where it was *erst unknow.\"*       *previously unknown*\n\nFor which he gan deliberate for the best,\nThat though the lordes woulde that she went,\nHe woulde suffer them grant what *them lest,*             *they pleased*\nAnd tell his lady first what that they meant;\nAnd, when that she had told him her intent,\nThereafter would he worken all so blive,*                      *speedily\nThough all the world against it woulde strive.\n\nHector, which that full well the Greekes heard,\nFor Antenor how they would have Cresseide,\nGan it withstand, and soberly answer'd;\n\"Sirs, she is no prisoner,\"  he said;\n\"I know not on you who this charge laid;\nBut, for my part, ye may well soon him tell,\nWe use* here no women for to sell.\"                      *are accustomed\n\nThe noise of the people then upstart at once,\nAs breme* as blaze of straw y-set on fire              *violent, furious\nFor Infortune* woulde for the nonce                          *Misfortune\nThey shoulde their confusion desire\n\"Hector,\" quoth they, \"what ghost* may you inspire               *spirit\nThis woman thus to shield, and *do us* lose                *cause us to*\nDan Antenor? -- a wrong way now ye choose, --\n\n\"That is so wise, and eke so bold baroun;\nAnd we have need of folk, as men may see\nHe eke is one the greatest of this town;\nO Hector! lette such fantasies be!\nO King Priam!\" quoth they, \"lo! thus say we,\nThat all our will is to forego Cresseide;\"\nAnd to deliver Antenor they pray'd.\n\nThough Hector often prayed them \"nay,\" it was resolved that\nCressida should be given up for Antenor; then the parliament\ndispersed. Troilus hastened home to his chamber, shut himself\nup alone, and threw himself on his bed.\n\nAnd as in winter leaves be bereft,\nEach after other, till the tree be bare,\nSo that there is but bark and branch y-left,\nLay Troilus, bereft of each welfare,\nY-bounden in the blacke bark of care,\nDisposed *wood out of his wit to braid,*       *to go out of his senses*\n*So sore him sat* the changing of Cresseide.        *so ill did he bear*\n\nHe rose him up, and ev'ry door he shet,*                           *shut\nAnd window eke; and then this sorrowful man\nUpon his bedde's side adown him set,\nFull like a dead image, pale and wan,\nAnd in his breast the heaped woe began\nOut burst, and he to worken in this wise,\nIn his woodness,* as I shall you devise.**             *madness **relate\n\nRight as the wilde bull begins to spring,\nNow here, now there, y-darted* to the heart,        *pierced with a dart\nAnd of his death roareth in complaining;\nRight so gan he about the chamber start,\nSmiting his breast aye with his fistes smart;*       *painfully, cruelly\nHis head to the wall, his body to the ground,\nFull oft he swapt,* himselfe to confound.                *struck, dashed\n\nHis eyen then, for pity of his heart,\nOut streameden as swifte welles* tway;                        *fountains\nThe highe sobbes of his sorrow's smart\nHis speech him reft; unnethes* might he say,                   *scarcely\n\"O Death, alas! *why n'ilt thou do me dey?*            *why will you not\nAccursed be that day which that Nature                     make me die?*\nShope* me to be a living creature!\"                              *shaped\n\nBitterly reviling Fortune, and calling on Love to explain why his\nhappiness with Cressicla should be thus repealed, Troilus\ndeclares that, while he lives, he will bewail his misfortune in\nsolitude, and will never see it shine or rain, but will end his\nsorrowful life in darkness, and die in distress.\n\n\"O weary ghost, that errest to and fro!\nWhy n'ilt* thou fly out of the woefulest                       *wilt not\nBody that ever might on grounde go?\nO soule, lurking in this woeful nest!\nFlee forth out of my heart, and let it brest,*                    *burst\nAnd follow alway Cresside, thy lady dear!\nThy righte place is now no longer here.\n\n\"O woeful eyen two! since your disport*                         *delight\nWas all to see Cressida's eyen bright,\nWhat shall ye do, but, for my discomfort,\nStande for naught, and weepen out your sight,\nSince she is quench'd, that wont was you to light?\nIn vain, from this forth, have I eyen tway\nY-formed, since your virtue is away!\n\n\"O my Cresside! O lady sovereign\nOf thilke* woeful soule that now cryeth!                           *this\nWho shall now give comfort to thy pain?\nAlas! no wight; but, when my hearte dieth,\nMy spirit, which that so unto you hieth,*                     *hasteneth\nReceive *in gree,* for that shall ay you serve;            *with favour*\n*Forthy no force is* though the body sterve.*      *therefore no matter*\n                                                                    *die\n\"O ye lovers, that high upon the wheel\nBe set of Fortune, in good adventure,\nGod lene* that ye find ay** love of steel,<69>           *grant **always\nAnd longe may your life in joy endure!\nBut when ye come by my sepulture,*                            *sepulchre\nRemember that your fellow resteth there;\nFor I lov'd eke, though I unworthy were.\n\n\"O old, unwholesome, and mislived man,\nCalchas I mean, alas! what ailed thee\nTo be a Greek, since thou wert born Trojan?\nO Calchas! which that will my bane* be,                     *destruction\nIn cursed time wert thou born for me!\nAs woulde blissful Jove, for his joy,\nThat I thee hadde where I would in Troy!\"\n\nSoon Troilus, through excess of grief, fell into a trance; in\nwhich he was found by Pandarus, who had gone almost\ndistracted at the news that Cressida was to be exchanged for\nAntenor. At his friend's arrival, Troilus \"gan as the snow against\nthe sun to melt;\" the two mingled their tears a while; then\nPandarus strove to comfort the woeful lover. He admitted that\nnever had a stranger ruin than this been wrought by Fortune:\n\n\"But tell me this, why thou art now so mad\nTo sorrow thus? Why li'st thou in this wise,\nSince thy desire all wholly hast thou had,\nSo that by right it ought enough suffice?\nBut I, that never felt in my service\nA friendly cheer or looking of an eye,\nLet me thus weep and wail until I die. <70>\n\n\"And over all this, as thou well wost* thy selve,               *knowest\nThis town is full of ladies all about,\nAnd, *to my doom,* fairer than suche twelve             *in my judgment*\nAs ever she was, shall I find in some rout,*                    *company\nYea! one or two, withouten any doubt:\nForthy* be glad, mine owen deare brother!                     *therefore\nIf she be lost, we shall recover another.\n\n\"What! God forbid alway that each pleasance\nIn one thing were, and in none other wight;\nIf one can sing, another can well dance;\nIf this be goodly, she is glad and light;\nAnd this is fair, and that can good aright;\nEach for his virtue holden is full dear,\nBoth heroner, and falcon for rivere. <71>\n\n\"And eke as writ Zausis,<72> that was full wise,\nThe newe love out chaseth oft the old,\nAnd upon new case lieth new advice; <73>\nThink eke thy life to save thou art hold;*                        *bound\nSuch fire *by process shall of kinde cold;*          *shall grow cold by\nFor, since it is but casual pleasance,                process of nature*\nSome case* shall put it out of remembrance.                      *chance\n\n\"For, all so sure as day comes after night,\nThe newe love, labour, or other woe,\nOr elles seldom seeing of a wight,\nDo old affections all *over go;*                              *overcome*\nAnd for thy part, thou shalt have one of tho*                     *those\nT'abridge with thy bitter paine's smart;\nAbsence of her shall drive her out of heart.\"\n\nThese wordes said he *for the nones all,*           *only for the nonce*\nTo help his friend, lest he for sorrow died;\nFor, doubteless, to do his woe to fall,*          *make his woe subside*\nHe raughte* not what unthrift** that he said;             *cared **folly\nBut Troilus, that nigh for sorrow died,\nTook little heed of all that ever he meant;\nOne ear it heard, at th'other out it went.\n\nBut, at the last, he answer'd and said,\n\"Friend, This leachcraft, or y-healed thus to be,\nWere well sitting* if that I were a fiend,                       *recked\nTo traisen* her that true is unto me:                            *betray\nI pray God, let this counsel never the,*                         *thrive\nBut do me rather sterve* anon right here,                           *die\nEre I thus do, as thou me wouldest lear!\"*                        *teach\n\nTroilus protests that his lady shall have him wholly hers till\ndeath; and, debating the counsels of his friend, declares that\neven if he would, he could not love another. Then he points out\nthe folly of not lamenting the loss of Cressida because she had\nbeen his in ease and felicity --  while Pandarus himself, though\nhe thought it so light to change to and fro in love, had not done\nbusily his might to change her that wrought him all the woe of\nhis unprosperous suit.\n\n\"If thou hast had in love ay yet mischance,\nAnd canst it not out of thine hearte drive,\nI that lived in lust* and in pleasance                          *delight\nWith her, as much as creature alive,\nHow should I that forget, and that so blive?*                   *quickly\nO where hast thou been so long hid in mew,*<74>                    *cage\nThat canst so well and formally argue!\"\n\nThe lover condemns the whole discourse of his friend as\nunworthy, and calls on Death, the ender of all sorrows, to come\nto him and quench his heart with his cold stroke. Then he distils\nanew in tears, \"as liquor out of alembic;\" and Pandarus is silent\nfor a while, till he bethinks him to recommend to Troilus the\ncarrying off of Cressida. \"Art thou in Troy, and hast no\nhardiment [daring, boldness] to take a woman which that loveth\nthee?\"  But Troilus reminds his counsellor that all the war had\ncome from the ravishing of a woman by might (the abduction of\nHelen by Paris); and that it would not beseem him to withstand\nhis father's grant, since the lady was to be changed for the\ntown's good. He has dismissed the thought of asking Cressida\nfrom his father, because that would be to injure her fair fame, to\nno purpose, for Priam could not overthrow the decision of \"so\nhigh a place as parliament;\" while most of all he fears to perturb\nher heart with violence, to the slander of her name -- for he\nmust hold her honour dearer than himself in every case, as\nlovers ought of right:\n\n\"Thus am I in desire and reason twight:*                        *twisted\nDesire, for to disturbe her, me redeth;*                     *counseleth\nAnd Reason will not, so my hearte dreadeth.\"*               *is in doubt\n\nThus weeping, that he coulde never cease\nHe said, \"Alas! how shall I, wretche, fare?\nFor well feel I alway my love increase,\nAnd hope is less and less alway, Pandare!\nIncreasen eke the causes of my care;\nSo well-away! *why n' ill my hearte brest?*                *why will not\nFor us in love there is but little rest.\"               my heart break?*\n\nPandare answered, \"Friend, thou may'st for me\nDo as thee list;* but had I it so hot,                           *please\nAnd thine estate,* she shoulde go with me!                         *rank\nThough all this town cried on this thing by note,\nI would not set* all that noise a groat;                          *value\nFor when men have well cried, then will they rown,*             *whisper\nEke wonder lasts but nine nights ne'er in town.\n\n\"Divine not in reason ay so deep,\nNor courteously, but help thyself anon;\nBet* is that others than thyselfe weep;                          *better\nAnd namely, since ye two be all one,\nRise up, for, by my head, she shall not go'n!\nAnd rather be in blame a little found,\nThan sterve* here as a gnat withoute wound!                         *die\n\n\"It is no shame unto you, nor no vice,\nHer to withholde, that ye loveth most;\nParauntre* she might holde thee for nice,**      *peradventure **foolish\nTo let her go thus unto the Greeks' host;\nThink eke, Fortune, as well thyselfe wost,\nHelpeth the hardy man to his emprise,\nAnd weiveth* wretches for their cowardice.                    *forsaketh\n\n\"And though thy lady would a lite* her grieve,                   *little\nThou shalt thyself thy peace thereafter make;\nBut, as to me, certain I cannot 'lieve\nThat she would it as now for evil take:\nWhy shoulde then for fear thine hearte quake?\nThink eke how Paris hath, that is thy brother,\nA love; and why shalt thou not have another?\n\n\"And, Troilus, one thing I dare thee swear,\nThat if Cressida, which that is thy lief,*                         *love\nNow loveth thee as well as thou dost her,\nGod help me so, she will not take agrief*                         *amiss\nThough thou *anon do boot in* this mischief;           *provide a remedy\nAnd if she willeth from thee for to pass,                   immediately*\nThen is she false, so love her well the lass.*                     *less\n\n\"Forthy,* take heart, and think, right as a knight,           *therefore\nThrough love is broken all day ev'ry law;\nKithe* now somewhat thy courage and thy might;                     *show\nHave mercy on thyself, *for any awe;*             *in spite of any fear*\nLet not this wretched woe thine hearte gnaw;\nBut, manly, set the world on six and seven, <75>\nAnd, if thou die a martyr, go to heaven.\"\n\nPandarus promises his friend all aid in the enterprise; it is agreed\nthat Cressida shall be carried off, but only with her own\nconsent; and Pandarus sets out for his niece's house, to arrange\nan interview. Meantime Cressida has heard the news; and,\ncaring nothing for her father, but everything for Troilus, she\nburns in love and fear, unable to tell what she shall do.\n\nBut, as men see in town, and all about,\nThat women use* friendes to visite,                      *are accustomed\nSo to Cresside of women came a rout,*                             *troop\nFor piteous joy, and *weened her delight,*       *thought to please her*\nAnd with their tales, *dear enough a mite,*           *not worth a mite*\nThese women, which that in the city dwell,\nThey set them down, and said as I shall tell.\n\nQuoth first that one, \"I am glad, truely,\nBecause of you, that shall your father see;\"\nAnother said, \"Y-wis, so am not I,\nFor all too little hath she with us be.\"*                          *been\nQuoth then the third, \"I hope, y-wis, that she\nShall bringen us the peace on ev'ry side;\nThen, when she goes, Almighty God her guide!\"\n\nThose wordes, and those womanishe thinges,\nShe heard them right as though she thennes* were,       *thence; in some\nFor, God it wot, her heart on other thing is;                other place\nAlthough the body sat among them there,\nHer advertence* is always elleswhere;                         *attention\nFor Troilus full fast her soule sought;\nWithoute word, on him alway she thought.\n\nThese women that thus weened her to please,\nAboute naught gan all their tales spend;\nSuch vanity ne can do her no ease,\nAs she that all this meane while brenn'd\nOf other passion than that they wend;*                 *weened, supposed\nSo that she felt almost her hearte die\nFor woe, and weary* of that company.                          *weariness\n\nFor whiche she no longer might restrain\nHer teares, they began so up to well,\nThat gave signes of her bitter pain,\nIn which her spirit was, and muste dwell,\nRememb'ring her from heav'n into which hell\nShe fallen was, since she forwent* the sight                       *lost\nOf Troilus; and sorrowfully she sight.*                          *sighed\n\nAnd thilke fooles, sitting her about,\nWeened that she had wept and siked* sore,                        *sighed\nBecause that she should out of that rout*                       *company\nDepart, and never playe with them more;\nAnd they that hadde knowen her of yore\nSaw her so weep, and thought it kindeness,\nAnd each of them wept eke for her distress.\n\nAnd busily they gonnen* her comfort                               *began\nOf thing, God wot, on which she little thought;\nAnd with their tales weened her disport,\nAnd to be glad they her besought;\nBut such an ease therewith they in her wrought,\nRight as a man is eased for to feel,\nFor ache of head, to claw him on his heel.\n\nBut, after all this nice* vanity,                                 *silly\nThey took their leave, and home they wenten all;\nCressida, full of sorrowful pity,\nInto her chamber up went out of the hall,\nAnd on her bed she gan for dead to fall,\nIn purpose never thennes for to rise;\nAnd thus she wrought, as I shall you devise.*                   *narrate\n\nShe rent her sunny hair, wrung her hands, wept, and bewailed\nher fate; vowing that, since, \"for the cruelty,\" she could handle\nneither sword nor dart, she would abstain from meat and drink\nuntil she died. As she lamented, Pandarus entered, making her\ncomplain a thousand times more at the thought of all the joy\nwhich he had given her with her lover; but he somewhat\nsoothed her by the prospect of Troilus's visit, and by the\ncounsel to contain her grief when he should come. Then\nPandarus went in search of Troilus, whom he found solitary in a\ntemple, as one that had ceased to care for life:\n\nFor right thus was his argument alway:\nHe said he was but lorne,* well-away!                      *lost, ruined\n\"For all that comes, comes by necessity;\nThus, to be lorn,* it is my destiny.                       *lost, ruined\n\n\"For certainly this wot I well,\" he said,\n\"That foresight of the divine purveyance*                    *providence\nHath seen alway me to forgo* Cresseide,                            *lose\nSince God sees ev'ry thing, *out of doubtance,*          *without doubt*\nAnd them disposeth, through his ordinance,\nIn their merites soothly for to be,\nAs they should come by predestiny.\n\n\"But natheless, alas! whom shall I 'lieve?\nFor there be greate clerkes* many one                          *scholars\nThat destiny through argumentes preve,                            *prove\nAnd some say that needly* there is none,                    *necessarily\nBut that free choice is giv'n us ev'ry one;\nO well-away! so sly are clerkes old,\nThat I n'ot* whose opinion I may hold. <76>                    *know not\n\n\"For some men say, if God sees all beforn,\nGodde may not deceived be, pardie!\nThen must it fallen,* though men had it sworn,           *befall, happen\nThat purveyance hath seen before to be;\nWherefore I say, that from etern* if he                        *eternity\nHath wist* before our thought eke as our deed,                    *known\nWe have no free choice, as these clerkes read.*                *maintain\n\n\"For other thought, nor other deed also,\nMight never be, but such as purveyance,\nWhich may not be deceived never mo',\nHath feeled* before, without ignorance;                       *perceived\nFor if there mighte be a variance,\nTo writhen out from Godde's purveying,\nThere were no prescience of thing coming,\n\n\"But it were rather an opinion\nUncertain, and no steadfast foreseeing;\nAnd, certes, that were an abusion,*                            *illusion\nThat God should have no perfect clear weeting,*               *knowledge\nMore than we men, that have *doubtous weening;*        *dubious opinion*\nBut such an error *upon God to guess,*                *to impute to God*\nWere false, and foul, and wicked cursedness.*                   *impiety\n\n\"Eke this is an opinion of some\nThat have their top full high and smooth y-shore, <77>\nThey say right thus, that thing is not to come,\nFor* that the prescience hath seen before                       *because\nThat it shall come; but they say, that therefore\nThat it shall come, therefore the purveyance\nWot it before, withouten ignorance.\n\n\"And, in this manner, this necessity\n*Returneth in his part contrary again;*          *reacts in the opposite\nFor needfully behoves it not to be,                           direction*\nThat thilke thinges *fallen in certain,*              *certainly happen*\nThat be purvey'd; but needly, as they sayn,\nBehoveth it that thinges, which that fall,\nThat they in certain be purveyed all.\n\n\"I mean as though I labour'd me in this\nTo inquire which thing cause of which thing be;\nAs, whether that the prescience of God is\nThe certain cause of the necessity\nOf thinges that to come be, pardie!\nOr if necessity of thing coming\nBe cause certain of the purveying.\n\n\"But now *enforce I me not* in shewing             *I do not lay stress*\nHow th'order of causes stands; but well wot I,\nThat it behoveth, that the befalling\nOf thinges wiste* before certainly,                               *known\nBe necessary, *all seem it not* thereby,     *though it does not appear*\nThat prescience put falling necessair\nTo thing to come, all fall it foul or fair.\n\n\"For, if there sit a man yond on a see,*                           *seat\nThen by necessity behoveth it\nThat certes thine opinion sooth be,\nThat weenest, or conjectest,* that he sit;                 *conjecturest\nAnd, furtherover, now againward yet,\nLo! right so is it on the part contrary;\nAs thus, -- now hearken, for I will not tarry; --\n\n\"I say that if th'opinion of thee\nBe sooth, for that he sits, then say I this,\nThat he must sitte by necessity;\nAnd thus necessity in either is,\nFor in him need of sitting is, y-wis,\nAnd, in thee, need of sooth; and thus forsooth\nThere must necessity be in you both.\n\n\"But thou may'st say he sits not therefore\nThat thine opinion of his sitting sooth\nBut rather, for the man sat there before,\nTherefore is thine opinion sooth, y-wis;\nAnd I say, though the cause of sooth of this\nComes of his sitting, yet necessity\nIs interchanged both in him and thee.\n\n\"Thus in the same wise, out of doubtance,\nI may well maken, as it seemeth me,\nMy reasoning of Godde's purveyance,\nAnd of the thinges that to come be;\nBy whiche reason men may well y-see\nThat thilke* thinges that in earthe fall,**              *those **happen\nThat by necessity they comen all.\n\n\"For although that a thing should come, y-wis,\nTherefore it is purveyed certainly,\nNot that it comes for it purveyed is;\nYet, natheless, behoveth needfully\nThat thing to come be purvey'd truely;\nOr elles thinges that purveyed be,\nThat they betide* by necessity.                                  *happen\n\n\"And this sufficeth right enough, certain,\nFor to destroy our free choice ev'ry deal;\nBut now is this abusion,* to sayn              *illusion, self-deception\nThat falling of the thinges temporel\nIs cause of Godde's prescience eternel;\nNow truely that is a false sentence,*                 *opinion, judgment\nThat thing to come should cause his prescience.\n\n\"What might I ween, an'* I had such a thought,                       *if\nBut that God purveys thing that is to come,\nFor that it is to come, and elles nought?\nSo might I ween that thinges, all and some,\nThat *whilom be befall and overcome,*                     *have happened\nBe cause of thilke sov'reign purveyance,                  in times past*\nThat foreknows all, withouten ignorance.\n\n\"And over all this, yet say I more thereto, --\nThat right as when I wot there is a thing,\nY-wis, that thing must needfully be so;\nEke right so, when I wot a thing coming,\nSo must it come; and thus the befalling\nOf thinges that be wist before the tide,*                          *time\nThey may not be eschew'd* on any side.\"                         *avoided\n\nWhile Troilus was in all this heaviness, disputing with himself in\nthis matter, Pandarus joined him, and told him the result of the\ninterview with Cressida; and at night the lovers met, with what\nsighs and tears may be imagined. Cressida swooned away, so\nthat Troilus took her for dead; and, having tenderly laid out her\nlimbs, as one preparing a corpse for the bier, he drew his sword\nto slay himself upon her body. But, as God would, just at that\nmoment she awoke out of her swoon; and by and by the pair\nbegan to talk of their prospects. Cressida declared the opinion,\nsupporting it at great length and with many reasons, that there\nwas no cause for half so much woe on either part. Her\nsurrender, decreed by the parliament, could not be resisted; it\nwas quite easy for them soon to meet again; she would bring\nthings about that she should be back in Troy within a week or\ntwo; she would take advantage of the constant coming and\ngoing while the truce lasted; and the issue would be, that the\nTrojans would have both her and Antenor; while, to facilitate\nher return, she had devised a stratagem by which, working on\nher father's avarice, she might tempt him to desert from the\nGreek camp back to the city. \"And truly,\" says the poet, having\nfully reported her plausible speech,\n\nAnd truely, as written well I find,\nThat all this thing was said *of good intent,*               *sincerely*\nAnd that her hearte true was and kind\nTowardes him, and spake right as she meant,\nAnd that she starf* for woe nigh when she went,                    *died\nAnd was in purpose ever to be true;\nThus write they that of her workes knew.\n\nThis Troilus, with heart and ears y-sprad,*                    *all open\nHeard all this thing devised to and fro,\nAnd verily it seemed that he had\n*The selfe wit;* but yet to let her go                *the same opinion*\nHis hearte misforgave* him evermo';                             *misgave\nBut, finally, he gan his hearte wrest*                           *compel\nTo truste her, and took it for the best.\n\nFor which the great fury of his penance*                      *suffering\nWas quench'd with hope, and therewith them between\nBegan for joy the amorouse dance;\nAnd as the birdes, when the sun is sheen,                        *bright\nDelighten in their song, in leaves green,\nRight so the wordes that they spake y-fere*                    *together\nDelighten them, and make their heartes cheer.*                     *glad\n\nYet Troilus was not so well at ease, that he did not earnestly\nentreat Cressida to observe her promise; for, if she came not\ninto Troy at the set day, he should never have health, honour, or\njoy; and he feared that the stratagem by which she would try to\nlure her father back would fail, so that she might be compelled\nto remain among the Greeks. He would rather have them steal\naway together, with sufficient treasure to maintain them all their\nlives; and even if they went in their bare shirt, he had kin and\nfriends elsewhere, who would welcome and honour them.\n\nCressida, with a sigh, right in this wise\nAnswer'd; \"Y-wis, my deare hearte true,\nWe may well steal away, as ye devise,\nAnd finde such unthrifty wayes new;\nBut afterward full sore *it will us rue;*            *we will regret it*\nAnd help me God so at my moste need\nAs causeless ye suffer all this dread!\n\n\"For thilke* day that I for cherishing                        *that same\nOr dread of father, or of other wight,\nOr for estate, delight, or for wedding,\nBe false to you, my Troilus, my knight,\nSaturne's daughter Juno, through her might,\nAs wood* as Athamante <78> do me dwell                              *mad\nEternally in Styx the pit of hell!\n\n\"And this, on ev'ry god celestial\nI swear it you, and eke on each goddess,\nOn ev'ry nymph, and deity infernal,\nOn Satyrs and on Faunes more or less,\nThat *halfe goddes* be of wilderness;                          *demigods\nAnd Atropos my thread of life to-brest,*                  *break utterly\nIf I be false! now trow* me if you lest.**             *believe **please\n\n\"And thou Simois, <79> that as an arrow clear\nThrough Troy ay runnest downward to the sea,\nBear witness of this word that said is here!\nThat thilke day that I untrue be\nTo Troilus, mine owen hearte free,\nThat thou returne backward to thy well,\nAnd I with body and soul sink in hell!\"\n\nEven yet Troilus was not wholly content, and urged anew his\nplan of secret flight; but Cressida turned upon him with the\ncharge that he mistrusted her causelessly, and demanded of him\nthat he should be faithful in her absence, else she must die at her\nreturn. Troilus promised faithfulness in far simpler and briefer\nwords than Cressida had used.\n\n\"Grand mercy, good heart mine, y-wis,\" quoth she;\n\"And blissful Venus let me never sterve,*                           *die\nEre I may stand *of pleasance in degree          in a position to reward\nTo quite him*  that so well can deserve;         him well with pleasure*\nAnd while that God my wit will me conserve,\nI shall so do; so true I have you found,\nThat ay honour to me-ward shall rebound.\n\n\"For truste well that your estate* royal,                          *rank\nNor vain delight, nor only worthiness\nOf you in war or tourney martial,\nNor pomp, array, nobley, nor eke richess,\nNe made me to rue* on your distress;                          *take pity\nBut moral virtue, grounded upon truth,\nThat was the cause I first had on you ruth.*                       *pity\n\n\"Eke gentle heart, and manhood that ye had,\nAnd that ye had, -- as me thought, -- in despite\nEvery thing that *sounded unto* bad,        *tended unto, accorded with*\nAs rudeness, and peoplish* appetite,                             *vulgar\nAnd that your reason bridled your delight;\nThis made, aboven ev'ry creature,\nThat I was yours, and shall while I may dure.\n\n\"And this may length of yeares not fordo,*             *destroy, do away\nNor remuable* Fortune deface;                                  *unstable\nBut Jupiter, that of his might may do\nThe sorrowful to be glad, so give us grace,\nEre nightes ten to meeten in this place,\nSo that it may your heart and mine suffice!\nAnd fare now well, for time is that ye rise.\"\n\nThe lovers took a heart-rending adieu; and Troilus, suffering\nunimaginable anguish, \"withoute more, out of the chamber\nwent.\"\n\n\nTHE FIFTH BOOK.\n\n\nAPPROACHE gan the fatal destiny\nThat Jovis hath in disposition,\nAnd to you angry Parcae,* Sisters three,                      *The Fates\nCommitteth to do execution;\nFor which Cressida must out of the town,\nAnd Troilus shall dwelle forth in pine,*                           *pain\nTill Lachesis his thread no longer twine.*                        *twist\n\nThe golden-tressed Phoebus, high aloft,\nThries* had alle, with his beames clear,                         *thrice\nThe snowes molt,* and Zephyrus as oft                            *melted\nY-brought again the tender leaves green,\nSince that *the son of Hecuba the queen*                  *Troilus <80>*\nBegan to love her first, for whom his sorrow\nWas all, that she depart should on the morrow\n\nIn the morning, Diomede was ready to escort Cressida to the\nGreek host; and Troilus, seeing him mount his horse, could with\ndifficulty resist an impulse to slay him -- but restrained himself,\nlest his lady should be also slain in the tumult. When Cressida\nwas ready to go,\n\nThis Troilus, in guise of courtesy,\nWith hawk on hand, and with a huge rout*                 *retinue, crowd\nOf knightes, rode, and did her company,\nPassing alle the valley far without;\nAnd farther would have ridden, out of doubt,\nFull fain,* and woe was him to go so soon,                       *gladly\nBut turn he must, and it was eke to do'n.\n\nAnd right with that was Antenor y-come\nOut of the Greekes' host, and ev'ry wight\nWas of it glad, and said he was welcome;\nAnd Troilus, *all n'ere his hearte light,*           *although his heart\nHe pained him, with all his fulle might,                  was not light*\nHim to withhold from weeping at the least;\nAnd Antenor he kiss'd and made feast.\n\nAnd therewithal he must his leave take,\nAnd cast his eye upon her piteously,\nAnd near he rode, his cause* for to make               *excuse, occasion\nTo take her by the hand all soberly;\nAnd, Lord! so she gan weepe tenderly!\nAnd he full soft and slily gan her say,\n\"Now hold your day, and *do me not to dey.\"*        *do not make me die*\n\nWith that his courser turned he about,\nWith face pale, and unto Diomede\nNo word he spake, nor none of all his rout;\nOf which the son of Tydeus <81> tooke heed,\nAs he that couthe* more than the creed <82>                        *knew\nIn such a craft, and by the rein her hent;*                        *took\nAnd Troilus to Troye homeward went.\n\nThis Diomede, that led her by the bridle,\nWhen that he saw the folk of Troy away,\nThought, \"All my labour shall not be *on idle,*               *in  vain*\nIf that I may, for somewhat shall I say;\nFor, at the worst, it may yet short our way;\nI have heard say eke, times twice twelve,\nHe is a fool that will forget himselve.\"\n\nBut natheless, this thought he well enough,\nThat \"Certainly I am aboute naught,\nIf that I speak of love, or *make it tough;*           *make any violent\nFor, doubteless, if she have in her thought            immediate effort*\nHim that I guess, he may not be y-brought\nSo soon away; but I shall find a mean,\nThat she *not wit as yet shall* what I mean.\"       *shall not yet know*\n\nSo he began a general conversation, assured her of not less\nfriendship and honour among the Greeks than she had enjoyed\nin Troy, and requested of her earnestly to treat him as a brother\nand accept his service -- for, at last he said, \"I am and shall be\nay, while that my life may dure, your own, aboven ev'ry\ncreature.\n\n\"Thus said I never e'er now to woman born;\nFor, God mine heart as wisly* gladden so!                        *surely\nI loved never woman herebeforn,\nAs paramours, nor ever shall no mo';\nAnd for the love of God be not my foe,\nAll* can I not to you, my lady dear,                           *although\nComplain aright, for I am yet to lear.*                           *teach\n\n\"And wonder not, mine owen lady bright,\nThough that I speak of love to you thus blive;*                    *soon\nFor I have heard ere this of many a wight\nThat loved thing he ne'er saw in his live;\nEke I am not of power for to strive\nAgainst the god of Love, but him obey\nI will alway, and mercy I you pray.\"\n\nCressida answered his discourses as though she scarcely heard\nthem; yet she thanked him for his trouble and courtesy, and\naccepted his offered friendship -- promising to trust him, as well\nshe might. Then she alighted from her steed, and, with her heart\nnigh breaking, was welcomed to the embrace of her father.\nMeanwhile Troilus, back in Troy, was lamenting with tears the\nloss of his love, despairing of his or her ability to survive the ten\ndays, and spending the night in wailing, sleepless tossing, and\ntroublous dreams. In the morning he was visited by Pandarus,\nto whom he gave directions for his funeral; desiring that the\npowder into which his heart was burned should be kept in a\ngolden urn, and given to Cressida. Pandarus renewed his old\ncounsels and consolations, reminded his friend that ten days\nwere a short time to wait, argued against his faith in evil\ndreams, and urged him to take advantage of the truce, and\nbeguile the time by a visit to King Sarpedon (a Lycian Prince\nwho had come to aid the Trojans). Sarpedon entertained them\nsplendidly; but no feasting, no pomp, no music of instruments,\nno singing of fair ladies, could make up for the absence of\nCressida to the desolate Troilus, who was for ever poring upon\nher old letters, and recalling her loved form. Thus he \"drove to\nan end\" the fourth day, and would have then returned to Troy,\nbut for the remonstrances of Pandarus, who asked if they had\nvisited Sarpedon only to fetch fire? At last, at the end of a\nweek, they returned to Troy; Troilus hoping to find Cressida\nagain in the city, Pandarus entertaining a scepticism which he\nconcealed from his friend. The morning after their return,\nTroilus was impatient till he had gone to the palace of Cressida;\nbut when he found her doors all closed, \"well nigh for sorrow\nadown he gan to fall.\"\n\nTherewith, when he was ware, and gan behold\nHow shut was ev'ry window of the place,\nAs frost him thought his hearte *gan to cold;*      *began to grow cold*\nFor which, with changed deadly pale face,\nWithoute word, he forth began to pace;\nAnd, as God would, he gan so faste ride,\nThat no wight of his countenance espied.\n\nThen said he thus: \"O palace desolate!\nO house of houses, *whilom beste hight!*          *formerly called best*\nO palace empty and disconsolate!\nO thou lantern, of which quench'd is the light!\nO palace, whilom day, that now art night!\nWell oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,\nSince she is gone that wont was us to guy!*                 *guide, rule\n\n\"O palace, whilom crown of houses all,\nIllumined with sun of alle bliss!\nO ring, from which the ruby is out fall!\nO cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss!\nYet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss\nThy colde doores, durst I for this rout;\nAnd farewell shrine, of which the saint is out!\"\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nFrom thence forth he rideth up and down,\nAnd ev'ry thing came him to remembrance,\nAs he rode by the places of the town,\nIn which he whilom had all his pleasance;\n\"Lo! yonder saw I mine own lady dance;\nAnd in that temple, with her eyen clear,\nMe caughte first my righte lady dear.\n\n\"And yonder have I heard full lustily\nMy deare hearte laugh; and yonder play:\nSaw I her ones eke full blissfully;\nAnd yonder ones to me gan she say,\n'Now, goode sweete! love me well, I pray;'\nAnd yond so gladly gan she me behold,\nThat to the death my heart is to her hold.*               *holden, bound\n\n\"And at that corner, in the yonder house,\nHeard I mine allerlevest* lady dear,                     *dearest of all\nSo womanly, with voice melodious,\nSinge so well, so goodly and so clear,\nThat in my soule yet me thinks I hear\nThe blissful sound; and in that yonder place\nMy lady first me took unto her grace.\"\n\nThen he went to the gates, and gazed along the way by which\nhe had attended Cressida at her departure; then he fancied that\nall the passers-by pitied him; and thus he drove forth a day or\ntwo more, singing a song, of few words, which he had made to\nlighten his heart:\n\n\"O star, of which I lost have all the light,\nWith hearte sore well ought I to bewail,\nThat ever dark in torment, night by night,\nToward my death, with wind I steer and sail;\nFor which, the tenthe night, if that I fail*      *miss; be left without\nThe guiding of thy beames bright an hour,\nMy ship and me Charybdis will devour.\"\n\nBy night he prayed the moon to run fast about her sphere; by\nday he reproached the tardy sun -- dreading that Phaethon had\ncome to life again, and was driving the chariot of Apollo out of\nits straight course. Meanwhile Cressida, among the Greeks, was\nbewailing the refusal of her father to let her return, the certainty\nthat her lover would think her false, and the hopelessness of any\nattempt to steal away by night. Her bright face waxed pale, her\nlimbs lean, as she stood all day looking toward Troy; thinking\non her love and all her past delights, regretting that she had not\nfollowed the counsel of Troilus to steal away with him, and\nfinally vowing that she would at all hazards return to the city.\nBut she was fated, ere two months, to be full far from any such\nintention; for Diomede now brought all his skill into play, to\nentice Cressida into his net. On the tenth day, Diomede, \"as\nfresh as branch in May,\" came to the tent of Cressida, feigning\nbusiness with Calchas.\n\nCresside, at shorte wordes for to tell,\nWelcomed him, and down by her him set,\nAnd he was *eath enough to make dwell;*       *easily persuaded to stay*\nAnd after this, withoute longe let,*                              *delay\nThe spices and the wine men forth him fet,*                     *fetched\nAnd forth they speak of this and that y-fere,*                 *together\nAs friendes do, of which some shall ye hear.\n\nHe gan first fallen of the war in speech\nBetween them and the folk of Troye town,\nAnd of the siege he gan eke her beseech\nTo tell him what was her opinioun;\nFrom that demand he so descended down\nTo aske her, if that her strange thought\nThe Greekes' guise,* and workes that they wrought.              *fashion\n\nAnd why her father tarried* so long                             *delayed\nTo wedde her unto some worthy wight.\nCressida, that was in her paines strong\nFor love of Troilus, her owen knight,\nSo farforth as she cunning* had or might,                       *ability\nAnswer'd him then; but, as for his intent,*                     *purpose\nIt seemed not she wiste* what he meant.                            *knew\n\nBut natheless this ilke* Diomede                                   *same\nGan *in himself assure,* and thus he said;              *grow confident*\n\"If I aright have *taken on you heed,*                    *observed you*\nMe thinketh thus, O lady mine Cresside,\nThat since I first hand on your bridle laid,\nWhen ye out came of Troye by the morrow,\nNe might I never see you but in sorrow.\n\n\"I cannot say what may the cause be,\nBut if for love of some Trojan it were;\n*The which right sore would a-thinke me*            *which it would much\nThat ye for any wight that dwelleth there              pain me to think*\nShould [ever] spill* a quarter of a tear,                          *shed\nOr piteously yourselfe so beguile;*                             *deceive\nFor dreadeless* it is not worth the while.                  *undoubtedly\n\n\"The folk of Troy, as who saith, all and some\nIn prison be, as ye yourselfe see;\nFrom thence shall not one alive come\nFor all the gold betwixte sun and sea;\nTruste this well, and understande me;\nThere shall not one to mercy go alive,\nAll* were he lord of worldes twice five.                       *although\n\n.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\n\"What will ye more, lovesome lady dear?\nLet Troy and Trojan from your hearte pace;\nDrive out that bitter hope, and make good cheer,\nAnd call again the beauty of your face,\nThat ye with salte teares so deface;\nFor Troy is brought into such jeopardy,\nThat it to save is now no remedy.\n\n\"And thinke well, ye shall in Greekes find\nA love more perfect, ere that it be night,\nThan any Trojan is, and more kind,\nAnd better you to serve will do his might;\nAnd, if ye vouchesafe, my lady bright,\nI will be he, to serve you, myselve, --\nYea, lever* than be a lord of Greekes twelve!\"                   *rather\n\nAnd with that word he gan to waxe red,\nAnd in his speech a little while he quoke,*            *quaked; trembled\nAnd cast aside a little with his head,\nAnd stint a while; and afterward he woke,\nAnd soberly on her he threw his look,\nAnd said, \"I am, albeit to you no joy,\nAs gentle* man as any wight in Troy.                          *high-born\n\n\"But, hearte mine! since that I am your man,*         *leigeman, subject\nAnd [you] be the first of whom I seeke grace,                  (in love)\nTo serve you as heartily as I can,\nAnd ever shall, while I to live have space,\nSo, ere that I depart out of this place,\nYe will me grante that I may, to-morrow,\nAt better leisure, telle you my sorrow.\"\n\nWhy should I tell his wordes that he said?\nHe spake enough for one day at the mest;*                          *most\nIt proveth well he spake so, that Cresseide\nGranted upon the morrow, at his request,\nFarther to speake with him, at the least,\nSo that he would not speak of such mattere;\nAnd thus she said to him, as ye may hear:\n\nAs she that had her heart on Troilus\nSo faste set, that none might it arace;*                    *uproot <83>\nAnd strangely* she spake, and saide thus;       *distantly, unfriendlily\n\"O Diomede! I love that ilke place\nWhere I was born; and Jovis, for his grace,\nDeliver it soon of all that doth it care!*                      *afflict\nGod, for thy might, so *leave it* well to fare!\"              *grant it*\n\nShe knows that the Greeks would fain wreak their wrath on\nTroy, if they might; but that shall never befall: she knows that\nthere are Greeks of high condition -- though as worthy men\nwould be found in Troy: and she knows that Diomede could\nserve his lady well.\n\n\"But, as to speak of love, y-wis,\" she said,\n\"I had a lord, to whom I wedded was, <84>\nHe whose mine heart was all, until he died;\nAnd other love, as help me now Pallas,\nThere in my heart nor is, nor ever was;\nAnd that ye be of noble and high kindred,\nI have well heard it tellen, out of dread.*                       *doubt\n\n\"And that doth* me to have so great a wonder                    *causeth\nThat ye will scornen any woman so;\nEke, God wot, love and I be far asunder;\nI am disposed bet, so may I go,*                        *fare or prosper\nUnto my death to plain and make woe;\nWhat I shall after do I cannot say,\nBut truely as yet *me list not play.*                 *I am not disposed\n                                                              *for sport\n\"Mine heart is now in tribulatioun;\nAnd ye in armes busy be by day;\nHereafter, when ye wonnen have the town,\nParauntre* then, so as it happen may,                      *peradventure\nThat when I see that I never *ere sey,*                     *saw before*\nThen will I work that I never ere wrought;\nThis word to you enough sufficen ought.\n\n\"To-morrow eke will I speak with you fain,*                   *willingly\nSo that ye touche naught of this mattere;\nAnd when you list, ye may come here again,\nAnd ere ye go, thus much I say you here:\nAs help me Pallas, with her haires clear,\nIf that I should of any Greek have ruth,\nIt shoulde be yourselfe, by my truth!\n\n\"I say not therefore that I will you love;\n*Nor say not nay;* but, in conclusioun,                  *nor say I that\nI meane well, by God that sits above!\"                       I will not*\nAnd therewithal she cast her eyen down,\nAnd gan to sigh, and said; \"O Troye town!\nYet bid* I God, in quiet and in rest                               *pray\nI may you see, or *do my hearte brest!\"*       *cause my heart to break*\n\nBut in effect, and shortly for to say,\nThis Diomede all freshly new again\nGan pressen on, and fast her mercy pray;\nAnd after this, the soothe for to sayn,\nHer glove he took, of which he was full fain,\nAnd finally, when it was waxen eve,\nAnd all was well, he rose and took his leave.\n\nCressida retired to rest:\n\nReturning in her soul ay up and down\nThe wordes of this sudden Diomede,<85>\nHis great estate,* the peril of the town,                          *rank\nAnd that she was alone, and hadde need\nOf friendes' help; and thus began to dread\nThe causes why, the soothe for to tell,\nThat she took fully the purpose for to dwell.*         *remain (with the\n                                                                 Greeks)\nThe morrow came, and, ghostly* for to speak,                    *plainly\nThis Diomede is come unto Cresseide;\nAnd shortly, lest that ye my tale break,\nSo well he for himselfe spake and said,\nThat all her sighes sore adown he laid;\nAnd finally, the soothe for to sayn,\nHe refte* her the great** of all her pain.      *took away **the greater\n                                                                 part of\nAnd after this, the story telleth us\nThat she him gave the faire baye steed\nThe which she ones won of Troilus;\nAnd eke a brooch (and that was little need)\nThat Troilus' was, she gave this Diomede;\nAnd eke, the bet from sorrow him to relieve,\nShe made him wear a pensel* of her sleeve.                 *pendant <86>\n\nI find eke in the story elleswhere,\nWhen through the body hurt was Diomede\nBy Troilus, she wept many a tear,\nWhen that she saw his wide woundes bleed,\nAnd that she took to keepe* him good heed,               *tend, care for\nAnd, for to heal him of his sorrow's smart,\nMen say, I n'ot,* that she gave him her heart.                 *know not\n\nAnd yet, when pity had thus completed the triumph of\ninconstancy, she made bitter moan over her falseness to one of\nthe noblest and worthiest men that ever was; but it was now too\nlate to repent, and at all events she resolved that she would be\ntrue to Diomede -- all the while weeping for pity of the absent\nTroilus, to whom she wished every happiness. The tenth day,\nmeantime, had barely dawned, when Troilus, accompanied by\nPandarus, took his stand on the walls, to watch for the return of\nCressida. Till noon they stood, thinking that every corner from\nafar was she; then Troilus said that doubtless her old father bore\nthe parting ill, and had detained her till after dinner; so they\nwent to dine, and returned to their vain observation on the\nwalls. Troilus invented all kinds of explanations for his\nmistress's delay; now, her father would not let her go till eve;\nnow, she would ride quietly into the town after nightfall, not to\nbe observed; now, he must have mistaken the day. For five or\nsix days he watched, still in vain, and with decreasing hope.\nGradually his strength decayed, until he could walk only with a\nstaff; answering the wondering inquiries of his friends, by saying\nthat he had a grievous malady about his heart. One day he\ndreamed that in a forest he saw Cressida in the embrace of a\nboar; and he had no longer doubt of her falsehood. Pandarus,\nhowever, explained away the dream to mean merely that\nCressida was detained by her father, who might be at the point\nof death; and he counselled the disconsolate lover to write a\nletter, by which he might perhaps get at the truth. Troilus\ncomplied, entreating from his mistress, at the least, a \"letter of\nhope;\" and the lady answered, that she could not come now, but\nwould so soon as she might; at the same time \"making him great\nfeast,\" and swearing that she loved him best -- \"of which he\nfound but bottomless behest [which he found but groundless\npromises].\" Day by day increased the woe of Troilus; he laid\nhimself in bed, neither eating, nor drinking, nor sleeping, nor\nspeaking, almost distracted by the thought of Cressida's\nunkindness. He related his dream to his sister Cassandra, who\ntold him that the boar betokened Diomede, and that,\nwheresoever his lady was, Diornede certainly had her heart, and\nshe was his: \"weep if thou wilt, or leave, for, out of doubt, this\nDiomede is in, and thou art out.\" Troilus, enraged, refused to\nbelieve Cassandra's interpretation; as well, he cried, might such\na story be credited of Alcestis, who devoted her life for her\nhusband; and in his wrath he started from bed, \"as though all\nwhole had him y-made a leach [physician],\" resolving to find\nout the truth at all hazards. The death of Hector meanwhile\nenhanced the sorrow which he endured; but he found time to\nwrite often to Cressida, beseeching her to come again and hold\nher truth; till one day his false mistress, out of pity, wrote him\nagain, in these terms:\n\n\"Cupide's son, ensample of goodlihead,*              *beauty, excellence\nO sword of knighthood, source of gentleness!\nHow might a wight in torment and in dread,\nAnd healeless,* you send as yet gladness?              *devoid of health\nI hearteless, I sick, I in distress?\nSince ye with me, nor I with you, may deal,\nYou neither send I may nor heart nor heal.\n\n\"Your letters full, the paper all y-plainted,*             *covered with\nCommoved have mine heart's pitt;                            complainings\nI have eke seen with teares all depainted\nYour letter, and how ye require me\nTo come again; the which yet may not be;\nBut why, lest that this letter founden were,\nNo mention I make now for fear.\n\n\"Grievous to me, God wot, is your unrest,\nYour haste,* and that the goddes' ordinance                  *impatience\nIt seemeth not ye take as for the best;\nNor other thing is in your remembrance,\nAs thinketh me, but only your pleasance;\nBut be not wroth, and that I you beseech,\nFor that I tarry is *all for wicked speech.*         *to avoid malicious\n                                                                 gossip*\n\"For I have heard well more than I wend*                *weened, thought\nTouching us two, how thinges have stood,\nWhich I shall with dissimuling amend;\nAnd, be not wroth, I have eke understood\nHow ye ne do but holde me on hand; <87>\nBut now *no force,* I cannot in you guess                    *no matter*\nBut alle truth and alle gentleness.\n\n\"Comen I will, but yet in such disjoint*             *jeopardy, critical\nI stande now, that what year or what day                        position\nThat this shall be, that can I not appoint;\nBut in effect I pray you, as I may,\nFor your good word and for your friendship ay;\nFor truely, while that my life may dure,\nAs for a friend, ye may *in me assure.*                   *depend on me*\n\n\"Yet pray I you, *on evil ye not take*              *do not take it ill*\nThat it is short, which that I to you write;\nI dare not, where I am, well letters make;\nNor never yet ne could I well endite;\nEke *great effect men write in place lite;*      *men write great matter\nTh' intent is all, and not the letter's space;          in little space*\nAnd fare now well, God have you in his grace!\n                           \"La Vostre C.\"\n\nThough he found this letter \"all strange,\" and thought it like \"a\nkalendes of change,\" <88> Troilus could not believe his lady so\ncruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day\nthat, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a \"coat-\narmour\" borne along the street, in token of victory, before\nDeiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in\nbattle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found\nwithin the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the\nmorning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to\nkeep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this\nfatal discovery of his lady's untruth,\n\nGreat was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus;\nBut forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold;\nCressida lov'd the son of Tydeus,\nAnd Troilus must weep in cares cold.\nSuch is the world, whoso it can behold!\nIn each estate is little hearte's rest;\nGod lend* us each to take it for the best!                        *grant\n\nIn many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the\nGreeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with\nDiomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their\nlot that either should fall by the other's hand. The poet's\npurpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds\nof Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes:\n\nBeseeching ev'ry lady bright of hue,\nAnd ev'ry gentle woman, *what she be,*               *whatsoever she be*\nAlbeit that Cressida was untrue,\nThat for that guilt ye be not wroth with me;\nYe may her guilt in other bookes see;\nAnd gladder I would writen, if you lest,\nOf Penelope's truth, and good Alceste.\n\nNor say I not this only all for men,\nBut most for women that betrayed be\nThrough false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!)\nThat with their greate wit and subtilty\nBetraye you; and this commoveth me\nTo speak; and in effect you all I pray,\nBeware of men, and hearken what I say.\n\nGo, little book, go, little tragedy!\nThere God my maker, yet ere that I die,\nSo send me might to make some comedy!\nBut, little book, *no making thou envy,*  *be envious of no poetry* <89>\nBut subject be unto all poesy;\nAnd kiss the steps, where as thou seest space,\nOf Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.\n\nAnd, for there is so great diversity\nIn English, and in writing of our tongue,\nSo pray I God, that none miswrite thee,\nNor thee mismetre for default of tongue!\nAnd read whereso thou be, or elles sung,\nThat thou be understanden, God I 'seech!*                       *beseech\nBut yet to purpose of my *rather speech.*         *earlier subject* <90>\n\nThe wrath, as I began you for to say,\nOf Troilus the Greekes boughte dear;\nFor thousandes his handes *made dey,*                      *made to die*\nAs he that was withouten any peer,\nSave in his time Hector, as I can hear;\nBut, well-away! save only Godde's will,\nDispiteously him slew the fierce Achill'.\n\nAnd when that he was slain in this mannere,\nHis lighte ghost* full blissfully is went                        *spirit\nUp to the hollowness of the seventh sphere <91>\nIn converse leaving ev'ry element;\nAnd there he saw, with full advisement,*     *observation, understanding\nTh' erratic starres heark'ning harmony,\nWith soundes full of heav'nly melody.\n\nAnd down from thennes fast he gan advise*             *consider, look on\nThis little spot of earth, that with the sea\nEmbraced is; and fully gan despise\nThis wretched world, and held all vanity,\n*To respect of the plein felicity*                   *in comparison with\nThat is in heav'n above; and, at the last,            the full felicity*\nWhere he was slain his looking down he cast.\n\nAnd in himself he laugh'd right at the woe\nOf them that wepte for his death so fast;\nAnd damned* all our works, that follow so                     *condemned\nThe blinde lust, the which that may not last,\nAnd shoulden* all our heart on heaven cast;             *while we should\nAnd forth he wente, shortly for to tell,\nWhere as Mercury sorted* him to dwell.                    *allotted <92>\n\nSuch fine* hath, lo! this Troilus for love!                         *end\nSuch fine hath all his *greate worthiness!*         *exalted royal rank*\nSuch fine hath his estate royal above!\nSuch fine his lust,* such fine hath his nobless!               *pleasure\nSuch fine hath false worlde's brittleness!*     *fickleness, instability\nAnd thus began his loving of Cresside,\nAs I have told; and in this wise he died.\n\nO young and freshe folke, *he or she,*                   *of either sex*\nIn which that love upgroweth with your age,\nRepaire home from worldly vanity,\nAnd *of your heart upcaste the visage*         *\"lift up the countenance\nTo thilke God, that after his image                     of your heart.\"*\nYou made, and think that all is but a fair,\nThis world that passeth soon, as flowers fair!\n\nAnd love Him, the which that, right for love,\nUpon a cross, our soules for to bey,*                       *buy, redeem\nFirst starf,* and rose, and sits in heav'n above;                  *died\nFor he will false* no wight, dare I say,                  *deceive, fail\nThat will his heart all wholly on him lay;\nAnd since he best to love is, and most meek,\nWhat needeth feigned loves for to seek?\n\nLo! here of paynims* cursed olde rites!                          *pagans\nLo! here what all their goddes may avail!\nLo! here this wretched worlde's appetites!               *end and reward\nLo! here the *fine and guerdon for travail,*                  of labour*\nOf Jove, Apollo, Mars, and such rascaille*                  *rabble <93>\nLo! here the form of olde clerkes' speech,\nIn poetry, if ye their bookes seech!*                      *seek, search\n\n\nL'Envoy of Chaucer.\n\n\nO moral Gower! <94> this book I direct.\nTo thee, and to the philosophical Strode, <95>\nTo vouchesafe, where need is, to correct,\nOf your benignities and zeales good.\nAnd to that soothfast Christ that *starf on rood*    *died on the cross*\nWith all my heart, of mercy ever I pray,\nAnd to the Lord right thus I speak and say:\n\n\"Thou One, and Two, and Three, *etern on live,*       *eternally living*\nThat reignest ay in Three, and Two, and One,\nUncircumscrib'd, and all may'st circumscrive,*               *comprehend\nFrom visible and invisible fone*                                   *foes\nDefend us in thy mercy ev'ry one;\nSo make us, Jesus, *for thy mercy dign,*           *worthy of thy mercy*\nFor love of Maid and Mother thine benign!\"\n\nExplicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis. <96>\n\n\nNotes to Troilus and Cressida\n\n\n1. The double sorrow: First his suffering before his love was\nsuccessful; and then his grief after his lady had been separated\nfrom him, and had proved unfaithful.\n\n2. Tisiphone: one of the Eumenides, or Furies, who avenged on\nmen in the next world the crimes committed on earth. Chaucer\nmakes this grim invocation most fitly, since the Trojans were\nunder the curse of the Eumenides, for their part in the offence\nof Paris in carrying off Helen, the wife of his host Menelaus,\nand thus impiously sinning against the laws of hospitality.\n\n3. See Chaucer's description of himself in \"The House Of\nFame,\" and note 11 to that poem.\n\n4. The Palladium, or image of Pallas (daughter of Triton and\nfoster-sister of Athena), was said to have fallen from heaven at\nTroy, where Ilus was just beginning to found the city; and Ilus\nerected a sanctuary, in which it was preserved with great\nhonour and care, since on its safety was supposed to depend the\nsafety of the city. In later times a Palladium was any statue of\nthe goddess Athena kept for the safeguard of the city that\npossessed it.\n\n5. \"Oh, very god!\": oh true divinity! -- addressing Cressida.\n\n6. Ascaunce: as if to say -- as much as to say. The word\nrepresents \"Quasi dicesse\" in Boccaccio. See note 5 to the\nSompnour's Tale.\n\n7. Eft: another reading is \"oft.\"\n\n8. Arten: constrain -- Latin, \"arceo.\"\n\n9. The song is a translation of Petrarch's 88th Sonnet, which\nopens thus:\n\"S'amor non e, che dunque e quel ch'i'sento.\"\n\n10. If maugre me: If (I burn) in spite of myself. The usual\nreading is, \"If harm agree me\" = if my hurt contents me: but\nevidently the antithesis is lost which Petrarch intended when,\nafter \"s'a mia voglia ardo,\" he wrote \"s'a mal mio grado\" = if\nagainst my will; and Urry's Glossary points out the probability\nthat in transcription the words \"If that maugre me\" may have\ngradually changed into \"If harm agre me.\"\n\n11. The Third of May seems either to have possessed peculiar\nfavour or significance with Chaucer personally, or to have had a\nspecial importance in connection with those May observances\nof which the poet so often speaks. It is on the third night of\nMay that Palamon, in The Knight's Tale, breaks out of prison,\nand at early morn encounters in the forest Arcita, who has gone\nforth to pluck a garland in honour of May; it is on the third\nnight of May that the poet hears the debate of \"The Cuckoo and\nthe Nightingale\"; and again in the present passage the favoured\ndate recurs.\n\n12. Went: turning; from Anglo-Saxon, \"wendan;\" German,\n\"wenden.\" The turning and tossing of uneasy lovers in bed is,\nwith Chaucer, a favourite symptom of their passion. See the\nfifth \"statute,\" in The Court of Love.\n\n13. Procne, daughter of Pandion, king of Attica, was given to\nwife to Tereus in reward for his aid against an enemy; but\nTereus dishonoured Philomela, Procne's sister; and his wife, in\nrevenge, served up to him the body of his own child by her.\nTereus, infuriated, pursued the two sisters, who prayed the\ngods to change them into birds. The prayer was granted;\nPhilomela became a nightingale, Procne a swallow, and Tereus\na hawk.\n\n14. Fished fair: a proverbial phrase which probably may be best\nrepresented by the phrase \"done great execution.\"\n\n15. The fair gem virtueless:  possessing none of the virtues\nwhich in the Middle Ages were universally believed to be\ninherent in precious stones.\n\n16. The crop and root: the most perfect example. See note 29\nto the Knight's Tale.\n\n17. Eme: uncle; the mother's brother; still used in Lancashire.\nAnglo-Saxon, \"eame;\" German, \"Oheim.\"\n\n18. Dardanus: the mythical ancestor of the Trojans, after whom\nthe gate is supposed to be called.\n\n19. All the other gates were secured with chains, for better\ndefence against the besiegers.\n\n20. Happy day:  good fortune; French, \"bonheur;\" both \"happy\nday\" and \"happy hour\" are borrowed from the astrological\nfiction about the influence of the time of birth.\n\n21. Horn, and nerve, and rind: The various layers or materials\nof the shield -- called boagrion in the Iliad -- which was made\nfrom the hide of the wild bull.\n\n22. His brother:  Hector.\n\n23. Who gives me drink?: Who has given me a love-potion, to\ncharm my heart thus away?\n\n24. That plaited she full oft in many a fold: She deliberated\ncarefully, with many arguments this way and that.\n\n25. Through which I mighte stand in worse plight: in a worse\nposition in the city; since she might through his anger lose the\nprotection of his brother Hector.\n\n26. I am not religious: I am not in holy vows. See the complaint\nof the nuns in \"The Court of Love.\"\n\n27. The line recalls Milton's \"dark with excessive bright.\"\n\n28. No weal is worth, that may no sorrow drien: the meaning is,\nthat whosoever cannot endure sorrow deserves not happiness.\n\n29. French, \"verre;\" glass.\n\n30. From cast of stones ware him in the werre: let him beware\nof casting stones in battle. The proverb in its modern form\nwarns those who live in glass houses of the folly of throwing\nstones.\n\n31. Westren:  to west or wester -- to decline towards the west;\nso Milton speaks of the morning star as sloping towards\nheaven's descent \"his westering wheel.\"\n\n32. A pike with ass's feet etc.: this is merely another version of\nthe well-known example of incongruity that opens the \"Ars\nPoetica\" of Horace.\n\n33. Tristre: tryst; a preconcerted spot to which the beaters\ndrove the game, and at which the sportsmen waited with their\nbows.\n\n34. A kankerdort: a condition or fit of perplexed anxiety;\nprobably connected with the word \"kink\" meaning in sea phrase\na twist in an rope -- and, as a verb, to twist or entangle.\n\n35. They feel in times, with vapour etern: they feel in their\nseasons, by the emission of an eternal breath or inspiration (that\nGod loves, &c.)\n\n36. The idea of this stanza is the same with that developed in\nthe speech of Theseus at the close of The Knight's Tale; and it is\nprobably derived from the lines of Boethius, quoted in note 91\nto that Tale.\n\n37. In this and the following lines reappears the noble doctrine\nof the exalting and purifying influence of true love, advanced in\n\"The Court of Love,\" \"The Cuckoo and the Nightingale,\" &c.\n\n38. Weir: a trap or enclosed place in a stream, for catching fish.\nSee note 10 to The Assembly of Fowls.\n\n39. Nor might one word for shame to it say: nor could he\nanswer one word for shame (at the stratagem that brought\nCressida to implore his protection)\n\n40. \"All n'ere he malapert, nor made avow\n     Nor was so bold to sing a foole's mass;\"\ni.e. although he was not over-forward and made no confession\n(of his love), or was so bold as to be rash and ill-advised in his\ndeclarations of love and worship.\n\n41. Pandarus wept as if he would turn to water; so, in The\nSquire's Tale, did Canace weep for the woes of the falcon.\n\n42. If I breake your defence: if I transgress in whatever you may\nforbid; French, \"defendre,\" to prohibit.\n\n43. These lines and the succeeding stanza are addressed to\nPandarus, who had interposed some words of incitement to\nCressida.\n\n44.  In \"The Court of Love,\" the poet says of Avaunter, that\n\"his ancestry of kin was to Lier; and the stanza in which that\nline occurs  expresses precisely the same idea as in the text.\nVain boasters  of ladies' favours are also satirised in \"The House\nof Fame\".\n\n45. Nice:  silly, stupid; French, \"niais.\"\n\n46.\"Reheating\" is read by preference for \"richesse,\" which\nstands in the older printed editions; though \"richesse\" certainly\nbetter represents the word used in the original of Boccaccio --\n\"dovizia,\" meaning abundance or wealth.\n\n47. \"Depart it so, for widewhere is wist\n     How that there is diversity requer'd\n     Betwixte thinges like, as I have lear'd:\"\ni.e. make this distinction, for it is universally known that there is\na great difference between things that seem the same, as I have\nlearned.\n\n48. Frepe: the set, or company; French, \"frappe,\" a stamp (on\ncoins), a set (of moulds).\n\n49. To be \"in the wind\" of noisy magpies, or other birds that\nmight spoil sport by alarming the game, was not less desirable\nthan to be on the \"lee-side\" of the game itself, that the hunter's\npresence might not be betrayed by the scent. \"In the wind of,\"\nthus signifies not to windward of, but to leeward of -- that is, in\nthe wind that comes from the object of pursuit.\n\n50. Bothe fremd and tame: both foes and friends -- literally,\nboth wild and tame, the sporting metaphor being sustained.\n\n51. The lovers are supposed to say, that nothing is wanting but\nto know the time at which they should meet.\n\n52. A  tale of Wade: see note 5 to the Merchant's Tale.\n\n53. Saturn, and Jove, in Cancer joined were: a conjunction that\nimported rain.\n\n54. Smoky rain: An admirably graphic description of dense rain.\n\n55. For the force of \"cold,\" see note 22 to the Nun's Priest's\nTale.\n\n56. Goddes seven:  The divinities who gave their names to the\nseven planets, which, in association with the seven metals, are\nmentioned in The Canon's Yeoman's Tale.\n\n57. Assayed:  experienced, tasted. See note 6 to the Squire's\nTale.\n\n58. Now is it better than both two were lorn: better this happy\nissue, than that both two should be lost (through the sorrow of\nfruitless love).\n\n59. Made him such feast: French, \"lui fit fete\" -- made holiday\nfor him.\n\n60. The cock is called, in \"The Assembly of Fowls,\" \"the\nhorologe of thorpes lite;\" [the clock of little villages] and in The\nNun's Priest's Tale Chanticleer knew by nature each ascension\nof the equinoctial, and, when the sun had ascended fifteen\ndegrees, \"then crew he, that it might not be amended.\" Here he\nis termed the \"common astrologer,\" as employing for the public\nadvantage his knowledge of astronomy.\n\n61. Fortuna Major: the planet Jupiter.\n\n62. When Jupiter visited Alcmena in the form of her husband\nAmphitryon, he is said to have prolonged the night to the length\nof three natural nights. Hercules was the fruit of the union.\n\n63. Chaucer seems to confound Titan, the title of the sun, with\nTithonus (or Tithon, as contracted in poetry), whose couch\nAurora was wont to share.\n\n64. So, in \"Locksley Hall,\" Tennyson says that \"a sorrow's\ncrown of sorrow is rememb'ring better things.\" The original is in\nDante's words:- -\n\"Nessun maggior dolore\n Che ricordarsi del tempo felice\n Nella miseria.\" -- \"Inferno,\" v. 121.\n(\"There is no greater sorrow than to remember happy times\nwhen in misery\")\n\n65. As great a craft is to keep weal as win: it needs as much\nskill to keep prosperity as to attain it.\n\n66. To heap: together. See the reference to Boethius in note 91\nto the Knight's Tale.\n\n67. The smalle beastes let he go beside: a charming touch,\nindicative of the noble and generous inspiration of his love.\n\n68. Mew: the cage or chamber in which hawks were kept and\ncarefully tended during the moulting season.\n\n69. Love of steel:  love as true as steel.\n\n70. Pandarus, as it repeatedly appears, was an unsucsessful\nlover.\n\n71. \"Each for his virtue holden is full dear,\n     Both heroner, and falcon for rivere\":--\nThat is, each is esteemed for a special virtue or faculty, as the\nlarge gerfalcon for the chase of heron, the smaller goshawk for\nthe chase of river fowl.\n\n72. Zausis: An author of whom no record survives.\n\n73. And upon new case lieth new advice:  new counsels must be\nadopted as new circumstances arise.\n\n74. Hid in mew: hidden in a place remote from the world -- of\nwhich Pandarus thus betrays ignorance.\n\n75. The modern phrase \"sixes and sevens,\" means \"in\nconfusion:\" but here the idea of gaming perhaps suits the sense\nbetter -- \"set the world upon a cast of the dice.\"\n\n76. The controversy between those who maintained the doctrine\nof predestination and those who held that of free-will raged\nwith no less animation at Chaucer's day, and before it, than it\nhas done in the subsequent five centuries; the Dominicans\nupholding the sterner creed, the Franciscans taking the other\nside. Chaucer has more briefly, and with the same care not to\ncommit himself, referred to the discussion in The Nun's Priest's\nTale.\n\n77. That have their top full high and smooth y-shore: that are\neminent among the clergy, who wear the tonsure.\n\n78. Athamante: Athamas, son of Aeolus; who, seized with\nmadness, under the wrath of Juno for his neglect of his wife\nNephele, slew his son Learchus.\n\n79. Simois:  one of the rivers of the Troad, flowing into the\nXanthus.\n\n80. Troilus was the son of Priam and Hecuba.\n\n81. The son of Tydeus:  Diomedes; far oftener called Tydides,\nafter his father Tydeus, king of Argos.\n\n82. Couthe more than the creed:  knew more than the mere\nelements (of the science of Love).\n\n83. Arache: wrench away, unroot (French, \"arracher\"); the\nopposite of \"enrace,\" to root in, implant.\n\n84. It will be remembered that, at the beginning of the first\nbook, Cressida is introduced to us as a widow.\n\n85. Diomede is called \"sudden,\" for the unexpectedness of his\nassault on Cressida's heart -- or, perhaps, for the abrupt\nabandonment of his indifference to love.\n\n86. Penscel:  a pennon or pendant; French, \"penoncel.\" It  was\nthe custom in chivalric times for a knight to wear, on days of\ntournament or in battle, some such token of his lady's favour, or\nbadge of his service to her.\n\n87. She has been told that Troilus is deceiving her.\n\n88. The Roman kalends were the first day of the month, when a\nchange of weather was usually expected.\n\n89. Maker, and making, words used in the Middle Ages to\nsignify the composer and the composition of poetry, correspond\nexactly with the Greek \"poietes\" and \"poiema,\" from \"poieo,\" I\nmake.\n\n90. My rather speech:  my earlier, former subject; \"rather\" is the\ncormparative of the old adjective \"rath,\" early.\n\n91. Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere: passing up\nthrough the hollowness or concavity of the spheres, which all\nrevolve round each other and are all contained by God (see note\n5 to the Assembly of Fowls), the soul of Troilus, looking\ndownward, beholds the converse or convex side of the spheres\nwhich it has traversed.\n\n92. Sorted: allotted; from Latin, \"sors,\" lot, fortune.\n\n93. Rascaille: rabble; French, \"racaille\" -- a mob or multitude,\nthe riff-raff; so Spencer speaks of the \"rascal routs\" of inferior\ncombatants.\n\n94. John Gower, the poet, a contemporary and friend of\nChaucer's; author, among other works, of the \"Confessio\nAmantis.\" See note 1 to the Man of Law's Tale.\n\n95. Strode was an eminent scholar of Merton College, Oxford,\nand tutor to Chaucer's son Lewis.\n\n96. Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis: \"The end of the book of\nTroilus and Cressida.\"\n\n\n\nCHAUCER'S DREAM.\n\n\n[This pretty allegory, or rather conceit, containing one or two\npassages that for vividness and for delicacy yield to nothing in\nthe whole range of Chaucer's poetry, had never been printed\nbefore the year 1597, when it was included in the edition of\nSpeght. Before that date, indeed, a Dream of Chaucer had been\nprinted; but the poem so described was in reality \"The Book of\nthe Duchess; or the Death of Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster\" --\nwhich is not included in the present edition. Speght says that\n\"This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report\nof the marriage of John of Gaunt, the King's son, with Blanche,\nthe daughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster; who after long love\n(during the time whereof the poet feigneth them to be dead)\nwere in the end, by consent of friends, happily married; figured\nby a bird bringing in his bill an herb, which restored them to life\nagain. Here also is showed Chaucer's match with a certain\ngentlewoman, who, although she was a stranger, was,\nnotwithstanding, so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanche\nand her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they\nconcluded a marriage between them.\" John of Gaunt, at the age\nof nineteen, and while yet Earl of Richmond, was married to the\nLady Blanche at Reading in May 1359; Chaucer, then a prisoner\nin France, probably did not return to England till peace was\nconcluded in the following year; so that his marriage to Philippa\nRoet, the sister of the Duchess Blanche's favourite attendant\nKatharine Roet, could not have taken place till some time after\nthat of the Duke. In the poem, it is represented to have\nimmediately followed; but no consequence need be attached to\nthat statement. Enough that it followed at no great interval of\ntime; and that the intimate relations which Chaucer had already\nbegun to form with John of Gaunt, might well warrant him in\nwriting this poem on the occasion of the Duke's marriage, and\nin weaving his own love-fortunes with those of the principal\nfigures. In the necessary abridgement of the poem for the\npresent edition, the subsidiary branch of the allegory, relating to\nthe poet's own love affair, has been so far as possible separated\nfrom the main branch, which shadows forth the fortunes of John\nand Blanche. The poem, in full, contains, with an \"Envoy\"\narbitrarily appended, 2233 lines; of which 510 are given here.]\n(Transcriber's note: modern scholars believe that Chaucer was\nnot the author of this poem)\n\n\nWHEN Flora, the queen of pleasance,\nHad wholly *achiev'd the obeisance*                  *won the obedience*\nOf the fresh and the new season,\nThorough ev'ry region;\nAnd with her mantle *whole covert*                      *wholly covered*\nWhat winter had *made discovert,* --                          *stripped*\n\nOn a May night, the poet lay alone, thinking of his lady, and all\nher beauty; and, falling asleep, he dreamed that he was in an\nisland\n\nWhere wall, and gate, was all of glass,\nAnd so was closed round about,\nThat leaveless* none came in nor out;                *without permission\nUncouth and strange to behold;\nFor ev'ry gate, of fine gold,\nA thousand fanes,* ay turning,                      *vanes, weathercocks\nEntuned* had, and birds singing                 *contrived so as to emit\nDiversely, on each fane a pair,                          a musical sound\nWith open mouth, against the air; <1>\nAnd *of a suit* were all the tow'rs,                  *of the same plan*\nSubtilly *carven aft* flow'rs                      *carved to represent*\nOf uncouth colours, *during ay,*                       *lasting forever*\nThat never be none seen in May,\nWith many a small turret high;\nBut man alive I could not sigh,*                                    *see\nNor creatures, save ladies play,*                 *disporting themselves\nWhich were such of their array,\nThat, as me thought, *of goodlihead*                    *for comeliness*\nThey passed all, and womanhead.\nFor to behold them dance and sing,\nIt seemed like none earthly thing;\n\nAnd all were of the same age, save one; who was advanced in\nyears, though no less gay in demeanour than the rest. While he\nstood admiring the richness and beauty of the place, and the\nfairness of the ladies, which had the notable gift of enduring\nunimpaired till death, the poet was accosted by the old lady, to\nwhom he had to yield himself prisoner; because the ordinance of\nthe isle was, that no man should dwell there; and the ladies' fear\nof breaking the law was enhanced by the temporary absence of\ntheir queen from the realm. Just at this moment the cry was\nraised that the queen came; all the ladies hastened to meet her;\nand soon the poet saw her approach -- but in her company his\nmistress, wearing the same garb, and a seemly knight. All the\nladies wondered greatly at this; and the queen explained:\n\n\"My sisters, how it hath befall,*                              *befallen\nI trow ye know it one and all,\nThat of long time here have I been\nWithin this isle biding as queen,\nLiving at ease, that never wight\nMore perfect joye have not might;\nAnd to you been of governance\nSuch as you found in whole pleasance, <2>\nIn every thing as ye know,\nAfter our custom and our law;\nWhich how they firste founded were,\nI trow ye wot all the mannere.\nAnd who the queen is of this isle, --\nAs I have been this longe while, --\nEach seven years must, of usage,\nVisit the heav'nly hermitage,\nWhich on a rock so highe stands,\nIn a strange sea, out from all lands,\nThat for to make the pilgrimage\nIs call'd a perilous voyage;\nFor if the wind be not good friend,\nThe journey dureth to the end\nOf him which that it undertakes;\nOf twenty thousand not one scapes.\nUpon which rock groweth a tree,\nThat certain years bears apples three;\nWhich three apples whoso may have,\nIs *from all displeasance y-save*                   *safe from all pain*\nThat in the seven years may fall;\nThis wot you well, both one and all.\nFor the first apple and the hext,*                          *highest <3>\nWhich groweth unto you the next,\nHath three virtues notable,\nAnd keepeth youth ay durable,\nBeauty, and looks, ever-in-one,*                            *continually\nAnd is the best of ev'ry one.\nThe second apple, red and green,\nOnly with lookes of your eyne,\nYou nourishes in great pleasance,\nBetter than partridge or fesaunce,*                            *pheasant\nAnd feedeth ev'ry living wight\nPleasantly, only with the sight.\nAnd the third apple of the three,\nWhich groweth lowest on the tree,\nWhoso it beareth may not fail*                     *miss, fail to obtain\nThat* to his pleasance may avail.                            *that which\nSo your pleasure and beauty rich,\nYour during youth ever y-lich,*                                   *alike\nYour truth, your cunning,* and your weal,                     *knowledge\nHath flower'd ay, and your good heal,\nWithout sickness or displeasance,\nOr thing that to you was noyance.*                      *offence, injury\nSo that you have as goddesses\nLived above all princesses.\nNow is befall'n, as ye may see;\nTo gather these said apples three,\nI have not fail'd, against the day,\nThitherward to take the way,\n*Weening to speed* as I had oft.                  *expecting to succeed*\nBut when I came, I found aloft\nMy sister, which that hero stands,\nHaving those apples in her hands,\nAdvising* them, and nothing said,                  *regarding, gazing on\nBut look'd as she were *well apaid:*                         *satisfied*\nAnd as I stood her to behold,\nThinking how my joys were cold,\nSince I these apples *have not might,*                  *might not have*\nEven with that so came this knight,\nAnd in his arms, of me unware,\nMe took, and to his ship me bare,\nAnd said, though him I ne'er had seen,\nYet had I long his lady been;\nWherefore I shoulde with him wend,\nAnd he would, to his life's end,\nMy servant be; and gan to sing,\nAs one that had won a rich thing.\nThen were my spirits from me gone,\nSo suddenly every one,\nThat in me appear'd but death,\nFor I felt neither life nor breath,\nNor good nor harme none I knew,\nThe sudden pain me was so new,\nThat *had not the hasty grace be*               *had it not been for the\nOf this lady, that from the tree                        prompt kindness*\nOf her gentleness so bled,*                                    *hastened\nMe to comforten, I had died;\nAnd of her three apples she one\nInto mine hand there put anon,\nWhich brought again my mind and breath,\nAnd me recover'd from the death.\nWherefore to her so am I hold,*                       *beholden, obliged\nThat for her all things do I wo'ld,\nFor she was leach* of all my smart,                           *physician\nAnd from great pain so quit* my heart.                        *delivered\nAnd as God wot, right as ye hear,\nMe to comfort with friendly cheer,\nShe did her prowess and her might.\nAnd truly eke so did this knight,\nIn that he could; and often said,\nThat of my woe he was *ill paid,*              *distressed, ill-pleased*\nAnd curs'd the ship that him there brought,\nThe mast, the master that it wrought.\nAnd, as each thing must have an end,\nMy sister here, our bother friend, <4>\nGan with her words so womanly\nThis knight entreat, and cunningly,\nFor mine honour and hers also,\nAnd said that with her we should go\nBoth in her ship, where she was brought,\nWhich was so wonderfully wrought,\nSo clean, so rich, and so array'd,\nThat we were both content and paid;*                          *satisfied\nAnd me to comfort and to please,\nAnd my heart for to put at ease,\nShe took great pain in little while,\nAnd thus hath brought us to this isle\nAs ye may see; wherefore each one\nI pray you thank her one and one,\nAs heartily as ye can devise,\nOr imagine in any wise.\"\n\nAt once there then men mighte see'n,\nA world of ladies fall on kneen\nBefore my lady, --\n\nThanking her, and placing themselves at her commandment.\nThen the queen sent the aged lady to the knight, to learn of him\nwhy he had done her all this woe; and when the messenger had\ndischarged her mission, telling the knight that in the general\nopinion he had done amiss, he fell down suddenly as if dead for\nsorrow and repentance. Only with great difficulty, by the queen\nherself, was he restored to consciousness and comfort; but\nthough she spoke kind and hope-inspiring words, her heart was\nnot in her speech,\n\nFor her intent was, to his barge\nHim for to bring against the eve,\nWith certain ladies, and take leave,\nAnd pray him, of his gentleness,\nTo *suffer her* thenceforth in peace,                    *let her dwell*\nAs other princes had before;\nAnd from thenceforth, for evermore,\nShe would him worship in all wise\nThat gentlenesse might devise;\nAnd *pain her* wholly to fulfil,               *make her utmost efforts*\nIn honour, his pleasure and will.\n\nAnd during thus this knighte's woe, --\nPresent* the queen and other mo',                *(there being) present*\nMy lady and many another wight, --\nTen thousand shippes at a sight\nI saw come o'er the wavy flood,\nWith sail and oar; that, as I stood\nThem to behold, I gan marvail\nFrom whom might come so many a sail;\nFor, since the time that I was born,\nSuch a navy therebeforn\nHad I not seen, nor so array'd,\nThat for the sight my hearte play'd\nAy to and fro within my breast;\nFor joy long was ere it would rest.\nFor there were sailes *full of flow'rs;*      *embroidered with flowers*\nAfter, castles with huge tow'rs, <5>\nSeeming full of armes bright,\nThat wond'rous lusty* was the sight;                           *pleasant\nWith large tops, and mastes long,\nRichly depaint' and *rear'd among.*                  *raised among them*\nAt certain times gan repair\nSmalle birdes down from the air,\nAnd on the shippes' bounds* about                              *bulwarks\nSat and sang, with voice full out,\nBallads and lays right joyously,\nAs they could in their harmony.\n\nThe ladies were alarmed and sorrow-stricken at sight of the\nships, thinking that the knight's companions were on board; and\nthey went towards the walls of the isle, to shut the gates. But it\nwas Cupid who came; and he had already landed, and marched\nstraight to the place where the knight lay. Then he chid the\nqueen for her unkindness to his servant; shot an arrow into her\nheart; and passed through the crowd, until he found the poet's\nlady, whom he saluted and complimented, urging her to have\npity on him that loved her. While the poet, standing apart, was\nrevolving all this in his mind, and resolving truly to serve his\nlady, he saw the queen advance to Cupid, with a petition in\nwhich she besought forgiveness of past offences, and promised\ncontinual and zealous service till her death. Cupid smiled, and\nsaid that he would be king within that island, his new conquest;\nthen, after long conference with the queen, he called a council\nfor the morrow, of all who chose to wear his colours. In the\nmorning, such was the press of ladies, that scarcely could\nstanding-room be found in all the plain. Cupid presided; and one\nof his counsellors addressed the mighty crowd, promising that\nere his departure his lord should bring to an agreement all the\nparties there present. Then Cupid gave to the knight and the\ndreamer each his lady; promised his favour to all the others in\nthat place who would truly and busily serve in love; and at\nevening took his departure. Next morning, having declined the\nproffered sovereignty of the island, the poet's mistress also\nembarked, leaving him behind; but he dashed through the\nwaves, was drawn on board her ship from peril of death, and\ngraciously received into his lady's lasting favour. Here the poet\nawakes, finding his cheeks and body all wet with tears; and,\nremoving into another chamber, to rest more in peace, he falls\nasleep anew, and continues the dream. Again he is within the\nisland, where the knight and all the ladies are assembled on a\ngreen, and it is resolved by the assembly, not only that the\nknight shall be their king, but that every lady there shall be\nwedded also. It is determined that the knight shall depart that\nvery day, and return, within ten days, with such a host of\nBenedicts, that none in the isle need lack husbands. The knight\n\nAnon into a little barge\nBrought was, late against an eve,\nWhere of all he took his leave.\nWhich barge was, as a man thought,\nAft* his pleasure to him brought;                         *according to*\nThe queen herself accustom'd ay\nIn the same barge to play.*                              *take her sport\nIt needed neither mast nor rother*                               *rudder\n(I have not heard of such another),\nNor master for the governance;*                                *steering\nIt sailed by thought and pleasance,\nWithoute labour, east and west;\nAll was one, calm or tempest. <6>\nAnd I went with, at his request,\nAnd was the first pray'd to the feast.*                *the bridal feast\nWhen he came unto his country,\nAnd passed had the wavy sea,\nIn a haven deep and large\nHe left his rich and noble barge,\nAnd to the court, shortly to tell,\nHe went, where he was wont to dwell, --\n\nAnd was gladly received as king by the estates of the land; for\nduring his absence his father, \"old, and wise, and hoar,\" had\ndied, commending to their fidelity his absent son. The prince\nrelated to the estates his journey, and his success in finding the\nprincess in quest of whom he had gone seven years before; and\nsaid that he must have sixty thousand guests at his marriage\nfeast. The lords gladly guaranteed the number within the set\ntime; but afterwards they found that fifteen days must be spent\nin the necessary preparations. Between shame and sorrow, the\nprince, thus compelled to break his faith, took to his bed, and,\nin wailing and self-reproach,\n\n-- Endur'd the days fifteen,\nTill that the lords, on an evene,*                              *evening\nHim came and told they ready were,\nAnd showed in few wordes there,\nHow and what wise they had *purvey'd                  *provided suitably\nFor his estate,* and to him said,                           to his rank*\nThat twenty thousand knights of name,\nAnd forty thousand without blame,\nAlle come of noble ligne*                                 *line, lineage\nTogether in a company\nWere lodged on a river's side,\nHim and his pleasure there t'abide.\nThe prince then for joy uprose,\nAnd, where they lodged were, he goes,\nWithoute more, that same night,\nAnd there his supper *made to dight;*                     *had prepared*\nAnd with them bode* till it was day.                     *abode, waited*\nAnd forthwith to take his journey,\nLeaving the strait, holding the large,\nTill he came to his noble barge:\nAnd when the prince, this lusty knight,\nWith his people in armes bright,\nWas come where he thought to pass,*                   *cross to the isle\nAnd knew well none abiding was\nBehind, but all were there present,\nForthwith anon all his intent\nHe told them there, and made his cries*                    *proclamation\nThorough his hoste that day twice,\nCommanding ev'ry living wight\nThere being present in his sight,\nTo be the morrow on the rivage,*                                  *shore\nThere he begin would his voyage.\n\nThe morrow come, the *cry was kept*            *proclamation was obeyed*\nBut few were there that night that slept,\nBut *truss'd and purvey'd* for the morrow;      *packed up and provided*\nFor fault* of ships was all their sorrow;                *lack, shortage\nFor, save the barge, and other two,\nOf shippes there I saw no mo'.\nThus in their doubtes as they stood,\nWaxing the sea, coming the flood,\nWas cried \"To ship go ev'ry wight!\"\nThen was but *hie that hie him might,*       *whoever could hasten, did*\nAnd to the barge, me thought, each one\nThey went, without was left not one,\nHorse, nor male*, truss, nor baggage,                     *trunk, wallet\nSalad*, spear, gardebrace,** nor page,        *helmet<7> **arm-shield<8>\nBut was lodged and room enough;\nAt which shipping me thought I lough,*                          *laughed\nAnd gan to marvel in my thought,\nHow ever such a ship was wrought.*                          *constructed\nFor *what people that can increase,*     *however the numbers increased*\nNor ne'er so thick might be the prease,*                   *press, crowd\nBut alle hadde room at will;\nThere was not one was lodged ill.\nFor, as I trow, myself the last\nWas one, and lodged by the mast;\nAnd where I look'd I saw such room\nAs all were lodged in a town.\nForth went the ship, said was the creed;<9>\nAnd on their knees, *for their good speed,*        *to pray for success*\nDown kneeled ev'ry wight a while,\nAnd prayed fast that to the isle\nThey mighte come in safety,\nThe prince and all the company.\nWith worship and withoute blame,\nOr disclander* of his name,                           *reproach, slander\nOf the promise he should return\nWithin the time he did sojourn\nIn his lande biding* his host;                              *waiting for\nThis was their prayer least and most:\nTo keep the day it might not be'n,\nThat he appointed with the queen.\n\nWherefore the prince slept neither day nor night, till he and his\npeople landed on the glass-walled isle, \"weening to be in heav'n\nthat night.\" But ere they had gone a little way, they met a lady\nall in black, with piteous countenance, who reproached the\nprince for his untruth, and informed him that, unable to bear the\nreproach to their name, caused by the lightness of their trust in\nstrangers, the queen and all the ladies of the isle had vowed\nneither to eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor speak, nor cease\nweeping till all were dead. The queen had died the first; and half\nof the other ladies had already \"under the earth ta'en lodging\nnew.\" The woeful recorder of all these woes invites the prince\nto behold the queen's hearse:\n\n\"Come within, come see her hearse\nWhere ye shall see the piteous sight\nThat ever yet was shown to knight;\nFor ye shall see ladies stand,\nEach with a greate rod in hand,\nClad in black, with visage white,\nReady each other for to smite,\nIf any be that will not weep;\nOr who makes countenance to sleep.\nThey be so beat, that all so blue\nThey be as cloth that dy'd is new.\"\n\nScarcely has the lady ceased to speak, when the prince plucks\nforth a dagger, plunges it into his heart, and, drawing but one\nbreath, expires.\n\nFor whiche cause the lusty host,\nWhich [stood] in battle on the coast,\nAt once for sorrow such a cry\nGan rear, thorough* the company,                             *throughout\nThat to the heav'n heard was the soun',\nAnd under th'earth as far adown,\nAnd wilde beastes for the fear\nSo suddenly affrayed* were,                                      *afraid\nThat for the doubt, while they might dure,*     *have a chance of safety\nThey ran as of their lives unsure,\nFrom the woodes into the plain,\nAnd from valleys the high mountain\nThey sought, and ran as beastes blind,\nThat clean forgotten had their kind.*                            *nature\n\nThe lords of the laggard host ask the woebegone lady what\nshould be done; she answers that nothing can now avail, but\nthat for remembrance they should build in their land, open to\npublic view, \"in some notable old city,\" a chapel engraved with\nsome memorial of the queen. And straightway, with a sigh, she\nalso \"pass'd her breath.\"\n\nThen said the lordes of the host,\nAnd so concluded least and most,\nThat they would ay in houses of thack*                           *thatch\nTheir lives lead, <10> and wear but black,\nAnd forsake all their pleasances,\nAnd turn all joy to penances;\nAnd bare the dead prince to the barge,\nAnd named *them should* have the charge;              *those who should*\nAnd to the hearse where lay the queen\nThe remnant went, and down on kneen,\nHolding their hands on high, gan cry,\n\"Mercy! mercy!\" *evereach thry;*                       *each one thrice*\nAnd curs'd the time that ever sloth\nShould have such masterdom of troth.\nAnd to the barge, a longe mile,\nThey bare her forth; and, in a while,\nAll the ladies, one and one,\nBy companies were brought each one.\nAnd pass'd the sea, and took the land,\nAnd in new hearses, on a sand,\nPut and brought were all anon,\nUnto a city clos'd with stone,\nWhere it had been used ay\nThe kinges of the land to lay,\nAfter they reigned in honours;\nAnd writ was which were conquerours;\nIn an abbey of nunnes black,\nWhich accustom'd were to wake,\nAnd of usage rise each a-night,\nTo pray for ev'ry living wight.\nAnd so befell, as is the guise,\nOrdain'd and said was the service\nOf the prince and eke of the queen,\nSo devoutly as mighte be'n;\nAnd, after that, about the hearses,\nMany orisons and verses,\nWithoute note* <11> full softely                                  *music\nSaid were, and that full heartily;\nThat all the night, till it was day,\nThe people in the church gan pray\nUnto the Holy Trinity,\nOf those soules to have pity.\n\nAnd when the nighte past and run\nWas, and the newe day begun, --\nThe young morrow with rayes red,\nWhich from the sun all o'er gan spread,\nAttemper'd* cleare was and fair,                          *clement, calm\nAnd made a time of wholesome air, --\nBefell a wondrous case* and strange                       *chance, event\nAmong the people, and gan change\nSoon the word, and ev'ry woe\nUnto a joy, and some to two.\n\nA bird, all feather'd blue and green,\nWith brighte rays like gold between,\nAs small thread over ev'ry joint,\nAll full of colour strange and coint,*                           *quaint\nUncouth* and wonderful to sight,                             *unfamiliar\nUpon the queene's hearse gan light,\nAnd sung full low and softely\nThree songes in their harmony,\n*Unletted of* every wight;                               *unhindered by*\nTill at the last an aged knight,\nWhich seem'd a man in greate thought,\nLike as he set all thing at nought,\nWith visage and eyes all forwept,*                     *steeped in tears\nAnd pale, as a man long unslept,\nBy the hearses as he stood,\nWith hasty handling of his hood\nUnto a prince that by him past,\nMade the bird somewhat aghast.*                              *frightened\nWherefore he rose and left his song,\nAnd departed from us among,\nAnd spread his winges for to pass\nBy the place where he enter'd was.\nAnd in his haste, shortly to tell,\nHim hurt, that backward down he fell,\nFrom a window richly paint,\nWith lives of many a divers saint,\nAnd beat his winges and bled fast,\nAnd of the hurt thus died and past;\nAnd lay there well an hour and more\nTill, at the last, of birds a score\nCame and assembled at the place\nWhere the window broken was,\nAnd made such waimentatioun,*                               *lamentation\nThat pity was to hear the soun',\nAnd the warbles of their throats,\nAnd the complaint of their notes,\nWhich from joy clean was reversed.\nAnd of them one the glass soon pierced,\nAnd in his beak, of colours nine,\nAn herb he brought, flow'rless, all green,\nFull of smalle leaves, and plain,*                               *smooth\nSwart,* and long, with many a vein.                               *black\nAnd where his fellow lay thus dead,\nThis herb he down laid by his head,\nAnd dressed* it full softely,                                  *arranged\nAnd hung his head, and stood thereby.\nWhich herb, in less than half an hour,\nGan over all knit,* and after flow'r                                *bud\nFull out; and waxed ripe the seed;\nAnd, right as one another feed\nWould, in his beak he took the grain,\nAnd in his fellow's beak certain\nIt put, and thus within the third*             *i.e. third hour after it\nUpstood and pruned him the bird,                                had died\nWhich dead had been in all our sight;\nAnd both together forth their flight\nTook, singing, from us, and their leave;\nWas none disturb them would nor grieve.\nAnd, when they parted were and gone,\nTh' abbess the seedes soon each one\nGathered had, and in her hand\nThe herb she took, well avisand*                       *considering <12>\nThe leaf, the seed, the stalk, the flow'r,\nAnd said it had a good savour,\nAnd was no common herb to find,\nAnd well approv'd of *uncouth kind,*                    *strange nature*\nAnd more than other virtuous;\nWhoso might it have for to use\nIn his need, flower, leaf, or grain,\nOf his heal might be certain.\n[She] laid it down upon the hearse\nWhere lay the queen; and gan rehearse\nEach one to other what they had seen.\nAnd, *taling thus,* the seed wax'd green,             *as they gossiped*\nAnd on the dry hearse gan to spring, --\nWhich me thought was a wondrous thing, --\nAnd, after that, flow'r and new seed;\nOf which the people all took heed,\nAnd said it was some great miracle,\nOr medicine fine more than treacle;  <12>\nAnd were well done there to assay\nIf it might ease, in any way,\nThe corpses, which with torchelight\nThey waked had there all that night.\nSoon did the lordes there consent,\nAnd all the people thereto content,\nWith easy words and little fare;*                          *ado, trouble\nAnd made the queene's visage bare,\nWhich showed was to all about,\nWherefore in swoon fell all the rout,*                   *company, crowd\nAnd were so sorry, most and least,\nThat long of weeping they not ceas'd;\nFor of their lord the remembrance\nUnto them was such displeasance.*                        *cause of grief\nThat for to live they called pain,\nSo were they very true and plain.\nAnd after this the good abbess\nOf the grains gan choose and dress*                             *prepare\nThree, with her fingers clean and smale,*                         *small\nAnd in the queenes mouth, by tale,\nOne after other, full easily\nShe put, and eke full cunningly.*                             *skilfully\nWhich showed some such virtue.\nThat proved was the medicine true.\nFor with a smiling countenance\nThe queen uprose, and of usance*                                 *custom\nAs she was wont, to ev'ry wight\nShe *made good cheer;* for whiche sight               *showed a gracious\nThe people, kneeling on the stones,                         countenance*\nThought they in heav'n were, soul and bones;\nAnd to the prince, where that he lay,\nThey went to make the same assay.*                    *trial, experiment\nAnd when the queen it understood,\nAnd how the medicine was good,\nShe pray'd that she might have the grains,\nTo relieve him from the pains\nWhich she and he had both endur'd.\nAnd to him went, and so him cur'd,\nThat, within a little space,\nLusty and fresh alive he was,\nAnd in good heal, and whole of speech,\nAnd laugh'd, and said, *\"Gramercy, leach!\"*              *\"Great thanks,\nFor which the joy throughout the town                    my physician!\"*\nSo great was, that the belles' soun'\nAffray'd the people a journey*                       *to the distance of\nAbout the city ev'ry way;                               a day's journey*\nAnd came and ask'd the cause, and why\nThey rungen were so stately.*                         *proudly, solemnly\nAnd after that the queen, th'abbess,\nMade diligence, <14> ere they would cease,\nSuch, that of ladies soon a rout*                        *company, crowd\nSuing* the queen was all about;                               *following\nAnd, call'd by name each one and told,*                        *numbered\nWas none forgotten, young nor old.\nThere mighte men see joyes new,\nWhen the medicine, fine and true,\nThus restor'd had ev'ry wight,\nSo well the queen as the knight,\nUnto perfect joy and heal,\nThat *floating they were in such weal*                 *swimming in such\nAs folk that woulden in no wise                               happiness*\nDesire more perfect paradise.\n\nOn the morrow a general assembly was convoked, and it was\nresolved that the wedding feast should be celebrated within the\nisland. Messengers were sent to strange realms, to invite kings,\nqueens, duchesses, and princesses; and a special embassy was\ndespatched, in the magic barge, to seek the poet's mistress --\nwho was brought back after fourteen days, to the great joy of\nthe queen. Next day took place the wedding of the prince and\nall the knights to the queen and all the ladies; and a three\nmonths' feast followed, on a large plain \"under a wood, in a\nchampaign, betwixt a river and a well, where never had abbey\nnor cell been, nor church, house, nor village, in time of any\nmanne's age.\" On the day after the general wedding, all\nentreated the poet's lady to consent to crown his love with\nmarriage; she yielded; the bridal was splendidly celebrated; and\nto the sound of marvellous music the poet awoke, to find\nneither lady nor creature -- but only old portraitures on the\ntapestry, of horsemen, hawks, and hounds, and hurt deer full of\nwounds. Great was his grief that he had lost all the bliss of his\ndream; and he concludes by praying his lady so to accept his\nlove-service, that the dream may turn to reality.\n\nOr elles, without more I pray,\nThat this night, ere it be day,\nI may unto my dream return,\nAnd sleeping so forth ay sojourn\nAboute the Isle of Pleasance,\n*Under my lady's obeisance,*                        *subject to my lady*\nIn her service, and in such wise,\nAs it may please her to devise;\nAnd grace once to be accept',\nLike as I dreamed when I slept,\nAnd dure a thousand year and ten\nIn her good will: Amen, amen!\n\n\nNotes to Chaucer's Dream\n\n\n1. The birds on the weathervanes were set up facing the wind,\nso that it entered their open mouths, and by some mechanism\nproduced the musical sound.\n\n2. \"And to you been of governance\n    Such as you found in whole pleasance\"\nThat is, \"and have governed you in a manner which you have\nfound wholly pleasant.\"\n\n3. Hext: highest; from \"high,\" as \"next\" from \"nigh.\" Compare\nthe sounds of the German, \"hoechst,\" highest, and \"naechst,\"\nnext.\n\n4. \"Your brother friend,\" is the common reading; but the phrase\nhas no apparent applicability; and perhaps the better reading is\n\"our bother friend\" -- that is, the lady who has proved herself a\nfriend both to me and to you. In the same way, Reason, in\nTroilus' soliloquy on the impending loss of his mistress, is made,\naddressing Troilus and Cressida, to speaks of \"your bother,\" or\n\"bothe,\" love.\n\n5. The ships had  high embattled poops and forecastles, as in\nmediaeval ships of war.\n\n6. Compare Spenser's account of Phaedria's barque, in \"The\nFaerie Queen,\" canto vi. book ii.; and, mutatis mutandis,\nChaucer's description of the wondrous horse, in The Squire's\nTale.\n\n7. Salad: a small helmet; french, \"salade.\"\n\n8. Gardebrace: French, \"garde-bras,\" an arm-shield; probably\nresembling the \"gay bracer\" which the Yeoman, in the Prologue\nto The Canterbury Tales, wears on his arm.\n\n9. Confession and prayer were the usual preliminaries of any\nenterprise in those superstitious days; and in these days of\nenlightenment the fashion yet lingers among the most\nsuperstitious class -- the fisher-folk.\n\n10. The knights resolved that they would quit their castles and\nhouses of stone for humble huts.\n\n11. The knight and lady were buried without music, although\nthe office for the dead was generally sung.\n\n12. Avisand: considering; present participle from \"avise\" or\n\"advise.\"\n\n13. Treacle; corrupted from Latin, \"therisca,\" an antidote. The\nword is used for medicine in general.\n\n14. The abbess made diligence: i.e. to administer the grain to\nthe dead ladies.\n\n\n\nTHE PROLOGUE TO THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN.\n\n\n[SOME difference of opinion exists as to the date at\nwhich Chaucer wrote \"The Legend of Good\nWomen.\" Those who would fix that date at a\nperiod not long before the poet's death -- who\nwould place the poem, indeed, among his closing\nlabours -- support their opinion by the fact that the\nPrologue recites most of Chaucer's principal\nworks, and glances, besides, at a long array of\nother productions, too many to be fully catalogued.\nBut, on the other hand, it is objected that the\n\"Legend\" makes no mention of \"The Canterbury\nTales\" as such; while two of those Tales -- the\nKnight's and the Second Nun's -- are enumerated\nby the titles which they bore as separate\ncompositions, before they were incorporated in the\ngreat collection: \"The Love of Palamon and\nArcite,\" and \"The Life of Saint Cecile\" (see note 1\nto the Second Nun's tale). Tyrwhitt seems perfectly\njustified in placing the composition of the poem\nimmediately before that of Chaucer's magnum\nopus, and after the marriage of Richard II to his\nfirst queen, Anne of Bohemia. That event took\nplace in 1382; and since it is to Anne that the poet\nrefers when he makes Alcestis bid him give his\npoem to the queen \"at Eltham or at Sheen,\" the\n\"Legend\" could not have been written earlier. The\nold editions tell us that \"several ladies in the Court\ntook offence at Chaucer's large speeches against\nthe untruth of women; therefore the queen enjoin'd\nhim to compile this book in the commendation of\nsundry maidens and wives, who show'd themselves\nfaithful to faithless men. This seems to have been\nwritten after The Flower and the Leaf.\" Evidently it\nwas, for distinct references to that poem are to be\nfound in the Prologue; but more interesting is the\nindication which it furnishes, that \"Troilus and\nCressida\" was the work, not of the poet's youth,\nbut of his maturer age. We could hardly expect the\nqueen -- whether of Love or of England -- to\ndemand seriously from Chaucer a retractation of\nsentiments which he had expressed a full\ngeneration before, and for which he had made\natonement by the splendid praises of true love sung\nin \"The Court of Love,\" \"The Cuckoo and the\nNightingale,\" and other poems of youth and middle\nlife. But \"Troilus and Cressida\" is coupled with\n\"The Romance of the Rose,\" as one of the poems\nwhich had given offence to the servants and the\nGod of Love; therefore we may suppose it to have\nmore prominently engaged courtly notice at a later\nperiod of the poet's life, than even its undoubted\npopularity could explain. At whatever date, or in\nwhatever circumstances, undertaken, \"The Legend\nof Good Women\" is a fragment. There are several\nsigns that it was designed to contain the stories of\ntwenty-five ladies, although the number of the\ngood women is in the poem itself set down at\nnineteen; but nine legends only were actually\ncomposed, or have come down to us. They are,\nthose of Cleopatra Queen of Egypt (126 lines),\nThisbe of Babylon (218), Dido Queen of Carthage\n(442), Hypsipyle and Medea (312), Lucrece of\nRome (206), Ariadne of Athens (340), Phiomela\n(167), Phyllis (168), and Hypermnestra (162).\nPrefixed to these stories, which are translated or\nimitated from Ovid, is a Prologue containing 579\nlines -- the only part of the \"Legend\" given in the\npresent edition. It is by far the most original, the\nstrongest, and most pleasing part of the poem; the\ndescription of spring, and of his enjoyment of that\nseason, are in Chaucer's best manner; and the\npolitical philosophy by which Alcestis mitigates the\nwrath of Cupid, adds another to the abounding\nproofs that, for his knowledge of the world,\nChaucer fairly merits the epithet of \"many-sided\"\nwhich Shakespeare has won by his knowledge of\nman.]\n\n\nA THOUSAND times I have hearde tell,\nThat there is joy in heav'n, and pain in hell;\nAnd I accord* it well that it is so;                       *grant, agree\nBut, natheless, yet wot* I well also,                              *know\nThat there is none dwelling in this country\nThat either hath in heav'n or hell y-be;*                          *been\nNor may of it no other wayes witten*                               *know\nBut as he hath heard said, or found it written;\nFor by assay* there may no man it preve.**              *practical trial\n                                                           **prove, test\nBut God forbid but that men should believe\nWell more thing than men have seen with eye!\nMen shall not weenen ev'ry thing a lie\n*But if* himself it seeth, or else do'th;                        *unless\nFor, God wot, thing is never the less sooth,*                      *true\nThough ev'ry wighte may it not y-see.\nBernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie! <1>\nThen muste we to bookes that we find\n(Through which that olde thinges be in mind),\nAnd to the doctrine of these olde wise,\nGive credence, in ev'ry skilful* wise,                       *reasonable\nThat tellen of these old approved stories,\nOf holiness, of regnes,* of victories,                 *reigns, kingdoms\nOf love, of hate, and other sundry things\nOf which I may not make rehearsings;\nAnd if that olde bookes were away,\nY-lorn were of all remembrance the key.\nWell ought we, then, to honour and believe\nThese bookes, where we have none other preve.*                    *proof\n\nAnd as for me, though that I know but lite,*                     *little\nOn bookes for to read I me delight,\nAnd to them give I faith and good credence,\nAnd in my heart have them in reverence,\nSo heartily, that there is *game none* <2>                *no amusement*\nThat from my bookes maketh me to go'n,\nBut it be seldom on the holyday;\nSave, certainly, when that the month of May\nIs comen, and I hear the fowles sing,\nAnd that the flowers ginnen for to spring,\nFarewell my book and my devotion!\n\nNow have I then such a condition,\nThat, above all the flowers in the mead,\nThen love I most these flowers white and red,\nSuch that men calle Day's-eyes in our town;\nTo them have I so great affectioun,\nAs I said erst, when comen is the May,\nThat in my bed there dawneth me no day\nThat I n'am* up, and walking in the mead,                        *am not\nTo see this flow'r against the sunne spread,\nWhen it upriseth early by the morrow;\nThat blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow,\nSo glad am I, when that I have presence\nOf it, to do it alle reverence,\nAs she that is of alle flowers flow'r,\nFulfilled of all virtue and honour,\nAnd ever alike fair, and fresh of hue;\nAs well in winter, as in summer new,\nThis love I ever, and shall until I die;\nAll* swear I not, of this I will not lie,                      *although\nThere loved no wight hotter in his life.\nAnd when that it is eve, I runne blife,*               *quickly, eagerly\nAs soon as ever the sun begins to west,*               *decline westward\nTo see this flow'r, how it will go to rest,\nFor fear of night, so hateth she darkness!\nHer cheer* is plainly spread in the brightness              *countenance\nOf the sunne, for there it will unclose.\nAlas! that I had English, rhyme or prose,\nSufficient this flow'r to praise aright!\nBut help me, ye that have *cunning or might;*           *skill or power*\nYe lovers, that can make of sentiment,\nIn this case ought ye to be diligent\nTo further me somewhat in my labour,\nWhether ye be with the Leaf or the Flow'r; <3>\nFor well I wot, that ye have herebefore\nOf making ropen,* and led away the corn; <4>                     *reaped\nAnd I come after, gleaning here and there,\nAnd am full glad if I may find an ear\nOf any goodly word that you have left.\nAnd though it hap me to rehearsen eft*                            *again\nWhat ye have in your freshe songes said,\nForbeare me, and be not *evil apaid,*                       *displeased*\nSince that ye see I do it in th'honour\nOf love, and eke in service of the flow'r\nWhom that I serve as I have wit or might. <5>\nShe is the clearness, and the very* light,                         *true\nThat in this darke world me winds* and leads;             *turns, guides\nThe heart within my sorrowful breast you dreads,\nAnd loves so sore, that ye be, verily,\nThe mistress of my wit, and nothing I.\nMy word, my works, are knit so in your bond,\nThat, as a harp obeyeth to the hand,\nThat makes it sound after his fingering,\nRight so may ye out of my hearte bring\nSuch voice, right as you list, to laugh or plain;*      *complain, mourn\nBe ye my guide, and lady sovereign.\nAs to mine earthly god, to you I call,\nBoth in this work, and in my sorrows all.\n\nBut wherefore that I spake to give credence\nTo old stories, and do them reverence,\nAnd that men muste more things believe\nThan they may see at eye, or elles preve,*                        *prove\nThat shall I say, when that I see my time;\nI may not all at ones speak in rhyme.\nMy busy ghost,* that thirsteth always new                        *spirit\nTo see this flow'r so young, so fresh of hue,\nConstrained me with so greedy desire,\nThat in my heart I feele yet the fire,\nThat made me to rise ere it were day, --\nAnd this was now the first morrow of May, --\nWith dreadful heart, and glad devotion,\nFor to be at the resurrection\nOf this flower, when that it should unclose\nAgainst the sun, that rose as red as rose,\nThat in the breast was of the beast* that day      *the sign of the Bull\nThat Agenore's daughter led away. <6>\nAnd down on knees anon right I me set,\nAnd as I could this freshe flow'r I gret,*                      *greeted\nKneeling alway, till it unclosed was,\nUpon the smalle, softe, sweete grass,\nThat was with flowers sweet embroider'd all,\nOf such sweetness and such odour *o'er all,*                *everywhere*\nThat, for to speak of gum, or herb, or tree,\nComparison may none y-maked be;\nFor it surmounteth plainly all odours,\nAnd for rich beauty the most gay of flow'rs.\nForgotten had the earth his poor estate\nOf winter, that him naked made and mate,*            *dejected, lifeless\nAnd with his sword of cold so sore grieved;\nNow hath th'attemper* sun all that releaved**     *temperate **furnished\nThat naked was, and clad it new again.                  anew with leaves\nThe smalle fowles, of the season fain,*                            *glad\nThat of the panter* and the net be scap'd,                     *draw-net\nUpon the fowler, that them made awhap'd*          *terrified, confounded\nIn winter, and destroyed had their brood,\nIn his despite them thought it did them good\nTo sing of him, and in their song despise\nThe foule churl, that, for his covetise,*                         *greed\nHad them betrayed with his sophistry*                        *deceptions\nThis was their song: \"The fowler we defy,\nAnd all his craft:\" and some sunge clear\nLayes of love, that joy it was to hear,\nIn worshipping* and praising of their make;**          *honouring **mate\nAnd for the blissful newe summer's sake,\nUpon the branches full of blossoms soft,\nIn their delight they turned them full oft,\nAnd sunge, \"Blessed be Saint Valentine! <7>\nFor on his day I chose you to be mine,\nWithoute repenting, my hearte sweet.\"\nAnd therewithal their heals began to meet,\nYielding honour, and humble obeisances,\nTo love, and did their other observances\nThat longen unto Love and to Nature;\nConstrue that as you list, I *do no cure.*                *care nothing*\nAnd those that hadde *done unkindeness,*              *committed offence\nAs doth the tidife, <8> for newfangleness,         against natural laws*\nBesoughte mercy for their trespassing\nAnd humblely sange their repenting,\nAnd swore upon the blossoms to be true;\nSo that their mates would upon them rue,*                     *take pity\nAnd at the laste made their accord.*                     *reconciliation\nAll* found they Danger** for a time a lord,          *although **disdain\nYet Pity, through her stronge gentle might,\nForgave, and made mercy pass aright\nThrough Innocence, and ruled Courtesy.\nBut I ne call not innocence folly\nNor false pity, for virtue is the mean,\nAs Ethic <9> saith, in such manner I mean.\nAnd thus these fowles, void of all malice,\nAccorded unto Love, and lefte vice\nOf hate, and sangen all of one accord,\n\"Welcome, Summer, our governor and lord!\"\nAnd Zephyrus and Flora gentilly\nGave to the flowers, soft and tenderly,\nTheir sweete breath, and made them for to spread,\nAs god and goddess of the flow'ry mead;\nIn which me thought I mighte, day by day,\nDwellen alway, the jolly month of May,\nWithoute sleep, withoute meat or drink.\nAdown full softly I began to sink,\nAnd, leaning on mine elbow and my side\nThe longe day I shope* to abide,                     *resolved, prepared\nFor nothing elles, and I shall not lie\nBut for to look upon the daisy;\nThat men by reason well it calle may\nThe Daye's-eye, or else the Eye of Day,\nThe empress and the flow'r of flowers all\nI pray to God that faire may she fall!\nAnd all that love flowers, for her sake:\nBut, nathelesse, *ween not that I make*             *do not fancy that I\nIn praising of the Flow'r against the Leaf,             write this poem*\nNo more than of the corn against the sheaf;\nFor as to me is lever none nor lother,\nI n'am withholden yet with neither n'other.<10>\n*Nor I n'ot* who serves Leaf, nor who the Flow'r;        *nor do I know*\nWell *brooke they* their service or labour!         *may they profit by*\nFor this thing is all of another tun, <11>\nOf old story, ere such thing was begun.\n\nWhen that the sun out of the south gan west,\nAnd that this flow'r gan close, and go to rest,\nFor darkness of the night, the which she dread;*                *dreaded\nHome to my house full swiftly I me sped,\nTo go to rest, and early for to rise,\nTo see this flower spread, as I devise.*                       *describe\nAnd in a little arbour that I have,\nThat benched was of turfes fresh y-grave,* <12>                 *cut out\nI bade men shoulde me my couche make;\nFor dainty* of the newe summer's sake,                         *pleasure\nI bade them strowe flowers on my bed.\nWhen I was laid, and had mine eyen hid,\nI fell asleep; within an hour or two,\nMe mette* how I lay in the meadow tho,**                 *dreamed **then\nTo see this flow'r that I love so and dread.\nAnd from afar came walking in the mead\nThe God of Love, and in his hand a queen;\nAnd she was clad in royal habit green;\nA fret* of gold she hadde next her hair,                           *band\nAnd upon that a white corown she bare,\nWith flowrons* small, and, as I shall not lie,             *florets <13>\nFor all the world right as a daisy\nY-crowned is, with white leaves lite,*                            *small\nSo were the flowrons of her crowne white.\nFor of one pearle, fine, oriential,\nHer white crowne was y-maked all,\nFor which the white crown above the green\nMade her like a daisy for to see'n,*                          *look upon\nConsider'd eke her fret of gold above.\nY-clothed was this mighty God of Love\nIn silk embroider'd, full of greene greves,*                     *boughs\nIn which there was a fret of red rose leaves,\nThe freshest since the world was first begun.\nHis gilt hair was y-crowned with a sun,\nlnstead of gold, for* heaviness and weight;                    *to avoid\nTherewith me thought his face shone so bright,\nThat well unnethes might I him behold;\nAnd in his hand me thought I saw him hold\nTwo fiery dartes, as the gledes* red;                     *glowing coals\nAnd angel-like his winges saw I spread.\nAnd *all be* that men say that blind is he,                   *although*\nAlgate* me thoughte that he might well see;               *at all events\nFor sternly upon me he gan behold,\nSo that his looking *did my hearte cold.*                 *made my heart\nAnd by the hand he held this noble queen,                     grow cold*\nCrowned with white, and clothed all in green,\nSo womanly, so benign, and so meek,\nThat in this worlde, though that men would seek.\nHalf of her beauty shoulde they not find\nIn creature that formed is by Kind;*                             *Nature\nAnd therefore may I say, as thinketh me,\nThis song in praising of this lady free:\n\n\"Hide, Absolon, thy gilte* tresses clear;                        *golden\nEsther, lay thou thy meekness all adown;\nHide, Jonathan, all thy friendly mannere,\nPenelope, and Marcia Catoun,<14>\nMake of your wifehood no comparisoun;\nHide ye your beauties, Isoude <15> and Helene;\nMy lady comes, that all this may distain.*               *outdo, obscure\n\n\"Thy faire body let it not appear,\nLavine; <16> and thou, Lucrece of Rome town;\nAnd Polyxene, <17> that boughte love so dear,\nAnd Cleopatra, with all thy passioun,\nHide ye your truth of love, and your renown;\nAnd thou, Thisbe, that hadst of love such pain\nMy lady comes, that all this may distain.\n\n\"Hero, Dido, Laodamia, y-fere,*                                *together\nAnd Phyllis, hanging for Demophoon,\nAnd Canace, espied by thy cheer,\nHypsipyle, betrayed by Jasoun,\nMake of your truthe neither boast nor soun';\nNor Hypermnestr' nor Ariadne, ye twain;\nMy lady comes, that all this may distain.\"\n\nThis ballad may full well y-sungen be,\nAs I have said erst, by my lady free;\nFor, certainly, all these may not suffice\n*T'appaire with* my lady in no wise;                  *surpass in beauty\nFor, as the sunne will the fire distain,                      or honour*\nSo passeth all my lady sovereign,\nThat is so good, so fair, so debonair,\nI pray to God that ever fall her fair!\nFor *n'hadde comfort been* of her presence,               *had I not the\nI had been dead, without any defence,                        comfort of*\nFor dread of Love's wordes, and his cheer;\nAs, when time is, hereafter ye shall hear.\nBehind this God of Love, upon the green,\nI saw coming of Ladies nineteen,\nIn royal habit, a full easy pace;\nAnd after them of women such a trace,*                            *train\nThat, since that God Adam had made of earth,\nThe thirde part of mankind, or the ferth,*                       *fourth\n*Ne ween'd I not* by possibility,                      *I never fancied*\nHad ever in this wide world y-be;*                                 *been\nAnd true of love these women were each one.\nNow whether was that a wonder thing, or non,*                       *not\nThat, right anon as that they gan espy\nThis flow'r, which that I call the daisy,\nFull suddenly they stenten* all at once,                        *stopped\nAnd kneeled down, as it were for the nonce,\nAnd sange with one voice, \"Heal and honour\nTo truth of womanhead, and to this flow'r,\n*That bears our aller prize in figuring;*      *that in its figure bears\nHer white crowne bears the witnessing!\"           the prize from us all*\nAnd with that word, *a-compass enviroun*          *all around in a ring*\nThey sette them full softely adown.\nFirst sat the God of Love, and since* his queen,             *afterwards\nWith the white corowne, clad in green;\nAnd sithen* all the remnant by and by,                             *then\nAs they were of estate, full courteously;\nAnd not a word was spoken in the place,\nThe mountance* of a furlong way of space.                   *extent <18>\n\nI, kneeling by this flow'r, in good intent\nAbode, to knowe what this people meant,\nAs still as any stone, till, at the last,\nThe God of Love on me his eyen cast,\nAnd said, \"Who kneeleth there? \"and I answer'd\nUnto his asking, when that I it heard,\nAnd said, \"It am I,\" and came to him near,\nAnd salued* him. Quoth he, \"What dost thou here,                *saluted\nSo nigh mine owen flow'r, so boldely?\nIt were better worthy, truely,\nA worm to nighe* near my flow'r than thou.\"         *approach, draw nigh\n\"And why, Sir,\" quoth I, \"an' it liketh you?\"\n\"For thou,\" quoth he, \"art thereto nothing able,\nIt is my relic,* dign** and delectable,            *emblem <19> **worthy\nAnd thou my foe, and all my folk warrayest,*       *molestest, censurest\nAnd of mine olde servants thou missayest,\nAnd hind'rest them, with thy translation,\nAnd lettest* folk from their devotion                        *preventest\nTo serve me, and holdest it folly\nTo serve Love; thou may'st it not deny;\nFor in plain text, withoute need of glose,*              *comment, gloss\nThu hast translated the Romance of the Rose,\nThat is a heresy against my law,\nAnd maketh wise folk from me withdraw;\nAnd of Cresside thou hast said as thee list,\nThat maketh men to women less to trust,\nThat be as true as e'er was any steel.\nOf thine answer *advise thee right weel;*          *consider right well*\nFor though that thou *renied hast my lay,*               *abjured my law\nAs other wretches have done many a day,                     or religion*\nBy Sainte Venus, that my mother is,\nIf that thou live, thou shalt repente this,\nSo cruelly, that it shall well be seen.\"\n\nThen spake this Lady, clothed all in green,\nAnd saide, \"God, right of your courtesy,\nYe mighte hearken if he can reply\nAgainst all this, that ye have *to him meved;*    *advanced against him*\nA godde shoulde not be thus aggrieved,\nBut of his deity he shall be stable,\nAnd thereto gracious and merciable.*                           *merciful\nAnd if ye n'ere* a god, that knoweth all,                      *were not\nThen might it be, as I you telle shall,\nThis man to you may falsely be accused,\nWhereas by right him ought to be excused;\nFor in your court is many a losengeour,*                  *deceiver <20>\nAnd many a *quaint toteler accusour,*     *strange prating accuser <21>*\nThat tabour* in your eares many a soun',                           *drum\nRight after their imaginatioun,\nTo have your dalliance,* and for envy;           *pleasant conversation,\nThese be the causes, and I shall not lie,                        company\nEnvy is lavender* of the Court alway,                         *laundress\nFor she departeth neither night nor day <22>\nOut of the house of Caesar, thus saith Dant';\nWhoso that go'th, algate* she shall not want.             *at all events\nAnd eke, parauntre,* for this man is nice,**     *peradventure **foolish\nHe mighte do it guessing* no malice;                           *thinking\nFor he useth thinges for to make;*                       *compose poetry\nHim *recketh naught of * what mattere he take;       *cares nothing for*\nOr he was bidden *make thilke tway*                  *compose those two*\nOf* some person, and durst it not withsay;*           *by **refuse, deny\nOr him repenteth utterly of this.\nHe hath not done so grievously amiss,\nTo translate what olde clerkes write,\nAs though that he of malice would endite,*                   *write down\n*Despite of* Love, and had himself it wrought.            *contempt for*\nThis should a righteous lord have in his thought,\nAnd not be like tyrants of Lombardy,\nThat have no regard but at tyranny.\nFor he that king or lord is naturel,\nHim oughte not be tyrant or cruel, <23>\nAs is a farmer, <24> to do the harm he can;\nHe muste think, it is his liegeman,\nAnd is his treasure, and his gold in coffer;\nThis is the sentence* of the philosopher:            *opinion, sentiment\nA king to keep his lieges in justice,\nWithoute doubte that is his office.\nAll* will he keep his lords in their degree, --                *although\nAs it is right and skilful* that they be,                    *reasonable\nEnhanced and honoured, and most dear,\nFor they be halfe* in this world here, --                      *demigods\nYet must he do both right to poor and rich,\nAll be that their estate be not y-lich;*                          *alike\nAnd have of poore folk compassion.\nFor lo! the gentle kind of the lion;\nFor when a fly offendeth him, or biteth,\nHe with his tail away the flye smiteth,\nAll easily; for of his gentery*                               *nobleness\nHim deigneth not to wreak him on a fly,\nAs doth a cur, or else another beast.\n*In noble corage ought to be arrest,*           *in a noble nature ought\nAnd weighen ev'rything by equity,                  to be self-restraint*\nAnd ever have regard to his degree.\nFor, Sir, it is no mastery for a lord\nTo damn* a man, without answer of word;                         *condemn\nAnd for a lord, that is *full foul to use.*     *most infamous practice*\nAnd it be so he* may him not excuse,                       *the offender\nBut asketh mercy with a dreadful* heart,                 *fearing, timid\nAnd proffereth him, right in his bare shirt,\nTo be right at your owen judgement,\nThen ought a god, by short advisement,*                    *deliberation\nConsider his own honour, and his trespass;\nFor since no pow'r of death lies in this case,\nYou ought to be the lighter merciable;\nLette* your ire, and be somewhat tractable!                    *restrain\nThis man hath served you of his cunning,*                *ability, skill\nAnd further'd well your law in his making.*            *composing poetry\nAlbeit that he cannot well endite,\nYet hath he made lewed* folk delight                           *ignorant\nTo serve you, in praising of your name.\nHe made the book that hight the House of Fame,\nAnd eke the Death of Blanche the Duchess,\nAnd the Parliament of Fowles, as I guess,\nAnd all the Love of Palamon and Arcite, <25>\nOf Thebes, though the story is known lite;*                      *little\nAnd many a hymne for your holydays,\nThat highte ballads, roundels, virelays.\nAnd, for to speak of other holiness,\nHe hath in prose translated Boece, <26>\nAnd made the Life also of Saint Cecile;\nHe made also, gone is a greate while,\nOrigenes upon the Magdalene. <27>\nHim oughte now to have the lesse pain;*                         *penalty\nHe hath made many a lay, and many a thing.\nNow as ye be a god, and eke a king,\nI your Alcestis, <28> whilom queen of Thrace,\nI aske you this man, right of your grace,\nThat ye him never hurt in all his life;\nAnd he shall sweare to you, and that blife,*                    *quickly\nHe shall no more aguilten* in this wise,                         *offend\nBut shall maken, as ye will him devise,\nOf women true in loving all their life,\nWhereso ye will, of maiden or of wife,\nAnd further you as much as he missaid\nOr* in the Rose, or elles in Cresseide.\"                         *either\n\nThe God of Love answered her anon:\n\"Madame,\" quoth he, \"it is so long agone\nThat I you knew, so charitable and true,\nThat never yet, since that the world was new,\nTo me ne found I better none than ye;\nIf that I woulde save my degree,\nI may nor will not warne* your request;                          *refuse\nAll lies in you, do with him as you lest.\nI all forgive withoute longer space;*                             *delay\nFor he who gives a gift, or doth a grace,\nDo it betimes, his thank is well the more; <29>\nAnd deeme* ye what he shall do therefor.                        *adjudge\nGo thanke now my Lady here,\" quoth he.\nI rose, and down I set me on my knee,\nAnd saide thus; \"Madame, the God above\nForyielde* you that ye the God of Love                           *reward\nHave made me his wrathe to forgive;\nAnd grace* so longe for to live,                          *give me grace\nThat I may knowe soothly what ye be,\nThat have me help'd, and put in this degree!\nBut truely I ween'd, as in this case,\nNaught t' have aguilt,* nor done to Love trespass;**           *offended\nFor why? a true man, withoute dread,                           **offence\nHath not *to parte with* a thieve's deed.                 *any share in*\nNor a true lover oughte me to blame,\nThough that I spoke a false lover some shame.\nThey oughte rather with me for to hold,\nFor that I of Cressida wrote or told,\nOr of the Rose, *what so mine author meant;*   *made a true translation*\nAlgate, God wot, it was mine intent                         *by all ways\nTo further truth in love, and it cherice,*                      *cherish\nAnd to beware from falseness and from vice,\nBy such example; this was my meaning.\"\n\nAnd she answer'd; \"Let be thine arguing,\nFor Love will not counterpleaded be <30>\nIn right nor wrong, and learne that of me;\nThou hast thy grace, and hold thee right thereto.\nNow will I say what penance thou shalt do\nFor thy trespass;* and understand it here:                      *offence\nThou shalt, while that thou livest, year by year,\nThe moste partie of thy time spend\nIn making of a glorious Legend\nOf Goode Women, maidenes and wives,\nThat were true in loving all their lives;\nAnd tell of false men that them betray,\nThat all their life do naught but assay\nHow many women they may do a shame;\nFor in your world that is now *held a game.*        *considered a sport*\nAnd though thou like not a lover be, <31>\nSpeak well of love; this penance give I thee.\nAnd to the God of Love I shall so pray,\nThat he shall charge his servants, by any way,\nTo further thee, and well thy labour quite:*                    *requite\nGo now thy way, thy penance is but lite.\nAnd, when this book ye make, give it the queen\nOn my behalf, at Eltham, or at Sheen.\"\n\nThe God of Love gan smile, and then he said:\n\"Know'st thou,\" quoth he, \"whether this be wife or maid,\nOr queen, or countess, or of what degree,\nThat hath so little penance given thee,\nThat hath deserved sorely for to smart?\nBut pity runneth soon in gentle* heart; <32>                 *nobly born\nThat may'st thou see, she kitheth* what she is.                 *showeth\nAnd I answer'd: \"Nay, Sir, so have I bliss,\nNo more but that I see well she is good.\"\n\"That is a true tale, by my hood,\"\nQuoth Love; \"and that thou knowest well, pardie!\nIf it be so that thou advise* thee.                             *bethink\nHast thou not in a book, li'th* in thy chest,               *(that) lies\nThe greate goodness of the queen Alceste,\nThat turned was into a daisy\nShe that for her husbande chose to die,\nAnd eke to go to hell rather than he;\nAnd Hercules rescued her, pardie!\nAnd brought her out of hell again to bliss?\"\nAnd I answer'd again, and saide; \"Yes,\nNow know I her; and is this good Alceste,\nThe daisy, and mine own hearte's rest?\nNow feel I well the goodness of this wife,\nThat both after her death, and in her life,\nHer greate bounty* doubleth her renown.                          *virtue\nWell hath she quit* me mine affectioun                      *recompensed\nThat I have to her flow'r the daisy;\nNo wonder is though Jove her stellify, <33>\nAs telleth Agathon, <34> for her goodness;\nHer white crowne bears of it witness;\nFor all so many virtues hadde she\nAs smalle flowrons in her crowne be.\nIn remembrance of her, and in honour,\nCybele made the daisy, and the flow'r,\nY-crowned all with white, as men may see,\nAnd Mars gave her a crowne red, pardie!\nInstead of rubies set among the white.\"\n\nTherewith this queen wax'd red for shame a lite\nWhen she was praised so in her presence.\nThen saide Love: \"A full great negligence\nWas it to thee, that ilke* time thou made                     *that same\n'Hide Absolon thy tresses,' in ballade,\nThat thou forgot her in thy song to set,\nSince that thou art so greatly in her debt,\nAnd knowest well that calendar* is she                   *guide, example\nTo any woman that will lover be:\nFor she taught all the craft of true loving,\nAnd namely* of wifehood the living,                          *especially\nAnd all the boundes that she ought to keep:\nThy little wit was thilke* time asleep.                            *that\nBut now I charge thee, upon thy life,\nThat in thy Legend thou make* of this wife,            *poetise, compose\nWhen thou hast other small y-made before;\nAnd fare now well, I charge thee no more.\nBut ere I go, thus much I will thee tell, --\nNever shall no true lover come in hell.\nThese other ladies, sitting here a-row,\nBe in my ballad, if thou canst them know,\nAnd in thy bookes all thou shalt them find;\nHave them in thy Legend now all in mind;\nI mean of them that be in thy knowing.\nFor here be twenty thousand more sitting\nThan that thou knowest, goode women all,\nAnd true of love, for aught that may befall;\nMake the metres of them as thee lest;\nI must go home, -- the sunne draweth west, --\nTo Paradise, with all this company:\nAnd serve alway the freshe daisy.\nAt Cleopatra I will that thou begin,\nAnd so forth, and my love so shalt thou win;\nFor let see now what man, that lover be,\nWill do so strong a pain for love as she.\nI wot well that thou may'st not all it rhyme,\nThat suche lovers didden in their time;\nIt were too long to readen and to hear;\nSuffice me thou make in this mannere,\nThat thou rehearse of all their life the great,*              *substance\nAfter* these old authors list for to treat;                *according as\nFor whoso shall so many a story tell,\nSay shortly, or he shall too longe dwell.\"\n\nAnd with that word my bookes gan I take,\nAnd right thus on my Legend gan I make.\n\nThus endeth the Prologue.\n\n\nNotes to The prologue to The Legend of Good Women\n\n\n1. Bernard, the Monke, saw not all, pardie!: a proverbial saying,\nsignifying that even the wisest, or those who claim to be the\nwisest, cannot know everything. Saint Bernard, who was the\nlast, or among the last, of the Fathers, lived in the first half of\nthe twelfth century.\n\n2. Compare Chaucer's account of his habits, in \"The House of\nFame.\"\n\n3. See introductory note to \"The Flower and the Leaf.\"\n\n4.                  \"ye have herebefore\nOf making ropen, and led away the corn\"\nThe meaning is, that the \"lovers\" have long ago said all that can\nbe said, by way of poetry, or \"making\" on the subject. See note\n89 to \"Troilus and Cressida\" for the etymology of \"making\"\nmeaning \"writing poetry.\"\n\n5. The poet glides here into an address to his lady.\n\n6. Europa was the daughter of Agenores, king of Phrygia. She\nwas carried away to Crete by Jupiter, disguised as a lovely and\ntame bull, on whose back Europa mounted as she was sporting\nwith her maidens by the sea-shore. The story is beautifully told\nin Horace, Odes, iii. 27.\n\n7. See \"The Assembly of Fowls,\" which was supposed to\nhappen on St. Valentine's day.\n\n8. The tidife:  The titmouse, or any other small bird, which\nsometimes brings up the cuckoo's young when its own have\nbeen destroyed. See note 44 to \"The Assembly of Fowls.\"\n\n9. Ethic: the \"Ethics\" of Aristotle.\n\n10. \"For as to me is lever none nor lother,\n    I n'am withholden yet with neither n'other.\"\ni.e For as neither is more liked or disliked by me, I am not\nbound by, holden to, either the one or the other.\n\n11. All of another tun i.e. wine of another tun -- a quite\ndifferent matter.\n\n12. Compare the description of the arbour in \"The Flower and\nthe Leaf.\"\n\n13. Flowrons: florets; little flowers on the disk of the main\nflower; French \"fleuron.\"\n\n14. Mr Bell thinks that Chaucer here praises the complaisance\nof Marcia, the wife of Cato, in complying with his will when he\nmade her over to his friend Hortensius. It would be in better\nkeeping with the spirit of the poet's praise, to believe that we\nshould read \"Porcia Catoun\" -- Porcia the daughter of Cato,\nwho was married to Brutus, and whose perfect wifehood has\nbeen celebrated in The Franklin's Tale. See note 25 to the\nFranklin's Tale.\n\n15. Isoude: See note 21 to \"The Assembly of Fowls\".\n\n16. Lavine: Lavinia, the heroine of the Aeneid, who became the\nwife of Aeneas.\n\n17. Polyxena, daughter of Priam, king of Troy, fell in\nlove with Achilles, and, when he was killed, she fled to the\nGreek camp, and slew herself on the tomb of her hero-lover.\n\n18. Mountance: extent, duration. See note 84 to \"The House of\nFame\".\n\n19. Relic: emblem; or cherished treasure; like the relics at\nthe shrines of saints.\n\n20. Losengeour: deceiver. See note 31 to the Nun's Priest's\nTale.\n\n21. \"Toteler\" is an old form of the word \"tatler,\" from the\nAnglo-Saxon, \"totaelan,\" to talk much, to tattle.\n\n22. Envy is lavender of the court alway: a \"lavender\"  is a\nwasherwoman or laundress; the word represents \"meretrice\"in\nDante's original -- meaning a courtezan; but we can well\nunderstand that Chaucer thought it prudent, and at the same\ntime more true to the moral state of the English Court, to\nchange the character assigned to Envy. He means that Envy is\nperpetually at Court, like some garrulous, bitter old woman\nemployed there in the most servile offices, who remains at her\npost through all the changes among the courtiers. The passage\ncited from Dante will be found in the \"Inferno,\" canto xiii. 64 --\n69.\n\n23. Chaucer says that the usurping lords who seized on the\ngovernment of the free Lombard cities, had no regard for any\nrule of government save sheer tyranny  -- but a natural lord, and\nno usurper, ought not to be a tyrant.\n\n24. Farmer: one who merely farms power or revenue for his\nown purposes and his own gain.\n\n25. This was the first version of the Knight's tale. See the\nintroductory note, above\n\n26. Boece: Boethius' \"De Consolatione Philosophiae;\" to which\nfrequent reference is made in The Canterbury Tales. See, for\ninstances, note 91 to the Knight's Tale; and note 34 to the\nSquire's Tale.\n\n27. A poem entitled \"The Lamentation of Mary Magdalene,\"\nsaid to have been \"taken out of St Origen,\" is included in the\neditions of Chaucer; but its authenticity, and consequently its\nidentity with the poem here mentioned, are doubted.\n\n28. For the story of Alcestis, see note 11 to \"The Court of\nLove.\"\n\n29. \"For he who gives a gift, or doth a grace,\n     Do it betimes, his thank is well the more\"\nA paraphrase of the well-known proverb, \"Bis dat qui cito dat.\"\n(\"He gives twice who gives promptly\")\n\n30. The same prohibition occurs in the Fifteenth Statute of \"The\nCourt of Love.\"\n\n31. Chaucer is always careful to allege his abstinence from the\npursuits of gallantry; he does so prominently in \"The Court of\nLove,\" \"The Assembly of Fowls,\" and \"The House of Fame.\"\n\n32. Pity runneth soon in gentle heart: the same is said of\nTheseus, in The Knight's Tale, and of Canace, by the falcon, in\nThe Squire's Tale.\n\n33. Stellify: assign to a place among the stars; as Jupiter did to\nAndromeda and Cassiopeia.\n\n34. Agathon: there was an Athenian dramatist of this name,\nwho might have made the virtues and fortunes of Alcestis his\ntheme; but the reference is too vague for the author to be\nidentified with any confidence.\n\n\n\n                       CHAUCER'S A. B. C. <1>\n                             CALLED\n                  LA PRIERE DE NOSTRE DAME <2>\n\n\n                               A.\n\nALMIGHTY and all-merciable* Queen,                         *all-merciful\nTo whom all this world fleeth for succour,\nTo have release of sin, of sorrow, of teen!*                 *affliction\nGlorious Virgin! of all flowers flow'r,\nTo thee I flee, confounded in errour!\nHelp and relieve, almighty debonair,*                  *gracious, gentle\nHave mercy of my perilous languour!\nVanquish'd me hath my cruel adversair.\n\n                               B.\n\nBounty* so fix'd hath in thy heart his tent,          *goodness, charity\nThat well I wot thou wilt my succour be;\nThou canst not *warne that* with good intent             *refuse he who*\nAsketh thy help, thy heart is ay so free!\nThou art largess* of plein** felicity,          *liberal bestower **full\nHaven and refuge of quiet and rest!\nLo! how that thieves seven <3> chase me!\nHelp, Lady bright, ere that my ship to-brest!*      *be broken to pieces\n\n                               C.\n\nComfort is none, but in you, Lady dear!\nFor lo! my sin and my confusion,\nWhich ought not in thy presence to appear,\nHave ta'en on me a grievous action,*                            *control\nOf very right and desperation!\nAnd, as by right, they mighte well sustene\nThat I were worthy my damnation,\nNe were it mercy of you, blissful Queen!\n\n                               D.\n\nDoubt is there none, Queen of misericorde,*                  *compassion\nThat thou art cause of grace and mercy here;\nGod vouchesaf'd, through thee, with us t'accord;*      *to be reconciled\nFor, certes, Christe's blissful mother dear!\nWere now the bow y-bent, in such mannere\nAs it was first, of justice and of ire,\nThe rightful God would of no mercy hear;\nBut through thee have we grace as we desire.\n\n                               E.\n\nEver hath my hope of refuge in thee be';\nFor herebefore full oft in many a wise\nUnto mercy hast thou received me.\nBut mercy, Lady! at the great assize,\nWhen we shall come before the high Justice!\nSo little fruit shall then in me be found,\nThat,* thou ere that day correcte me,                            *unless\nOf very right my work will me confound.\n\n                               F.\n\nFlying, I flee for succour to thy tent,\nMe for to hide from tempest full of dread;\nBeseeching you, that ye you not absent,\nThough I be wick'. O help yet at this need!\nAll* have I been a beast in wit and deed,                      *although\nYet, Lady! thou me close in with thy grace;\n*Thine enemy and mine,* -- Lady, take heed! --               *the devil*\nUnto my death in point is me to chase.\n\n                               G.\n\nGracious Maid and Mother! which that never\nWert bitter nor in earthe nor in sea, <4>\nBut full of sweetness and of mercy ever,\nHelp, that my Father be not wroth with me!\nSpeak thou, for I ne dare Him not see;\nSo have I done in earth, alas the while!\nThat, certes, but if thou my succour be,\nTo sink etern He will my ghost exile.\n\n                               H.\n\nHe vouchesaf'd, tell Him, as was His will,\nBecome a man, *as for our alliance,*               *to ally us with god*\nAnd with His blood He wrote that blissful bill\nUpon the cross, as general acquittance\nTo ev'ry penitent in full creance;*                              *belief\nAnd therefore, Lady bright! thou for us pray;\nThen shalt thou stenten* alle His grievance,              *put an end to\nAnd make our foe to failen of his prey.\n\n                               I.\n\nI wote well thou wilt be our succour,\nThou art so full of bounty in certain;\nFor, when a soule falleth in errour,\nThy pity go'th, and haleth* him again;                          *draweth\nThen makest thou his peace with his Sov'reign,\nAnd bringest him out of the crooked street:\nWhoso thee loveth shall not love in vain,\nThat shall he find *as he the life shall lete.*          *when he leaves\n                                                                   life*\n                               K.\n\n*Kalendares illumined* be they                     *brilliant exemplars*\nThat in this world be lighted with thy name;\nAnd whoso goeth with thee the right way,\nHim shall not dread in soule to be lame;\nNow, Queen of comfort! since thou art the same\nTo whom I seeke for my medicine,\nLet not my foe no more my wound entame;*                 *injure, molest\nMy heal into thy hand all I resign.\n\n                               L.\n\nLady, thy sorrow can I not portray\nUnder that cross, nor his grievous penance;\nBut, for your bothe's pain, I you do pray,\nLet not our *aller foe* make his boastance,        *the foe of us all --\nThat he hath in his listes, with mischance,                       Satan*\n*Convicte that* ye both have bought so dear;       *ensnared that which*\nAs I said erst, thou ground of all substance!\nContinue on us thy piteous eyen clear.\n\n                               M.\n\nMoses, that saw the bush of flames red\nBurning, of which then never a stick brenn'd,*                   *burned\nWas sign of thine unwemmed* maidenhead.                     *unblemished\nThou art the bush, on which there gan descend\nThe Holy Ghost, the which that Moses wend*             *weened, supposed\nHad been on fire; and this was in figure. <5>\nNow, Lady! from the fire us do defend,\nWhich that in hell eternally shall dure.\n\n                               N.\n\nNoble Princess! that never haddest peer;\nCertes if any comfort in us be,\nThat cometh of thee, Christe's mother dear!\nWe have none other melody nor glee,*                           *pleasure\nUs to rejoice in our adversity;\nNor advocate, that will and dare so pray\nFor us, and for as little hire as ye,\nThat helpe for an Ave-Mary or tway.\n\n                               O.\n\nO very light of eyen that be blind!\nO very lust* of labour and distress!                   *relief, pleasure\nO treasurer of bounty to mankind!\nThe whom God chose to mother for humbless!\nFrom his ancill* <6> he made thee mistress                     *handmaid\nOf heav'n and earth, our *billes up to bede;*   *offer up our petitions*\nThis world awaiteth ever on thy goodness;\nFor thou ne failedst never wight at need.\n\n                               P.\n\nPurpose I have sometime for to enquere\nWherefore and why the Holy Ghost thee sought,\nWhen Gabrielis voice came to thine ear;\nHe not to war* us such a wonder wrought,                        *afflict\nBut for to save us, that sithens us bought:\nThen needeth us no weapon us to save,\nBut only, where we did not as we ought,\nDo penitence, and mercy ask and have.\n\n                               Q.\n\nQueen of comfort, right when I me bethink\nThat I aguilt* have bothe Him and thee,                        *offended\nAnd that my soul is worthy for to sink,\nAlas! I, caitiff, whither shall I flee?\nWho shall unto thy Son my meane* be?                 *medium of approach\nWho, but thyself, that art of pity well?*                      *fountain\nThou hast more ruth on our adversity\nThan in this world might any tongue tell!\n\n                               R.\n\nRedress me, Mother, and eke me chastise!\nFor certainly my Father's chastising\nI dare not abiden in no wise,\nSo hideous is his full reckoning.\nMother! of whom our joy began to spring,\nBe ye my judge, and eke my soule's leach;*                    *physician\nFor ay in you is pity abounding\nTo each that will of pity you beseech.\n\n                               S.\n\nSooth is it that He granteth no pity\nWithoute thee; for God of his goodness\nForgiveth none, *but it like unto thee;*               *unless it please\nHe hath thee made vicar and mistress                               thee*\nOf all this world, and eke governess\nOf heaven; and represseth his justice\nAfter* thy will; and therefore in witness                  *according to\nHe hath thee crowned in so royal wise.\n\n                               T.\n\nTemple devout! where God chose his wonning,*                      *abode\nFrom which, these misbeliev'd deprived be,\nTo you my soule penitent I bring;\nReceive me, for I can no farther flee.\nWith thornes venomous, O Heaven's Queen!\nFor which the earth accursed was full yore,\nI am so wounded, as ye may well see,\nThat I am lost almost, it smart so sore!\n\n                               V.\n\nVirgin! that art so noble of apparail,*                          *aspect\nThat leadest us into the highe tow'r\nOf Paradise, thou me *wiss and counsail*            *direct and counsel*\nHow I may have thy grace and thy succour;\nAll have I been in filth and in errour,\nLady! *on that country thou me adjourn,*         *take me to that place*\nThat called is thy bench of freshe flow'r,\nThere as that mercy ever shall sojourn.\n\n                               X.\n\nXpe <7> thy Son, that in this world alight,\nUpon a cross to suffer his passioun,\nAnd suffer'd eke that Longeus his heart pight,* <8>             *pierced\nAnd made his hearte-blood to run adown;\nAnd all this was for my salvatioun:\nAnd I to him am false and eke unkind,\nAnd yet he wills not my damnation;\n*This thank I you,* succour of all mankind!               *for this I am\n                                                        indebted to you*\n                               Y.\n\nYsaac was figure of His death certain,\nThat so farforth his father would obey,\nThat him *ne raughte* nothing to be slain;                *he cared not*\nRight so thy Son list as a lamb to dey:*                            *die\nNow, Lady full of mercy! I you pray,\nSince he his mercy 'sured me so large,\nBe ye not scant, for all we sing and say,\nThat ye be from vengeance alway our targe.*             *shield, defence\n\n                               Z.\n\nZachary you calleth the open well <9>\nThat washed sinful soul out of his guilt;\nTherefore this lesson out I will to tell,\nThat, n'ere* thy tender hearte, we were spilt.**        *were it not for\nNow, Lady brighte! since thou canst and wilt,        *destroyed, undone*\nBe to the seed of Adam merciable;*                             *merciful\nBring us unto that palace that is built\nTo penitents that be *to mercy able!*             *fit to receive mercy*\n\n\nExplicit.*                                                      *The end\n\n\nNotes to Chaucer's A. B. C.\n\n1. Chaucer's A. B. C. -- a prayer to the Virgin, in twenty three\nverses, beginning with the letters of the alphabet in their\norder -- is said to have been written \"at the request of Blanche,\nDuchess of Lancaster, as a prayer for her private use, being a\nwoman in her religion very devout.\" It was first printed in\nSpeght's edition of 1597.\n\n2. La Priere De Nostre Dame: French, \"The Prayer of Our\nLady.\"\n\n3. Thieves seven: i.e. the seven deadly sins\n\n4. Mary's name recalls the waters of \"Marah\" or bitterness\n(Exod. xv. 23), or the prayer of Naomi in her grief that she\nmight be called not Naomi, but \"Mara\" (Ruth i. 20). Mary,\nhowever, is understood to mean \"exalted.\"\n\n5. A typical representation. See The Prioress's Tale, third\nstanza.\n\n6. The reference evidently is to Luke i. 38 -- \"Ecce ancilla\nDomini,\" (\"Behold the handmaid of the Lord\") the Virgin's\nhumble answer to Gabriel at the Annunciation.\n\n7. \"Xpe\" represents the Greek letters chi rho epsilon, and is a\ncontraction for \"Christe.\"\n\n8. According to tradition, the soldier who struck the Saviour to\nthe heart with his spear was named Longeus, and was blind;\nbut, touching his eyes by chance with the mingled blood and\nwater that flowed down the shaft upon his hands, he was\ninstantly restored to sight.\n\n9. \"In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of\nDavid and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for\nuncleanness\" (Zech. xiii. 1).\n\n\n\n                 A GOODLY BALLAD OF CHAUCER.<1>\n\n\nMOTHER of nurture, best belov'd of all,\nAnd freshe flow'r, to whom good thrift God send\nYour child, if it lust* you me so to call,                       *please\n*All be I*  unable myself so to pretend,                  *although I be\nTo your discretion I recommend\nMy heart and all, with ev'ry circumstance,\nAll wholly to be under your governance.\n\nMost desire I, and have and ever shall,\nThinge which might your hearte's ease amend\nHave me excus'd, my power is but small;\nNathless, of right, ye oughte to commend\nMy goode will, which fame would entend*                  *attend, strive\nTo do you service; for my suffisance*                       *contentment\nIs wholly to be under your governance.\n\nMieux un in heart which never shall apall, <2>\nAy fresh and new, and right glad to dispend\nMy time in your service, what so befall,\nBeseeching your excellence to defend\nMy simpleness, if ignorance offend\nIn any wise; since that mine affiance\nIs wholly to be under your governance.\n\nDaisy of light, very ground of comfort,\nThe sunne's daughter ye light, as I read;\nFor when he west'reth, farewell your disport!\nBy your nature alone, right for pure dread\nOf the rude night, that with his *boistous weed*          *rude garment*\nOf darkness shadoweth our hemisphere,\nThen close ye, my life's lady dear!\n\nDawneth the day unto his kind resort,\nAnd Phoebus your father, with his streames red,\nAdorns the morrow, consuming the sort*                            *crowd\nOf misty cloudes, that would overlade\nTrue humble heartes with their mistihead.*           *dimness, mistiness\nNew comfort adaws,* when your eyen clear                 *dawns, awakens\nDisclose and spread, my life's lady dear.\n\nJe voudrais* -- but the greate God disposeth,              *I would wish\nAnd maketh casual, by his Providence,\nSuch thing as manne's fraile wit purposeth,\nAll for the best, if that your conscience\nNot grudge it, but in humble patience\nIt receive; for God saith, withoute fable,\nA faithful heart ever is acceptable.\n\nCauteles* whoso useth gladly, gloseth;**              *cautious speeches\nTo eschew such it is right high prudence;                    **deceiveth\nWhat ye said ones mine heart opposeth,\nThat my writing japes* in your absence            *jests, coarse stories\nPleased you much better than my presence:\nYet can I more; ye be not excusable;\nA faithful heart is ever acceptable.\n\nQuaketh my pen; my spirit supposeth\nThat in my writing ye will find offence;\nMine hearte welketh* thus; anon it riseth;              *withers, faints\nNow hot, now cold, and after in fervence;\nThat is amiss, is caus'd of negligence,\nAnd not of malice; therefore be merciable;\nA faithful heart is ever acceptable.\n\n                            L'Envoy.\n\nForthe, complaint! forth, lacking eloquence;\nForth little letter, of enditing lame!\nI have besought my lady's sapience\nOn thy behalfe, to accept in game\nThine inability; do thou the same.\nAbide! have more yet! *Je serve Joyesse!*                  *I serve Joy*\nNow forth, I close thee in holy Venus' name!\nThee shall unclose my hearte's governess.\n\n\nNotes To a Goodly Ballad Of Chaucer\n\n\n1. This elegant little poem is believed to have been addressed to\nMargaret, Countess of Pembroke, in whose name Chaucer\nfound one of those opportunities of praising the daisy he never\nlost. (Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer\nwas not the author of this poem)\n\n2. Mieux un in heart which never shall apall: better one who in\nheart shall never pall -- whose love will never weary.\n\n\n\n                 A BALLAD SENT TO KING RICHARD.\n\n\nSOMETIME this world was so steadfast and stable,\nThat man's word was held obligation;\nAnd now it is so false and deceivable,*                       *deceitful\nThat word and work, as in conclusion,\nBe nothing one; for turned up so down\nIs all this world, through meed* and wilfulness,                *bribery\nThat all is lost for lack of steadfastness.\n\nWhat makes this world to be so variable,\nBut lust* that folk have in dissension?                        *pleasure\nFor now-a-days a man is held unable*                    *fit for nothing\n*But if* he can, by some collusion,**             *unless* *fraud, trick\nDo his neighbour wrong or oppression.\nWhat causeth this but wilful wretchedness,\nThat all is lost for lack of steadfastness?\n\nTruth is put down, reason is holden fable;\nVirtue hath now no domination;\nPity exil'd, no wight is merciable;\nThrough covetise is blent* discretion;                          *blinded\nThe worlde hath made permutation\nFrom right to wrong, from truth to fickleness,\nThat all is lost for lack of steadfastness.\n\n                            L'Envoy.\n\nO Prince! desire to be honourable;\nCherish thy folk, and hate extortion;\nSuffer nothing that may be reprovable*            *a subject of reproach\nTo thine estate, done in thy region;*                           *kingdom\nShow forth the sword of castigation;\nDread God, do law, love thorough worthiness,\nAnd wed thy folk again to steadfastness!\n\n\n\n               L'ENVOY OF CHAUCER TO BUKTON. <1>\n\n\nMy Master Bukton, when of Christ our King\nWas asked, What is truth or soothfastness?\nHe not a word answer'd to that asking,\nAs who saith, no man is all true, I guess;\nAnd therefore, though I highte* to express                     *promised\nThe sorrow and woe that is in marriage,\nI dare not write of it no wickedness,\nLest I myself fall eft* in such dotage.**                 *again **folly\n\nI will not say how that it is the chain\nOf Satanas, on which he gnaweth ever;\nBut I dare say, were he out of his pain,\nAs by his will he would be bounden never.\nBut thilke* doated fool that eft had lever                         *that\nY-chained be, than out of prison creep,\nGod let him never from his woe dissever,\nNor no man him bewaile though he weep!\n\nBut yet, lest thou do worse, take a wife;\nBet is to wed than burn in worse wise; <2>\nBut thou shalt have sorrow on thy flesh *thy life,*       *all thy life*\nAnd be thy wife's thrall, as say these wise.\nAnd if that Holy Writ may not suffice,\nExperience shall thee teache, so may hap,\nThat thee were lever to be taken in Frise, <3>\nThan eft* to fall of wedding in the trap.                         *again\n\nThis little writ, proverbes, or figure,\nI sende you; take keep* of it, I read!                             *heed\n\"Unwise is he that can no weal endure;\nIf thou be sicker,* put thee not in dread.\"**      *in security **danger\nThe Wife of Bath I pray you that you read,\nOf this mattere which that we have on hand.\nGod grante you your life freely to lead\nIn freedom, for full hard is to be bond.\n\n\nNotes to L'Envoy of Chaucer to Bukton.\n\n\n1. Tyrwhitt, founding on the reference to the Wife of Bath,\nplaces this among Chaucer's latest compositions; and states that\none Peter de Bukton held the office of king's escheator for\nYorkshire in 1397. In some of the old editions, the verses were\nmade the Envoy to the Book of the Duchess Blanche -- in very\nbad taste, when we consider that the object of that poem was to\nconsole John of Gaunt under the loss of his wife.\n\n2. \"But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to\nmarry than to burn.\"  1 Cor. vii. 9\n\n3. Lever to be taken in Frise: better to be taken prisoner in\nFriesland -- where probably some conflict was raging at the\ntime.\n\n\n\n                    A BALLAD OF GENTLENESS.\n\n\nTHE firste stock-father of gentleness, <1>\nWhat man desireth gentle for to be,\nMust follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,*                 *apply\nVirtue to love, and vices for to flee;\nFor unto virtue longeth dignity,\nAnd not the reverse, safely dare I deem,\n*All wear he* mitre, crown, or diademe.                *whether he wear*\n\nThis firste stock was full of righteousness,\nTrue of his word, sober, pious, and free,\n*Clean of his ghost,* and loved business,               *pure of spirit*\nAgainst the vice of sloth, in honesty;\nAnd, but his heir love virtue as did he,\nHe is not gentle, though he riche seem,\nAll wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.\n\nVice may well be heir to old richess,\nBut there may no man, as men may well see,\nBequeath his heir his virtuous nobless;\nThat is appropried* to no degree,                    *specially reserved\nBut to the first Father in majesty,\nWhich makes his heire him that doth him queme,*                  *please\nAll wear he mitre, crown, or diademe.\n\n\nNotes to A Ballad of Gentleness\n\n\n1. The firste stock-father of gentleness: Christ\n\n\n\nTHE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS  PURSE.\n\n\nTo you, my purse, and to none other wight,\nComplain I, for ye be my lady dear!\nI am sorry now that ye be so light,\nFor certes ye now make me heavy cheer;\nMe were as lief be laid upon my bier.\nFor which unto your mercy thus I cry,\nBe heavy again, or elles must I die!\n\nNow vouchesafe this day, ere it be night,\nThat I of you the blissful sound may hear,\nOr see your colour like the sunne bright,\nThat of yellowness hadde peer.\nYe be my life! Ye be my hearte's steer!*                         *rudder\nQueen of comfort and of good company!\nBe heavy again, or elles must I die!\n\nNow, purse! that art to me my life's light\nAnd savour, as down in this worlde here,\nOut of this towne help me through your might,\nSince that you will not be my treasurere;\nFor I am shave as nigh as any frere. <1>\nBut now I pray unto your courtesy,\nBe heavy again, or elles must I die!\n\n                  Chaucer's Envoy to the King.\n\nO conqueror of Brute's Albion, <2>\nWhich by lineage and free election\nBe very king, this song to you I send;\nAnd ye which may all mine harm amend,\nHave mind upon my supplication!\n\n\nNotes to The Complaint of Chaucer to his Purse\n\n\n1. \"I am shave as nigh as any frere\" i.e. \"I am as bare of coin as\na friar's tonsure of hair.\"\n\n2. Brute, or Brutus, was the legendary first king of Britain.\n\n\nGOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER. <1>\n\nFLEE from the press, and dwell with soothfastness;\nSuffice thee thy good, though it be small;\nFor hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,*              *instability\nPress hath envy, and *weal is blent* o'er all,   *prosperity is blinded*\nSavour* no more than thee behove shall;                *have a taste for\nRead* well thyself, that other folk canst read;                 *counsel\nAnd truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.*                    *doubt\n\nPaine thee not each crooked to redress,\nIn trust of her that turneth as a ball; <2>\nGreat rest standeth in little business:\nBeware also to spurn against a nail; <3>\nStrive not as doth a crocke* with a wall;                   *earthen pot\nDeeme* thyself that deemest others' deed,                         *judge\nAnd truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.\n\nWhat thee is sent, receive in buxomness;*                    *submission\nThe wrestling of this world asketh a fall;\nHere is no home, here is but wilderness.\nForth, pilgrim! Forthe beast, out of thy stall!\nLook up on high, and thank thy God of all!\n*Weive thy lust,* and let thy ghost* thee lead,             *forsake thy\n And truth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.             inclinations*\n                                                                 *spirit\n\nNotes to Good Counsel of Chaucer\n\n\n1. This poem is said to have been composed by Chaucer \"upon\nhis deathbed, lying in anguish.\"\n\n2. Her that turneth as a ball: Fortune.\n\n3. To spurn against a nail; \"against the pricks.\"\n\n\n\nPROVERBS OF CHAUCER. <1>\n\n\nWHAT should these clothes thus manifold,\nLo! this hot summer's day?\nAfter great heate cometh cold;\nNo man cast his pilche* away.                     *pelisse, furred cloak\nOf all this world the large compass\nWill not in mine arms twain;\nWho so muche will embrace,\nLittle thereof he shall distrain.*                                *grasp\n\nThe world so wide, the air so remuable,*                       *unstable\nThe silly man so little of stature;\nThe green of ground and clothing so mutable,\nThe fire so hot and subtile of nature;\nThe water *never in one* -- what creature               *never the same*\nThat made is of these foure <2> thus flitting,\nMay steadfast be, as here, in his living?\n\nThe more I go, the farther I am behind;\nThe farther behind, the nearer my war's end;\nThe more I seek, the worse can I find;\nThe lighter leave, the lother for to wend; <3>\nThe better I live, the more out of mind;\nIs this fortune, *n'ot I,* or infortune;*       *I know not* *misfortune\nThough I go loose, tied am I with a loigne.*               *line, tether\n\n\nNotes to Proverbs of Chaucer\n\n\n1. (Transcriber's Note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer's\nmay have been the author  of the first stanza of this poem, but\nwas not the author of the second and third).\n\n2. These foure: that is, the four elements, of which man was\nbelieved to be composed.\n\n3. The lighter leave, the lother for to wend: The more easy\n(through age) for me to depart, the less willing I am to go.\n\n\n\nVIRELAY.  <1>\n\n\nALONE walking\nIn thought plaining,\nAnd sore sighing;\n            All desolate,\nMe rememb'ring\nOf my living;\nMy death wishing\n            Both early and late.\n\nInfortunate\nIs so my fate,\nThat, wot ye what?\n            Out of measure\nMy life I hate;\nThus desperate,\nIn such poor estate,\n            Do I endure.\n\nOf other cure\nAm I not sure;\nThus to endure\n            Is hard, certain;\nSuch is my ure,*                                            *destiny <2>\nI you ensure;\nWhat creature\n            May have more pain?\n\nMy truth so plain\nIs taken in vain,\nAnd great disdain\n            In remembrance;\nYet I full fain\nWould me complain,\nMe to abstain\n            From this penance.\n\nBut, in substance,\nNone alleggeance*                                           *alleviation\nOf my grievance\n            Can I not find;\nRight so my chance,\nWith displeasance,\nDoth me advance;\n            And thus an end.\n\n\nNotes to Virelay\n\n\n1. (Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer\nwas not the author of this poem)\n\n2. Ure: \"heur,\" or destiny; the same word that enters into\n\"bonheur\" and \"malheur.\" (French: happiness & unhappiness)\n\n\n\n                    \"SINCE I FROM LOVE.\" <1>\n\n\nSINCE I from Love escaped am so fat,\nI ne'er think to be in his prison ta'en;\nSince I am free, I count him not a bean.\n\nHe may answer, and saye this and that;\nI *do no force,* I speak right as I mean;                     *care not*\nSince I from Love escaped am so fat.\n\nLove hath my name struck out of his slat,*                  *slate, list\nAnd he is struck out of my bookes clean,\nFor ever more; there is none other mean;\nSince I from Love escaped am so fat.\n\n\nNotes to \"Since I from Love\"\n\n\n1. (Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer\nwas not the author of this poem)\n\n\n\nCHAUCER'S WORDS TO HIS SCRIVENER.\n\n\nADAM Scrivener, if ever it thee befall\nBoece or Troilus for to write anew,\nUnder thy long locks thou may'st have the scall*                   *scab\nBut *after my making* thou write more true!             *according to my\nSo oft a day I must thy work renew,                           composing*\nIt to correct, and eke to rub and scrape;\nAnd all is through thy negligence and rape.*                      *haste\n\n\n\nCHAUCER'S PROPHECY. <1>\n\n\nWHEN priestes *failen in their saws,*               *come short of their\nAnd lordes turne Godde's laws                                profession*\n                       Against the right;\nAnd lechery is holden as *privy solace,*                *secret delight*\nAnd robbery as free purchase,\n                      Beware then of ill!\nThen shall the Land of Albion\nTurne to confusion,\n                     As sometime it befell.\n\nOra pro Anglia Sancta Maria, quod Thomas Cantuaria. <2>\n\nSweet Jesus, heaven's King,\nFair and best of all thing,\nYou bring us out of this mourning,\nTo come to thee at our ending!\n\n\nNotes to Chaucer's Prophecy.\n\n\n1. (Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer\nwas not the author of this poem)\n\n2. \"Holy Mary, pray for England, as does Thomas of\nCanterbury\" (i.e. St Thomas a Beckett)\n\n\nThe end of the Project Gutenberg e-text of The Canterbury\nTales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer.\n"
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "Anti-Slavery Opinions before the Year 1800 by Poole and Buchanan",
        "publication_date": 1800,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/23956",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Bryan Ness, Richard J. Shiffer and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http:\/\/www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from scans of public domain works at the\nUniversity of Michigan's Making of America collection.)\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text\nas faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings\nand other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an\nobvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.]\n\n\n\n\n                      Anti-Slavery Opinions\n\n                       BEFORE THE YEAR 1800\n\n\n     READ BEFORE THE CINCINNATI LITERARY CLUB, NOVEMBER 16, 1872\n\n\n\n                   BY WILLIAM FREDERICK POOLE\n\n          Librarian of the Public Library of Cincinnati\n\n\n  TO WHICH IS APPENDED A FAC SIMILE REPRINT OF DR. GEORGE BUCHANAN'S\n    ORATION ON THE MORAL AND POLITICAL EVIL OF SLAVERY, DELIVERED\n      AT A PUBLIC MEETING OF THE MARYLAND SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING\n       THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY, BALTIMORE, JULY 4, 1791\n\n\n\n\n                             CINCINNATI\n                        ROBERT CLARKE & CO.\n                               1873\n\n\n\n\nANTI-SLAVERY OPINIONS\n\nBefore 1800.\n\n\nI purpose this evening to call the attention of the Club to the state\nof anti-slavery opinions in this country just prior to the year 1800.\nIn this examination I shall make use of a very rare pamphlet in the\nlibrary of General Washington, which seems to have escaped the notice\nof writers on this subject; and shall preface my remarks on the main\ntopic of discussion with a brief description of the Washington\ncollection.\n\nIn the library of the Boston Athenaeum, the visitor sees, as he enters,\na somewhat elaborately-constructed book-case, with glass front, filled\nwith old books. This is the library of George Washington, which came\ninto possession of the Athenaeum in 1849. It was purchased that year\nfrom the heirs of Judge Bushrod Washington--the favorite nephew to\nwhom the General left all his books and manuscripts--by Mr. Henry\nStevens, of London, with the intention of placing it in the British\nMuseum. Before the books were shipped, they were bought by Mr. George\nLivermore and a few other literary and public-spirited gentlemen\nof Boston, and presented to the Athenaeum. Mr. Livermore, as\ndiscretionary executor of the estate of Thomas Dowse, the \"literary\nleather-dresser\" of Cambridge, added to the gift one thousand dollars,\nfor the purpose of printing a description and catalogue of the\ncollection, which has not yet been done.\n\nThe collection numbers about twelve hundred titles, of which four\nhundred and fifty are bound volumes, and seven hundred and fifty are\npamphlets and unbound serials. Some books of the original library of\nGeneral Washington still remain at Mt. Vernon, and are, or were a few\nyears since, shown to visitors, with other curiosities.\n\nSeparated from association with their former illustrious owner, the\nbound volumes, which are mostly English books, present but few\nattractions. Among them are a few treatises on the art of war and\nmilitary tactics, which evidently were never much read. These were\nimported after his unfortunate expedition with Braddock's army, and\nbefore the revolutionary war. There are books on horse and cattle\ndiseases; on domestic medicine; on farming, and on religious\ntopics--such works as we might expect to find on the shelves of a\nintelligent Virginia planter. It is evident that their owner was no\nstudent or specialist. Many of the books were sent to him as presents,\nwith complimentary inscriptions by the donors. The bindings are all in\ntheir original condition, and generally of the most common\ndescription. The few exceptions were presentation copies. Col. David\nHumphreys, Washington's aid-de-camp during the revolutionary war,\npresents his \"Miscellaneous Works,\" printed in 1790, bound, regardless\nof expense, by some Philadelphia binder, in full red morocco, gilt and\ngoffered edges, and with covers and fly-leaves lined with figured\nsatin. As the book was for a very distinguished man, the patriotic\nbinder has stamped on the covers and back every device he had in his\nshop. Nearly all the volumes have the bold autograph of \"Go.\nWashington,\" upon their title pages, and the well-known book-plate,\nwith his name, armorial bearings, and motto, _Exitus acta probat_,[1]\non the inside of the covers.\n\nThere are persons at the present day who have very positive opinions\non the subject of prose fiction, believing that great characters like\nJonathan Edwards and George Washington never read such naughty books\nwhen they were young. Let us see. Here is the \"Adventures of Peregrine\nPickle; in which are included the Memoirs of a Lady of Quality,\" by\nTobias Smollett, in three volumes. On the title page of the first\nvolume is the autograph of George Washington, written in the cramped\nhand of a boy of fourteen. The work shows more evidence of having been\nattentively read, even to the end of the third volume, than any in the\nlibrary. Here is the \"Life and Opinions of John Buncle,\" a book which\nit is better that boarding-school misses should not read. Yet\nWashington read it, and enjoyed the fun; for it is one of the few\nbooks he speaks of in his correspondence as having read and enjoyed.\nThe present generation of readers are not familiar with John Buncle.\nOf the book and its author, Hazlitt says \"John Buncle is the English\nRabelais. The soul of Francis Rabelais passed into Thomas Amory, the\nauthor of John Buncle. Both were physicians, and enemies of much\ngravity. Their great business was to enjoy life. Rabelais indulges his\nspirit of sensuality in wine, in dried neats' tongues, in Bologna\nsausages, in Botorgas. John Buncle shows the same symptoms of\ninordinate satisfaction in bread and butter. While Rabelais roared\nwith Friar John and the monks, John Buncle gossiped with the ladies.\"\n\nIt is the good fortune of the youth of our age that they are served\nwith fun in more refined and discreet methods; yet there is a\nmelancholy satisfaction in finding in the life of a great historical\ncharacter like Washington, who was the embodiment of dignity and\npropriety, that he could, at some period of his existence, unbend and\nenjoy a book like John Buncle. He becomes, thereby, more human; and\nthe distance between him and ordinary mortals seems to diminish.\n\nThomas Comber's \"Discourses on the Common Prayer,\" has three\nautographs of his father, Augustine Washington, one of his mother,\nMary Washington, and one of his own, written when nine years of age.\nThe fly-leaves he had used as a practice book for writing his father's\nand mother's names and his own, and for constructing monograms of the\nfamily names.[2]\n\nThe pamphlets in the collection have intrinsically more value than the\nlarger works. They were nearly all contemporaneous, and were sent to\nWashington by their authors, with inscriptions upon the title pages\nin their authors' handwriting, of the most profound respect and\nesteem. Some of these pamphlets are now exceedingly rare. In a bound\nvolume lettered \"Tracts on Slavery,\" and containing several papers,\nall of radical anti-slavery tendencies,[3] is the one to which I wish\nespecially to call your attention. It is so rare that, having shown\nthis copy for fifteen years to persons especially interested in this\nsubject, and having made the most diligent inquiry, I have never heard\nof another, till within a few days since, when I learn from my friend,\nMr. George H. Moore, the librarian of the New York Historical Society,\nthat there is a copy in that society's library. Its title is: \"An\nOration upon the Moral and Political Evil of Slavery. Delivered at a\nPublic Meeting of the Maryland Society for Promoting the Abolition of\nSlavery and the Relief of Free <DW64>s and others unlawfully held in\nBondage, Baltimore, July 4, 1791. By George Buchanan, M. D., Member of\nthe American Philosophical Society. Baltimore: Printed by Philip\nEdwards, M,DCC,XCIII.\" Twenty pages, octavo.\n\nA Fourth-of-July oration in Baltimore, on the moral and political\nevils of slavery, only four years after the adoption of the\nConstitution, is an incident worthy of historical recognition, and a\nplace in anti-slavery literature. The following extracts will give an\nidea of its style and range of thought:\n\n    \"God hath created mankind after His own image, and granted them\n    liberty and independence; and if varieties may be found in their\n    structure and color, these are only to be attributed to the nature\n    of their diet and habits, as also to the soil and the climate they\n    may inhabit, and serve as flimsy pretexts for enslaving them.\n\n    \"What, will you not consider that the Africans are men? That they\n    have human souls to be saved? That they are born free and\n    independent? A violation of these prerogatives is an infringement\n    upon the laws of God.\n\n    \"Possessed of Christian sentiments, they fail not to exercise them\n    when opportunity offers. Things pleasing rejoice them, and\n    melancholy circumstances pall their appetites for amusements. They\n    brook no insults, and are equally prone to forgiveness, as to\n    resentments. They have gratitude also, and will even expose their\n    lives to wipe off the obligation of past favors; nor do they want\n    any of the refinements of taste, so much the boast of those who\n    call themselves Christians.\n\n    \"The talent for music, both vocal and instrumental, appears\n    natural to them; neither is their genius for literature to be\n    despised. Many instances are recorded of men of eminence among\n    them. Witness Ignatius Sancho, whose letters are admired by all\n    men of taste. Phillis Wheatley, who distinguished herself as a\n    poetess; the Physician of New Orleans; the Virginia Calculator;\n    Banneker, the Maryland Astronomer, and many others, whom it would\n    be needless to mention. These are sufficient to show, that the\n    Africans whom you despise, whom you inhumanly treat as brutes, and\n    whom you unlawfully subject to slavery, are equally capable of\n    improvement with yourselves.\n\n    \"This you may think a bold assertion; but it is not made without\n    reflection, nor independent of the testimony of many who have\n    taken pains in their education. Because you see few, in comparison\n    to their number, who make any exertion of ability at all, you are\n    ready to enjoy the common opinion that they are an inferior set\n    of beings, and destined to the cruelties and hardships you impose\n    upon them.\n\n    \"But be cautious how long you hold such sentiments; the time may\n    come when you will be obliged to abandon them. Consider the\n    pitiable situation of these most distressed beings, deprived of\n    their liberty and reduced to slavery. Consider also that they toil\n    not for themselves from the rising of the sun to its going down,\n    and you will readily conceive the cause of their inaction. What\n    time or what incitement has a slave to become wise? There is no\n    great art in hilling corn, or in running a furrow; and to do this\n    they know they are doomed, whether they seek into the mysteries of\n    science or remain ignorant as they are.\n\n    \"To deprive a man of his liberty has a tendency to rob his soul of\n    every spring to virtuous actions; and were slaves to become\n    fiends, the wonder could not be great. 'Nothing more assimulates a\n    man to a beast,' says the learned Montesquieu, 'than being among\n    freemen, himself a slave; for slavery clogs the mind, perverts the\n    moral faculty, and reduces the conduct of man to the standard of\n    brutes.' What right have you to expect greater things of these\n    poor mortals? You would not blame a brute for committing ravages\n    upon his prey; nor ought you to censure a slave for making\n    attempts to regain his liberty, even at the risk of life itself.\n\n    \"Such are the effects of subjecting man to slavery, that it\n    destroys every human principle, vitiates the mind, instills ideas\n    of unlawful cruelties, and subverts the springs of government.\n\n    \"What a distressing scene is here before us? America, I start at\n    your situation! These direful effects of slavery demand your most\n    serious attention. What! shall a people who flew to arms with the\n    valor of Roman citizens when encroachments were made upon their\n    liberties by the invasion of foreign powers, now basely descend to\n    cherish the seed and propagate the growth of the evil which they\n    boldly sought to eradicate? To the eternal infamy of our country\n    this will be handed down to posterity, written in the blood of\n    African innocence. If your forefathers have been degenerate enough\n    to introduce slavery into your country to contaminate the minds of\n    her citizens, you ought to have the virtue of extirpating it.\n\n    \"In the first struggles for American freedom, in the enthusiastic\n    ardor of attaining liberty and independence, one of the most noble\n    sentiments that ever adorned the human breast was loudly\n    proclaimed in all her councils. Deeply penetrated with the sense\n    of equality, they held it as a fixed principle, 'that all men are\n    by nature, and of right ought to be, free; that they were created\n    equal, and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable\n    rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of\n    happiness. Nevertheless, _when_ the blessings of peace were\n    showered upon them; _when_ they had obtained these rights which\n    they had so boldly contended for, _then_ they became apostates to\n    their principles, and riveted the fetters of slavery upon the\n    unfortunate African.\n\n    \"Deceitful men! Who could have suggested that American patriotism\n    would at this day countenance a conduct so inconsistent; that\n    while America boasts of being a land of freedom, and an asylum for\n    the oppressed of Europe, she should at the same time foster an\n    abominable nursery of slaves to check the shoots of her growing\n    liberty? Deaf to the clamors of criticism, she feels no remorse,\n    and blindly pursues the object of her destruction; she encourages\n    the propagation of vice, and suffers her youth to be reared in the\n    habits of cruelty. Not even the sobs and groans of injured\n    innocence which reek from every state can excite her pity, nor\n    human misery bend her heart to sympathy. Cruel and oppressive she\n    wantonly abuses the rights of man, and willingly sacrifices her\n    liberty upon the altar of slavery.\n\n    \"What an opportunity is here given for triumph among her enemies!\n    Will they not exclaim that, upon this very day, while the\n    Americans celebrate the anniversary of freedom and independence,\n    abject slavery exists in all her states but one?\n    [Note--Massachusetts.] How degenerately base to merit the rebuke!\n    Fellow countrymen, let the heart of humanity awake and direct your\n    councils. Combine to drive the fiend monster from your\n    territories.\n\n    \"Your laborers are slaves, and they have no incentive to be\n    industrious; they are clothed and victualed, whether lazy or\n    hard-working; and, from the calculations that have been made, one\n    freeman is worth two slaves in the field, which make it in many\n    instances cheaper to have hirelings; for they are incited to\n    industry by hopes of reputation and future employment, and are\n    careful of their apparel and their implements of husbandry, where\n    they must provide them for themselves; whereas the others have\n    little or no temptation to attend to any of these circumstances.\n\n    \"Fellow countrymen, let the hand of persecution be no longer\n    raised against you; act virtuously; 'do unto all men as you would\n    that they should do unto you,' and exterminate the pest of slavery\n    from the land.\"\n\nThe orator then goes on to hold up the horrors of an insurrection. He\nreminds his hearers that in many parts of the South the number of\nslaves exceeds that of the whites. He reminds them that these slaves\nare naturally born free and have a right to freedom; that they will\nnot forever sweat under the yoke of slavery. \"Heaven,\" he says, \"will\nnot overlook such enormities. She is bound to punish impenitent\nsinners, and her wrath is to be dreaded by all. What, then, if the\nfire of liberty shall be kindled among them? What if some enthusiast\nin their cause shall beat to arms and call them to the standard of\nfreedom? Led on by the hopes of freedom and animated by the inspiring\nvoice of their leaders, they would soon find that 'a day, an hour of\nvirtuous liberty was worth a whole eternity of bondage.'\n\n\"Hark! methinks I hear the work begun; the blacks have sought for\nallies and have found them in the wilderness, and have called the\nrusty savages to their assistance, and are preparing to take revenge\nupon their haughty masters.\"\n\nTo this threatening passage the orator has appended a note, in which\nhe says: \"This was thrown out as a conjecture of what possibly might\nhappen; and the insurrections of San Domingo tend to prove this danger\nto be more considerable than has generally been supposed, and\nsufficient to alarm the inhabitants of these states.\"\n\nThe contingency, which he thought might possibly happen, did actually\noccur thirty-nine years later, when an insurrection broke out, August,\n1830, in Southampton county, Virginia, under the lead of Nat Turner, a\nfanatical <DW64> preacher, in which sixty-one white men, women, and\nchildren were murdered before it was suppressed.\n\nHe recommends immediate emancipation; and if this can not be done,\n\"then,\" he says, \"let the children be liberated at a certain age, and\nin less than half a century the plague will be totally rooted out from\namong you; thousands of good citizens will be added to your number,\nand gratitude will induce them to become your friends.\"\n\nThis remarkable oration suggests some interesting questions of\nhistorical inquiry. How far do these opinions represent the current\nsentiments of that time on the subject of slavery? It will be seen\nthat they are of the most radical type. I am not aware that Wendell\nPhillips or Wm. Lloyd Garrison ever claimed that the <DW64> race was\nequal in its capacity for improvement to the white race. While its\nrhetoric was more chaste, they certainly never denounced the system in\nmore vigorous and condemnatory terms.\n\nForty-four years later (October 21, 1835), Mr. Garrison was waited\nupon, in open day, by a mob of most respectable citizens, while\nattending a meeting of the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society, dragged\nthrough the streets of Boston with a rope around his body, and locked\nup in jail by the Mayor of that sedate city to protect him from his\nassailants. On the 4th of July, 1834, a meeting of the American\nAnti-Slavery Society was broken up in New York, and the house of Lewis\nTappan was sacked by mob violence. A month later, in the city of\nPhiladelphia a mob against anti-slavery and <DW52> men raged for\nthree days and nights. On the 28th of July, 1836, a committee of\nthirteen citizens of Cincinnati, appointed by a public meeting, of\nwhom Jacob Burnet, late United States Senator and Judge of the Supreme\nCourt of Ohio, was chairman, waited upon Mr. James G. Birney and other\nmembers of the executive committee of the Ohio Anti-Slavery Society,\nunder whose direction the \"Philanthropist,\" an anti-slavery\nnewspaper, was printed here, and informed them that unless they\ndesisted from its publication the meeting would not be responsible for\nthe consequences. Judge Burnet stated that the mob would consist of\nfive thousand persons, and that two-thirds of the property holders of\nthe city would join it. The committee gave Mr. Birney and his friends\ntill the next day to consider the question, when they decided to make\nno terms with the rioters and to abide the consequences. That night\nthe office was sacked, and the press of the \"Philanthropist\" was\nthrown into the Ohio river.\n\nBut here was an oration delivered in the city of Baltimore in the year\n1791, advancing the most extreme opinions, and it created not a ripple\non the surface of Southern society.\n\nThat the opinions of the oration did not offend those to whom it was\naddressed, the official action of the Society, which is printed on the\nthird page, attests. It is as follows:\n\n    \"At a special meeting of the 'Maryland Society for Promoting the\n    Abolition of Slavery and the Relief of Free <DW64>s and others\n    Unlawfully held in Bondage,' held at Baltimore, July 4, 1791,\n    unanimously\n\n    \"_Resolved_, That the president present the thanks of the Society\n    to Dr. George Buchanan, for the excellent oration by him delivered\n    this day, and, at the same time, request a copy thereof in the\n    name and for the use of the Society.\n\n    \"Signed--Samuel Sterett, President; Alex. McKim, Vice-President;\n    Joseph Townsend, Secretary.\"\n\nThe oration has this dedication:\n\n    \"To the Honorable Thomas Jefferson, Esq., Secretary of State,\n    whose patriotism since the American Revolution has been uniformly\n    marked by a sincere, steady, and active attachment to the interest\n    of his country, and whose literary abilities have distinguished\n    him amongst the first of statesmen and philosophers--this oration\n    is respectfully inscribed, as an humble testimony of the highest\n    regard and esteem, by the Author.\"\n\nThe author was evidently a straight Democrat.\n\nSeven years ago I copied this oration with the intention of reprinting\nit, with a brief historical introduction, supposing I could readily\nfind the few facts I needed. But in this I was disappointed. Who was\nDr. George Buchanan? That he was a member of the American\nPhilosophical Society at Philadelphia was apparent on the title page;\nbut that was all I could learn of him from books or inquiry. I then\nwrote to a historical friend in Baltimore to make inquiry for me\nthere, and I received letters from the author's son, McKean Buchanan,\nsenior paymaster in the United Stares navy, since deceased, and from\ntwo grandsons, Mr. George B. Coale and Dr. Wm. Edw. Coale, giving\nfull particulars, which I will condense:\n\nDr. George Buchanan was born on an estate, five miles from Baltimore,\nSeptember 19, 1763, and for many years was a practicing physician in\nBaltimore. He was a son of Andrew Buchanan, who was also born in\nMaryland, and was General in the Continental troops of Maryland during\nthe Revolution, and was one of the Commissioners who located the city\nof Baltimore. Dr. George Buchanan studied medicine and took a degree\nat Philadelphia. He then went to Europe and studied medicine at\nEdinburgh, and later at Paris, taking degrees at both places.\nReturning to Baltimore, he married Letitia, daughter of the Hon.\nThomas McKean, an eminent jurist, who was a member of the Continental\nCongress, one of the Signers the Declaration of Independence, and was\nGovernor of Pennsylvania from 1799 to 1806. In 1806, Dr. Buchanan\nremoved to Philadelphia, and died the next year of yellow fever, in\nthe discharge of his official duties as Lazaretto physician. His\neldest son was Paymaster McKean Buchanan, before mentioned. His\nyoungest son was Franklin Buchanan, captain in the United States navy\ntill he resigned, April 19, 1861, and went into the so-called\nConfederate navy. He was, with the rank of Admiral, in command of the\niron-clad \"Merrimac,\" and was wounded in the conflict of that vessel\nwith the monitor \"Ericsson,\" at Hampton Roads, March 9, 1862, and was\nlater captured by Admiral Farragut in Mobile harbor.\n\n\"My brother,\" writes one of the grandsons, \"told me that the last time\nhe saw Henry Clay, Mr. Clay took his hand in both of his and said,\nwith great emphasis: 'It is to your grandfather that I owe my present\nposition with regard to slavery. It was he who first pointed out to me\nthe curse it entailed on the white man, and the manifold evils it\nbrings with it.'\"\n\nIn determining how far the sentiments contained in this oration were\nthe current opinions of the time, it became necessary for me to know\nsomething definite of the \"Maryland Society for the Abolition of\nSlavery,\" of the Virginia, the Pennsylvania, and other societies,\nwhich existed at that time. This information I could not obtain from\nanti-slavery books, or from the most prominent abolitionists whom I\nconsulted. The matter seemed to have been forgotten, and it was the\ncommon idea that there was nothing worth remembering of the\nanti-slavery movement before 1830, when Mr. Garrison and his radical\nfriends came upon the stage in Boston. For the want of the facts I\nneeded, I laid aside the idea of reproducing the tract. The subject\nwas brought again to mind by hearing the excellent paper, by Mr. S. E.\nWright, our secretary, on the anti-slavery labors of Benjamin Lundy,\nwhich he read to this Club, a few months ago. The labors of Mr. Lundy\nbegan in 1816, and ended with his death in 1839. Quite recently I\nhave obtained much of the information I needed.\n\nAmong the unknown facts to which I could get no clue at the time I\nhave mentioned, were the names of the \"Virginia Calculator\" and the\n\"Physician of New Orleans,\" whom Dr. Buchanan mentions with Phillis\nWheatley, Ignatius Sancho, and Banneker, the Maryland astronomer, as\nbeing <DW64>s who were distinguished for their literary and\nmathematical acquirements. Mr. Phillips had never heard of them, and\nhe took the trouble to make inquiries among his anti-slavery friends,\nbut without success.\n\nA year or more after I had abandoned my little project, in looking\nover the files of the Columbian Centinal, printed in Boston, for 1790,\nI found under the date of December 29th, in the column of deaths, the\nfollowing:\n\n    \"DIED--<DW64> Tom, the famous African calculator, aged 80 years. He\n    was the property of Mrs. Elizabeth Cox, of Alexandria. Tom was a\n    very black man. He was brought to this country at the age of\n    fourteen, and was sold as a slave with many of his unfortunate\n    countrymen. This man was a prodigy. Though he could neither read\n    nor write, he had perfectly acquired the use of enumeration. He\n    could give the number of months, days, weeks, hours, and seconds,\n    for any period of time that a person chose to mention, allowing in\n    his calculations for all the leap years that happened in the\n    time. He would give the number of poles, yards, feet, inches, and\n    barley-corns in a given distance--say, the diameter of the earth's\n    orbit--and in every calculation he would produce the true answer\n    in less time than ninety-nine out of a hundred men would take with\n    their pens. And what was, perhaps, more extraordinary, though\n    interrupted in the progress of his calculations, and engaged in\n    discourse upon any other subject, his operations were not thereby\n    in the least deranged; he would go on where he left off, and could\n    give any and all of the stages through which the calculation had\n    passed.\n\n    \"Thus died <DW64> Tom, this untaught arithmetician, this untutored\n    scholar. Had his opportunities of improvement been equal to those\n    of thousands of his fellow-men, neither the Royal Society of\n    London, the Academy of Science at Paris, nor even a Newton himself\n    need have been ashamed to acknowledge him a brother in science.\"\n\nThis obituary was doubtless extracted from a Southern newspaper. A\nfact once found is easily found again. I have come across the name of\nthis unlettered <DW64> prodigy many times since, with the substance of\nthe facts already stated. In a letter which Dr. Benj. Rush, of\nPhiladelphia, addressed to a gentleman in Manchester, England, he says\nthat, hearing of the astonishing powers of <DW64> Tom, he, in company\nwith other gentlemen passing through Virginia, sent for him. A\ngentleman of the company asked Tom how many seconds a man of seventy\nyears, some odd months, weeks, and days had lived. He told the exact\nnumber in a minute and a half. The gentleman took a pen, and having\nmade the calculation by figures, told the <DW64> that he must be\nmistaken, as the number was too great. \"'Top, massa,\" said the <DW64>\n\"you hab left out de leap years.\" On including the leap years in the\ncalculation, the number given by the <DW64> was found to be correct.[4]\n\nThat Dr. Buchanan did not mention his name is explained by the fact\nthat he died only six months before; and the audience, who had\ndoubtless read the obituary notice just recited, or a similar one,\nknew who was meant. Besides, he was a native African, and had no name\nworth having. He was only <DW64> Tom. In Bishop Gregoire's work,\nhowever, he is ennobled by the by the name of Thomas Fuller, and in\nMr. Needles' Memoir the name of Thomas Tuller.[5]\n\nWhy Dr. Buchanan should have omitted to mention the name of \"the New\nOrleans physician\" does not appear, unless it be that he was equally\nwell known. His name, I have found recently, was James Derham. Dr.\nRush, in the American Museum for January, 1789, gave an account of Dr.\nDerham, who was then a practitioner of medicine at New Orleans, and,\nat the time the notice was written, was visiting in Philadelphia. He\nwas twenty-six years of age, married, member of the Episcopal Church,\nand having a professional income of three thousand dollars a year. He\nwas born in Philadelphia a slave, and was taught to read and write,\nand occasionally to compound medicines for his master, who was a\nphysician. On the death of his master he was sold to the surgeon of\nthe Sixteenth British regiment, and at the close of the war was sold\nto Dr. Robert Dove, of New Orleans, who employed him as an assistant\nin his business. He manifested such capacity, and so won the\nconfidence and friendship of his master, that he was liberated on easy\nterms after two or three years' service, and entered into practice for\nhimself. \"I have conversed with him,\" says Dr. Rush, \"upon most of the\nacute and epidemic diseases of the country where he lives. I expected\nto have suggested some new medicines to him, but he suggested many\nmore to me. He is very modest and engaging in his manners. He speaks\nFrench fluently, and has some knowledge of the Spanish.\"[6]\n\nIt was unfortunate that these incidents had not occurred early enough\nto have come to the knowledge of Mr. Jefferson before he wrote his\n\"Notes on Virginia.\" These were precisely the kind of facts he was in\nquest of. He probably would have used them, and have strengthened the\nopinions he there expressed as to the intellectual capacity of the\n<DW64> race.\n\nHis \"Notes on Virginia\" were written in 1781-2. His condemnation of\nslavery in that work is most emphatic. \"The whole commerce between\nmaster and slave,\" he says, \"is a perpetual exercise of the most\nboisterous passions; the most unremitting despotism on the one part,\nand degrading submission on the other. Our children see this and learn\nto imitate it.... The parent storms, the child looks on, catches the\nlineaments of wrath, puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller\nslaves, gives loose to his worst of passions; and thus nursed,\neducated, and daily exercised in tyranny, can not but be stamped by it\nwith odious peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy who can retain\nhis manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances. With what\nexecration should the statesman be loaded, who, permitting one-half\nthe citizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms\nthose into despots and these into enemies--destroys the morals of the\none part, and the _amor patriae_ of the other?... Can the liberties of\na nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm\nbasis--a conviction in the minds of men that these liberties are the\ngift of God; that they are not to be violated but with His wrath?\nIndeed, I tremble for my country, when I reflect that God is\njust--that His justice can not sleep forever.\" Pp. 270-272, ed. Lond.,\n1787.\n\nOn the practical question, \"What shall be done about it?\" Mr.\nJefferson's mind wavered; he was in doubt. How can slavery be\nabolished? He proposed, in Virginia, a law, which was rejected, making\nall free who were born after the passage of the act. And here again he\nhesitated. What will become of these people after they are free? What\nare their capacities? He had never seen an educated <DW64>. He had\nheard of Phillis Wheatley and Ignatius Sancho. He did not highly\nestimate the poetry of the one, or the sentimental letters of the\nother. He was willing to admit, however, that a <DW64> could write\npoetry and sentimental letters. Beyond this all was in doubt. He\nregarded it as highly probable that they could do nothing more. He\nsays: \"Comparing them by their faculties of memory, reason, and\nimagination, it appears to me that in memory they are equal to the\nwhites; in reason much inferior, as I think one could scarcely be\nfound capable of tracing and comprehending the investigations of\nEuclid\"--p. 232. He doubtingly adds: \"The opinion that they are\ninferior in the faculties of reason and imagination must be hazarded\nwith great diffidence. To justify a general conclusion requires many\nobservations\"--p. 238. The opportunity for making these observations\nhe had never had.\n\nIt so happened that soon after writing this, Banneker, the Maryland\n<DW64> astronomer, who had distinguished himself in the very faculty of\nmathematical reasoning which Mr. Jefferson had supposed no <DW64>\npossessed, sent him his Almanac, with a letter. To the letter Mr.\nJefferson replied as follows:\n\n    \"I thank you sincerely for your letter of the 19th instant, and\n    for the Almanac it contained. Nobody wishes more than I do to see\n    such proofs as you exhibit, that nature has given to our black\n    brethren talents equal to those of other colors of men, and that\n    the appearance of a want of them is owing merely to the degraded\n    condition of their existence, both in Africa and America. I can\n    add with truth, that nobody wishes more ardently to see a good\n    system commenced for raising the condition, both of their body and\n    mind, to what it ought to be, as fast as the imbecility of their\n    present existence, and other circumstances which can not be\n    neglected, will admit. I have taken the liberty of sending your\n    Almanac to Monsieur de Condorcet, Secretary of the Academy of\n    Sciences at Paris, and member of the Philanthropic Society,\n    because I consider it a document to which your color had a right\n    for their justification against the doubts which have been\n    entertained of them. I am, with great esteem, sir, your most\n    obedient, humble servant,\n\n                                         \"THOS. JEFFERSON.\"[7]\n\nThe next instances of precocious black men which must have come to his\nknowledge were, doubtless, <DW64> Tom, in whom the mathematical faculty\nwas strangely developed, and James Derham, the New Orleans physician.\nIf Mr. Jefferson had rewritten his \"Notes,\" he would, probably, have\nincluded mathematics and medicine among the special subjects which\nwere peculiarly adapted to the capacities of the <DW64> mind.\n\nIt was not the question of the natural rights of the <DW64>, the\nprejudice of color, nor of the ruinous improvidence of the system of\nslavery, that controlled the decision in Mr. Jefferson's mind, as to\nthe methods by which the system should be terminated. On these points,\nhe was as radical as the extremest abolitionist; but he could not\nsatisfy himself as to the mental capacity of the <DW64>--whether he had\nthe full complement of human capabilities, and the qualifications for\nequality of citizenship with the white man; for he saw that\nemancipation, without expatriation, meant nothing else than giving the\nblack man all the rights of citizenship. The theory that the <DW64> is\na decaudalized ape, a progressing chimpanzee, is an invention of the\nlast forty years, and contemporaneous with the discovery that the\nBible sanctions slavery. He was, on the whole, inclined to the opinion\nthat they were an inferior race of beings, and that their residence,\nin a state of freedom, among white men was incompatible with the\nhappiness of both. He thought they had better be emancipated, and sent\nout of the country. He therefore took up with the colonization scheme\nlong before the Colonization Society was founded. He did not feel sure\non this point. With his practical mind, he could not see how a half\nmillion of slaves could be sent out of the country, even if they were\nvoluntarily liberated;[8] where they should be sent to, or how\nunwilling masters could be compelled to liberate their slaves. While,\ntherefore, he did not favor immediate emancipation, he was zealous for\nno other scheme.\n\nBishop Gregoire, of Paris, felt deeply hurt at Mr. Jefferson's low\nestimate of the <DW64>'s mental capacity, and wrote to him a sharp\nletter on the subject. Later, the Bishop sent a copy of his own book\non the Literature of <DW64>s.[9] Acknowledging the receipt of the\nBishop's book, Mr. Jefferson says:\n\n    \"Be assured that no person living wishes more sincerely than I do,\n    to see a complete refutation of the doubts I have myself\n    entertained and expressed on the grade and understanding allotted\n    to them by nature, and to find that, in this respect, they are on\n    a par with ourselves. My doubts were the result of personal\n    observation on the limited sphere of my own State, where the\n    opportunities for the development of their genius were not\n    favorable, and those of exercising it still less so. I expressed\n    them, therefore, with great hesitation; but whatever be their\n    degree of talent, it is no measure of their rights. Because Sir\n    Isaac Newton was superior to others in understanding, he was not\n    therefore lord of the person and property of others. On this\n    subject they are gaining daily in the opinions of nations, and\n    hopeful advances are making toward their re-establishment on an\n    equal footing with other colors of the human family. I pray you,\n    therefore, to accept my thanks for the many instances you have\n    enabled me to observe of respectable intelligence in that race of\n    men, which can not fail to have effect in hastening the day of\n    their relief.\" Works, v, p. 429.\n\nWriting to another person a few months later, he alludes to this\nletter and says: \"As to Bishop Gregoire, I wrote him a very soft\nanswer. It was impossible for a doubt to be more tenderly or\nhesitatingly expressed than it was in the Notes on Virginia; and\nnothing was, or is, further from my intentions than to enlist myself\nas a champion of a fixed opinion, where I have only expressed a\ndoubt.\" Works, v, p. 476.\n\nMr. Jefferson never got beyond his doubt; and Bishop Gregoire resented\nhis passive position by omitting Mr. Jefferson's name from a list of\nfourteen Americans, which included Mr. Madison, William Pinkney, Dr.\nBenj. Rush, Timothy Dwight, Col. Humphreys, and Joel Barlow, to whom,\nwith other philanthropists, he dedicated his book.\n\nWashington, Madison, Patrick Henry, George Mason, and nearly all the\npublic men of Virginia and Maryland of that period were in much the\nsame state of mind as Jefferson.[10] So was Henry Clay at a later\nperiod.\n\nMr. Jefferson, in August, 1785, wrote a letter to Dr. Richard Price,\nof London, author of a treatise on Liberty, in which very advanced\nopinions were taken on the slavery question. Concerning the\nprevalence of anti-slavery opinions at that period, he says:\n\"Southward of the Chesapeake your book will find but few readers\nconcurring with it in sentiment on the subject of slavery. From the\nmouth to the head of the Chesapeake, the bulk of the people will\napprove its theory, and it will find a respectable minority, a\nminority ready to adopt it in practice; which, for weight and worth of\ncharacter, preponderates against the greater number who have not the\ncourage to divest their families of a property which, however, keeps\ntheir consciences unquiet. Northward of the Chesapeake you may find,\nhere and there, an opponent to your doctrine, as you find, here and\nthere, a robber and murderer, but in no greater number. In that part\nof America there are but few slaves, and they can easily disincumber\nthemselves of them; and emancipation is put in such a train that in a\nfew years there will be no slaves northward of Maryland. In Maryland I\ndo not find such a disposition to begin the redress of this enormity\nas in Virginia. These [the inhabitants of Virginia] have sucked in the\nprinciples of liberty, as it were, with their mothers' milk, and it is\nto these I look with anxiety to turn the fate of this question. Be\nnot, therefore, discouraged. The College of William and Mary in\nWilliamsburg, since the remodeling of its plan, is the place where\nare collected together all the young men of Virginia under preparation\nfor public life. There they are under the direction (most of them) of\na Mr. George Wythe [Professor of Law from 1779 to 1789], one of the\nmost virtuous of characters, and whose sentiments on the subject of\nslavery are unequivocal. I am satisfied if you could resolve to\naddress an exhortation to these young men, with all the eloquence of\nwhich you are master, that its influence on the future decision of\nthis important question would be great, perhaps decisive.\"[11] Works,\ni, p. 377.\n\nThere was great progress in anti-slavery sentiment between 1785 and\n1791, when Maryland was fully awake, as we see from Dr. Buchanan's\nOration. In proof of this progress, it may be stated that, in 1784,\nMr. Jefferson drew up an ordinance for the government of the Western\nterritories, in which he inserted an article prohibiting slavery in\nthe territories after the year 1800. On reporting the ordinance to the\nContinental Congress, the article prohibiting slavery was forthwith\nstricken out, and the report, as amended, was accepted; but the\nordinance itself was a dead letter. Three years later, the celebrated\nOrdinance of 1787, for the organization of the Northwest Territory,\nembracing what is now the States of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan,\nand Wisconsin, was reported by a committee consisting of Edward\nCarrington of Virginia, Nathan Dane of Massachusetts, Richard Henry\nLee of Virginia, John Kean of South Carolina, and Melanethon Smith of\nNew York, acting under the advice of Dr. Mannasseh Cutler, citizen of\nMassachusetts, who was then in New York, attending the session of\nCongress, for the purpose of buying land for the Ohio Company, which\nmade, the next year, the first English settlement in that Territory,\nat Marietta. The Ordinance provided that \"there shall be neither\nslavery nor involuntary servitude in the said Territory.\" It was\npassed without debate, or the offer (except by the committee) of an\namendment, by the vote of every state. A few years earlier or later,\nsuch a vote would have been impossible.[12] Just before this date,\ncommenced the great Southern awakening on the subject of slavery, of\nwhich so little is now known, and of which Dr. Buchanan's Oration is\nan illustration.\n\nThere never has been a time since 1619, when the first slave ship, a\nDutch man-of-war, entered James river, in Virginia, when in our\ncountry there were not persons protesting against the wickedness and\nimpolicy of the African slave trade and of the domestic slave system.\nSlavery was introduced into the American colonies, against the wishes\nof the settlers, by the avarice of British traders and with the\nconnivance of the British government. Just previous to the Revolution,\nthe Colony of Massachusetts made several attempts to relieve itself\nof the incubus, and the acts of the General Court were smothered or\nvetoed by three successive Governors, under the plea that they had\nsuch instructions from England. In 1772, the Assembly of Virginia\npetitioned the throne of England to stop the importation of slaves,\nusing language as follows: \"We are encouraged to look up to the throne\nand implore your Majesty's paternal assistance in averting a calamity\nof a most alarming nature. The importation of slaves into the colonies\nfrom the coast of Africa hath long been considered as a trade of great\ninhumanity, and under its present encouragement, we have much reason\nto fear will endanger the very existence of your Majesty's dominions.\nDeeply impressed with these sentiments, we most humbly beseech your\nMajesty to remove all restraints on your Majesty's Governors of this\ncolony, which inhibit to their assisting to such laws as might check\nso very pernicious a commerce.\" No notice was taken of the petition by\nthe crown. This was the principal grievance complained of by Virginia\nat the commencement of the revolutionary war.\n\nThe limits allowed me forbid my giving even a sketch of legislative\naction, of the opinions of great men, of the labors of Samuel Sewall,\nGeorge Keith, Samuel Hopkins, William Burling, Ralph Sandiford,\nAnthony Benezet, Benjamin Lay, John Woolman, and others, and of the\nliterature of the subject, from the beginning of the irrepressible\nconflict in 1619 down to the period we are considering.[13]\n\nThe revolutionary war, and the questions which then arose, turned the\nthoughts of men, as never before, to the injustice and impolicy of\nslavery. At the first general Congress of the colonies, held at\nPhiladelphia in 1774, Mr. Jefferson presented an exposition of rights,\nin which he says: \"The abolition of slavery is the greatest object of\ndesire in these colonies, when it was unhappily introduced in their\ninfant state.\" Among the \"articles of association\" adopted by that\nCongress, October 20, 1774, was this: \"That we will neither import,\nnor purchase any slave imported, after the first day of December next,\nnor will we hire our vessels, nor sell our commodities or manufactures\nto those who are concerned in the slave trade.\"\n\nThe first anti-slavery society, in this or any other country, was\nformed April 14, 1775, at the Sun Tavern, on Second street, in\nPhiladelphia. The original members of this society were mostly, and\nperhaps all of them, Friends or Quakers. This religious society had,\nfor any years earnestly protested against slavery. As early as 1696\nthe yearly meeting had cautioned its members against encouraging the\nbringing in of any more <DW64>s. In 1743, and, again in 1755, the\nannual query was made, whether their members were clear of importing\nor buying slaves. In 1758, those who disobeyed the advice of the\nyearly meeting were placed under discipline; and in 1776, those who\ncontinued to hold slaves over the lawful age, were disowned.[14]\n\nThe first anti-slavery society took the name of \"The Society for the\nRelief of Free <DW64>s unlawfully held in Bondage.\"[15] The society\nmet four times in 1775, and on account of the war no meeting occurred\nagain until February, 1784. I was so fortunate to find among some\npamphlets, presented to our Public Library a short time since, an\noriginal copy of the \"Rules and Regulations\" of this society, printed\nin 1784, which I have here.[16] Regular meetings were held till\nApril, 1787, when the constitution was revised and made to include the\n\"Abolition of Slavery\" as well as the \"Relief of Free <DW64>s\" and Dr.\nBenjamin Franklin was chosen president, and Benjamin Rush, secretary,\nboth signers of the Declaration of Independence.[17]\n\nThe society entered with zeal upon its mission, circulating its\ndocuments, and opening a correspondence with eminent men in the United\nStates and in Europe.[18]\n\nThe New York \"Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves\" was\norganized January 25, 1785, and John Jay was the first president. On\nbeing appointed Chief Justice of the United States, he resigned, and\nAlexander Hamilton was appointed to his place. This society circulated\ngratuitously Dr. Samuel Hopkins's Dialogue on Slavery, and Address to\nSlaveholders, and other documents. In 1787, the Society offered a\ngold medal for the best discourse, at the public commencement of\nColumbia College, on the injustice and cruelty of the slave-trade, and\nthe fatal effects of slavery. The London Society was organized July\n17, 1787; the Paris Society in February, 1788;[19] and the Delaware\nSociety the same year.[20] The Maryland Society was formed September\n8, 1789,[21] and the same year the Rhode Island Society was organized\nin the house of Dr. Hopkins, at Newport. In 1790, the Connecticut\nSociety was formed, of which Dr. Ezra Stiles, President of Yale\nCollege, and Judge Simeon Baldwin, were the president and secretary.\nThe Virginia Society was formed in 1791; and the New Jersey Society in\n1792.\n\nThe principal officers of these societies were not fanatics; they were\nmost eminent men in the land--judges of the courts, members of the\nConstitutional Convention and of the Continental and United States\nCongress.\n\nIt is to be observed that there was no anti-slavery society in\nMassachusetts, which enjoys the reputation of originating all the\nradicalism of the land.[22] Slavery had come to an end there, about\nthe year 1780; but when, or how, nobody is able to say definitely.\nSome even say that it was abolished there in 1776, by the Declaration\nof Independence declaring that \"all men are created equal.\" Others\nclaim that, substantially the same clause, \"all men are born free and\nequal,\" incorporated into the declaration of rights in the State\nConstitution of 1780, abolished slavery. There was no action of the\nState Legislature on the subject, and no proclamation by the governor;\nyet it was as well settled in 1783, that there was no slavery in\nMassachusetts, as it is to-day. This came about by a decision of the\nSupreme Court that there was no slavery in the State, it being\nincompatible with the declaration of rights. \"How, or by what act\nparticularly,\" says Chief Justice Shaw, \"slavery was abolished in\nMassachusetts, whether by the adoption of the opinion in Somerset's\ncase as a declaration and modification of the common law, or by the\nDeclaration of Independence, or by the constitution of 1780, it is not\nnow very easy to determine; it is rather a matter of curiosity than\nutility, it being agreed on all hands that, if not abolished before,\nit was by the declaration of rights.\" 18 Pickering, 209.[23]\n\nMr. Sumner asserted, in a speech in the Senate, June 28, 1854, that\n\"in all her annals, no person was ever born a slave on the soil of\nMassachusetts.\" Mr. Palfrey, in his History of New England,[24]\nsays: \"In fact, no person was ever born into legal slavery in\nMassachusetts;\" and Prof. Emory Washburn, in his Lecture, January 22,\n1869, on \"Slavery as it once prevailed in Massachusetts,\"[25] says:\n\"Nor does the fact that they were held as slaves, where the question\nas to their being such was never raised, militate with the position\nalready stated--that no child was ever born into _lawful_ bondage in\nMassachusetts, from the year 1641 to the present hour.\"\n\nThese statements, in substance the same, seem like a technical\nevasion. Thousands were born into actual slavery--whether it were\nlegal or not was poor consolation to the slave--lived as slaves, were\nsold as slaves, and died as slaves in Massachusetts. They never knew\nthey were freemen. The number of slaves in Massachusetts in 1776 was\n5,249, about half of whom were owned in Boston, which had then a\npopulation of 17,500. The proportion of slaves to the whole population\nof Boston in 1776, was six times as great as the number of <DW52>\npersons in Cincinnati to-day is to the whole population, and ten times\nas great as the present proportion of <DW52> persons in Boston.[26]\n\nThe same declaration, that \"all men are created equally free and\nindependent,\" is found in the constitutions of New Hampshire and\nVirginia; but it did not in these states receive the same\nconstruction as in Massachusetts. In New Hampshire it was construed to\nmean that all persons _born_ after 1784--the date of the adoption of\nthe Constitution--were equally free and independent. In other words,\nit brought about gradual emancipation. In Virginia, it was simply a\nglittering generality--it had no legal meaning.[27]\n\nIn addition to the State Societies already named, there were several\nlocal societies in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. All the\nabolition societies in the country were in correspondence and acted\ntogether. At the suggestion of the New York Society, a convention of\ndelegates was called for the purpose of deliberating on the means of\nattaining their common object, and of uniting in a memorial to\nCongress. Delegates from ten of these societies, including the\nVirginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York,\nConnecticut, and Rhode Island State Societies, and two local societies\non the eastern shore of Maryland, met on the first day of January,\n1794, at the Select Council Chamber in Philadelphia,[28] and drew up a\njoint memorial to Congress, asking for a law making the use of vessels\nand men in the slave trade a penal offense. Such a law was passed by\nCongress without debate.[29] These societies held annual conventions\nfor many years. The convention recommended that such meetings of\ndelegates be annually convened; that annual or periodical discourses\nor orations be delivered in public on slavery and the means of its\nabolition, in order that, \"by the frequent application of the force of\nreason and the persuasive power of eloquence, slaveholders and their\nabettors may be awakened to a sense of their injustice, and be\nstartled with horror at the enormity of their conduct.\"\n\nThe convention also adopted an address \"To the citizens of the United\nStates,\" which was drawn up by Dr. Benjamin Rush.[30]\n\nSimilar societies were formed in London and Paris, with whom these\nsocieties were in constant correspondence. Pennsylvania passed an act\nof gradual emancipation in 1780, and Rhode Island and Connecticut in\n1784. A similar act, making all children born thereafter free, did not\npass the Legislature of New York till 1799. In the meantime these\nsocieties were pouring in their memorials to State Legislatures and\nCongress, holding meetings, distributing documents, and rousing public\nsentiment to the enormities of the slave system.\n\nThe Connecticut petitioners say: \"From a sober conviction of the\nunrighteousness of slavery, your petitioners have long beheld with\ngrief our fellow-men doomed to perpetual bondage in a country which\nboasts of her freedom. Your petitioners are fully of opinion that calm\nreflection will at last convince the world that the whole system of\nAmerican slavery is unjust in its nature, impolitic in its principles,\nand in its consequences ruinous to the industry and enterprise of the\ncitizens of these states.\"\n\nThe Virginia Society, petitioning Congress, says: \"Your memorialists,\nfully aware that righteousness exalteth a nation, and that slavery is\nnot only an odious degradation, but an outrageous violation of one of\nthe most essential rights of human nature, and utterly repugnant to\nthe precepts of the gospel, which breathes 'peace on earth and good\nwill to men,' lament that a practice so inconsistent with true policy\nand the inalienable rights of men should subsist in so enlightened an\nage, and among a people professing that all mankind are, by nature,\nequally entitled to freedom.\"\n\nThe Pennsylvania Society memorialized Congress thus: \"The memorial\nrespectfully showeth: That from a regard for the happiness of mankind,\nan association was formed several years since in this state, by a\nnumber of her citizens of various religious denominations, for\npromoting the abolition of slavery, and for the relief of those\nunlawfully held in bondage. A just and acute conception of the true\nprinciples of liberty, as it spread through the land, produced\naccessories to their numbers, many friends to their cause, and a\nlegislative co-operation with their views, which, by the blessing of\nDivine Providence, have been successfully directed to the relieving\nfrom bondage a large number of their fellow-creatures of the African\nrace. They have also the satisfaction to observe that in consequence\nof that spirit of philanthropy and genuine liberty, which is generally\ndiffusing its beneficial influence, similar institutions are forming\nat home and abroad.\n\n\"That mankind are all formed by the same Almighty Being, alike objects\nof his care and equally designed for the enjoyment of happiness, the\nChristian religion teaches us to believe, and the political creed of\nAmericans fully coincides with the position.\n\n\"Your memorialists, particularly engaged in attending to the\ndistresses arising from slavery, believe it their indispensable duty\nto present the subject to your notice. They have observed with real\nsatisfaction, that many important and salutary powers are vested in\nyou for 'promoting the welfare and securing the blessings of liberty\nto the people of the United States;' and as they conceive that these\nblessings ought rightfully to be administered without distinction of\ncolor to all descriptions of people, so they indulge themselves in the\npleasing expectation that nothing which can be done for the relief of\nthe unhappy objects of their care will be either omitted or delayed.\"\n\n\"From a persuasion that equal liberty was originally the portion, and\nis still the birthright of all men, and influenced by the strong ties\nof humanity and the principles of their institution, your memorialists\nconceive themselves bound to use all justifiable endeavors to loosen\nthe bands of slavery, and promote a general enjoyment of the blessings\nof freedom. Under these impressions they earnestly entreat your\nserious attention to the subject of slavery; that you will be pleased\nto countenance the restoration to liberty of those unhappy men, who,\nalone, in this land of freedom, are degraded into perpetual bondage;\nand who, amidst the general joy of surrounding freemen, are groaning\nin servile subjection; that you will devise means for removing this\ninconsistency from the character of the American people; and that you\nwill step to the very verge of the power vested in you for\ndiscouraging every species of traffic in the persons of our\nfellow-men,\" Annals of Congress, i, p. 1239.\n\nThis memorial was drawn up and signed by \"BENJAMIN FRANKLIN,\n_President_, Feb. 3, 1790.\" It was the last public act of that eminent\nman. He died on the 17th day of the April following. It will be\nobserved that the memorial strikes at slavery itself, on the ground\nthat the institution is unjust, and a national disgrace. It was so\nunderstood in Congress, and ruffled the equanimity of the\nrepresentatives of South Carolina and Georgia. Mr. Jackson, of\nGeorgia, distinguished himself in the debate by an elaborate defense\nof the institution. He was especially annoyed that Dr. Franklin's name\nshould be attached to the memorial, \"a man,\" he said, \"who ought to\nhave known the constitution better.\"[31]\n\nDr. Franklin, though confined to his chamber, and suffering under a\nmost painful disease, could not allow the occasion to pass without\nindulging his humor at the expense of Mr. Jackson. He wrote to the\neditor of the _Federal Gazette_, March 23, 1790, as follows: \"Reading,\nlast night, in your excellent paper, the speech of Mr. Jackson, in\nCongress, against their meddling with the affair of slavery, or\nattempting to mend the condition of the slaves, it put me in mind of a\nsimilar one made about one hundred years since by Sidi Mehemet\nIbrahim, a member of the Divan of Algiers, which may be seen in\nMartin's Account of his Consulship, anno 1687. It was against granting\nthe petition of a sect called _Erika_, or Purists, who prayed for the\nabolition of piracy and slavery as being unjust. Mr. Jackson does not\nquote it; perhaps he has not seen it. If, therefore, some of its\nreasonings are to be found in his eloquent speech, it may only show\nthat men's interests and intellects operate, and are operated on,\nwith surprising similarity, in all countries and climates, whenever\nthey are under similar circumstances. The African's speech, as\ntranslated, is as follows.\" He then goes on to make an ingenious\nparody of Mr. Jackson's speech, making this African Mussulman give the\nsame religious, and other reasons, for not releasing the white\nChristian slaves, whom they had captured by piracy, that Mr. Jackson\nhad made for not releasing African slaves.[32] There were inquiries in\nthe libraries for \"Martin's Account of his Consulship,\" but it was\nnever found. The paper may be read in the second volume of Franklin's\nWorks, Sparks' edition, p. 518. None of Dr. Franklin's writings are\nmore felicitous than this _jeu d' esprit_; and it was written only\ntwenty-four days before his death.\n\nIn the midst of this period, when anti-slavery opinions were so\ngenerally held by leading statesmen, the Constitution of the United\nStates was formed. It is due to the framers of that instrument to\nstate that the entire delegations from the Northern and Middle States,\nand a majority of those from Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware were\ninspired to a greater or less extent with these sentiments, and would\nhave supported any practical measures that would, in a reasonable\ntime, have put an end to slavery. South Carolina and Georgia\npositively refused to come into the Union unless the clause, denying\nto Congress the power to prohibit the importation of slaves prior to\n1808, was inserted. The Northern States were not so strenuous in\nopposition to this clause as Virginia and Maryland.[33] State after\nstate was abolishing the institution; anti-slavery opinions were\nbecoming universal; and it was generally supposed at the North that\nslavery would soon die out. The financial and business interests of\nthe country were prostrated. Union at any cost must be had. The words\n_slave_ and _slavery_ were carefully avoided in the draft, and the\nbest terms possible were made for South Carolina and Georgia. The\nConstitution, as finally adopted, suited nobody; and by the narrowest\nmargins it escaped being rejected in all the States. The vote in the\nMassachusetts Convention was 187 yeas to 168 nays; and in the Virginia\nConvention, 89 yeas to 78 nays.\n\nFrom this examination of the subject, we see that the popular idea,\nthat the political anti-slavery agitation was forced upon the South by\nthe North, and especially by Massachusetts, is not a correct one. In\nthe second period of excited controversy, from 1820 to 1830, the\nSouth again took the lead. In 1827, there were one hundred and thirty\nabolition societies in the United States. Of these one hundred and six\nwere in the slaveholding States, and only four in New England and New\nYork. Of these societies eight were in Virginia, eleven in Maryland,\ntwo in Delaware, two in the District of Columbia, eight in Kentucky,\ntwenty-five in Tennessee, with a membership of one thousand, and fifty\nin North Carolina, with a membership of three thousand persons.[34]\nMany of these societies were the result of the personal labors of\nBenjamin Lundy.\n\nThe Southampton insurrection of 1830, and indications of insurrection\nin North Carolina the same year, swept away these societies and their\nvisible results. The fifteen years from 1830 to 1845 were the darkest\nperiod the American slave ever saw. It was the reign of violence and\nmob law at the North. This was the second great reaction. The first\ncommenced with the invention of the cotton-gin, by Eli Whitney, in\n1793, and continued till the question of the admission of Missouri\ncame up in 1820. The third reaction was a failure; it commenced in\n1861, and resulted in the overthrow of the institution.\n\nIn the year 1791, the date that Dr. Buchanan delivered his oration at\nBaltimore, the College of William and Mary, in Virginia, conferred\nupon Granville Sharp, the great abolition agitator of England, the\ndegree of LL. D. Granville Sharp had no other reputation than his\nanti-slavery record. This slender straw shows significantly the\ncurrent of public opinion in Virginia at that time. If Granville Sharp\nhad come over some years later to visit the President and Fellows of\nthe College which had conferred upon him so distinguished a honor, it\nmight have been at the risk of personal liberty, if not of life.\n\nColleges are naturally conservative, both from principle and from\npolicy. Harvard College has never conferred upon Wm. Lloyd Garrison\nthe least of its academic honors. Wendell Phillips, its own alumnus,\nthe most eloquent of its living orators, and having in his veins a\nstrain of the best blood of Boston, has always been snubbed at the\nliterary and festive gatherings of the College. Southern gentlemen,\nhowever, agitators of the divine and biblical origin of slavery, have\never found a welcome on those occasions, for which latter courtesy the\nCollege should be honored.\n\nIf the visitor who records his name in the register of the\nMassachusetts Historical Society, will turn to the first leaf, he will\nfind standing at the head the autograph of Jefferson Davis. Whether\nthis position of honor was assigned by intention, or occurred\naccidentally, I can not state. But there it is, and if you forget to\nlook for yourself, it will probably be shown to you by the attendant.\n\nMr. Davis, with his family, visited Boston in 1858, and was received\nwith marked attention by all. During this visit he was introduced, and\nfrequently came to the Athenaeum, where I made his acquaintance. Among\nother objects of interest in the institution, I showed him\nWashington's library and this oration of Dr. Buchanan. Nothing so\nfixed his attention as this; he read it and expressed himself amazed.\nHe had heard that such sentiments were expressed at the South, but had\nnever seen them.\n\nI am conscious that while I have taxed your patience, I have given but\nan imperfect presentation of the subject. If this endeavor shall serve\nto incite members of the Club to investigate the subject for\nthemselves, my object will have been attained.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The questionable morality of Gen. Washington's motto might suggest\nthat it was not originally adopted by him. The sentiment, that \"the\nend justifies the means,\" has been charged, as a reproach, upon the\nJesuits. It was the motto of the Northamptonshire family from which\nGen. Washington descended, and was used by him, probably without a\nthought of its Jesuitical association, or its meaning.\n\n[2] On one of the fly-leaves, written in a boy's hand, is \"Mary\nWashington and George Washington.\" Beneath is this memorandum: \"The\nabove is in General Washington's handwriting when nine years of age.\n[Signed,] G. W. Parke Custis,\" who was the grandson of Mrs.\nWashington, and the last surviver of the family. He was born in 1781,\nand died at the Arlington House in 1857.\n\nIn the appraisement of General Washington's estate, after his death,\nthis book was valued at twenty-five cents, and the Miscellaneous Works\nof Col. Humphreys, at three dollars. The boy's scribbling, in the one\ncase, and the gorgeous binding in the other, probably determined these\nvalues. In the appendix of Mr. Everett's Life of Washington, is\nprinted the appraisers' inventory of Washington's library. Tracts on\nSlavery was valued at $1.00; Life of John Buncle, 2 vols., $3.00;\nPeregrine Pickle, 3 vols., $1.50; Humphrey Clinker, 25c., Jefferson's\nNotes on Virginia, $1.50, Tom Jones, or the History of a Foundling, 3\nvols., (third vol. wanting) $1.50; Gulliver's Travels, 2 vols., $1.50;\nPike's Arithmetic, $2.00.\n\n[3] The first of these tracts is \"A Serious Address to the Rulers of\nAmerica, on the Inconsistency of their Conduct respecting Slavery:\nforming a contest between the encroachments of England on American\nliberty, and American injustice in tolerating slavery. By a Farmer,\nLondon,\" 1783. 24 pages. 8vo. The author compared, in opposite\ncolumns, the speeches and resolutions of the members of Congress in\nbehalf of their own liberty, with their conduct in continuing the\nslavery of others. I have never seen the name of the author of this\ntract. It was extensively circulated at the time, and had much\ninfluence in forming the anti-slavery sentiment which later existed.\nAnother is \"An Essay on the Impolicy of the African Slave Trade. In\ntwo Parts. By the Rev. T. Clarkson, M. A. To which is added an Oration\nupon the Necessity of Establishing at Paris a Society for Promoting\nthe Abolition of the Trade and Slavery of the <DW64>s. By J. P.\nBrissot de Warville. Philadelphia: Printed by Francis Bailey, for 'the\nPennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery and the\nRelief of Free <DW64>s unlawfully held in Bondage.' 1789.\" 155 pp.\n8vo.\n\n[4] These facts may also be found in Steadman's Narrative of an\nExpedition to Surinam, vol. 2. p. 160; in Bishop Gregoire's \"Enquiry\ninto the Intellectual and Moral Faculties and Literature of <DW64>s,\"\np. 153; in Edw. Needles' \"Historical Memoir of the Pennsylvania\nSociety for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery,\" p. 32; and in Brissot\nde Warville's New Travels in the United States, p. 287, ed. 1792.\n\n[5] Mr. Needles says: \"He was visited by William Hartshorn and Samuel\nCoates of this city (Philadelphia), and gave correct answers to all\ntheir questions--such as how many seconds there are in a year and a\nhalf. In two minutes he answered 47,304,000. How many seconds in\nseventy years, seventeen days, twelve hours. In one minute and a half,\n2,110,500,800. He multiplied nine figures by nine,\" etc., etc.\n\n[6] Accounts of these two black men were prepared by Dr. Rush, for the\ninformation of the London Society.\n\n[7] Works, iii, p. 291.\n\n[8] In a letter to M. de Meusnier, dated January 24, 1786, Mr.\nJefferson says: \"I conjecture there are six hundred and fifty thousand\n<DW64>s in the five southermost states, and not fifty thousand in the\nrest. In most of the latter, effectual measures have been taken for\ntheir future emancipation. In the former nothing is done toward that.\nThe disposition to emancipate them is strongest in Virginia. Those who\ndesire it, form, as yet, the minority of the whole state, but it bears\na respectable proportion to the whole, in numbers and weight of\ncharacter; and it is constantly recruiting by the addition of nearly\nthe whole of the young men as fast as they come into public life. I\nflatter myself that it will take place there at some period of time\nnot very distant. In Maryland and North Carolina, a very few are\ndisposed to emancipate. In South Carolina and Georgia, not the\nsmallest symptom of it; but, on the contrary, these two states and\nNorth Carolina continue importations of slaves. These have long been\nprohibited in all the other states.\" Works, ix, p. 290.\n\n[9] \"De la Litterature des Negres; ou Recherches aur leurs Facultes\nIntellectuelles, leurs Qualites Morales et leur Litterature, Paris,\n1808.\" 8vo. The work was translated by D. B. Warden, Secretary of the\nAmerican Legation at Paris, and printed at Brooklyn, New York, in\n1810.\n\n[10] Gen. Washington, although a slaveholder, put on record throughout\nhis voluminous correspondence his detestation of the system of\nslavery, as practiced at the South.\n\nM. Brissot de Warville, in connection with Gen. Lafayette and other\nFrench philanthropists, early in the year 1788, formed at Paris the\nPhilanthropic Society of the Friends of <DW64>s, to co-operate with\nthose in America and London, in procuring the abolition of the traffic\nin, and the slavery of, the blacks. In furtherance of this object, M.\nBrissot de Warville delivered an oration in Paris, February 17, 1788,\nwhich was translated and printed by the Pennsylvania Abolition\nSociety, in Philadelphia, the next year. In May of the same year, he\narrived in the United States, and wrote the most impartial and\ninstructive book of travels in America (with the exception of M. de\nTocqueville's), that has ever been made by a foreigner, of which\nseveral editions in English were printed in London. His principles\nbrought him into intimate relations with persons who held anti-slavery\nsentiments, and his work gives a very interesting epitome of the\nprevalence of those sentiments at that period.\n\nHe visited General Washington at Mount Vernon, and conversed with him\nfreely on the subject of slavery. He states that the General had three\nhundred slaves distributed in log houses in different parts of his\nplantation of ten thousand acres. \"They were treated,\" he said, \"with\nthe greatest humanity; well fed, well clothed, and kept to moderate\nlabor. They bless God without ceasing for having given them so good a\nmaster. It is a task worthy of a soul so elevated, so pure and so\ndisinterested, to begin the revolution in Virginia to prepare the way\nfor the emancipation of the <DW64>s. This great man declared to me\nthat he rejoiced at what was doing in other States on the subject [of\nemancipation--alluding to the recent formation of several state\nsocieties]; that he sincerely desired the extension of it in his own\nState; but he did not dissemble that there were still many obstacles\nto be overcome; that it was dangerous to strike too vigorously at a\nprejudice which had begun to diminish; that time, patience, and\ninformation would not fail to vanquish it. Almost all the Virginians,\nhe added, believe that the liberty of the blacks can not become\ngeneral. This is the reason why they do not wish to form a society\nwhich may give dangerous ideas to their slaves. There is another\nobstacle--the great plantations of which the state is composed, render\nit necessary for men to live so dispersed that frequent meetings of a\nsociety would be difficult.\n\n\"I replied, that the Virginians were in an error; that evidently,\nsooner or later, the <DW64>s would obtain their liberty everywhere. It\nis then for the interests of your countrymen to prepare the way to\nsuch a revolution, by endeavoring to reconcile the restitution of the\nrights of the blacks, with the interest of the whites. The means\nnecessary to be taken to this effect can only be the work of a\nsociety; and it is worthy the saviour of America to put himself at the\nhead, and to open the door of liberty to 300,000 unhappy beings of his\nown State. He told me that he desired the formation of a society, and\nthat he would second it; but that he did not think the moment\nfavorable. Doubtless more elevated views filled his soul. The destiny\nof America was just ready to be placed a second time in his hands.\"\nEd. of 1792, pp. 290, 291.\n\n\"The strongest objection to freeing the <DW64>s lies in the character,\nthe manners, and habits of the Virginians. They seem to enjoy the\nsweat of slaves. They are fond of hunting; they love the display of\nluxury, and disdain the idea of labor. This order of things will\nchange when slavery shall be no more.\" Id., p. 281.\n\nPatrick Henry, in the Virginia Constitutional Convention, opposing the\nadoption of the Federal Constitution, said: \"In this State there are\n236,000 blacks. May Congress not say that every black man must fight?\nDid we not see a little of this in the last war? We were not so hard\npushed as to make emancipation general; but acts of Assembly passed\nthat every slave who would go to the army should be free. Another\nthing will contribute to bring this event [emancipation] about.\nSlavery is detested. We feel its fatal effects; we deplore it with all\nthe pity of humanity. Have they [Congress] not power to provide for\nthe general defense and welfare? May they not think that these call\nfor the abolition of slavery? May they not pronounce all slaves free,\nand will they not be warranted by that power?\n\n\"I repeat it again, that it would rejoice my very soul, that every one\nof my fellow-beings were emancipated. As we ought, with gratitude, to\nadmire that decree of Heaven which has numbered us among the free, we\nought to lament and deplore the necessity of holding our fellow-men in\nbondage. But is it practicable, by any human means, to liberate them\nwithout producing the most dreadful and ruinous consequences?\"\nElliott's Debates, Va., pp. 590, 591.\n\nGeorge Mason, in the same convention, speaking against article 1,\nsection 9, of the Constitution, which forbids Congress from\nprohibiting the importation of slaves before the year 1808, said: \"It\n[the importation of slaves] was one of the great causes of our\nseparation from Great Britain. Its exclusion has been a principal\nobject of this State, and most of the States of the Union. The\naugmentation of slaves weakens the States; and such a trade is\ndiabolical in itself, and disgraceful to mankind: yet, by this\nConstitution, it is continued for twenty years. As much as I value a\nunion of all the States, I would not admit the Southern States into\nthe Union, unless they agree to the discontinuance of this disgraceful\ntrade, because it brings weakness, and not strength, to the Union.\"\nElliott's Debates, Va., p. 452.\n\n[11] Mr. Jefferson's doubts, and his timidity, as a person of\npolitical aspirations, in treating the subject of slavery in a\npractical manner, reduced his conduct to the verge of cowardice, if\nnot of duplicity. While writing to Dr. Price in this assured tone, and\nurging him to exhort the young men of the College of William and Mary,\non the evils of slavery, he was afraid to have these same students see\nwhat he had himself written on the same subject, in his \"Notes on\nVirginia.\" M. de Chastelleux had written to him, desiring to print\nsome extracts from the \"Notes on Virginia,\" in the _Journal de\nPhysique_. Mr. Jefferson replied, June 7, 1785, only two months before\nhe wrote the above letter to Dr. Price, saying: \"I am not afraid that\nyou should make any extracts you please for the _Journal de Physique_,\nwhich come within their plan of publication. The strictures on\nslavery, and on the constitution of Virginia, are not of that kind and\nthey are the parts which I do not wish to have made public; at least,\ntill I know whether their publication would do most harm or good. It\nis possible that, in my own country, these strictures might produce an\nirritation which would indispose the people toward the two great\nobjects I have in view; that is, the emancipation of their slaves, and\nthe settlement of their constitution on a firmer and more permanent\nbasis. If I learn from thence that they will not produce that effect,\nhave printed and reserved just copies enough to be able to give one to\nevery young man at the College.\" Works, i, p. 339.\n\nWriting from Paris, August 13, 1786, to George Wythe, Mr. Jefferson\nsays: \"Madison, no doubt, informed you why I sent only a single copy\nof my 'Notes' to Virginia. Being assured by him that they will not do\nthe harm I had apprehended; but, on the contrary, may do some good, I\npropose to send thither the copies remaining on hand, which are fewer\nthan I intended.\" Works, ii, p. 6. Mr. Madison's communications to Mr.\nJefferson on the subject are in his \"Letters and other Writings,\" i,\npp, 202, 211. M. Brissot de Warville proposed to Mr. Jefferson to\nbecome a member of the Philanthropic Society of Paris. Mr. Jefferson\nreplied, February 12, 1788, as follows: \"I am very sensible of the\nhonor you propose to me, of becoming a member of the society for the\nabolition of the slave trade. You know that nobody wishes more\nardently to see an abolition, not only of the trade, but of the\ncondition of slavery; and certainly nobody will be more willing to\nencounter every sacrifice for that object. But the influence and\ninformation of the friends to this proposition in France, will be far\nabove the need of my association. I am here as a public servant; and\nthose whom I serve, having never yet been able to give their voice\nagainst the practice, it is decent for me to avoid too public\ndemonstration of my wishes to see it abolished. Without serving the\ncause here, it might render me less able to serve it beyond the water.\nI trust you will be sensible of the prudence of those motives,\ntherefore, which govern my conduct on this occasion and be assured of\nmy wishes for the success of your undertaking.\" Works, ii, p. 357.\n\nCompare this record with Mr. Garrison's, which he put forth in the\n\"Liberator,\" in 1831. He had been accused of using plain and harsh\nlanguage. He says: \"My country is the world, and my countrymen are all\nmankind. I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as\njustice. I am in earnest; I will not equivocate; I will not excuse; I\nwill not retreat a single inch; and _I will be heard_.\"\n\n[12] Mr. Jefferson's indecision in dealing with an institution he so\nmuch abhorred, is seen in the anti-slavery provision of his ordinance.\nHe would allow slavery to get a foot-hold in the western territories,\nand at the end of sixteen years would prohibit it. By southern votes,\nthis clause was fortunately stricken out. Every northern state voted\nto retain Mr. Jefferson's fifth article of compact, and its rejection,\nwhich was regarded at the time, as a public calamity, was soon seen to\nbe a piece of good fortune. Timothy Pickering, writing to Rufus King,\nnearly a year later (March 8, 1785), says: \"I should indeed have\nobjected to the period proposed (1800) for the exclusion of slavery;\nfor the admission of it for a day, or an hour, ought to have been\nforbidden. It will be infinitely easier to prevent the evil at first,\nthan to eradicate it, or check it, at any future time. To suffer the\ncontinuance of slaves till they can be gradually emancipated, in\nstates already overrun with them, may be pardonable; but to introduce\nthem into a territory where none now exist, can never be forgiven. For\nGod's sake, let one more effort be made to prevent so terrible a\ncalamity.\"\n\nMr. King, eight days later, moved, in Congress, to attach an article\nof compact to Mr. Jefferson's ordinance, in the place of the one\nstricken outs in substantially the words that stand in the Ordinance\nof 1787: \"That there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary\nservitude in any of the states described in the resolve of Congress of\nApril 23, 178-.\" The matter was referred to a committee; but was never\ntaken up and acted on. If Mr. King's resolution had passed, it would\nhave excluded slavery from Kentucky, Tennessee, and all the Western\nterritories.\n\n[13] George Keith, a Quaker, about the year 1693, printed a pamphlet\nin which he charged his own religious denomination, \"that they should\nset their <DW64>s at liberty, after some reasonable time of service.\"\nSamuel Sewall, Judge of the Superior Court of Massachusetts, in 1700,\nprinted a tract against slavery, entitled, \"The Selling of Joseph, a\nMemorial,\" which he gave to each member of the General Court, to\nclergymen, and to literary gentlemen with whom he was acquainted. This\ntract is reprinted in Moore's \"Notes on Slavery in Massachusetts,\" p.\n83. These were the earliest publications on slavery in this country.\nDr. Franklin having mentioned Keith's pamphlet, says: \"About the year\n1728 or 1729, I myself printed a book for Ralph Sandyford, another of\nyour friends in this city, against keeping <DW64>s in slavery; two\neditions of which he distributed gratis. And about the year 1736, I\nprinted another book on the same subject for Benjamin Lay, who also\nprofessed being one of your friends, and he distributed the books\nchiefly among them.\" Works, x, 403.\n\nThe earliest statute for the suppression of slavery in the colonies\nmay be seen in Rhode Island Records, i, 248, under the date of May 19,\n1652, which, however, was never enforced.\n\nThe earliest legislative protest against man-stealing, is the\nfollowing: \"The General Court, conceiving themselves bound by the\nfirst opportunity, to bear witness against the heinous and crying sin\nof man-stealing, and also to prescribe such timely redress for what is\npast, and such a law for the future, as may sufficiently deter all\nothers belonging to us to have to do in such vile and most odious\ncourses, justly abhorred of all good and just men--do order that the\n<DW64> interpreter, with others unlawfully take, be, by the first\nopportunity, (at the charge of the country for present) sent to his\nnative country of Guinea, and a letter with him of the indignation of\nthe Court thereabouts, and justice hereof--desiring our honored\nGovernor would please to put this order in execution.\" November 4,\n1646, Massachusetts Records, ii, p. 168.\n\n[14] Patrick Henry, in a letter dated January 18, 1773, to Robert\nPleasants, afterwards President of the Virginia Abolition Society,\nsaid: \"Believe me, I shall honor the Quakers for their noble efforts\nto abolish slavery. It is a debt we owe to the purity of our religion\nto show that it is at variance with that law that warrants slavery. I\nexhort you to persevere in so worthy a resolution. I believe a time\nwill come when an opportunity will be offered to abolish this\nlamentable evil.\" Wm. Goodell's Slavery and Anti-Slavery, p. 70.\n\n[15] The preamble of the Constitution then adopted was as follows:\n\"Whereas, there are in this and the neighboring states a number of\n<DW64>s and others kept in a state of slavery, who, we apprehend, from\ndifferent causes and circumstances, are justly entitled to their\nfreedom by the laws and Constitution under which we live, could their\nparticular cases be candidly and openly debated, and evidence to the\nbest advantage for them procured; but as in their situation, they,\nbeing tied by the strong cords of oppression, are rendered incapable\nof asserting their freedom, and many through this inability remain\nunjustly in bondage through life; it therefore has appeared necessary\nthat some aid should be extended towards such poor unhappy sufferers,\nwherever they may be discovered, either in this city or its\nneighborhood; and, as loosing the bonds of wickedness, and setting the\noppressed free, is evidently a duty incumbent on all professors of\nChristianity, but more especially at a time when justice, liberty, and\nthe laws of the land are the general topics among most ranks and\nstations of men. Therefore, being desirous, as much as in us lies, to\ncontribute towards obtaining relief for all such as are kept thus\nunjustly in thralldom, we have agreed to inspect and take charge of\nall the particular cases which may hereafter come to our knowledge;\nand that our good intentions may operate the more successfully, and be\nof general utility to such as stand in need of our assistance, we\njudge it expedient to form ourselves into a regular society, by the\nname of \"The Society for the Relief of Free <DW64>s unlawfully held in\nBondage.\" The officers elected were John Baldwin, President; Samuel\nDavis, Treasurer; Thomas Harrison, Secretary. Six members were also\nappointed a Committee of Inspection, and a number of cases were\nforthwith committed to their care. Edw. Needles's Historical Memoir of\nthe Pennsylvania Society, p. 15.\n\n[16] Appended to the Rules and Regulations, is the act of 1780,\nproviding for the gradual abolition of slavery in Pennsylvania. The\nmembers of the Philadelphia Society were especially active in\nprocuring the passage of this act. Anthony Benezet held private\ninterviews with every member of the government on the subject. The act\npassed the assembly by a vote of 34 to 21. The minority entered a\nprotest against it on several grounds: First, because it would be\noffensive to other states, and would weaken the bonds of union with\nthem; Second, while they approved of the justice and humanity of\nmanumitting slaves in time of peace, this was not the proper time;\nThird, they did not approve of slaves becoming citizens, of their\nvoting and being voted for, of intermarrying with white persons, etc.;\nFourth, because the motion to postpone to the next session of the\nAssembly had been overruled.\n\n[17] James Pemberton and Jonathan Penrose were chosen Vice-Presidents;\nJames Starr, Treasurer; and Wm. Lewis, John D. Cox, Miers Fisher, and\nWm. Rawle, Counselors. Thirty-six new members were elected at this\nmeeting. The preamble of the new organization was as follows: \"It\nhaving pleased the Creator of the world to make of one flesh all the\nchildren of men, it becomes them to consult and promote each other's\nhappiness, as members of the same family, however diversified they may\nbe by color, situation, religion, or different states of society. It\nis more especially the duty of those persons who profess to maintain\nfor themselves the rights of human nature, and who acknowledge the\nobligations of Christianity, to use such means as are in their power\nto extend the blessings of freedom to every part of the human race;\nand in a more particular manner to such of their fellow-creatures as\nare entitled to freedom by the laws and constitutions of any of the\nUnited States, and who, notwithstanding, are detained in bondage by\nfraud or violence. From a full conviction of the truth and obligation\nof these principles; from a desire to diffuse them wherever the\nmiseries and vices of slavery exist, and in humble confidence of the\nfavor and support of the Father of mankind, the subscribers have\nassociated themselves, under the title of 'The Pennsylvania Society\nfor promoting the Abolition of Slavery, and the Relief of Free <DW64>s\nunlawfully held in Bondage, and for improving the condition of the\nAfrican race.'\" Needles's Memoir, p. 30.\n\n[18] The secretaries were directed to have one thousand copies of the\nConstitution printed, together with the names of the officers of the\nsociety, and the acts of the Legislature of Pennsylvania for the\ngradual abolition of slavery. They were also to prepare letters to be\nsent to each of the Governors of the United States, with a copy of the\nConstitution and laws, and a copy of Clarkson's essay on \"The Commerce\nand Slavery of the Africans.\" They were also directed to write letters\nto the Society in New York, to Thomas Clarkson and Dr. Price of\nLondon, and to the Abbe Raynall, in France. Needles's Memoir, p. 30.\n\nDr. Franklin drew up a \"Plan for Improving the Condition of the Free\nBlacks.\" It embraced: First, a Committee of Inspection, who shall\nsuperintend the morals, general conduct, and ordinary situation of the\nfree <DW64>s, and afford them advice and instruction, protection from\nwrongs, and other friendly offices. Second, a Committee of Guardians,\nwho shall place out children and young people with suitable persons,\nthat they may, during a moderate time of apprenticeship or servitude,\nlearn some trade, other business of subsistence. Third, a Committee of\nEducation, who shall superintend the school instruction, of the\nchildren and youth of the free blacks. Fourth, a Committee of Employ,\nwho shall endeavor to procure constant employment for those free\n<DW64>s who are able to work, as the want of this would occasion\npoverty, idleness, and many vicious habits. The entire plan may be\nseen in Dr. Franklin's Works, ii, pp. 513, 514. Immediately following,\nin the same volume, is \"An Address to the Public,\" from the\nPennsylvania Society, also written by Dr. Franklin in aid of raising\nfunds for carrying out the purposes of the society.\n\nM. Brissot de Warville, who visited the New York and Philadelphia\nSocieties in 1788, says: \"It is certainly a misfortune that such\nsocieties do not exist in Virginia and Maryland, for it is to the\npersevering zeal of those of Philadelphia and New York, that we owe\nthe progress of this [anti-slavery] revolution in America, and the\nformation of the Society in London.\" He speaks of the impressions he\nreceived in attending the meetings of these societies. \"What serenity\nin the countenances of the members! What simplicity in their\ndiscourses; candor in their discussions; beneficence and energy in\ntheir decisions! With what joy they learned that a like Society was\nformed in Paris! They hastened to publish it in their gazettes, and\nlikewise a translation of the first discourse [his own] pronounced in\nthat society. These beneficent societies are at present contemplating\nnew projects for the completion of their work of justice and humanity.\nThey are endeavoring to form similar institutions in other states, and\nhave succeeded in the state of Delaware. The business of these\nsocieties is not only to extend light and information to legislatures\nand to the people at large, and to form the blacks by early\ninstruction in the duties of citizens; but they extend gratuitous\nprotection to them in all cases of individual oppression, and make it\ntheir duty to watch over the execution of the laws, which have been\nobtained in their favor. Mr. Myers Fisher, one of the first lawyers of\nPhiladelphia, is always ready to lend them his assistance, which he\ngenerally does with success, and always without reward. These\nsocieties have committees in different parts of the country to take\nnotice of any infractions of these laws of liberty, and to propose to\nthe legislature such amendments as experience may require\"--pp.\n291-294.\n\nIn an appendix, written in 1791, he says: \"My wishes have not been\ndisappointed. The progress of these societies is rapid in the United\nStates; there is one already formed even in Virginia.\" His English\ntranslator adds, that there has also one been formed in the state of\nConnecticut.\n\nIn Needles' Memoir are the names of the following persons who were\nofficers, and served on committees, of the Pennsylvania Society before\nthe year 1800: John Baldwin, Samuel Davis, Thomas Harrison, Anthony\nBenezet, Thomas Meredith, John Todd, James Starr, Samuel Richards,\nJames Whitehall, Wm. Lippencott, John Thomas, Benjamin Horner, John\nEvans, Lambert Wilmore, Edward Brooks, Thomas Armit, John Warner,\nDaniel Sidrick, Thomas Barton, Robert Evans, Benj. Miers, Robert Wood,\nJohn Eldridge, Jonathan Penrose, Wm. Lewis, Francis Baily, Norris\nJones, Tench Cox, Wm. Jackson, Benj. Rush, Benj. Franklin, James\nPemberton, John D. Cox, Wm. Rawle, Miers Fisher, Temple Franklin, John\nAndrews, Richard Peters, Thomas Paine, Caleb Lownes, S. P. Griffiths,\nJohn Olden, John Todd, Jr., John Kaighn, Wm. Rogers, Benj. Say, Thomas\nParker, Robert Waln, Samuel Pancoast, Thomas Savery, Robert Taggert,\nJohn Poultney, Wm. Zane, Joseph Moore, Joseph Budd, Wm. McIllhenny,\nSamuel Baker, Jonathan Willis, Richard Jones, Ellis Yarnall, Thomas\nArnott, Philip Benezet, Samuel Emlen, Jr., Jacob Shoemaker, Jr.,\nRichard Wells, Bart. Wistar, R. Wells, J. McCrea, Nathan Boys, J.\nProctor, Robert Patterson, Walter Franklin, Edward Farris, John Ely,\nSamuel M. Fox, Sallows Shewell, John Woodside, Wm. Garrum, Thomas\nRoss, Joseph Sharpless, Joseph Cruikshanks, G. Williams, Wm. Webb,\nGeo. Williams, David Thomas, Samuel Bettle, Edward Garrigues.\n\n[19] At the end of M. Brissot de Warville's oration at Paris, February\n19, 1788, on the necessity of establishing such a society, is a note,\nwhich states that, after the Paris Society had been formed, \"in the\nspace of six weeks, ninety others, distinguished for their nobility,\nfor their offices, and as men of letters, have made application to be\nadmitted into the Society. The Marquis de la Fayette is one of the\nfounders of this Society, and he gives it a support, so much the more\nlaudable, as the Society of Paris has many great difficulties to\nencounter, which are unknown to the societies in London and America.\"\n\n[20] M. Brissot, writing in September, 1788, speaks of the Delaware\nSociety as then existing. Warner Mifflin was its most enterprising\nmember. M. Brissot says of him: \"One of the ardent petitioners to\nCongress in this cause was the respectable Warner Mifflin. His zeal\nwas rewarded with atrocious calumnies, which he always answered with\nmildness, forgiveness, and argument\"--p. 300. A petition which Mr.\nMifflin made to Congress in November, 1792, for the abolition of\nslavery, was, by vote of the House, returned to him by the clerk.\nAnnals of Congress, iii, p. 71. On March 23, 1790, the following\nresolution on the subject of emancipation, after discussion in\ncommittee of the whole House, was adopted: \"That Congress have no\nauthority to interfere in the emancipation of slaves, or in the\ntreatment of them in any of the states, it remaining with the several\nStates alone to provide any regulations therein which humanity and\ntrue policy may require.\" Annals, i. p. 1523.\n\n[21] _Constitution of the Maryland Society for promoting the Abolition\nof Slavery, and the Relief of Free <DW64>s and others unlawfully held\nin Bondage._\n\nThe present attention of Europe and America to slavery, seems to\nconstitute that crisis in the minds of men when the united endeavors\nof a few may greatly influence the public opinion, and produce, from\nthe transient sentiment of the times, effects, extensive, lasting, and\nuseful.\n\nThe common Father of mankind created all men free and equal; and his\ngreat command is, that we love our neighbor as ourselves--doing unto\nall men as we would they should do unto us. The human race, however\nvaried in color or intellects, are all justly entitled to liberty; and\nit is the duty and the interest of nations and individuals, enjoying\nevery blessing of freedoms to remove this dishonor of the Christian\ncharacter from amongst them. From the fullest impression of the truth\nof these principles; from an earnest wish to bear our testimony\nagainst slavery in all its forms, to spread it abroad as far as the\nsphere of our influence may extend, and to afford our friendly\nassistance to those who may be engaged in the same undertaking; and in\nthe humblest hope of support from that Being, who takes, as an\noffering to himself, what we do for each other--\n\nWe, the subscribers, have formed ourselves into the \"MARYLAND SOCIETY\nfor promoting the ABOLITION OF SLAVERY, and the RELIEF OF FREE <DW64>s\nand OTHERS unlawfully held in bondage.\"\n\nTHE CONSTITUTION.\n\nI. The officers of the Society are a president, vice-president,\nsecretary, treasurer, four counselors, an electing-committee of\ntwelve, an acting-committee of six members. All these, except the\nacting-committee, shall be chosen annually by ballot, on the first\nseventh-day called Saturday, in the month called January.\n\nII. The president, and in his absence the vice-president, shall\nsubscribe all the public acts of the Society.\n\nIII. The president, and in his absence, the vice-president, shall\nmoreover have the power of calling a special meeting of the Society\nwhenever he shall judge proper, or six members require it.\n\nIV. The secretary shall keep fair records of the proceedings of the\nSociety; he shall also conduct the correspondence of the Society, with\na committee of three appointed by the president; and all letters on\nthe business of the Society are to be addressed to him.\n\nV. Corresponding members shall be appointed by the electing-committee.\nTheir duty shall be to communicate to the secretary and his assistants\nany information, that may promote the purposes of this institution,\nwhich shall be transferred by him to the acting-committee.\n\nVI. The treasurer shall pay all orders drawn by the president, or\nvice-president; which orders shall be his vouchers for his\nexpenditures. He shall, before he enters on his office, give a bond of\nnot less than 200_l._ for the faithful discharge of his duty.\n\nVII. The duty of the councilors shall be to explain the laws and\nconstitutions of the States, which relate to the emancipation of\nslaves; and to urge their claims to freedom, when legal, before such\npersons or courts as are authorized to decide upon them.\n\nVIII. The electing-committee shall have sole power of admitting new\nmembers. Two-thirds of them shall be a quorum for this purpose; and\nthe concurrence of a majority of them by ballot, when met, shall be\nnecessary for the admission of a member. No member shall be admitted\nwho has not been proposed at a general meeting of the Society nor\nshall election of a member take place in less than a month after the\ntime of his being proposed. Foreigners, or other persons, who do not\nreside in this State, may be elected corresponding members of the\nSociety without being subject to an annual payment, and shall be\nadmitted to the meetings of the Society during their residence in the\nState.\n\nIX. The acting-committee shall transact the business of the Society in\nits recess, and report the same at each quarterly meeting. They shall\nhave a right, with the concurrence of the president or vice-president,\nto draw upon the treasurer for such sums of money as may be necessary\nto carry on the business of their appointment. Four of them shall be a\nquorum. After their first election, at each succeeding quarterly\nmeeting, there shall be an election for two of their number.\n\nX. Every member, upon his admission, shall subscribe the Constitution\nof the Society, and contribute ten shillings annually, in quarterly\npayments, towards defraying its contingent expenses. If he neglect to\npay the same for more than six months, he shall, upon due notice being\ngiven him, cease to be a member.\n\nXI. The Society shall meet on the first seventh-day, called Saturday,\nin the months called January, April, July, and October, at such time\nand place as shall be agreed to by a majority of the Society.\n\nXII. No person, holding a slave as his property, shall be admitted a\nmember of this Society; nevertheless, the Society may appoint persons\nof legal knowledge, owners of slaves, as honorary-counselors.\n\nXIII. When an alteration in the Constitution is thought necessary, it\nshall be proposed at a previous meeting, before it shall take place.\nAll questions shall be decided, where there is a division, by a\nmajority of votes. In those cases where the Society is equally\ndivided, the presiding officer shall have a casting vote.\n\nOFFICERS OF THE SOCIETY.\n\n_President_--PHILIP ROGERS.\n\n_Vice-President_--JAMES CAREY.\n\n_Secretary_--JOSEPH TOWNSEND.\n\n_Treasurer_--DAVID BROWN.\n\n_Counselors_--ZEBULON HOLLINGSWORTH, ARCHIBALD ROBINSON.\n\n_Honorary-Counselors_--SAMUEL CHASE, LUTHER MARTIN.\n\n_Electing-Committee_--JAMES OGLEBY, ISAAC GREIST, GEO. MATTHEWS,\nGEORGE PRESSTMAN, HENRY WILSON, JOHN BANKSON, ADAM FONERDEN, JAMES\nEICHELBERGER, WILLIAM HAWKINS, WILLIAM WILSON, THOMAS DICKSON, GER.\nHOPKINS.\n\n_Acting-Committee_--JOHN BROWN, ELISHA TYSON, JAMES M'CANNON, ELIAS\nELLICOTT, WILLIAM TRIMBLE, GEORGE DENT.\n\n_September 8, 1789._\n\n[22] Of the one hundred and eighty-nine incorporators of the Rhode\nIsland Society, one hundred and seventeen were from Rhode Island,\nsixty-eight from Massachusetts, three from Connecticut, and one from\nVermont. The Nation, Nov. 28, 1872.\n\n[23] St. George Tucker, an eminent jurist, and Professor of Law at the\nCollege of William and Mary, at Williamsburg, Virginia, January 24,\n1795, addressed a letter to Dr. Jeremy Belknap, of Boston, inquiring\ninto the condition of the <DW64>s in Massachusetts, and the\ncircumstances under which slavery had come to an end in that state.\nHis object was to obtain facts which he could use in removing\nprejudice against general emancipation in Virginia. \"The introduction\nof slavery into this country,\" he says, \"is at this day considered\namong its greatest misfortunes. I have cherished a hope that we may,\nfrom the example of our sister State, learn what methods are most\nlikely to succeed in removing the same evils from among ourselves.\nWith this view, I have taken the liberty to enclose a few queries,\nwhich, if your leisure will permit you to answer, you will confer on\nme a favor which I shall always consider as an obligation.\" He\npropounded eleven queries, to which Dr. Belknap replied at length. The\ncorrespondence is printed in the Massachusetts Historical Society's\nselections, iv, pp. 191-211. The next year Judge Tucker printed, at\nPhiladelphia, his \"Dissertation on Slavery, with a proposal for the\ngradual abolition of it in Virginia.\" Dr. Belknap's replies to Judge\nTucker's inquiries have much historical interest. To the fifth query,\n\"The mode by which slavery hath been abolished?\" he says: \"The general\nanswer is, that slavery hath been abolished here by _public opinion_,\nwhich began to be established about thirty years ago. At the beginning\nof our controversy with Great Britain, several persons, who before had\nentertained sentiments opposed to the slavery of the blacks, did then\ntake occasion publicly to remonstrate against the inconsistency of\ncontending for their own liberty, and, at the same time, depriving\nother people of theirs. Pamphlets and newspaper essays appeared on the\nsubject; it often entered into the conversation of reflecting people;\nand many who had, without remorse, been the purchasers of slaves,\ncondemned themselves, and retracted their former opinion. The Quakers\nwere zealous against slavery and the slave-trade; and by their means\nthe writings of Anthony Benezet of Philadelphia, John Woolman of New\nJersey, and others were spread through the country. Nathaniel Appleton\nand James Swan, merchants of Boston, and Dr. Benjamin Rush, of\nPhiladelphia, distinguished themselves as writers on the side of\nliberty. Those on the other side generally concealed their names; but\ntheir arguments were not suffered to rest long without an answer. The\ncontroversy began about the year 1766, and was renewed at various\ntimes till 1773, when it was warmly agitated, and became a subject of\nforensic disputation at the public commencement at Harvard College.\"\np. 201.\n\n[24] Vol. ii, p. 30.\n\n[25] Lectures by Members of the Mass. Historical Society on the Early\nHistory of Massachusetts, p. 216.\n\n[26] Mr. George H. Moore, in his elaborate work, \"Notes on the History\nof Slavery in Massachusetts,\" expresses a doubt whether slavery\nlegally came to an end in Massachusetts at the period stated above;\nand perhaps not before the adoption of the fourteenth amendment to the\nConstitution. He says: \"It would not be the least remarkable of the\ncircumstances connected with this strange and eventful history, that\nthough _virtually_ abolished before, the actual prohibition of slavery\nin Massachusetts, as well as Kentucky, should be accomplished by the\nvotes of South Carolina and Georgia.\" p. 242.\n\n[27] Dr. Belknap says the clause \"all men are born free and equal\" was\ninserted in the Declaration of Rights of Massachusetts \"not merely as\na moral and political truth, but with a particular view to establish\nthe liberation of the <DW64>s on a general principle, and so it was\nunderstood by the people at large; but some doubted whether it was\nsufficient\"--p. 203. That some persons had this result in view is\nprobable; but contemporaneous records and acts of the citizens do not\njustify the statement that \"so it was understood by the people at\nlarge.\" Dr. Belknap was living in New Hampshire at the time, and did\nnot come to Boston till 1786. The construction put upon the clause, by\nthe Supreme Court, was evidently a happy afterthought; and was\ninspired by that _public opinion_ to which Dr. Belknap himself, in his\nreply to Judge Tucker, ascribes the extinction of slavery.\n\n[28] The Pennsylvanian Society assumed all the expenses of the\nConvention, of entertaining the delegates, and of printing the\nproceedings. The delegates of the Pennsylvanian Society were William\nRogers, Samuel P. Griffiths, Samuel Coats, William Rawle, Robert\nPatterson, and Benjamin Rush. The printed proceedings of this\nconvention, which is in the New York Historical Society's library, I\nhave not had access to. Joseph Bloomfield, of New Jersey, an officer\nof the Revolution, attorney-general, governor of the state from\n1801-12, and member of Congress from 1817-21, was president of the\nConvention.\n\n[29] The memorial was presented in both branches of Congress, January\n28, 1794. The record in the House was as follows: \"A memorial from the\nseveral societies formed in different parts of the United States, for\npromoting the abolition of slavery, in convention assembled at\nPhiladelphia, on the first instant, was presented to the House and\nread, praying that Congress may adopt such measures as may be the most\neffectual and expedient for the abolition of the slave-trade. Also, a\nmemorial of the Providence Society, for abolishing the slave-trade, to\nthe same effect. _Ordered_, That the said memorials be referred to Mr.\nTrumbull [of Connecticut], Mr. Ward [of Massachusetts], Mr. Giles [of\nVirginia], Mr. Talbot [of New York], and Mr. Grove [of North\nCarolina]; that they do examine the matter thereof, and report the\nsame, with their opinion thereupon, to the House.\" Annals of Congress,\niv, p. 349.\n\nA bill was reported in conformity to the wishes of the memorialists,\npassed its several stages without debate, and was approved March 22,\n1794. For the bill, see Id., p. 1426.\n\n[30] The address is as follows:\n\n\"_To the Citizens of the United States_:\n\n\"The Address of the Delegates from the several Societies formed in\ndifferent parts of the United States, for promoting the Abolition of\nSlavery, in convention assembled at Philadelphia, on the first day of\nJanuary, 1794.\n\n\"FRIENDS AND FELLOW-CITIZENS: United to you by the ties of\ncitizenship, and partakers with you in the blessings of a free\ngovernment, we take the liberty of addressing you upon a subject\nhighly interesting to the credit and prosperity of the United States.\n\n\"It is the glory of our country to have originated a system of\nopposition to the commerce in that part of our fellow-creatures who\ncompose the nations of Africa. Much has been done by the citizens of\nsome of the States to abolish this disgraceful traffic, and to improve\nthe condition of those unhappy people whom the ignorance, or the\navarice of our ancestors had bequeathed to us as slaves. But the evil\nstill continues, and our country is yet disgraced by laws and\npractices which level the creature man with a part of the brute\ncreation. Many reasons concur in persuading us to abolish domestic\nslavery in our country. It is inconsistent with the safety of the\nliberties of the United States. Freedom and slavery can not long exist\ntogether. An unlimited power over the time, labor, and posterity of\nour fellow-creatures, necessarily unfits man for discharging the\npublic and private duties of citizens of a republic. It is\ninconsistent with sound policy, in exposing the States which permit\nit, to all those evils which insurrections and the most resentful war\nhave introduced into one of the richest islands in the West Indies. It\nis unfriendly to the present exertions of the inhabitants of Europe in\nfavor of liberty. What people will advocate freedom, with a zeal\nproportioned to its blessings, while they view the purest republic in\nthe world tolerating in its bosom a body of slaves? In vain has the\ntyranny of kings been rejected, while we permit in our country a\ndomestic despotism which involves in its nature most of the vices and\nmiseries that we have endeavored to avoid. It is degrading to our rank\nas men in the scale of being. Let us use our reason and social\naffections for the purposes for which they were given, or cease to\nboast a pre-eminence over animals that are unpolluted by our crimes.\n\n\"But higher motives to justice and humanity towards our\nfellow-creatures, remain yet to be mentioned. Domestic slavery is\nrepugnant to the principles of Christianity. It prostrates every\nbenevolent and just principle of action in the human heart. It is\nrebellion against the authority of a common Father. It is a practical\ndenial of the extent and efficacy of the death of a common Savior. It\nis an usurpation of the prerogative of the Great Sovereign of the\nuniverse, who has solemnly claimed an exclusive property in the souls\nof men. But if this view of the enormity of the evil of domestic\nslavery should not affect us, there is one consideration more, which\nought to alarm and impress us, especially at the present juncture. It\nis a violation of a Divine precept of universal justice, which has in\nno instance escaped with impunity. The crimes of nations, as well as\nindividuals, are often designated in their punishments; and we\nconceive it to be no forced construction of some of the calamities\nwhich now distress or impend over our country, to believe that they\nare the measure of the evils which we have meted to others. The\nravages committed upon many of our fellow-citizens by the Indians, and\nthe depredations upon the liberty and commerce of others, of the\ncitizens of the United States by the Algerines, both unite in\nproclaiming to us in the most forcible language, 'to loose the bands\nof wickedness, to break every yoke, to undo the heavy burthens, and to\nlet the oppressed go free.'\n\n\"We shall conclude this address by recommending to you:\n\n\"_First._ To refrain immediately from that species of rapine and\nmurder which has improperly been softened by the name of the African\ntrade. It is Indian cruelty and Algerine piracy in another form.\n\n\"_Second._ To form Societies in every State, for the purpose of\npromoting the abolition of the slave-trade, of domestic slavery, for\nthe relief of persons unlawfully held in bondage, and for the\nimprovement of the condition of Africans and their descendants amongst\nus.\n\n\"The Societies which we represent, have beheld with triumph the\nsuccess of their exertions in many instances, in favor of their\nAfrican brethren; and, in full reliance upon the continuance of Divine\nsupport and direction, they humbly hope their labors will never cease\nwhile there exists a single slave in the United States.\"\n\n[31] Mr. Jackson opposed the reference of the memorial to a committee,\nand wished it to be thrown aside. Mr. Burke, of South Carolina, said\nhe saw the disposition of the House, and feared the memorial would be\nreferred. He \"was certain the commitment would sound an alarm, and\nblow the trumpet of sedition in the Southern States.\"\n\nMr. Seney, of Maryland, denied that there was anything\nunconstitutional in the memorial; its only object was that Congress\nshould exercise their constitutional authority to abate the horrors of\nslavery as far as they could.\n\nMr. Parker, of Virginia, said: \"I hope the petition of these\nrespectable people will be attended to with all the readiness the\nimportance of its object demands; and I cannot help expressing the\npleasure I feel in finding so considerable a part of the community\nattending to matters of such momentous concern to the future\nprosperity and happiness of the people of America. I think it my duty\nas a citizen of the Union to espouse their cause.\"\n\nMr. Page, of Virginia (governor from 1802-1805), said he was in favor\nof the commitment. He hoped that the designs of the respectable\nmemorialists would not be stopped at the threshold, in order to\npreclude a fair discussion of the prayer of the memorial. With respect\nto the alarm that was apprehended, he conjectured there was none; but\nthere might be just cause, if the memorial was _not_ taken into\nconsideration. He placed himself in the case of a slave, and said\nthat, on hearing that Congress had refused to listen to the decent\nsuggestions of a respectable part of the community, he should infer\nthat the general government (from which was expected great good would\nresult to every class of citizens) had shut their ears against the\nvoice of humanity; and he should despair of any alleviation of the\nmiseries he and his posterity had in prospect. If anything could\ninduce him to rebel, it must be a stroke like this. But if he was told\nthat application was made in his behalf, and that Congress was willing\nto hear what could be urged in favor of discouraging the practice of\nimporting his fellow-wretches, he would trust in their justice and\nhumanity, and wait for the decision patiently. He presumed that these\nunfortunate people would reason in the same way.\n\nMr. Madison, of Virginia, said, if there were the slightest tendency\nby the commitment to break in upon the constitution, he would object\nto it; but he did not see upon what ground such an event could be\napprehended. He admitted that Congress was restricted by the\nconstitution from taking measures to abolish the slave-trade; yet\nthere was a variety of ways by which it could countenance the\nabolition of slavery; and regulations might be made in relation to the\nintroduction of slaves into the new States, to be formed out of the\nWestern Territory.\n\nThe memorial was committed by a vote of 43 yeas to 14 nays. Of the\nVirginia delegation, 8 voted yea and 2 nay; Maryland, 3 yea, 1 nay;\nDelaware and North Carolina, both delegations absent. Mr. Vining, the\nmember for Delaware, however, spoke and voted later with the friends\nof the memorialists.\n\nThe committee reported on the 8th of March. The report was discussed\nin committee of the whole, and amended to read as follows:\n\n\"_First._ That the migration or importation of such persons as any of\nthe States now existing shall think proper to admit, can not be\nprohibited by Congress prior to the year 1808.\n\n\"_Second._ That Congress have no authority to interfere in the\nemancipation of slaves, or in the treatment of them, in any of the\nStates--it remaining with the several States alone, to provide any\nregulations therein which humanity and true policy may require.\n\n\"_Third._ That Congress have authority to restrain the citizens of the\nUnited States from carrying on the African trade, for the purpose of\nsupplying foreigners with slaves, and of providing, by proper\nregulations, for the humane treatment during their passage of slaves\nimported by the said citizens into the States admitting such\nimportation.\"\n\nThis was the first legislation on the subject of slavery in the new\nCongress, and was carried by 29 votes to 25--North Carolina, South\nCarolina, and Georgia voting unanimously in the negative. All the\nother States (except Rhode Island, from which no member was present)\nvoted in the affirmative or divided. New Hampshire voted 1 yea, 1 nay;\nMassachusetts, 6 yeas, 3 nays; Connecticut, 2 yeas, 2 nays; New York,\n5 yeas, 2 nays; New Jersey, 3 yeas; Pennsylvania, 5 yeas; Virginia, 5\nyeas, 6 nays; Maryland, 1 yea, 4 nays; Delaware, 1 yea.\n\n[32] At this period, one hundred and fifteen American citizens,\ncaptured by piracy, were held as slaves in Algiers, for whom large\nransoms were demanded by the pirates.\n\n[33] The convention, after discussing principles, appointed a\n\"committee of detail,\" consisting of Mr. Rutledge of South Carolina,\nMr. Randolph of Virginia, Mr. Wilson of Pennsylvania, Mr. Ellsworth of\nConnecticut, and Mr. Gorham of Massachusetts, to reduce to the form of\na constitution the resolutions agreed upon. This committee without\ninstructions, or authority from the resolutions adopted, introduced a\nclause forever prohibiting the abolition of the African slave-trade.\nMr. Randolph earnestly protested against this clause. He was opposed\nto any restriction on the power of Congress to abolish it. He \"could\nnever agree to the clause as it stands. He would sooner risk the\nConstitution.\" Madison Papers, p. 1396. Mr. Ellsworth \"was for leaving\nthe clause as it now stands. Let every State import what it pleases.\nThe morality, the wisdom of slavery, are considerations belonging to\nthe States themselves. What enriches a part, enriches the whole; and\nthe States are the best judges of their particular interest.\" Id., p.\n1389. It was moved, as a compromise, to guarantee the slave-trade for\ntwenty years, by postponing the restriction to 1808. This motion was\nseconded by Mr. Gorham, of Massachusetts, and it passed. Mr. Madison,\nof Virginia, opposed it. \"Twenty years,\" he said, \"will produce all\nthe mischief that can be apprehended from the liberty to import\nslaves. So long a term will be more dishonorable to the American\ncharacter, than to say nothing about it in the Constitution.\" Id., p.\n1427. Mr. Mason, of Virginia, pronounced the traffic as \"infernal.\"\nId., p. 1390.\n\n[34] Life of Benjamin Lundy, Phil. 1847, p. 218. The total membership\nof the 130 societies was 6625, exclusive of twelve societies in\nIllinois from which no returns had been received. These statistics\nwere gathered by the American Anti-Slavery Convention, which was held\nat Philadelphia, in 1827.\n\n\n\n\nAddenda.\n\n     Since the preceding pages were in type, I have seen, in the\n     library of the New York Historical Society, the printed minutes\n     of the first convention held by the Abolition Societies of the\n     United States, which met at Philadelphia, January 1, 1794, and\n     was several days in session, of which mention was made on page\n     59. These minutes show that my statement of the societies\n     represented needs correction. The Rhode Island Society appears to\n     have had no delegates present. The Virginia Society appointed\n     delegates; but, for reasons stated below, they were not admitted.\n     Several societies, however, were represented, of which before I\n     had seen no mention. As the convention met in the depth of\n     winter, and as traveling was then expensive and difficult, it is\n     evidence of a deep interest in the subject, that so many\n     delegations attended.\n\n     The convention met in the City Hall, at Philadelphia, and\n     organized by choosing Joseph Bloomfield, of New Jersey,\n     President; John McCrea, Secretary; and Joseph Fry, Door-keeper.\n\n     The following societies were represented by the delegates named:\n\n     _Connecticut Society_--Uriah Tracy.\n\n     _New York Society_--Peter Jay Munroe, Moses Rogers, Thomas\n     Franklin, Jr., William Dunlap.\n\n     _New Jersey Society_--Joseph Bloomfield, William Coxe, Jr., John\n     Wistar, Robert Pearson, Franklin Davenport.\n\n     _Pennsylvania Society_--William Rogers, William Rawle, Samuel\n     Powel Griffitts, Robert Patterson, Samuel Coates, Benjamin Rush.\n\n     _Washington (Pa.) Society_--Absalom Baird.\n\n     _Delaware Society_--Warren Mifflin, Isaiah Rowland, Joseph\n     Hodgson, John Pemberton.\n\n     _Wilmington (Del.) Society_--Joseph Warner, Isaac H. Starr,\n     Robert Coram.\n\n     _Maryland Society_--Samuel Sterett, James Winchester, Joseph\n     Townsend, Adam Fonerdon, Jesse Hollingsworth.\n\n     _Chester-town (Md.) Society_--Joseph Wilkinson, James Maslin,\n     Abraham Ridgely.\n\n     A letter, directed to the convention, from Robert Pleasants,\n     chairman of the Committee of Correspondence of the Virginia\n     Society, was presented and read. By this letter it appeared that\n     Samuel Pleasants and Israel Pleasants, of Philadelphia, were\n     appointed to represent that society in the convention; and in\n     case of their declining, or being prevented from acting, the\n     convention were at liberty to nominate two other persons as their\n     representatives. In the letter was inclosed \"an authentic account\n     of several vessels lately fitted out in Virginia for the African\n     slave-trade.\" The convention, after considering the proposition\n     of the Virginia Society, adopted the following resolution:\n\n     \"_Resolved_, That as information, and an unreserved comparison of\n     one another's sentiments, relative to the important cause in\n     which we are severally engaged, are our principal objects; and as\n     the persons appointed by the Virginia Society are not citizens of\n     that State, nor members of that Society, to admit them, or,\n     according to their proposals for us to elect others as their\n     representatives, would be highly improper.\"\n\n     The president was directed to acknowledge the receipt of the\n     letter, to inform the Virginia Society of the above resolution,\n     and to thank them for the important information contained in the\n     letter.\n\n     Benjamin Rush, William Dunlap, Samuel Sterett, William Rawle, and\n     Warner Mifflin, were appointed a committee to report the objects\n     proper for the consideration of the convention, and the best\n     plan for carrying the same into execution. Under the direction of\n     this committee, memorials were prepared to be sent to the\n     legislatures of the several States which had not abolished\n     slavery; a memorial to Congress asking for the enactment of a law\n     making the use of vessels and men in the slave-trade a penal\n     offense; and an address to the citizens of the United States,\n     already printed in a note, pp. 60-63. It was also voted \"to\n     recommend to the different Abolition societies to appoint\n     delegates to meet in convention, at Philadelphia, on the first\n     Wednesday of January, 1795, and on the same day in every year\n     afterward, until the great objects of their original association\n     be accomplished.\"\n\n     I was so fortunate as to find, also, in the New York Historical\n     Society's library, the minutes of the conventions of 1795 and\n     1797. The convention of 1795 met in the City Hall, at\n     Philadelphia, January 7, and continued in session till the 14th\n     of that month. The societies represented, and delegates, were as\n     follows:\n\n     _Rhode Island Society_--Theodore Foster. The credentials from the\n     president of the society stated that George Benson was also\n     appointed to represent the society; but he did not appear.\n\n     _Connecticut Society_--Jonathan Edwards, Uriah Tracy, Zephaniah\n     Swift.\n\n     _New York Society_--John Murray, Jr., William Johnson, Lawrence\n     Embree, William Dunlap, William Walton Woolsey.\n\n     _New Jersey Society_--James Sloan, Franklin Davenport. Other\n     delegates appointed, Joseph Bloomfield, William Coxe, Jr., and\n     John Wistar, did not appear. It was explained to the convention\n     that the absence of Mr. Bloomfield was occasioned by sickness.\n\n     _Pennsylvania Society_--William Rawle, Robert Patterson, Benjamin\n     Rush, Samuel Coates, Caspar Wistar, James Todd, Benjamin Say.\n\n     _Washington (Pa.) Society_--Thomas Scott, Absalom Baird, Samuel\n     Clark.\n\n     _Delaware Society_--Richard Bassett, John Ralston, Allen McLane,\n     Caleb Boyer.\n\n     _Wilmington (Del.) Society_--Cyrus Newlin, James A. Bayard,\n     Joseph Warner, William Poole.\n\n     _Maryland Society_--Samuel Sterett, Adam Fonerdon, Joseph\n     Townsend, Joseph Thornburgh, George Buchanan, John Bankson,\n     Philip Moore.\n\n     _Chester-town (Md.) Society_--Edward Scott, James Houston.\n\n     Dr. Benjamin Rush was elected President; Walter Franklin,\n     Secretary; and Joseph Fry, Door-keeper.\n\n     Jonathan Edwards, William Dunlap, Caspar Wistar, Cyrus Newlin,\n     Caleb Boyer, Philip Moore, and James Houston were appointed the\n     committee on business. Memorials were prepared, and adopted by\n     the convention, to be sent to the legislatures of South Carolina\n     and Georgia, as both States still persisted in the importation of\n     slaves. An address to the Abolition Societies of the United\n     States was also adopted, the spirit of which may be inferred from\n     the following extract:\n\n     \"When we have broken his chains, and restored the African to the\n     enjoyment of his rights, the great work of justice and\n     benevolence is not accomplished. The new-born citizen must\n     receive that instruction, and those powerful impressions of moral\n     and religious truths, which will render him capable and desirous\n     of fulfilling the various duties he owes to himself and to his\n     country. By educating some in the higher branches, and all in the\n     useful parts of learning, and in the precepts of religion and\n     morality, we shall not only do away the reproach and calumny so\n     unjustly lavished upon us, but confound the enemies of truth, by\n     evincing that the unhappy sons of Africa, in spite of the\n     degrading influence of slavery, are in nowise inferior to the\n     more fortunate inhabitants of Europe and America.\"\n\n     The fourth annual convention of the Abolition Societies of the\n     United States was held in the Senate Chamber, at Philadelphia,\n     May 3, 1797. The societies represented, and delegates, were as\n     follows:\n\n     _New York Society_--Willett Seaman, Thomas Eddy, Samuel L.\n     Mitchell, William Dunlap, Elihu Hubbard Smith.\n\n     _New Jersey Society_--Joseph Bloomfield, Richard Hartshorne,\n     Joseph Sloan, William Coxe, Jr., William Carpenter.\n\n     _Pennsylvania Society_--Benjamin Rush, William Rawle, Samuel P.\n     Griffitts, Casper Wistar, Samuel Coates, Robert Patterson, James\n     Todd.\n\n     _Maryland Society_--Francis Johonnett, Jesse Tyson, Gerrard T.\n     Hopkins.\n\n     _Choptank (Md.) Society_--Seth Hill Evitts.\n\n     _Virginia Society_ (at Richmond)--Joseph Anthony.\n\n     _Alexandria (Va.) Society_--George Drinker.\n\n     Joseph Bloomfield was elected President; Thomas P. Cope,\n     Secretary; and Jacob Meyer, Door-keeper.\n\n     Communications from the New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,\n     Maryland, Choptank (Md.), Virginia, and Alexandria (Va.)\n     Abolition Societies were read. The minutes of the convention of\n     1797 are more elaborately compiled, and contain more statistics\n     than the previous reports. Among other papers adopted by the\n     convention, was an \"Address to the Free Africans.\" Besides the\n     seven societies, which sent delegates, the eight societies\n     following, which sent none, were reported, viz: Rhode Island,\n     Connecticut, Washington (Pa.), Delaware (at Dover), Wilmington\n     (Del.), Chester-town (Md.), Winchester (Va.), and Kentucky\n     Societies. Among the memorials presented to Congress, in 1791,\n     was one from the Caroline County (Md.) Society. Besides the\n     Maryland Society, at Baltimore, there appear to have been three\n     local societies on the Eastern Shore of that State.\n\n     The several societies reported their membership, in 1797, as\n     follows: New York Society, two hundred and fifty; New Jersey\n     Society, \"compiled partially;\" Pennsylvania Society, five hundred\n     and ninety-one; Maryland Society, two hundred and thirty-one;\n     Choptank (Md.) Society, twenty-five; Wilmington (Del.) Society,\n     sixty; Virginia Society, one hundred and forty-seven; Alexandria\n     (Va.) Society, sixty-two. From the other societies no reports of\n     membership were received. The Choptank (Md.) Society, formed in\n     1790, reported having liberated more than sixty slaves; the\n     Wilmington (Del.) Society, reported having liberated eighty since\n     1788; and the Alexandria (Va.) Society reported having made\n     twenty-six complaints under the law against the importation of\n     slaves. By votes of previous conventions, the Abolition Societies\n     were required to sustain schools for the education of Africans.\n     The minutes for 1797 contain interesting reports from the several\n     societies of their success in this department of benevolence.\n\n     Before the year 1782, it was illegal in Virginia for a master to\n     liberate his slaves without sending them out of the State. The\n     Assembly of Virginia then passed an act permitting the\n     manumission of slaves. Judge Tucker of that State, in his\n     \"Dissertation on Slavery,\" estimated that, from 1782 to 1791, ten\n     thousand slaves were liberated in Virginia by their masters.\n\n     Of the anti-slavery literature of this period, which has not\n     already been noticed, there is in the New York Historical\n     Society's library, \"An Oration spoken before the Connecticut\n     Society for the Promotion of Freedom, and the Relief of Persons\n     unlawfully held in Bondage, convened at Hartford the 8th of May,\n     1794. By Theodore Dwight.[35] Hartford, 1794.\" 8vo, 24 pp. Also,\n     a \"Discourse delivered April 12, 1797, at the Request of the New\n     York Society for the Promoting the Manumission of Slaves, and\n     protecting such of them as have been or may be liberated. By\n     Samuel Miller, A. M. New York, 1787.\" 8vo, 36 pp.\n\n     In the Boston Athenaeum library are the following tracts:\n\n     \"A Dissuasion to Great Britain and the Colonies from the Slave\n     Trade to Africa. By James Swan. Revised and abridged. Boston,\n     1773.\" 8vo, 40 pp. The original edition was printed in 1772.\n\n     \"A Forensic Dispute on the Legality of Enslaving the Africans,\n     held at a Public Commencement in Cambridge, N. E., July 21, 1773,\n     by the Candidates for the Bachelors' Degrees. Boston, 1773.\" 8vo,\n     48 pp.\n\n     \"A Short Account of that Part of Africa inhabited by the <DW64>s.\n     [By Anthony Benezet.] Philadelphia, 1772.\" 8vo, 80 pp.\n\n     \"An Address to the British Settlements in America upon\n     Slaveholding. Second edition. To which are added Observations on\n     a Pamphlet entitled 'Slavery not forbidden by Scripture; or, a\n     Defence of the West Indian Planters.' By a Pennsylvanian [Dr.\n     Benjamin Rush]. Philadelphia, 1773.\" 8vo, pp. 28 + 54. Also,\n     another edition issued the same year, with the title somewhat\n     varied; the second part being termed, \"A Vindication of the\n     Address to the Inhabitants,\" etc. The pamphlet entitled \"Slavery\n     not forbidden by Scripture,\" etc., was written by R. Nisbet, and\n     is in the Library of Congress.\n\n     \"Memorials presented to the Congress of the United States, by the\n     different Societies instituted for promoting the Abolition of\n     Slavery, in the States of Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York,\n     Pennsylvania, Mary, and Virginia. Published by the Pennsylvania\n     Society for promoting the Abolition of Slavery. Philadelphia.\n     Printed by Francis Bailey, 1792.\" 8vo, 31 pp.\n\n     This tract contains the memorials which were presented to the\n     House of Representatives, December 8, 1791, and which were read\n     and referred. The Rhode Island memorial is signed by David\n     Howell, President, and dated December 28, 1790. Connecticut--by\n     Ezra Stiles, President; Simon Baldwin, Secretary; January 7,\n     1791. New York--by Matthew Clarkson, Vice-President; December 14,\n     1790. Pennsylvania--by James Pemberton, President; John McCrea\n     and Joseph P. Norris, Secretaries; October 3, 1791. Washington\n     (Pa.)--by Andrew Swearingen, Vice-President. Maryland, in\n     Baltimore--\"Signed by the members generally;\" but the names of no\n     members are given. Chester-town, Maryland--by James M. Anderson,\n     President; Daniel McCurtin, Secretary; November 19, 1791.\n     Caroline County, Maryland--by Edward White, Vice-President;\n     Charles Emery, Secretary; September 6, 1791.\n\n     Of the sixteen Abolition Societies existing in the United States\n     during this decade, it appears that six were in States which, at\n     the outbreak of the late rebellion, were non-slaveholding; and\n     ten were in slaveholding States.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[35] The \"Dwight\" to whom, with others, Bishop Gregoire inscribed his\n\"Literature of <DW64>s,\" was probably Theodore Dwight, and not\nPresident Timothy Dwight, as stated on page 31.\n\n\n\n\n                          DR. GEORGE BUCHANAN'S\n\n                            ORATION ON SLAVERY,\n\n                        _BALTIMORE_, _July 4, 1791_.\n\n\n\n                                   AN\n\n                                ORATION\n\n                                UPON THE\n\n                       MORAL AND POLITICAL EVIL\n\n                                  OF\n\n                                SLAVERY.\n\n                     DELIVERED AT A PUBLIC MEETING\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                            MARYLAND SOCIETY\n\n                           FOR PROMOTING THE\n\n                         ABOLITION of SLAVERY,\n\n                And the RELIEF of _FREE NEGROES_, and\n\n                 others unlawfully held in BONDAGE.\n\n                       BALTIMORE, July 4th, 1791.\n\n\n                        By GEORGE BUCHANAN, M. D.\n              Member of the _American Philosophical Society_.\n\n\n                  BALTIMORE: Printed by PHILIP EDWARDS.\n                              M,DCC,XCIII.\n\n\n     *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *\n\n\n     At a special meeting of the \"MARYLAND SOCIETY _for promoting the\n     Abolition of Slavery, and the Relief of free <DW64>s and others\n     unlawfully held in Bondage_,\" held at _Baltimore, July 4th,\n     1791_,--\n\n     \"UNANIMOUSLY RESOLVED\n\n     THAT the President present the Thanks of this Society to Dr.\n     _George Buchanan_, for the excellent ORATION, by him delivered\n     this Day--and at the same time request a copy thereof in the Name\n     and for the Use of the Society.\"\n\n              _Extract from the Minutes._\n                       JOSEPH TOWNSEND, Secretary.\n\n     _President_, SAMUEL STERETT,\n     _Vice President_, ALEXr McKIM.\n\n\n     *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *\n\n\n    TO THE HONORABLE\n  THOMAS JEFFERSON, Esq.\n      SECRETARY OF STATE,\n\nWHOSE Patriotism, since the American Revolution, has been uniformly\nmarked, by a sincere, steady and active Attachment to the Interest of\nhis Country; and whose literary Abilities have distinguished him\namongst the first of Statesmen and Philosophers--\n\n                    THIS ORATION\n\nIs respectfully inscribed, as an humble Testimony of the highest\nRegard and Esteem, by\n\n                              THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nORATION\n\n\nCITIZENS _and_ FELLOW-MEMBERS,\n\nSUMMONED by your voice, I appear before you with diffidence; the\narduous task you have imposed upon me, would have been better executed\nby some one of greater abilities and information, and one more versed\nin public speaking.\n\nHowever, my feeble executions shall not be wanting to promote the\nintentions of so laudable an institution; and while I endeavour to\nfulfil the purport of this meeting, I shall hope not to fail in\nproving its utility.\n\nToo much cannot be offered against the unnatural custom that pervades\nthe greatest part of the world, of dragging the human race to slavery\nand bondage, nor of exposing the ignominy of such barbarity.\n\nLet an impartial view of man be taken, so far as it respects his\nexistence, and in the chain of thought, the _white_, _swarthy_ and\n_black_, will be all linked together, and at once point out their\nequality. God hath created mankind after his own image, and granted to\nthem liberty and independence; and if varieties may be found in their\nstructure and colour, these are only to be attributed to the nature of\ntheir diet and habits, also of the soil and climate they may inhabit,\nand serve as flimsy pretexts for enslaving them.\n\nIn the first rudiment of society, when simplicity characterised the\nconduct of man, slavery was unknown, every one equally enjoyed that\npeace and tranquility at home, to which he was naturally born: But\nthis equality existed but for a time; as yet no laws, no government\nwas established check the ambitious, or to curb the crafty; hence\nreprisals were made upon the best by the strong and robust, and\nfinally subjected the weak and indigent to poverty and want.\n\nHere then arose a difference in the circumstances of men, and the poor\nand weak were obliged to submit themselves to the control of the rich\nand powerful; but although the authority exercised was at first mild,\nand ensured to the bondsmen almost the same privileges with their\nmasters, yet the idea of power soon crept in upon the mind, and at\nlength lenity was converted into rigidity, and the gall of servitude\nbecame insupportable; the oppressed, soon found that _that liberty_,\nwhich they had just given up, was an inalienable privilege of man, and\nsought means to regain it: this was effected,--but not until a time\nwhen ignorance began to decline, when improvements were made in the\narts, commerce and governments, and when men could seek protection\nfrom the law, or by industry could ward off the bitterness of poverty,\nand ensure to themselves an independence.\n\nHappy circumstance! To feel oneself emancipated from the chains of\nslavery, must awaken every delicate sensation of the soul, and\ntransport the gloomy mind into a region of bliss; for what is life,\nwithout an enjoyment of those privileges which have been given to us\nby nature? It is a burden, which if not awed by Divine Providence,\nwould be speedily cast off, by all who sweat under the yoke of slavish\nservitude, and know no alternative but an unceasing submission to the\ngoads of a brutal master.\n\nAges have revolved since this happy condition of human affairs; and\nalthough mankind have been gradually verging from a state of\nsimplicity to a more social refinement, yet the governments of those\nprimitive times laid open an analogy for licentiousness; and we find,\nby pursuing the history of man, that slavery was again introduced, and\nstained the annals of all the powers of Europe.\n\nThe idea of possessing, as property, was too lucrative to be totally\neradicated; it diffused itself into Egypt and Cyprus, which became the\nfirst and most noted markets for the sale and purchase of slaves, and\nsoon became the cause of rapine and bloodshed in Greece and Rome:\nthere it was an established custom to subject to slavery all the\ncaptives in time of war; and not only the Emperors, but the nobility,\nwere in possession of thousands--to them they served as instruments of\ndiversion and authority.\n\nTo give an idea only of the amphitheatrical entertainments, so\nrepugnant to humanity, would make the most obdurate heart feel with\nkeen sensibility. For to hear with patience of voracious animals\nbeing turned loose among human beings, to give sport to the rich and\ngreat, when upon reflection, he may be assured, that the merciless jaw\nknew no restraint but precipitately charged upon its prey whom it\nleft, without remorse, either massacred or maimed.\n\nSuch was the practice among the ancients, and to charge the modern\nwith like enormities, would by many be deemed criminal.\n\nBut I fear not to accuse them--the prosecution of the present\nbarbarous and iniquitous slave trade affords us too many instances of\ncruelties exercised against the harmless Africans. A trade, which,\nafter it was abolished in Europe by the general introduction of\nChristianity, was again renewed about the fourteenth century by the\nmercenary Portuguese, and now prosecuted by the Spaniards, French and\nBritish, in defiance of every principle of justice, humanity and\nreligion.\n\nYe moderns, will you not blush at degenerating into ancient barbarity,\nand at wearing the garb of Christians, when you pursue the practices\nof savages?\n\nHasten to reform, and put an end to this unnatural and destructive\ntrade--Do you not know that thousands of your fellow-mortals are\nannually entombed by it? and that it proves ruinous to your\ngovernment? You go to Africa to purchase slaves for foreign markets,\nand lose the advantages of all the proper articles of commerce, which\nthat country affords. You bury your seamen upon the pestiferous\nshores; and, shocking to humanity! make monsters of all you engage in\nthe traffic.\n\nWho are more brutal than the Captains of vessels in the slave trade?\nNot even the tawny savage of the American wilds, who thirsts after the\nblood of the Christian, and carries off his scalp the trophy of\nsplendid victory!\n\nThey even countenance the practice of the ancients, in seeing a sturdy\nmastiff tear in pieces some poor wretch of their hateful cargoes, or\nin viewing their wreathes and tortures, when smarting under the lash\nof a seasoned cat.[36]\n\nIt is time to abolish these enormities, and to stay such repeated\ninsults from being offered to Divine Providence: Some dreadful curse\nfrom heaven may be the effect of them, and the innocent be made to\nsuffer for the guilty.\n\nWhat, will you not consider that the Africans are men? that they have\nhuman souls to be saved? that they are born free and independent? A\nviolation of which prerogatives is an infringement upon the laws of\nGod.\n\nBut, are these the only crimes you are guilty of in pursuing the\ntrade? No--you stir up the harmless Africans to war, and stain their\nfields with blood: you keep constant hostile ferment in their\nterritories, in order to procure captives for your uses; some you\npurchase with a few trifling articles, and waft to distant shores to\nbe made the instruments of grandeur, pride and luxury.\n\nYou commit also the crime of kidnapping others, whom you forcibly drag\nfrom their beloved country, from the bosoms of their dearest\nrelatives; so leave a wife without a husband, a sister without a\nbrother, and a helpless infant to bemoan the loss of its indulgent\nparent.\n\nCould you but see the agonizing pangs of these distressed mortals, in\nthe hour of their captivity, when deprived of every thing that is dear\nto them, it would make even the heathenish heart to melt with sorrow;\nlike a noble Senator of old, death is their choice in preference to\nlingering out their lives in ignominious slavery--and often do we see\nthem meet it with a smile.\n\nThe horrors of the grave intimidate not even the delicate females; too\nmany melancholy instances are recorded of their plunging into the\ndeep, and carrying with them a tender infant at their breast; even in\nmy own recollection, suicide has been committed in various forms by\nthese unhappy wretches, under the blind infatuation of revising the\nland of their nativity.\n\nPossessed of Christian sentiments, they fail not to exercise them when\nan opportunity offers. Things pleasing rejoice them, and melancholy\ncircumstances pall their appetites for amusements.--They brook no\ninsults, and are equally prone to forgiveness as to resentment; they\nhave gratitude also, and will even expose their own lives, to wipe off\nthe obligation of past favours; nor do they want any of the\nrefinements of taste, so much the boast of those who call themselves\nChristians.\n\nThe talent for music, both vocal and instrumental, appears natural to\nthem: Neither is their genius for literature to be despised; many\ninstances are recorded of men of eminence amongst them: Witness\nIgnatius Sancho, whose letters are admired by all men of\ntaste--Phillis Wheatley, who distinguished herself as a poetess--The\nphysician of New Orleans--The Virginia calculator--Banneker, the\nMaryland Astronomer, and many others whom it would be needless to\nmention. These are sufficient to shew, that the Africans, whom you\ndespise, whom you inhumanly treat as brutes, and whom you unlawfully\nsubject to slavery, with the tyrannizing hands of Despots, are equally\ncapable of improvements with yourselves.\n\nThis you may think a bold assertion, but it is not made without\nreflection, nor independent of the testimony of many, who have taken\npains with their education.\n\nBecause you few, in comparison to their number, who make any exertions\nof abilities at all, you are ready to enjoy the common opinion, that\nthey are inferior set of beings, and destined by nature to the\ncruelties and hardships you impose upon them.\n\nBut be cautious how long you hold such sentiments; the time may come,\nwhen you will be obliged to abandon them--consider the pitiable\nsituation of these most distressed beings; deprived of their liberty\nand reduced to slavery; consider also, that they toil not for\nthemselves, from the rising of the Sun to its going down, and you will\nreadily conceive the cause of their inaction.\n\nWhat time, or what incitement has a slave to become wise? there is no\ngreat art in hilling corn, or in running a furrow; and to do this,\nthey know they are doomed, whether they seek into the mysteries of\nscience, or remain ignorant as they are.\n\nTo deprive a man of his liberty, has a tendency to rob his soul of\nevery spring to virtuous actions; and were slaves to become fiends,\nthe wonder could not be great. Nothing more assimilates a man to a\nbeast, says the learned Montesque, than being among freemen, himself a\nslave; for slavery clogs the mind, perverts the moral faculty, and\nreduces the conduct of man to the standard of brutes.\n\nWhat right then have you to expect greater things from these poor\nmortals? You would not blame a brute for committing ravages upon his\nprey, nor ought you to censure a slave, for making attempts to regain\nhis liberty even at the risque of life itself.\n\nYe mercenary Portuguese, ye ambitious French, and ye deceitful\nBritons, I again call upon you to take these things into your\nconsideration; it is time, a remorse of conscience had seized upon\nyou; it is time, you were apprised of your danger: Behold the\nthousands that are annually lost to your governments, in the\nprosecution of an unlawful and iniquitous trade.\n\nView the depredations that you commit upon a nation, born equally free\nwith yourselves; consider the abyss of misery into which you plunge\nyour fellow-mortals, and reflect upon the horrid crimes you are hourly\ncommitting under the bright sunshine of revealed religion.--Will you\nnot then find yourselves upon a precipice, and protected from ruin,\nonly because you are too wicked to be lost?\n\nWhat Empire, or what State can have the hope of existing, which\nprosecutes a trade, that proves a sinking fund to her coffers, and to\nher subjects, tramples the human species under foot, with as much\nindifference as the dirt, and fills the world with misery and woe?\n\nLet not a blind hardness of opinion any longer bias your judgments,\nand prevent you from acting like Christians.\n\nView the Empires amongst the ancients; behold Egypt in the time of\nSecostris, Greece in the time of Cyrus, and Rome in the reign of\nAugustus; view them all, powerful as enemies, patterns of virtue and\nscience, bold and intrepid in war, free and independent; and now see\nthem sacrificed at the shrine of luxury, and dwindled into\ninsignificance. When in power, they usurped the authority of God, they\nstretched out their arms to encompass their enemies, and bound their\ncaptives in iron chains of slavery.\n\nVengeance was then inflicted, their spoils became the instruments of\npride, luxury and dissipation, and finally proved the cause of their\npresent downfall.\n\nThen look back at home; view your degeneracy from the times of Louis\nthe 14th and Charles the 2d, and if a universal blush don't prevail,\nit will argue a hardness of heart, tempered by a constant action of\nwickedness upon the smooth anvil of religion.\n\nFor such are the effects of subjecting man to slavery, that it\ndestroys every human principle, vitiates the mind, instills ideas of\nunlawful cruelties, and eventually subverts the springs of government.\n\nWhat a distressing scene is here before us. America, I start at your\nsituation! The idea of these direful effect of slavery demand your\nmost serious attention.--What! shall a people, who flew to arms with\nthe valour of Roman Citizens, when encroachments were made upon their\nliberties, by the invasion of foreign powers, now basely descend to\ncherish the seed and propagate the growth of the evil, which they\nboldly sought to eradicate. To the eternal infamy of our country, this\nwill be handed down to posterity, written in the blood of African\ninnocence.\n\nIf your forefathers have been degenerate enough to introduce slavery\ninto your country, to contaminate the minds of her citizens, you ought\nto have the virtue of extirpating it.\n\nEmancipated from the shackles of despotism, you know no superior; free\nand independent, you stand equally respected among your foes, and\nyour allies.--Renowned in history, for your valour, and for your\nwisdom, your way is left open to the highest eminence of human\nperfection.\n\nBut while with pleasing hopes you may anticipate such an event, the\necho of expiring freedom cannot fail to assail the ears, and pierce\nthe heart with keen reproach.\n\nIn the first struggles for American freedom, in the enthusiastic\nardour for attaining liberty and independence, one of the most noble\nsentiments that ever adorned the human breast, was loudly proclaimed\nin all her councils--\n\nDeeply penetrated with a sense of _Equality_, they held it as a fixed\nprinciple, \"_that all men are by nature and of right ought to be free,\nthat they are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain\ninalienable rights, amongst which are life, liberty and the pursuit of\nhappiness_.\"\n\nNevertheless, _when_ the blessings of peace were showered upon them,\nwhen they had obtained these rights which they had so boldly contended\nfor, _then_ they became apostates to their principles, and rivetted\nthe fetters of slavery upon the unfortunate Africans.\n\nDeceitful men! who could have suggested, that American patriotism\nwould at this day countenance a conduct so inconsistent; that while\nAmerica boasts of being a land of freedom, and an asylum for the\noppressed of Europe, she should at the same time foster an abominable\nnursery for slaves, to check the shoots of her growing liberty?\n\nDeaf to the clamours of criticism, she feels no remorse, and blindly\npursues the object of her destruction; she encourages the propagation\nof vice, and suffers her youth to be reared in the habits of cruelty.\n\nNot even the sobs and groans of injured innocence, which _reek_ from\nevery State, can excite her pity, nor human misery bend her heart to\nsympathy.\n\nCruel and oppressive she wantonly abuses the _Rights of Man_, and\nwillingly sacrifices her liberty at the altar of slavery: What an\nopportunity is here given for triumph among her enemies? Will they not\nexclaim, that upon this very day, while the Americans the anniversary\nof Freedom and Independence, abject slavery exists tn all her States\nbut one.[37]\n\nHow degenerately base to merit the rebuke. Fellow-countrymen, let the\nheart of humanity awake and direct your counsels; reflect that\nslavery gains root among you; look back upon the curses which it has\nheaped upon your ancestors, and unanimously combine to drive the\n_fiend Monster_ from your territories; it is inconsistent with the\nprinciples of your government, with the education of your youth, and\nhighly derogatory to the true spirit of Christianity.\n\nIn despotic governments, says Montesque, where they are already in a\nstate of political slavery, civil slavery is more tolerable than in\nother governments; for there the minds of masters and servants are\nequally degenerate and act in unison.--But in America, this cannot be\nthe case; here the pure forms of Republicanism are established, and\nhold forth to the world the enjoyment of Freedom and Independence.\n\nHer citizens have thrown off the load of oppression, under which they\nformerly laboured; and elated with their signal victories, have become\noppressors in their turn.\n\nThey have slaves, over whom they carry the iron rod of subjection, and\nfail not to exercise it with cruelty, hence their situations become\ninsupportable, misery inhabits their cabins, and persecution pursues\nthem in the field.\n\nI would wish to be partial to my country, and carry a hand of lenity;\nit is more pleasing to celebrate than to detract, but whoever takes a\nview of the situation of its slaves, will find it even worse than this\ndescription.\n\nNaked and starved, they often fall victims to the inclemencies of the\nweather, and inhumanly beaten; sacrifices to the turbulent tempers of\ntheir cruel masters.\n\nUnfortunate Africans! born in freedom and subjected to slavery! How\nlong will you remain the spoils of despotism, and the harbinger of\nhuman calamities? Cannot your distresses awaken the heart of\nsensibility, and excite her pity? Cannot your unlawful treatment call\nforth the voice of humanity to plead your cause?\n\nAmericans! step forward; you have already diffused a spirit of Liberty\nthroughout the world; you have set examples of heroism; and now let me\nintreat you to pave the way to the exercise of humanity: an\nopportunity is offered to raise yourselves to the first eminence among\nmankind.\n\nRouse then from your lethargy, and let not such torpid indifference\nprevail in your councils.--Slavery, the most implacable enemy to your\ncountry, is harboured amongst you; it makes a rapid progress, and\nthreatens you with destruction.\n\nAlready has it disturbed the limpid streams of liberty, it has\npolluted the minds of your youth, sown the seeds of despotism, and\nwithout a speedy check to her ravages, will sink you into a pit of\ninfamy, where you shall be robbed of all the honours you have before\nacquired.\n\nLet it viewed either morally or politically, and no one argument can\nbe adduced in its favour.\n\nThe savage mind may perhaps be reconciled to it, but the heart of the\nChristian must recoil at the idea.--He sees it forbidden in Holy Writ,\nand his conscience dictates to him, that it is wrong.\n\n\"_He that stealeth a man_,\" says Exodus, \"_and selleth him, of if he\nbe found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death._\"\n\nOh my countrymen! are there any of you who can con over this elegant\npassage of Scripture, without trembling; or can you stand before the\ngreat Author of your existence, with an arm uplifted to subject his\ncreatures to slavery, without dreading an execution of this divine\nthreat.\n\n\"_The nation, to whom they shall be in bondage, will I judge, said\nGod_\"--and what that judgment may be, is beyond the suggestion of\nmortals. We may be hurled amidst the elements of woe to expiate the\nguilt, for he who holdeth men in slavery liveth in sin.\n\nIn a civilized country, where religion is tolerated in all its purity,\nit must be the fault of ignorance, stubborn indifference to\nChristianity, to rebel against divine sentiments; and considering\nslavery in a political view, it must appear equally as destructive to\nour terrestrial happiness, as it endangers our enjoyment of heavenly\nbliss.\n\nFor who is there, unless innured to savage cruelties, that hear of the\ninhuman punishments daily afflicted upon the unfortunate Blacks,\nwithout feeling for their situations?\n\nCan a man who calls himself a Christian, coolly and deliberately tie\nup, thumb screw, torture with pincers, and beat unmercifully a poor\nslave, for perhaps a trifling neglect of duty? Or can any one be an\neye witness to such enormities, without at the same time being deeply\npersuaded of its guilt?\n\nI fear these questions may be answered in the affirmative, but I hope\nby none of this respectable audience; for such men must be monsters,\nnot of the regular order of nature, and equally prone to murder, or to\nless cruelties.\n\nBut independent of these effects, which the existence of slavery in\nany country has over the moral faculty of man, it is highly injurious\nto its natural oeconomy; it debars the progress of agriculture, and\ngives origin to sloth and luxury.\n\nView the fertile fields of Great Britain, where the hand of freedom\nconducts the plowshare, then look back upon your own, and see how mean\nwill be the comparison.\n\nYour labourers are slaves, and they have no inducement, no incentive\nto be industrious; they are cloathed and victualled, whether lazy or\nhard-working; and from the calculations that have been made, one\nfreeman is worth almost two slaves in the field, which makes it in\nmany instances cheaper to have hirelings; for they are incited to\nindustry by the hopes of reputation and future employment, and are\ncareful of their apparel and their instruments of husbandry, where\nthey must provide them for themselves, whereas, the others have little\nor no temptation to attend to any of these circumstances.\n\nBut this, the prejudiced mind is scarce able to scan, the pride of\nholding men as property is too flattering to yield to the dictates of\nreason, and blindly pushes on man to his destruction.\n\nWhat a pity is it, that darkness should so obscure us, that America\nwith all her transcending glory, should be stigmatized with the\ninfamous reproach of oppression, and her citizens be called Tyrants.\n\nFellow-countrymen, let the hand of persecution be no longer raised\nagainst you.--Act virtuously; do unto all men as you would they should\ndo unto you, and exterminate the pest of slavery from your land.\n\nThen will the tongues of slander be silenced, the shafts of criticism\nblunted, and America enter upon a new theatre of glory.\n\nBut unless these things shall be done, unless the calamitous situation\nof the slaves shall at least be alleviated, what is America to expect?\nCan she think that the repeated insults to Divine Authority will pass\noff with impunity? Or can she suppose, that men, who are naturally\nborn free, shall forever sweat under the yoke of ignominious slavery,\nwithout making one effort to regain their liberty?\n\nNo, my countrymen, these things are not to be expected.--Heaven will\nnot overlook such enormities! She is bound to punish impenitent\nsinners, and her wrath is to be dreaded by all! Moreover, the number\nof slaves, that are harboured amongst you holds forth an alarm; in\nmany parts of the continent they exceed the whites, and are capable of\nransacking the country.\n\nWhat then, if the fire of Liberty shall be kindled amongst them? What,\nif some enthusiast in their cause shall beat to arms, and call them to\nthe standard of freedom? Would they fly in clouds, until their numbers\nbecame tremendous, and threaten the country with devastation and\nruin?--It would not be the feeble efforts of an undisciplined people,\nthat could quell their fury.\n\nLed on by the hopes of freedom, and animated by the aspiring voice of\ntheir leader, they would soon find, that \"a day, an hour of virtuous\nliberty, worth a whole eternity of bondage.\"\n\nHark! Methinks I hear the work begun, the Blacks have sought for\nAllies, and found them in the wilderness; they have called the rusty\nsavages to their assistance, and are preparing to take revenge of\ntheir haughty masters.[38]\n\nA revenge, which they consider as justly merited; for being no longer\nable to endure their unnatural and unlawful bondage, they are\ndetermined to seek Liberty or Death.\n\nWhy then is there not some step to be taken to ward off the dreadful\ncatastrophe?\n\nFellow countrymen, will you stand and see your aged parents, your\nloving wives, your dutiful children butchered by the merciless hand of\nthe enthusiast, when you have it in your power to prevent it?\n\nIn this enlightened period, when the Rights of Man is the topick of\npolitical controversy, and slavery is considered not only unnatural\nbut unlawful, why do you not step forward and compleat the glorious\nwork you have begun, and extend the merciful hand to the unfortunate\nBlacks? Why do you not form some wise plan to liberate them, and\nabolish slavery in your country?\n\nIf it should be deemed injudicious or impolitic to effect it at once,\nlet it be done gradually; let the children for one or two generations\nbe liberated at a certain age, and less than half a century will the\nplague be totally rooted out from amongst you--then will you begin to\nsee your consequence--thousands of good citizens will be added to your\nnumber, and your arms will become invincible: Gratitude will induce\n_them_ to become your friends; for the PROMISE alone of freedom to a\nslave ensures his loyalty; witness their conduct in the second Punic\nwar which the Senate of Rome carried on against Hannibal; not a man\ndisgraced himself, but all with an intrepidity peculiar to veterans\nmet their foes, fought and conquered.\n\nWitness also the valour of a few Blacks in South-Carolina, who under\nthe promise of freedom, joined the great and good Colonel JOHN\nLAURENS; and in a sudden surprised the British, and distinguished\nthemselves as heroes.\n\nI remember it was said, they were foremost in the ranks, and nobly\ncontended for their promised reward.\n\nAt this critical juncture, when savage cruelties threatened to invade\nyour peaceful territories, and murder your citizens, what great\nadvantage might be derived from giving freedom to the Africans at\nonce. Would they not all became your Allies; would they not turn out\nhardy for the wilderness, to drive the blood-thirsty savage to his\nden, and teach him it were better to live peaceably at home, than to\ncome under the scourge of such newly liberated levies.\n\nAmericans arouse--It is time to hear the cause of the wretched sons of\nAfrica, enslaved in your country; they plead not guilty to every\ncharge of crime, and unmeritedly endure the sufferings you impose upon\nthem.\n\nYet, like haughty Despots, or corrupt judges, you forbid a trial.\nJustice however to yourselves and humanity toward your fellow mortals,\nloudly demand it of you, and you ought not to hesitate in obeying\ntheir sacred mandates.\n\nA few years may be sufficient to make you repent of your unrelenting\nindifference, and give a stab to all your boasted honors; then may\nyou, pitiable citizens, be taught wisdom, when it will be too late;\nthen may you cry out, Abba Father, but mercy will not be found, where\nmercy was refused.\n\nLet all the social feelings of the soul, let honour, philanthropy,\npity, humanity, and justice, unite to effect their emancipation.\n\nFor eternal will be the disgrace of keeping them much longer in the\niron fetters of slavery, but immortal the honour of accomplishing\ntheir FREEDOM.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n                    _To the_ SOCIETY.\n\nSuch were the sentiments, my friends, that first induced you to form\nyourselves into this Society.\n\nFor seeing human nature debased in the most vile manner, and seeing\nalso that your country deeply suffered from the iniquitous custom of\nholding man in slavery, you have justly concluded \"that at this\nparticular crisis, when Europe and America appear to pay some\nattention to this evil, the united endeavours of a few, might greatly\ninfluence the public opinion, and produce from the transient sentiment\nof the times, effects, extensive, lasting and useful.\"--But however\ngreat have been your exertions; however much they have been guided by\nthe precepts of humanity and religion, your public reward has been\ncensure and criticism; but let not such airy weapons damp your ardour\nfor doing good; your _just reward_ is in Heaven, not on earth.\n\nYours is the business of mercy and compassion, not of oppression. You\nforcibly rescue from the hands of no man his property, but by your\nexamples and precepts you promote the Abolition of Slavery, and give\nrelief to free <DW64>s, and others unlawfully held in bondage.\n\nYou have shown an anxiety to extend a portion of that freedom to\nothers, which GOD in his Providence hath extended unto you, and a\nrelease from that thraldom to which yourselves and your country were\nso lately tyrannically doomed, and from which you have been but\nrecently delivered. You have evinced to the world your inclination to\nremove as much as possible the sorrows of those who have lived in\nundeserved bondage, and that your hearts are expanded with kindness\ntoward men of all colours, conditions and nations; and if you did not\ninterest yourselves in their behalf, how long might their situations\nremain hard and distressing.\n\nNumbers might passively remain for life in abject slavery from an\nignorance of the mode of acquiring their emancipation, notwithstanding\nthey may be justly entitled to their freedom by birth and by the law.\n\nIf the hand of prosecution is now raised against you, for relieving\nyour fellow mortals from the distresses of unlawful slavery, and\nrestoring them to liberty, it is to be hoped it will not be of long\nduration; the principles of your institutions will be daily made more\nknown, and others will begin to think as you do; they will find upon\nreflection, that they have no just power or authority to hold men in\nslavery, and seeing that your actions are charitable and\ndisinterested, will cordially inlist under your banners, and aid your\nbenevolent exertions.\n\nAlready have you reason to suppose, that your good examples have been\ninfluential; you humbly began with a few, and you now see your numbers\nhourly encreasing.\n\nIt may be the effusions of a youthful fancy, solicitous of\naggrandizing your merit, but I fear not to say, that the operations of\nsimilar institutions will date one of the most splendid aeras of\nAmerican greatness.\n\nGo on then, my friends, pursue the dictates of an unsullied\nconscience, and cease not until you have finished your work--but let\nprudence guide you in all your undertakings, and let not an\nenthusiastic heat predominate over reason. Your cause is a just one,\nconsistent with law and equity, and must finally be advocated by all\nmen of Humanity and Religion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"_For, 'tis Liberty alone which gives the flower\n    of fleeting life its lustre and perfume,\n    And we are weeds without it._\"\n\n                                   TASK.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[36] _A whip with nine tails._\n\n[37] Massachusetts.\n\n[38] This was thrown out as a conjecture of what possibly might\nhappen, and the insurrections in St. Domingo tend to prove the danger,\nto be more considerable than has generally been supposed, and\nsufficient to alarm the inhabitants of these States.\n\n\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n[Transcriber's Notes:\n\n  Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as\n  possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other\n  inconsistencies.\n\n  The transcriber noted the following issues and made changes as\n  indicated to the text to correct obvious errors:\n\n   1. p.  15, \"tendto\" --> \"tend to\"\n   2. p.  18, \"partiotism\" --> \"patriotism\"\n   3. p.  30, Footnote #9, \"Litterature\" --> \"Litterature\"\n   4. p.  33, Footnote #10, Elliot's Debates, Va. p. 452:\n              (page number is indecipherable, possibly 452.)\n   5. p.  37, Footnote #11, \"contray\" --> \"contrary\"\n   6. p.  40, Footnote #12, April 23, 178?, (year is indecipherable)\n   7. p.  41, Both \"Ralph Sandiford\" and \"Ralph Sandyford\" appear in\n              main text and Footnote #13\n   8. p.  76, Both \"Adam Fonerdon\" and \"Adam Fonerden\" appear in\n              main text and Footnote #21\n   9. p.  99, \"terrestial\" --> \"terrestrial\"\n  10. p.  18, \"peceably\" --> \"peaceably\"\n\n  Also, many occurrences of mismatched single and double quotes remain\n  as published.\n\nEnd of Transcriber's Notes]\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Anti-Slavery Opinions before the Year\n1800, by William Frederick Poole and George Buchanan\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte Vol. I by William Milligan Sloane",
        "publication_date": 1910,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/24360",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Thierry Alberto, Henry Craig, Christine P.\nTravers and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp:\/\/www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all\nother inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling\nhas been maintained.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Napoleon Bonaparte in 1785, aged sixteen. From sketch\nmade by a comrade; formerly in the Musee des Souverains, now in the\nLouvre.]\n\n\n\n\n               THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE\n\n                             BY\n\n                   WILLIAM MILLIGAN SLOANE\n                     PH.D., L.H.D., LL.D.\n        _Professor of History in Columbia University_\n\n\n                    Revised and Enlarged\n                       With Portraits\n\n\n                          VOLUME I\n\n\n[Illustration: Editor's arm.]\n\n                          NEW YORK\n                       THE CENTURY CO.\n                            1916\n\n\n\n\n              Copyright, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1910\n                             BY\n                      THE CENTURY CO.\n\n                 _Published, October, 1910_\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE LIBRARY EDITION\n\n\nThis life of Napoleon was first published in 1896 as a book: for the\nyears 1895-96 it ran as a serial in the pages of the Century Magazine.\nJudging from the sales, it has been read by many tens if not hundreds\nof thousands of readers; and it has been extensively noticed in the\ncritical journals of both worlds. Throughout these fourteen years the\ndemand has been very large and steady, considering the size and cost\nof the volumes. Both publishers and author have determined therefore\nthat a library edition was desired by the public, and in that\nconfidence the book has been partly rewritten and entirely remade.\n\nIn the main it is the same book as that which has passed through so\nmany editions. But in some respects it has been amplified. The portion\nrelating to the period of youth has been somewhat expanded, the\npersonalities of those nearest to Napoleon have been in some cases\nmore broadly sketched, new chapters have been added to the treatment\nof the Continental system, the Louisiana Purchase, and the St. Helena\nepoch. In all the text has been lengthened about one-tenth.\n\nUnder the compulsion of physical dimensions the author has minimized\nthe number of authorities and foot-notes. There is really very little\ncontroversial matter regarding Napoleon which is not a matter of\nopinion: the evidence has been so carefully sifted that substantial\nagreement as to fact has been reached. Accordingly there have been\nintroduced at the opening of chapters or divisions short lists of good\nreferences for those who desire to extend their reading: experts know\ntheir own way. It is an interesting fact which throws great light on\nthe slight value of foot-notes that while I have had extensive\ncorrespondence with my fellow workers, there has come to me in all\nthese years but a single request for the source of two statements, and\none demand for the evidence upon which certain opinions were based.\n\nThe former editions were duplicate books, a text by me and a\ncommentary of exquisite illustrations by other hands. The divergence\nwas very confusing to serious minds; in this edition there can be no\nsimilar perplexity since the illustrations have been confined to\nportraits.\n\nIn putting these volumes through the press, in the preparation of the\nreference lists for volumes three and four, and in the rearrangement\nof the bibliography I have had the assistance of Dr. G. A. Hubbell to\nwhom my obligation is hereby acknowledged.\n\n                                        William M. SLOANE.\n\nNew York, _September 1, 1910_.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn the closing years of the eighteenth century European society began\nits effort to get rid of benevolent despotism, so called, and to\nsecure its liberties under forms of constitutional government. The\nstruggle began in France, and spread over the more important lands of\ncontinental Europe; its influence was strongly felt in England, and\neven in the United States. Passing through the phases of\nconstitutional reform, of anarchy, and of military despotism, the\nmovement seemed for a time to have failed, and to outward appearances\nabsolutism was stronger after Waterloo than it had been half a century\nearlier.\n\nBut the force of the revolution was only checked, not spent; and to\nthe awakening of general intelligence, the strengthening of national\nfeeling, and the upbuilding of a sense of common brotherhood among\nmen, produced by the revolutionary struggles of this epoch, Europe\nowes whatever liberty and free government its peoples now enjoy. At\nthe close of this period national power was no longer in the hands of\nthe aristocracy, nor in those of kings; it had passed into the third\nsocial stratum, variously designated as the middle class, the burghers\nor bourgeoisie, and the third estate, a body of men as little willing\nto share it with the masses as the kings had been. Nevertheless, the\ntransition once begun could not be stopped, and the advance of manhood\nsuffrage has ever since been proportionate to the capacity of the\nlaboring classes to receive and use it, until now, at last, whatever\nmay be the nominal form of government in any civilized land, its\nstability depends entirely upon the support of the people as a whole.\nThat which is the basis of all government--the power of the purse--has\npassed into their hands.\n\nThis momentous change was of course a turbulent one--the most\nturbulent in the history of civilization, as it has proved to be the\nmost comprehensive. Consequently its epoch is most interesting, being\ndramatic in the highest degree, having brought into prominence men and\ncharacters who rank among the great of all time, and having exhibited\nto succeeding generations the most important lessons in the most vivid\nlight. By common consent the eminent man of the time was Napoleon\nBonaparte, the revolution queller, the burgher sovereign, the imperial\ndemocrat, the supreme captain, the civil reformer, the victim of\ncircumstances which his soaring ambition used but which his unrivaled\nprowess could not control. Gigantic in his proportions, and satanic in\nhis fate, his was the most tragic figure on the stage of modern\nhistory. While the men of his own and the following generation were\nstill alive, it was almost impossible that the truth should be known\nconcerning his actions or his motives; and to fix his place in general\nhistory was even less feasible. What he wrote and said about himself\nwas of course animated by a determination to appear in the best light;\nwhat others wrote and said has been biased by either devotion or\nhatred.\n\nUntil within a very recent period it seemed that no man could discuss\nhim or his time without manifesting such strong personal feeling as to\nvitiate his judgment and conclusions. This was partly due to the lack\nof perspective, but in the main to ignorance of the facts essential to\na sober treatment of the theme. In this respect the last quarter of a\ncentury has seen a gradual but radical change, for a band of\ndispassionate scientific scholars have during that time been occupied\nin the preparation of material for his life without reference to the\nadvocacy of one theory or another concerning his character. European\narchives, long carefully guarded, have been thrown open; the\ndiplomatic correspondence of the most important periods has been\npublished; family papers have been examined, and numbers of valuable\nmemoirs have been printed. It has therefore been possible to check one\naccount by another, to cancel misrepresentations, to eliminate\npassion--in short, to establish something like correct outline and\naccurate detail, at least in regard to what the man actually did.\nThose hidden secrets of any human mind which we call motives must ever\nremain to other minds largely a matter of opinion, but a very fair\nindication of them can be found when once the actual conduct of the\nactor has been determined.\n\nThis investigation has mainly been the work of specialists, and its\nresults have been published in monographs and technical journals; most\nof these workers, moreover, were continental scholars writing each in\nhis own language. Its results, as a whole, have therefore not been\naccessible to the general reader in either America or England. It\nseems highly desirable that they should be made so, and this has been\nthe effort of the writer. At the same time he claims to be an\nindependent investigator in some of the most important portions of the\nfield he covers. His researches have extended over many years, and it\nhas been his privilege to use original materials which, as far as he\nknows, have not been used by others. At the close of the book will be\nfound a short account of the papers of Bonaparte's boyhood and youth\nwhich the author has read, and of the portions of the French and\nEnglish archives which were generously put at his disposal, together\nwith a short though reasonably complete bibliography of the published\nbooks and papers which really have scientific value. The number of\nvolumes concerned with Napoleon and his epoch is enormous; outside of\nthose mentioned very few have any value except as curiosities of\nliterature.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n    CHAPTER                                                       Page\n\n         I. Introduction............................................ 1\n\n        II. The Bonapartes in Corsica.............................. 20\n\n       III. Napoleon's Birth and Childhood......................... 35\n\n        IV. Napoleon's School-days................................. 48\n\n         V. In Paris and Valence................................... 60\n\n        VI. Private Study and Garrison Life........................ 73\n\n       VII. Further Attempts at Authorship......................... 83\n\n      VIII. The Revolution in France.............................. 100\n\n        IX. Buonaparte and Revolution in Corsica.................. 111\n\n         X. First Lessons in Revolution........................... 123\n\n        XI. Traits of Character................................... 135\n\n       XII. The Revolution in the Rhone Valley.................... 148\n\n      XIII. Buonaparte the Corsican Jacobin....................... 160\n\n       XIV. Buonaparte the French Jacobin......................... 180\n\n        XV. A Jacobin Hegira...................................... 199\n\n       XVI. \"The Supper of Beaucaire\"............................. 212\n\n      XVII. Toulon................................................ 222\n\n     XVIII. A Jacobin General..................................... 236\n\n       XIX. Vicissitudes in War and Diplomacy..................... 247\n\n        XX. The End of Apprenticeship............................. 260\n\n       XXI. The Antechamber To Success............................ 272\n\n      XXII. Bonaparte the General of the Convention............... 287\n\n     XXIII. The Day of the Paris Sections......................... 302\n\n      XXIV. A Marriage of Inclination and Interest................ 313\n\n       XXV. Europe and the Directory.............................. 324\n\n      XXVI. Bonaparte on a Great Stage............................ 339\n\n     XXVII. The Conquest of Piedmont and the Milanese............. 352\n\n    XXVIII. An Insubordinate Conqueror and Diplomatist............ 363\n\n      XXIX. Bassano and Arcola.................................... 378\n\n       XXX. Bonaparte's Imperious Spirit.......................... 393\n\n      XXXI. Rivoli and the Capitulation of Mantua................. 406\n\n     XXXII. Humiliation of the Papacy and of Venice............... 419\n\n    XXXIII. The Preliminaries of Peace--Leoben.................... 430\n\n     XXXIV. The Fall of Venice.................................... 444\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  Napoleon Bonaparte in 1785, aged sixteen.             _Frontispiece_\n\n  Marie-Laetitia Ramolino Bonaparte \"Madame Mere\"--Mother of\n    Napoleon I..................................................... 50\n\n  Charles Bonaparte, Father of the Emperor Napoleon, 1785.......... 96\n\n  Bonaparte, General in Chief of the Army of Italy................ 176\n\n  Josephine....................................................... 226\n\n  Marie-Josephine-Rose Tascher de la Pagerie, called Josephine,\n    Empress of the French......................................... 276\n\n  Bonaparte....................................................... 326\n\n  Map of Northern Italy, illustrating the Campaigns of 1796 and\n    1797.......................................................... 354\n\n  Josephine, Empress of the French................................ 374\n\n  Map illustrating the Campaign preceding the Treaty of\n    Campo-Formio, 1797............................................ 414\n\n\n\n\n                         SI QUID NOVISTI RECTIUS ISTIS,\n           CANDIDUS IMPERTI: SI NON, HIS UTERE MECUM\n\n                                                  _Horace_\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nIntroduction.\n\n     The Revolutionary Epoch in Europe -- Its Dominant\n     Personage -- The State System of Europe -- The Power of\n     Great Britain -- Feebleness of Democracy -- The Expectant\n     Attitude of the Continent -- Survival of Antiquated\n     Institutions -- The American Revolution -- Philosophical\n     Sophistries -- Rousseau -- His Fallacies -- Corsica as a\n     Center of Interest -- Its Geography -- Its Rulers -- The\n     People -- Sampiero -- Revolutions -- Spanish Alliance --\n     King Theodore -- French Intervention -- Supremacy of Genoa\n     -- Paoli -- His Success as a Liberator -- His Plan for\n     Alliance with France -- The Policy of Choiseul -- Paoli's\n     Reputation -- Napoleon's Account of Corsica and of Paoli --\n     Rousseau and Corsica.\n\n\nNapoleon Bonaparte was the representative man of the epoch which\nushered in the nineteenth century. Though an aristocrat by descent, he\nwas in life, in training, and in quality neither that nor a plebeian;\nhe was the typical plain man of his time, exhibiting the common sense\nof a generation which thought in terms made current by the philosophy\nof the eighteenth century. His period was the most tumultuous and yet\nthe most fruitful in the world's history. But the progress made in it\nwas not altogether direct; rather was it like the advance of a\ntraveler whirled through the spiral tunnels of the St. Gotthard.\nFlying from the inclemency of the north, he is carried by the\nponderous train due southward into the opening. After a time of\ndarkness he emerges into the open air. But at first sight the goal is\nno nearer; the direction is perhaps reversed, the skies are more\nforbidding, the chill is more intense. Only after successive ventures\nof the same kind is the climax reached, the summit passed, and the\nvision of sunny plains opened to view. Such experiences are more\ncommon to the race than to the individual; the muse of history must\nnote and record them with equanimity, with a buoyancy and hopefulness\nborn of larger knowledge. The movement of civilization in Europe\nduring the latter portion of the eighteenth century was onward and\nupward, but it was at times not only devious, slow and laborious, but\nfruitless in immediate results.\n\nWe must study the age and the people of any great man if we sincerely\ndesire the truth regarding his strength and weakness, his inborn\ntendencies and purposes, his failures and successes, the temporary\nincidents and the lasting, constructive, meritorious achievements of\nhis career. This is certainly far more true of Napoleon than of any\nother heroic personage; an affectionate awe has sometimes lifted him\nto heaven, a spiteful hate has often hurled him down to hell. Every\nnation, every party, faction, and cabal among his own and other\npeoples, has judged him from its own standpoint of self-interest and\nself-justification. Whatever chance there may be of reading the\nsecrets of his life lies rather in a just consideration of the man in\nrelation to his times, about which much is known, than in an attempt\nat the psychological dissection of an enigmatical nature, about which\nlittle is known, in spite of the fullness of our information. The\nabundant facts of his career are not facts at all unless considered in\nthe light not only of a great national life, but of a continental\nmovement which embraced in its day all civilization, not excepting\nthat of Great Britain and America.\n\nThe states of Europe are sisters, children of the Holy Roman Empire.\nIn the formation of strong nationalities with differences in language,\nreligion, and institutions the relationship was almost forgotten, and\nin the intensity of later rivalry is not always even now remembered.\nIt is, however, so close that at any epoch there is traceable a common\nmovement which occupies them all. By the end of the fourteenth century\nthey had secured their modern form in territorial and race unity with\na government by monarchy more or less absolute. The fifteenth century\nsaw with the strengthening of the monarchy the renascence of the fine\narts, the great inventions, the awakening of enterprise in discovery,\nthe mental quickening which began to call all authority to account.\nThe sixteenth was the age of the Reformation, an event too often\nbelittled by ecclesiastics who discern only its schismatic character,\nand not sufficiently emphasized by historians as the most pregnant\npolitical fact of any age with respect to the rise and growth of free\ninstitutions.\n\nThe seventeenth century saw in England the triumph of political ideas\nadapted to the new state of society which had arisen, but subversive\nof the tyrannical system which had done its work, a work great and\ngood in the creation of peoples and the production of social order out\nof chaos. For a time it seemed as if the island state were to become\nthe overshadowing influence in all the rest of Europe. By the middle\nof the century her example had fired the whole continent with notions\nof political reform. The long campaign which she and her allies waged\nwith varying fortune against Louis XIV, commanding the conservative\nforces of the Latin blood, and the Roman religion ended unfavorably to\nthe latter. At the close of the Seven Years' War there was not an\nEnglishman in Europe or America or in the colonies at the antipodes\nwhose pulse did not beat high as he saw his motherland triumphant in\nevery quarter of the globe.\n\nBut these very successes, intensifying the bitterness of defeat and\neverything connected with it, prevented among numerous other causes\nthe triumph of constitutional government anywhere in continental\nEurope. Switzerland was remote and inaccessible; her beacon of\ndemocracy burned bright, but its rays scarcely shone beyond the\nmountain valleys. The Dutch republic, enervated by commercial success\nand under a constitution which by its intricate system of checks was a\nsatire on organized liberty, had become a warning rather than a model\nto other nations.\n\nThe other members of the great European state family presented a\ncurious spectacle. On every hand there was a cheerful trust in the\nfuture. The present was as bad as possible, but belonged to the\npassing and not to the coming hour. Truth was abroad, felt the\nphilosophers, and must prevail. Feudal privilege, oppression, vice and\nvenality in government, the misery of the poor--all would slowly fade\naway. The human mind was never keener than in the eighteenth century;\nreasonableness, hope, and thoroughness characterized its activity.\nNatural science, metaphysics and historical studies made giant\nstrides, while political theories of a dazzling splendor never equaled\nbefore nor since were rife on every side. Such was their power in a\nbuoyant society, awaiting the millennium, that they supplanted\nentirely the results of observation and experience in the sphere of\ngovernment.\n\nBut neither lever nor fulcrum was strong enough as yet to stir the\ninert mass of traditional forms. Monarchs still flattered themselves\nwith notions of paternal government and divine right; the nobility\nstill claimed and exercised baseless privileges which had descended\nfrom an age when their ancestors held not merely these but the land on\nwhich they rested; the burgesses still hugged, as something which had\ncome from above, their dearly bought charter rights, now revealed as\ninborn liberties. They were thus hardened into a gross contentment\ndangerous for themselves, and into an indifference which was a menace\nto others. The great agricultural populations living in various\ndegrees of serfdom still groaned under the artificial oppressions of a\nsociety which had passed away. Nominally the peasant might own certain\nportions of the soil, but he could not enjoy unmolested the airs which\nblew over it nor the streams which ran through it nor the wild things\nwhich trespassed or dwelt on it, while on every side some exasperating\ndemand for the contribution of labor or goods or money confronted him.\n\nIn short, the civilized world was in one of those transitional epochs\nwhen institutions persist, after the beliefs and conditions which\nmolded them have utterly disappeared. The inertia of such a\nrock-ribbed shell is terrible, and while sometimes the erosive power\nof agitation and discussion suffices to weaken and destroy it, more\noften the volcanic fires of social convulsion are alone strong enough.\nThe first such shock came from within the English-speaking world\nitself, but not in Europe. The American colonies, appreciating and\napplying to their own conditions the principles of the English\nRevolution, began, and with French assistance completed, the movement\nwhich erected in another hemisphere the American republic. Weak and\ntottering in its infancy, but growing ever stronger and therefore\nmilder, its example began at once to suggest the great and peaceful\nreforms of the English constitution which have since followed.\nThreatening absolutism in the strong contrasts its citizens presented\nto the subjects of other lands, it has been ever since the moral\nsupport of liberal movements the world around. England herself,\ninstead of being weakened, was strengthened by the child grown to\nindependent maturity, and a double example of prosperity under\nconstitutional administration was now held up to the continent of\nEurope.\n\nBut it is the greatest proof of human weakness that there is no\nmovement however beneficent, no doctrine however sound, no truth\nhowever absolute, but that it can be speciously so extended, so\nexpanded, so emphasized as to lose its identity. Coincident with the\npolitical speculation of the eighteenth century appeared the storm and\nstress of romanticism and sentimentalism. The extremes of morbid\npersonal emotion were thought serviceable for daily life, while the\nmiddle course of applying ideals to experience was utterly abandoned.\nThe latest nihilism differs little from the conception of the perfect\nregeneration of mankind by discarding the old merely because it was\nold which triumphed in the latter half of the eighteenth century among\nphilosophers and wits. To be sure, they had a substitute for whatever\nwas abolished and a supplement for whatever was left incomplete.\n\nEven the stable sense of the Americans was infected by the virus of\nmere theories. In obedience to the spirit of the age they introduced\ninto their written constitution, which was in the main but a statement\nof their deep-seated political habits, a scheme like that of the\nelectoral college founded on some high-sounding doctrine, or omitted\nfrom it in obedience to a prevalent and temporary extravagance of\nprotest some fundamental truth like that of the Christian character of\ntheir government and laws. If there be anywhere a Christian\nProtestant state it is the United States; if any futile invention were\never incorporated in a written charter it was that of the electoral\ncollege. The addition of a vague theory or the omission of essential\nnational qualities in the document of the constitution has affected\nour subsequent history little or not at all.\n\nBut such was not the case in a society still under feudal oppression.\nFictions like the contract theory of government, exploded by the sound\nsense of Burke; political generalizations like certain paragraphs of\nthe French Declaration of Rights, every item of which now and here\nreads like a platitude but was then and there a vivid revolutionary\nnovelty; emotional yearnings for some vague Utopia--all fell into\nfruitful soil and produced a rank harvest, mostly of straw and stalks,\nalthough there was some sound grain. The thought of the time was a\npowerful factor in determining the course and the quality of events\nthroughout all Europe. No nation was altogether unmoved. The center of\nagitation was in France, although the little Calvinistic state of\nGeneva brought forth the prophet and writer of the times.\n\nRousseau was a man of small learning but great insight. Originating\nalmost nothing, he set forth the ideas of others with incisive\ndistinctness, often modifying them to their hurt, but giving to the\nform in which he wrote them an air of seductive practicability and\nreality which alone threw them into the sphere of action. Examining\nEurope at large, he found its social and political institutions so\nhardened and so unresponsive that he declared it incapable of movement\nwithout an antecedent general crash and breaking up. No laws, he\nreasoned, could be made because there were no means by which the\ngeneral will could express itself, such was the rigidity of\nabsolutism and feudalism. The splendid studies of Montesquieu, which\nrevealed to the French the eternal truths underlying the\nconstitutional changes in England, had enlightened and captivated the\nbest minds of his country, but they were too serious, too cold, too\ndry to move the quick, bright temperament of the people at large. This\nwas the work of Rousseau. Consummate in his literary power, he laid\nthe ax at the root of the tree in his fierce attack on the prevailing\neducation, sought a new basis for government in his peculiar\nmodification of the contract theory, and constructed a substitute\nsystem of sentimental morals to supplant the old authoritative one\nwhich was believed to underlie all the prevalent iniquities in\nreligion, politics, and society.\n\nHis entire structure lacked a foundation either in history or in\nreason. But the popular fancy was fascinated. The whole flimsy\nfurniture in the chambers of the general mind vanished. New emotions,\nnew purposes, new sanctions appeared in its stead. There was a sad\nlack of ethical definitions, an over-zealous iconoclasm as to\nreligion, but there were many high conceptions of regenerating\nsociety, of liberty, of brotherhood, of equality. The influence of\nthis movement was literally ubiquitous; it was felt wherever men read\nor thought or talked, and were connected, however remotely, with the\ngreat central movement of civilization.\n\nNo land and no family could to all outward appearance be further aside\nfrom the main channel of European history in the eighteenth century\nthan the island of Corsica and an obscure family by the name of\nBuonaparte which had dwelt there since the beginning of the eighteenth\ncentury. Yet that isolated land and that unknown family were not\nmerely to be drawn into the movement, they were to illustrate its most\ncharacteristic phases. Rousseau, though mistakenly, forecast a great\ndestiny for Corsica, declaring in his letters on Poland that it was\nthe only European land capable of movement, of law-making, of peaceful\nrenovation. It was small and remote, but it came near to being an\nactual exemplification of his favorite and fundamental dogma\nconcerning man in a state of nature, of order as arising from\nconflict, of government as resting on general consent and mutual\nagreement among the governed. Toward Corsica, therefore, the eyes of\nall Europe had long been directed. There, more than elsewhere, the\nsetting of the world-drama seemed complete in miniature, and, in the\nclosing quarter of the eighteenth century, the action was rapidly\nunfolding a plot of universal interest.\n\nA lofty mountain-ridge divides the island into eastern and western\ndistricts. The former is gentler in its <DW72>s, and more fertile.\nLooking, as it does, toward Italy, it was during the middle ages\nclosely bound in intercourse with that peninsula; richer in its\nresources than the other part, it was more open to outside influences,\nand for this reason freer in its institutions. The rugged western\ndivision had come more completely under the yoke of feudalism, having\nclose affinity in sympathy, and some relation in blood, with the\nGreek, Roman, Saracenic, and Teutonic race-elements in France and\nSpain. The communal administration of the eastern <DW72>, however,\nprevailed eventually in the western as well, and the differences of\norigin, wealth, and occupation, though at times the occasion of\nintestine discord, were as nothing compared with the common\ncharacteristics which knit the population of the entire island into\none national organization, as much a unit as their insular territory.\n\nThe people of this small commonwealth were in the main of Italian\nblood. Some slight connection with the motherland they still\nmaintained in the relations of commerce, and by the education of their\nprofessional men at Italian schools. While a small minority supported\nthemselves as tradesmen or seafarers, the mass of the population was\ndependent for a livelihood upon agriculture. As a nation they had long\nceased to follow the course of general European development. They had\nbeen successively the subjects of Greece, Rome, and the Califate, of\nthe German-Roman emperors, and of the republic of Pisa. Their latest\nruler was Genoa, which had now degenerated into an untrustworthy\noligarchy. United to that state originally by terms which gave the\nisland a \"speaker\" or advocate in the Genoese senate, and recognized\nthe most cherished habits of a hardy, natural-minded, and primitive\npeople, they had little by little been left a prey to their own faults\nin order that their unworthy mistress might plead their disorders as\nan excuse for her tyranny. Agriculture languished, and the minute\nsubdivision of arable land finally rendered its tillage almost\nprofitless.\n\nAmong a people who are isolated not only as islanders, but also as\nmountaineers, old institutions are particularly tenacious of life:\nthat of the vendetta, or blood revenge, with the clanship it\naccompanies, never disappeared from Corsica. In the centuries of\nGenoese rule the carrying of arms was winked at, quarrels became rife,\nand often family confederations, embracing a considerable part of the\ncountry, were arrayed one against the other in lawless violence. The\nfeudal nobility, few in number, were unrecognized, and failed to\ncultivate the industrial arts in the security of costly strongholds as\ntheir class did elsewhere, while the fairest portions of land not held\nby them were gradually absorbed by the monasteries, a process favored\nby Genoa as likely to render easier the government of a turbulent\npeople. The human animal, however, throve. Rudely clad in homespun,\nmen and women alike cultivated a simplicity of dress surpassed only by\ntheir plain living. There was no wealth except that of fields and\nflocks, their money consequently was debased and almost worthless. The\nsocial distinctions of noble and peasant survived only in tradition,\nand all classes intermingled without any sense of superiority or\ninferiority. Elegance of manner, polish, grace, were unsought and\nexisted only by natural refinement, which was rare among a people who\nwere on the whole simple to boorishness. Physically they were,\nhowever, admirable. All visitors were struck by the repose and\nself-reliance of their countenances. The women were neither beautiful,\nstylish, nor neat. Yet they were considered modest and attractive. The\nmen were more striking in appearance and character. Of medium stature\nand powerful mold, with black hair, fine teeth, and piercing eyes;\nwith well-formed, agile, and sinewy limbs; sober, brave, trustworthy,\nand endowed with many other primitive virtues as well, the Corsican\nwas everywhere sought as a soldier, and could be found in all the\narmies of the southern continental states.\n\nIn their periodic struggles against Genoese encroachments and tyranny,\nthe Corsicans had produced a line of national heroes. Sampiero, one of\nthese, had in the sixteenth century incorporated Corsica for a brief\nhour with the dominions of the French crown, and was regarded as the\ntypical Corsican. Dark, warlike, and revengeful, he had displayed a\nkeen intellect and a fine judgment. Simple in his dress and habits,\nuntainted by the luxury then prevalent in the courts of Florence and\nParis, at both of which he resided for considerable periods, he could\nkill his wife without a shudder when she put herself and child into\nthe hands of his enemies to betray him. Hospitable and generous, but\nuntamed and terrible; brusque, dictatorial, and without consideration\nor compassion; the offspring of his times and his people, he stands\nthe embodiment of primeval energy, physical and mental.\n\nThe submission of a people like this to a superior force was sullen,\nand in the long century which followed, the energies generally\ndisplayed in a well-ordered life seemed among them to be not quenched\nbut directed into the channels of their passions and their bodily\npowers, which were ready on occasion to break forth in devastating\nviolence. In 1729 began a succession of revolutionary outbursts, and\nat last in 1730 the communal assemblies united in a national\nconvention, choosing two chiefs, Colonna-Ceccaldi and Giafferi, to\nlead in the attempt to rouse the nation to action and throw off the\nunendurable yoke. English philanthropists furnished the munitions of\nwar. The Genoese were beaten in successive battles, even after they\nbrought into the field eight thousand German mercenaries purchased\nfrom the Emperor Charles VI. The Corsican adventurers in foreign\nlands, pleading for their liberties with artless eloquence at every\ncourt, filled Europe with enthusiasm for their cause and streamed back\nto fight for their homes. A temporary peace on terms which granted all\nthey asked was finally arranged through the Emperor's intervention.\n\nBut the two elected chiefs, and a third patriot, Raffaelli, having\nbeen taken prisoners by the Genoese, were ungenerously kept in\nconfinement, and released only at the command of Charles. Under the\nsame leaders, now further exasperated by their ill usage, began and\ncontinued another agitation, this time for separation and complete\nemancipation. Giafferi's chosen adjutant was a youth of good family\nand excellent parts, Hyacinth Paoli. In the then existing\ncomplications of European politics the only available helper was the\nKing of Spain, and to him the Corsicans now applied, but his\nundertakings compelled him to refuse. Left without allies or any\nearthly support, the pious Corsicans naively threw themselves on the\nprotection of the Virgin and determined more firmly than ever to\nsecure their independence.\n\nIn this crisis appeared at the head of a considerable following, some\nhundreds in number, the notorious and curious German adventurer,\nTheodore von Neuhof, who, declaring that he represented the sympathy\nof the great powers for Corsica, made ready to proclaim himself as\nking. As any shelter is welcome in a storm, the people accepted him,\nand he was crowned on April fifteenth, 1736. But although he spoke\ntruthfully when he claimed to represent the sympathy of the powers, he\ndid not represent their strength, and was defeated again and again in\nencounters with the forces of Genoa. The oligarchy had now secured an\nalliance with France, which feared lest the island might fall into\nmore hostile and stronger hands; and before the close of the year the\nshort-lived monarchy ended in the disappearance of Theodore I of\nCorsica from his kingdom and soon after, in spite of his heroic\nexertions, from history.\n\nThe truth was that some of the nationalist leaders had not forgotten\nthe old patriotic leaning towards France which had existed since the\ndays of Sampiero, and were themselves in communication with the French\ncourt and Cardinal Fleury. A French army landed in February, 1738, and\nwas defeated. An overwhelming force was then despatched and the\ninsurrection subsided. In the end France, though strongly tempted to\nhold what she had conquered, kept her promise to Genoa and disarmed\nthe Corsicans; on the other hand, however, she consulted her own\ninterest and attempted to soothe the islanders by guaranteeing to them\nnational rights. Such, however, was the prevalent bitterness that many\npatriots fled into exile; some, like Hyacinth Paoli, choosing the pay\nof Naples for themselves and followers, others accepting the offer of\nFrance and forming according to time-honored custom a Corsican\nregiment of mercenaries which took service in the armies of the King.\nAmong the latter were two of some eminence, Buttafuoco and Salicetti.\nThe half measures of Fleury left Corsica, as he intended, ready to\nfall into his hands when opportunity should be ripe. Even the\npatriotic leaders were now no longer in harmony. Those in Italy were\nof the old disinterested line and suspicious of their western\nneighbor; the others were charged with being the more ambitious for\nthemselves and careless of their country's liberty. Both classes,\nhowever, claimed to be true patriots.\n\nDuring the War of the Austrian Succession it seemed for a moment as if\nCorsica were to be freed by the attempt of Maria Theresa to overthrow\nGenoa, then an ally of the Bourbon powers. The national party rose\nagain under Gaffori, the regiments of Piedmont came to their help, and\nthe English fleet delivered St. Florent and Bastia into their hands.\nBut the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748) left things substantially as\nthey were before the war, and in 1752 a new arrangement unsatisfactory\nto both parties was made with Genoa. It was virtually dictated by\nSpain and France, England having been alienated by the quarrels and\npetty jealousies of the Corsican leaders, and lasted only as long as\nthe French occupation continued. Under the leadership of the same\ndauntless Gaffori who in 1740 had been chosen along with Matra to be a\nchief commander, the Genoese were once more driven from the highlands\ninto the coast towns. At the height of his success the bold guerrilla\nfell a victim to family rivalries and personal spite. Through the\ninfluence of his despairing foes a successful conspiracy was formed\nand in the autumn of 1753 he was foully murdered.\n\nBut the greatest of these national heroes was also the last--Pascal\nPaoli. Fitted for his task by birth, by capacity, by superior\ntraining, this youth was in 1755 made captain-general of the island, a\nvirtual dictator in his twenty-ninth year. His success was as\nremarkable as his measures were wise. Elections were regulated so that\nstrong organization was introduced into the loose democratic\ninstitutions which had hitherto prevented sufficient unity of action\nin troubled times. An army was created from the straggling bands of\nvolunteers, and brigandage was suppressed. Wise laws were enacted and\nenforced--among them one which made the blood-avenger a murderer,\ninstead of a hero as he had been. Moreover, the foundations of a\nuniversity were laid in the town of Corte, which was the hearthstone\nof the liberals because it was the natural capital of the west <DW72>,\nconnected by difficult and defensible paths with every cape and bay\nand intervale of the rocky and broken coast. The Genoese were\ngradually driven from the interior, and finally they occupied but\nthree harbor towns.\n\nThrough skilful diplomacy Paoli created a temporary breach between his\noppressors and the Vatican, which, though soon healed, nevertheless\nenabled him to recover important domains for the state, and prevented\nthe Roman hierarchy from using its enormous influence over the\nsuperstitious people utterly to crush the movement for their\nemancipation. His extreme and enlightened liberalism is admirably\nshown by his invitation to the Jews, with their industry and steady\nhabits, to settle in Corsica, and to live there in the fullest\nenjoyment of civil rights, according to the traditions of their faith\nand the precepts of their law. \"Liberty,\" he said, \"knows no creed.\nLet us leave such distinctions to the Inquisition.\" Commerce, under\nthese influences, began to thrive. New harbors were made and\nfortified, while the equipment of a few gunboats for their defense\nmarked the small beginnings of a fleet. The haughty men of Corsica,\nchanging their very nature for a season, began to labor with their\nhands by the side of their wives and hired assistants; to agriculture,\nindustry, and the arts was given an impulse which promised to be\nlasting.\n\nThe rule of Paoli was not entirely without disturbance. From time to\ntime there occurred rebellious outbreaks of petty factions like that\nheaded by Matra, a disappointed rival. But on the whole they were of\nlittle importance. Down to 1765 the advances of the nationalists were\nsteady, their battles being won against enormous odds by the force of\ntheir warlike nature, which sought honor above all things, and could,\nin the words of a medieval chronicle, \"endure without a murmur\nwatchings and pains, hunger and cold, in its pursuit--which could even\nface death without a pang.\" Finally it became necessary, as the result\nof unparalleled success in domestic affairs, that a foreign policy\nshould be formulated. Paoli's idea was an offensive and defensive\nalliance with France on terms recognizing the independence of Corsica,\nsecuring an exclusive commercial reciprocity between them, and\npromising military service with an annual tribute from the island.\nThis idea of France as a protector without administrative power was\nheld by the majority of patriots.\n\nBut Choiseul, the minister of foreign affairs under Louis XV, would\nentertain no such visionary plan. It was clear to every one that the\nisland could no longer be held by its old masters. He had found a\nfacile instrument for the measures necessary to his contemplated\nseizure of it in the son of a Corsican refugee, that later notorious\nButtafuoco, who, carrying water on both shoulders, had ingratiated\nhimself with his father's old friends, while at the same time he had\nfor years been successful as a French official. Corsica was to be\nseized by France as a sop to the national pride, a slight compensation\nfor the loss of Canada, and he was willing to be the agent. On August\nsixth, 1764, was signed a provisional agreement between Genoa and\nFrance by which the former was to cede for four years all her rights\nof sovereignty, and the few places she still held in the island, in\nreturn for the latter's intervention to thwart Paoli's plan for\nsecuring virtual independence. At the end of the period France was to\npay Genoa the millions owed to her.\n\nBy this time the renown of Paoli had filled all Europe. As a statesman\nhe had skilfully used the European entanglements both of the\nBourbon-Hapsburg alliance made in 1756, and of the alliances\nconsequent to the Seven Years' War, for whatever possible advantage\nmight be secured to his people and their cause. As a general he had\nfound profit even in defeat, and had organized his little forces to\nthe highest possible efficiency, displaying prudence, fortitude, and\ncapacity. His personal character was blameless, and could be\nfearlessly set up as a model. He was a convincing orator and a wise\nlegislator. Full of sympathy for his backward compatriots, he knew\ntheir weaknesses, and could avoid the consequences, while he\nrecognized at the same time their virtues, and made the fullest use of\nthem. Above all, he had the wide horizon of a philosopher,\nunderstanding fully the proportions and relations to each other of\nepochs and peoples, not striving to uplift Corsica merely in her own\ninterest, but seeking to find in her regeneration a leverage to raise\nthe world to higher things. So gracious, so influential, so\nfar-seeing, so all-embracing was his nature, that Voltaire called him\n\"the lawgiver and the glory of his people,\" while Frederick the Great\ndedicated to him a dagger with the inscription, \"Libertas, Patria.\"\nThe shadows in his character were that he was imperious and arbitrary;\nso overmastering that he trained the Corsicans to seek guidance and\nprotection, thus preventing them from acquiring either personal\nindependence or self-reliance. Awaiting at every step an impulse from\ntheir adored leader, growing timid in the moment when decision was\nimperative, they did not prove equal to their task. Without his people\nPaoli was still a philosopher; without him they became in succeeding\nyears a byword, and fell supinely into the arms of a less noble\nsubjection. In this regard the comparison between him and Washington,\nso often instituted, utterly breaks down.\n\n\"Corsica,\" wrote in 1790 a youth destined to lend even greater\ninterest than Paoli to that name--\"Corsica has been a prey to the\nambition of her neighbors, the victim of their politics and of her own\nwilfulness.... We have seen her take up arms, shake the atrocious\npower of Genoa, recover her independence, live happily for an instant;\nbut then, pursued by an irresistible fatality, fall again into\nintolerable disgrace. For twenty-four centuries these are the scenes\nwhich recur again and again; the same changes, the same misfortune,\nbut also the same courage, the same resolution, the same boldness....\nIf she trembled for an instant before the feudal hydra, it was only\nlong enough to recognize and destroy it. If, led by a natural feeling,\nshe kissed, like a slave, the chains of Rome, she was not long in\nbreaking them. If, finally, she bowed her head before the Ligurian\naristocracy, if irresistible forces kept her twenty years in the\ndespotic grasp of Versailles, forty years of mad warfare astonished\nEurope, and confounded her enemies.\"\n\nThe same pen wrote of Paoli that by following traditional lines he had\nnot only shown in the constitution he framed for Corsica a historic\nintuition, but also had found \"in his unparalleled activity, in his\nwarm, persuasive eloquence, in his adroit and far-seeing genius,\" a\nmeans to guarantee it against the attacks of wicked foes.\n\nSuch was the country in whose fortunes the \"age of enlightenment\" was\nso interested. Montesquieu had used its history to illustrate the loss\nand recovery of privilege and rights; Rousseau had thought the little\nisle would one day fill all Europe with amazement. When the latter was\ndriven into exile for his utterances, and before his flight to\nEngland, Paoli offered him a refuge. Buttafuoco, who represented the\nopinion that Corsica for its own good must be incorporated with\nFrance, and not merely come under her protection, had a few months\npreviously also invited the Genevan prophet to visit the island, and\noutline a constitution for its people. But the snare was spread in\nvain. In the letter which with polished phrase declined the task, on\nthe ground of its writer's ill-health, stood the words: \"I believe\nthat under their present leader the Corsicans have nothing to fear\nfrom Genoa. I believe, moreover, that they have nothing to fear from\nthe troops which France is said to be transporting to their shores.\nWhat confirms me in this feeling is that, in spite of the movement, so\ngood a patriot as you seem to be continues in the service of the\ncountry which sends them.\" Paoli was of the same opinion, and remained\nso until his rude awakening in 1768.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe Bonapartes in Corsica.\n\n     The French Occupy Corsica -- Paoli Deceived -- Treaty\n     between France and Genoa -- English Intervention Vain --\n     Paoli in England -- British Problems -- Introduction of the\n     French Administrative System -- Paoli's Policy -- The Coming\n     Man -- Origin of the Bonapartes -- The Corsican Branch --\n     Their Nobility -- Carlo Maria di Buonaparte -- Maria Letizia\n     Ramolino -- Their Marriage and Naturalization as French\n     Subjects -- Their Fortunes -- Their Children.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1764-72.]\n\nThe preliminary occupation of Corsica by the French was ostensibly\nformal. The process was continued, however, until the formality became\na reality, until the fortifications of the seaport towns ceded by\nGenoa were filled with troops. Then, for the first time, the text of\nthe convention between the two powers was communicated to Paoli.\nChoiseul explained through his agent that by its first section the\nKing guaranteed the safety and liberty of the Corsican nation. But, no\ndoubt, he forgot to explain the double dealing in the second section.\nThereby in the Italian form the Corsicans were in return to take \"all\nright and proper measures dictated by their sense of justice and\nnatural moderation to secure the glory and interest of the republic of\nGenoa,\" while in the French form they were \"to yield to the Genoese\nall 'they' thought necessary to the glory and interests of their\nrepublic.\" Who were the \"they\"?--the Corsicans or the Genoese? Paoli's\neye was fixed on the acknowledgment of Corsican independence; he was\nhoodwinked completely as to the treachery in this second section, the\nmeaning of which, according to diplomatic usage, was settled by the\ninterpretation which the language employed for one form put upon that\nin which the other was written. Combining the two translations,\nItalian and French, of the second section, and interpreting one by the\nother, the Genoese were still the arbiters of Corsican conduct and the\npromise of liberty contained in the first section was worthless.\n\nFour years passed: apparently they were uneventful, but in reality\nChoiseul made good use of his time. Through Buttafuoco he was in\nregular communication with that minority among the Corsicans which\ndesired incorporation. By the skilful manipulation of private feuds,\nand the unstinted use of money, this minority was before long turned\ninto a majority. Toward the close of 1767 Choiseul began to show his\nhand by demanding absolute possession for France of at least two\nstrong towns. Paoli replied that the demand was unexpected, and\nrequired consideration by the people; the answer was that the King of\nFrance could not be expected to mingle in Corsican affairs without\nsome advantage for himself. To gain time, Paoli chose Buttafuoco as\nhis plenipotentiary, despatched him to Versailles, and thus fell into\nthe very trap so carefully set for him by his opponent. He consented\nas a compromise that Corsica should join the Bourbon-Hapsburg league.\nMore he could not grant for love of his wild, free Corsicans, and he\ncherished the secret conviction that, Genoa being no longer able to\nassert her sovereignty, France would never allow another power to\nintervene, and so, for the sake of peace, might accept this solution.\n\nBut the great French minister was a master of diplomacy and would not\nyield. In his designs upon Corsica he had little to fear from European\nopposition. He knew how hampered England was by the strength of\nparliamentary opposition, and the unrest of her American colonies. The\nSardinian monarchy was still weak, and quailed under the jealous eyes\nof her strong enemies. Austria could not act without breaking the\nleague so essential to her welfare, while the Bourbon courts of Spain\nand Naples would regard the family aggrandizement with complacency.\nMoreover, something must be done to save the prestige of France: her\nAmerican colonial empire was lost; Catherine's brilliant policy, and\nthe subsequent victories of Russia in the Orient, were threatening\nwhat remained of French influence in that quarter. Here was a\npropitious moment to emulate once more the English: to seize a station\non the Indian highroad as valuable as Gibraltar or Port Mahon, and to\nraise high hopes of again recovering, if not the colonial supremacy\namong nations, at least that equality which the Seven Years' War had\ndestroyed. Without loss of time, therefore, the negotiations were\nended, and Buttafuoco was dismissed. On May fifteenth, 1768, the price\nto be paid having been fixed, a definitive treaty with Genoa was\nsigned whereby she yielded the exercise of sovereignty to France, and\nCorsica passed finally from her hands. Paoli appealed to the great\npowers against this arbitrary transfer, but in vain.\n\nThe campaign of subjugation opened at once, Buttafuoco, with a few\nother Corsicans, taking service against his kinsfolk. The soldiers of\nthe Royal Corsican regiment, which was in the French service, and\nwhich had been formed under his father's influence, flatly refused to\nfight their brethren. The French troops already in the island were at\nonce reinforced, but during the first year of the final conflict the\nadvantage was all with the patriots; indeed, there was one substantial\nvictory on October seventh, 1768, that of Borgo, which caused dismay\nat Versailles. Once more Paoli hoped for intervention, especially that\nof England, whose liberal feeling would coincide with his interest in\nkeeping Corsica from France. Money and arms were sent from Great\nBritain, but that was all. This conduct of the British ministry was\nafterward recalled by France as a precedent for rendering aid to the\nAmericans in their uprising against England.\n\nThe following spring an army of no less than twenty thousand men was\ndespatched from France to make short and thorough work of the\nconquest. The previous year of bloody and embittered conflict had gone\nfar to disorganize the patriot army. It was only with the utmost\ndifficulty that the little bands of mountain villagers could be\ntempted away from the ever more necessary defense of their homes and\nfiresides. Yet in spite of disintegration before such overwhelming\nodds, and though in want both of ordinary munitions and of the very\nnecessities of life, the forces of Paoli continued a fierce and heroic\nresistance. It was only after months of devastating, heartrending,\nhopeless warfare, that their leader, utterly routed in the affair\nknown as the battle of Ponte Nuovo, finally gave up the desperate\ncause. Exhausted, and without resources, he would have been an easy\nprey to the French; but they were too wise to take him prisoner. On\nJune thirteenth, 1769, by their connivance he escaped, with three\nhundred and forty of his most devoted supporters, on two English\nvessels, to the mainland. His goal was England. The journey was a\nlong, triumphant procession from Leghorn through Germany and Holland;\nthe honors showered on him by the liberals in the towns through which\nhe passed were such as are generally paid to victory, not to defeat.\nKindly received and entertained, he lived for the next thirty years in\nLondon, the recipient from the government of twelve hundred pounds a\nyear as a pension.\n\nThe year 1770 saw the King of France apparently in peaceful possession\nof that Corsican sovereignty which he claimed to have bought from\nGenoa. His administration was soon and easily inaugurated, and there\nwas nowhere any interference from foreign powers. Philanthropic\nEngland had provided for Paoli, but would do no more, for she was busy\nat home with a transformation of her parties. The old Whig party was\ndisintegrating; the new Toryism was steadily asserting itself in the\npassage of contemptuous measures for oppressing the American colonies.\nShe was, moreover, soon to be so absorbed in her great struggle on\nboth sides of the globe that interest in Corsica and the Mediterranean\nmust remain for a long time in abeyance.\n\nBut the establishment of a French administration in the King's new\nacquisition did not proceed smoothly. The party favorable to\nincorporation with France had grown, and, in the rush to side with\nsuccess, it now probably far outnumbered that of the old patriots. At\nthe outset this majority faithfully supported the conquerors in an\nattempt, honorable to both, to retain as much of Paoli's system as\npossible. But the appointment of an intendant and a military commander\nacting as royal governor with a veto over legislation was essential.\nThis of necessity destroyed the old democracy, for, in any case, the\nexistence of such officials and the social functions of such offices\nmust create a quasi-aristocracy, and its power would rest not on\npopular habit and good-will, but on the French soldiery. The situation\nwas frankly recognized, therefore, in a complete reorganization of\nthose descended from the old nobility, and from these a council of\ntwelve was selected to support and countenance the governor. The\nclergy and the third estate were likewise formally organized in two\nother orders, so that with clergy, nobles, and commons, Corsica became\na French _pays d'etat_, another provincial anachronism in the chaos of\nroyal administration. The class bitterness of the mainland could\neasily be and was transplanted to the island; the ultimate success of\nthe process left nothing to be desired. Moreover, the most important\noffices were given into French hands, while the seat of government was\nmoved from Corte, the highland capital, to the lowland towns of Bastia\nand Ajaccio. The primeval feud of highlanders and lowlanders was thus\nrekindled, and in the subsequent agitations the patriots won over by\nFrance either lost influence with their followers, or ceased to\nsupport the government. Old animosities were everywhere revived and\nstrengthened, until finally the flames burst forth in open rebellion.\nThey were, of course, suppressed, but the work was done with a savage\nthoroughness the memory of which long survived to prevent the\nformation in the island of a natural sentiment friendly to the French.\nThose who professed such a feeling were held in no great esteem.\n\nIt was perhaps an error that Paoli did not recognize the indissoluble\nbonds of race and speech as powerfully drawing Corsica to Italy,\ndisregard the leanings of the democratic mountaineers toward France,\nsympathize with the fondness of the towns for the motherland, and so\nuse his influence as to confirm the natural alliance between the\ninsular Italians and those of the peninsula. When we regard Sardinia,\nhowever, time seems to have justified him. There is little to choose\nbetween the sister islands as regards the backward condition of both;\nbut the French department of Corsica is, at least, no less advanced\nthan the Italian province of Sardinia. The final amalgamation of\nPaoli's country with France, which was in a measure the result of his\nleaning toward a French protectorate, accomplished one end, however,\nwhich has rendered it impossible to separate her from the course of\ngreat events, from the number of the mighty agents in history.\nCuriously longing in his exile for a second Sampiero to have wielded\nthe physical power while he himself should have become a Lycurgus,\nPaoli's wish was to be half-way fulfilled in that a warrior greater\nthan Sampiero was about to be born in Corsica, one who should, by the\nvery union so long resisted, come, as the master of France, to wield a\npower strong enough to shatter both tyrannies and dynasties, thus\nclearing the ground for a lawgiving closely related to Paoli's own\njust and wise conceptions of legislation.\n\nThe coming man was to be a typical Corsican, moreover. Born in the\nagony of his fatherland, he was to combine all the important qualities\nof his folk in himself. Like them, he was to be short, with wonderful\neyes and beautiful teeth; temperate; quietly, even meanly, clad;\ngenerous, grateful for any favor, however small; masterful,\ncourageous, impassive, shrewd, resolute, fluent of speech; profoundly\nreligious, even superstitious; hot-tempered, inscrutable, mendacious,\nrevengeful sometimes and ofttimes forgiving, disdainful of woman and\nher charms; above all, boastful, conceited, and with a passion for\nglory. His pride and his imagination were to be barbaric in their\nimmensity, his clannishness was to be that of the most primitive\ncivilization. In all these points he was to be Corsican; other\ncharacteristics he was to acquire from the land of his adoption\nthrough an education French both in affairs and in books; but he was\nafter all Corsican from the womb to the grave; that in the first\ndegree, and only secondarily French, while his cosmopolitan disguise\nwas to be scarcely more than a mask to be raised or lowered at\npleasure.\n\nThis scion was to come from the stock which at first bore the name of\nBonaparte, or, as the heraldic etymology later spelled it, Buonaparte.\nThere were branches of the same stock, or, at least, of the same name,\nin other parts of Italy. Three towns at least claimed to be the seat\nof a family with this patronymic: and one of them, Treviso, possessed\npapers to prove the claim. Although other members of his family based\nabsurd pretensions of princely origin on these insufficient proofs,\nNapoleon himself was little impressed by them. He was disposed to\ndeclare that his ancestry began in his own person, either at Toulon or\nfrom the eighteenth of Brumaire. Whatever the origin of the Corsican\nBuonapartes, it was neither royal from the twin brother of Louis XIV,\nthought to be the Iron Mask; nor imperial from the Julian gens, nor\nGreek, nor Saracen, nor, in short, anything which later-invented and\nlying genealogies declared it to be. But it was almost certainly\nItalian, and probably patrician, for in 1780 a Tuscan gentleman of the\nname devised a scanty estate to his distant Corsican kinsman. The\nearliest home of the family was Florence; later they removed for\npolitical reasons to Sarzana, in Tuscany, where for generations men of\nthat name exercised the profession of advocate. The line was\nextinguished in 1799 by the death of Philip Buonaparte, a canon and a\nman of means, who, although he had recognized his kin in Corsica to\nthe extent of interchanging hospitalities, nevertheless devised his\nestate to a relative named Buonacorsi.\n\nThe Corsican branch were persons of some local consequence in their\nlatest seats, partly because of their Italian connections, partly in\ntheir substantial possessions of land, and partly through the official\npositions which they held in the city of Ajaccio. Their sympathies as\nlowlanders and townspeople were with the country of their origin and\nwith Genoa. During the last years of the sixteenth century that\nrepublic authorized a Jerome, then head of the family, to prefix the\ndistinguishing particle \"di\" to his name; but the Italian custom was\naverse to its use, which was not revived until later, and then only\nfor a short time. Nine generations are recorded as having lived on\nCorsican soil within two centuries and a quarter. They were evidently\nmen of consideration, for they intermarried with the best families of\nthe island; Ornano, Costa, Bozzi, and Colonna are names occurring in\ntheir family records.\n\nNearly two centuries passed before the grand duke of Tuscany issued\nformal patents in 1757, attesting the Buonaparte nobility. It was\nJoseph, the grandsire of Napoleon, who received them. Soon afterward\nhe announced that the coat-armor of the family was \"_la couronne de\ncompte, l'ecusson fendu par deux barres et deux etoilles, avec les\nlettres B. P. qui signifient Buona Parte, le fond des armes\nrougeatres, les barres et les etoilles bleu, les ombrements et la\ncouronne jaune!_\" Translated as literally as such doubtful language\nand construction can be, this signifies: \"A count's coronet, the\nescutcheon with two bends sinister and two stars, bearing the letters\nB. P., which signify Buonaparte, the field of the arms red, the bends\nand stars blue, the letters and coronet yellow!\" In heraldic parlance\nthis would be: Gules, two bends sinister between two estoiles azure\ncharged with B. P. for Buona Parte, or; surmounted by a count's\ncoronet of the last. In 1759 the same sovereign granted further the\ntitle of patrician. Charles, the son of Joseph, received a similar\ngrant from the Archbishop of Pisa in 1769. These facts have a\nsubstantial historical value, since by reason of them the family was\nduly and justly recognized as noble in 1771 by the French authorities,\nand as a consequence, eight years later, the most illustrious scion\nof the stem became, as a recognized aristocrat, the ward of a France\nwhich was still monarchical. Reading between the lines of such a\nnarrative, it appears as if the short-lived family of Corsican lawyers\nhad some difficulty in preserving an influence proportionate to their\ndescent, and therefore sought to draw all the strength they could from\na bygone grandeur, easily forgotten by their neighbors in their\nmoderate circumstances at a later day. Still later, when all ci-devant\naristocrats were suspects in France, and when the taint of nobility\nsufficed to destroy those on whom it rested, Napoleon denied his\nquality: the usual inquest as to veracity was not made and he went\nfree. This escape he owed partly to the station he had reached, partly\nto the fact that his family claims had been based on birth so obscure\nat the time as to subject the claimants to good-natured raillery.\n\nNo task had lain nearer to Paoli's heart than to unite in one nation\nthe two factions into which he found his people divided. Accordingly,\nwhen Carlo Maria di Buonaparte, the single stem on which the\nconsequential lowland family depended for continuance, appeared at\nCorte to pursue his studies, the stranger was received with flattering\nkindness, and probably, as one account has it, was appointed to a post\nof emolument and honor as Paoli's private secretary. The new\npatrician, according to a custom common among Corsicans of his class,\ndetermined to take his degree at Pisa, and in November, 1769, he was\nmade doctor of laws by that university. Many pleasant and probably\ntrue anecdotes have been told to illustrate the good-fellowship of the\nyoung advocate among his comrades while a student. There are likewise\nnarratives of his persuasive eloquence and of his influence as a\npatriot, but these sound mythical. In short, an organized effort of\nsycophantic admirers, who would, if possible, illuminate the whole\nfamily in order to heighten Napoleon's renown, has invented fables and\ndistorted facts to such a degree that the entire truth as to Charles's\ncharacter is hard to discern. Certain undisputed facts, however, throw\na strong light upon Napoleon's father. His people were proud and poor;\nhe endured the hardships of poverty with equanimity. Strengthening\nwhat little influence he could muster, he at first appears ambitious,\nand has himself described in his doctor's diploma as a patrician of\nFlorence, San Miniato, and Ajaccio. His character is little known\nexcept by the statements of his own family. They declared that he was\na spendthrift. He spent two years' income, about twelve hundred\ndollars, in celebrating with friends the taking of his degree. He\nwould have sold not only the heavily mortgaged estates inherited by\nhimself, but also those of his wife, except for the fierce\nremonstrances of his heirs. He could write clever verse, he was a\ndevotee of belles-lettres, and a sceptic in the fashion of the time.\nSelf-indulgent, he was likewise bitterly opposed to all family\ndiscipline. His figure was slight and lithe, his expression alert and\nintelligent, his eyes gray blue and his head large. He was ambitious,\nindefatigable as a place-hunter, suave, elegant, and irrepressible.\n\nOn the other hand, with no apparent regard for his personal\nadvancement by marriage, he followed his own inclination, and in 1764,\nat the age of eighteen, gallantly wedded a beautiful child of fifteen,\nMaria Letizia Ramolino. Her descent, though excellent and, remotely,\neven noble, was inferior to that of her husband, but her fortune was\nequal, if not superior, to his. Her father was a Genoese official of\nimportance; her mother, daughter of a petty noble by a peasant wife,\nbecame a widow in 1755 and two years later was married again to\nFrancis Fesch, a Swiss, captain in the Genoese navy. Of this union,\nJoseph, later Cardinal Fesch, was the child. Although well born, the\nmother of Napoleon had no education and was of peasant nature to the\nlast day of her long life--hardy, unsentimental, frugal, avaricious,\nand sometimes unscrupulous. Yet for all that, the hospitality of her\nlittle home in Ajaccio was lavish and famous. Among the many guests\nwho were regularly entertained there was Marbeuf, commander in Corsica\nof the first army of occupation. There was long afterward a malicious\ntradition that the French general was Napoleon's father. The morals of\nLetizia di Buonaparte, like those of her conspicuous children, have\nbeen bitterly assailed, but her good name, at least, has always been\nvindicated. The evident motive of the story sufficiently refutes such\nan aspersion as it contains. Of the bride's extraordinary beauty there\nhas never been a doubt. She was a woman of heroic mold, like Juno in\nher majesty; unmoved in prosperity, undaunted in adversity. It was\nprobably to his mother, whom he strongly resembled in childhood, that\nthe famous son owed his tremendous and unparalleled physical\nendurance.\n\nAfter their marriage the youthful pair resided in Corte, waiting until\nevents should permit their return to Ajaccio. Naturally of an indolent\ntemperament, the husband, though he had at first been drawn into the\ndaring enterprises of Paoli, and had displayed a momentary enthusiasm,\nwas now, as he had been for more than a year, weary of them. At the\nhead of a body of men of his own rank, he finally withdrew to Monte\nRotondo, and on May twenty-third, 1769, a few weeks before Paoli's\nflight, the band made formal submission to Vaux, commander of the\nsecond army of occupation, explaining through Buonaparte that the\nnational leader had misled them by promises of aid which never came,\nand that, recognizing the impossibility of further resistance, they\nwere anxious to accept the new government, to return to their homes,\nand to resume the peaceful conduct of their affairs. This at least is\nthe generally accepted account of his desertion of Paoli's cause:\nthere is some evidence that having followed Clement, a brother of\nPascal, into a remoter district, he had there found no support for the\nenterprise, and had thence under great hardships of flood and field\nmade his way with wife and child to the French headquarters. The\nresult was the same in either case. It was the precipitate\nnaturalization of the father as a French subject which made his great\nson a Frenchman. Less than three months afterward, on August\nfifteenth, the fourth child, Napoleone di Buonaparte, was born in\nAjaccio, the seat of French influence.\n\nThe resources of the Buonapartes, as they still wrote themselves, were\nsmall, although their family and expectations were large. Charles\nhimself was the owner of a considerable estate in houses and lands,\nbut everything was heavily mortgaged and his income was small. He had\nfurther inherited a troublesome law plea, the prosecution of which was\nexpensive. By an entail in trust of a great-great-grandfather,\nimportant lands were entailed in the male line of the Odone family. In\ndefault of regular descent, the estate was vested in the female line,\nand should, when Charles's maternal uncle died childless, have\nreverted to his mother. But the uncle had made a will bequeathing his\nproperty to the Jesuits, who swiftly took possession and had\nmaintained their ownership by occupation and by legal quibbles.\nJoseph, the father of Charles, had wasted many years and most of his\nfortune in weary litigation. Nothing daunted, Charles settled down to\npursue the same phantom, virtually depending for a livelihood on the\npatrimony of his wife. Letitia Buonaparte, being an only child, had\nfallen heir to her father's property on the second marriage of her\nmother. The stepfather was an excellent Swiss, a Protestant from\nBasel, thoroughly educated, and interested in education, and for years\na mercenary in the Genoese service. On his retirement he became a\nRoman Catholic in order to secure the woman of his choice. He was the\nfather of Letitia's half brother, Joseph. The retired officer, though\nkindly disposed to the family he had entered, had little but his\npension and savings: he could contribute nothing but good, sound\ncommon sense and his homely ideas of education. The real head of the\nfamily was the uncle of Charles, Lucien Buonaparte, archdeacon of the\ncathedral. It was he who had supported and guided his nephew, and had\nsent him to the college founded by Paoli at Corte. In his youth\nCharles was wasteful and extravagant, but his wife was thrifty to\nmeanness. With the restraint of her economy and the stimulus of his\nuncle, respected as head of the family, the father of Napoleon arrived\nat a position of some importance. He practised his profession with\nsome diligence, became an assessor of the highest insular court, and\nin 1772 was made a member, later a deputy, of the council of Corsican\nnobles.\n\nThe sturdy mother was most prolific. Her eldest child, born in 1765,\nwas a son who died in infancy; in 1767 was born a daughter,\nMaria-Anna, destined to the same fate; in 1768 a son, known later as\nJoseph, but baptized as Nabulione; in 1769 the great son, Napoleone.\nNine other children were the fruit of the same wedlock, and six of\nthem--three sons, Lucien, Louis, and Jerome, and three daughters,\nElisa, Pauline, and Caroline--survived to share their brother's\ngreatness. Charles himself, like his short-lived ancestors,--of whom\nfive had died within a century,--scarcely reached middle age, dying in\nhis thirty-ninth year. Letitia, like the stout Corsican that she was,\nlived to the ripe age of eighty-six in the full enjoyment of her\nfaculties, known to the world as Madame Mere, a sobriquet devised by\nher great son to distinguish her as the mother of the Napoleons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nNapoleon's Birth and Childhood[1].\n\n              [Footnote 1: The indispensable authority for the youth\n              of Napoleon is the collection of his own papers edited,\n              not always judiciously, by Frederic Masson and published\n              by him in cooeperation with G. Biagi under the title\n              Napoleon inconnu. The originals are now in the\n              Laurentian Library at Florence. They were intrusted by\n              the Emperor to Cardinal Fesch as a safe depositary,\n              probably in the hope that they would eventually be\n              destroyed. What the cardinal actually did with them\n              remains obscure. Some time early in the nineteenth\n              century they came into possession of a certain Libri,\n              one of the French government library inspectors, an\n              unscrupulous collector and dealer. From them he\n              excerpted enough matter for an article which, before his\n              disgrace, was published in an early number of the Revue\n              des Deux Mondes, but in the publication there was no\n              statement of authority and the article was forgotten,\n              important as it was. The originals were not found or\n              known until in the sale catalogue of Lord Ashburnham's\n              library appeared a lot entitled merely Napoleon Papers.\n              This fact was brought to the author's attention by a\n              friend, and when after a smart competition between\n              agents of the French and Italian governments the\n              manuscripts were deposited at Florence, he sought\n              permission immediately to examine and study them. This\n              was promptly granted, they proved to be the lost Fesch\n              papers, and for the first time it was possible to obtain\n              a clear account of Napoleon's early years. The standard\n              authorities hitherto had been the works of Nasica,\n              Coston, and Jung: while they still have a certain value,\n              it is slight in view of the reliable deductions to be\n              drawn from the original boy papers of Napoleon\n              Bonaparte. Later on and after the publication of the\n              corresponding portion of this Life, they were edited,\n              printed, and published. In the main there is no room for\n              difference with the transcript of M. Masson, but in some\n              places where the writing is uncommonly bad the author's\n              own transcript presents the facts as stated in these\n              pages. Within a few years M. Chuquet has summed up\n              admirably all our authentic knowledge of the subject--in\n              a book entitled: La jeunesse de Napoleon. His own\n              researches have brought to light some further valuable\n              material. I have not hesitated in this revision to make\n              the freest use of the latest authorities, but it is a\n              gratification that no substantial changes, except by way\n              of slight additions, have been found necessary.]\n\n     Birth of Nabulione or Joseph -- Date of Napoleon's Birth --\n     Coincidence with the Festival of the Assumption -- The Name\n     of Napoleon -- Corsican Conditions as Influencing Napoleon's\n     Character -- His Early Education -- Childish Traits --\n     Influenced by Traditions Concerning Paoli -- Family\n     Prospects -- Influence of Marbeuf -- Upheavals in France --\n     Napoleon Appointed to a Scholarship -- His Efforts to Learn\n     French at Autun -- Development of His Character -- His\n     Father Delegate of the Corsican Nobility at Versailles.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1768-79.]\n\nThe trials of poverty made the Buonapartes so clever and adroit that\nsuspicions of shiftiness in small matters were developed later on, and\nthese led to an over-close scrutiny of their acts. The opinion has\nnot yet disappeared among reputable authorities that Nabulione and\nNapoleone were one and the same, born on January seventh, 1768, Joseph\nbeing really the younger, born on the date assigned to his\ndistinguished brother. The earliest documentary evidence consists of\ntwo papers, one in the archives of the French war department, one in\nthose of Ajaccio. The former is dated 1782, and testifies to the birth\nof Nabulione on January seventh, 1768, and to his baptism on January\neighth; the latter is the copy, not the original, of a government\ncontract which declares the birth, on January seventh, of Joseph\nNabulion. Neither is decisive, but the addition of Joseph, with the\nuse of the two French forms for the name in the second, with the clear\nintent of emphasizing his quality as a Frenchman, destroys much of its\nvalue, and leaves the weight of authority with the former. The\nreasonableness of the suspicion seems to be heightened by the fact\nthat the certificate of Napoleon's marriage gives the date of his\nbirth as February eighth, 1768. Moreover, in the marriage contract of\nJoseph, witnesses testify to his having been born at Ajaccio, not at\nCorte.\n\nBut there are facts of greater weight on the other side. In the first\nplace, the documentary evidence is itself of equal value, for the\narchives of the French war department also contain an extract from the\none original baptismal certificate, which is dated July twenty-first,\n1771, the day of the baptism, and gives the date of Napoleone's birth\nas August fifteenth, 1769. Charles's application for the appointment\nof his two eldest boys to Brienne has also been found, and it\ncontains, according to regulation, still another copy from the\noriginal certificate, which is dated June twenty-third, 1776, and also\ngives what must be accepted as the correct date. This explodes the\nstory that Napoleon's age was falsified by his father in order to\nobtain admittance for him to the military school. The application was\nmade in 1776 for both boys, so as to secure admission for each before\nthe end of his tenth year. It was the delay of the authorities in\ngranting the request which, after the lapse of three years or more,\nmade Joseph ineligible. The father could have had no motive in 1776 to\nperpetrate a fraud, and after that date it was impossible, for the\npapers were not in his hands; moreover, the minister of war wrote in\n1778 that the name of the elder Buonaparte boy had already been\nwithdrawn. That charge was made during Napoleon's lifetime. His\nbrother Joseph positively denied it, and asserted the fact as it is\nnow substantially proved to be; Bourrienne, who had known his Emperor\nas a child of nine, was of like opinion; Napoleon himself, in an\nautograph paper still existing, and written in the handwriting of his\nyouth, thrice gives the date of his birth as August fifteenth, 1769.\nIf the substitution occurred, it must have been in early infancy.\nBesides, we know why Napoleon at marriage sought to appear older than\nhe was, and Joseph's contract was written when the misstatement in it\nwas valuable as making him appear thoroughly French.\n\nAmong other absurd efforts to besmirch Napoleon's character is the\noft-repeated insinuation that he fixed his birthday on the greatest\nhigh festival of the Roman Church, that of the Assumption of the\nVirgin Mary, in order to assure its perpetual celebration! In sober\nfact the researches of indefatigable antiquaries have brought to light\nnot only the documentary evidence referred to, but likewise the\ncircumstance that Napoleon, in one paper spelled Lapulion, was a not\nuncommon Corsican name borne by several distinguished men, and that in\nthe early generation of the Buonaparte family the boys had been named\nJoseph, Napoleon, and Lucien as they followed one another into the\nworld. In the eighteenth century spelling was scarcely more fixed than\nin the sixteenth. Nor in the walk of life to which the Buonapartes\nbelonged was the fixity of names as rigid then as it later became.\nThere were three Maria-Annas in the family first and last, one of whom\nwas afterward called Elisa.\n\nAs to the form of the name Napoleon, there is a curious though\nunimportant confusion. We have already seen the forms Nabulione,\nNabulion, Napoleone, Napoleon. Contemporary documents give also the\nform Napoloeone, and his marriage certificate uses Napolione. On the\nVendome Column stands Napolio. Imp., which might be read either\nNapolioni Imperatori or Napolio Imperatori. In either case we have\nindications of a new form, Napolion or Napolius. The latter, which was\nmore probably intended, would seem to be an attempt to recall\nNeopolus, a recognized saint's name. The absence of the name Napoleon\nfrom the calendar of the Latin Church was considered a serious\nreproach to its bearer by those who hated him, and their incessant\ntaunts stung him. In youth his constant retort was that there were\nmany saints and only three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. In\nafter years he had the matter remedied, and the French Catholics for a\ntime celebrated a St. Napoleon's day with proper ceremonies, among\nwhich was the singing of a hymn composed to celebrate the power and\nvirtues of the holy man for whom it was named. The irreverent\nschool-boys of Autun and Brienne gave the nickname \"straw\nnose\"--_paille-au-nez_--to both the brothers. The pronunciation,\ntherefore, was probably as uncertain as the form, Napaille-au-nez\nbeing probably a distortion of Napouillone. The chameleon-like\ncharacter of the name corresponds exactly to the chameleon-like\ncharacter of the times, the man, and the lands of his birth and of his\nadoption. The Corsican noble and French royalist was Napoleone de\nBuonaparte; the Corsican republican and patriot was Napoleone\nBuonaparte; the French republican, Napoleon Buonaparte; the victorious\ngeneral, Bonaparte; the emperor, Napoleon. There was likewise a change\nin this person's handwriting analogous to the change in his\nnationality and opinions. It was probably to conceal a most defective\nknowledge of French that the adoptive Frenchman, as republican,\nconsul, and emperor, abandoned the fairly legible hand of his youth,\nand recurred to the atrocious one of his childhood, continuing always\nto use it after his definite choice of a country.\n\nStormy indeed were his nation and his birthtime. He himself said: \"I\nwas born while my country was dying. Thirty thousand French, vomited\non our shores, drowning the throne of liberty in waves of blood--such\nwas the horrid sight which first met my view. The cries of the dying,\nthe groans of the oppressed, tears of despair, surrounded my cradle at\nmy birth.\"\n\nThese were the words he used in 1789, while still a Corsican in\nfeeling, when addressing Paoli. They strain chronology for the sake of\nrhetorical effect, but they truthfully picture the circumstances under\nwhich he was conceived. Among many others of a similar character there\nis a late myth which recalls in detail that when the pains of\nparturition seized his mother she was at mass, and that she reached\nher chamber just in time to deposit, on a carpet or a piece of\nembroidery representing the young Achilles, the prodigy bursting so\nimpetuously into the world. By the man himself his nature was always\nrepresented as the product of his hour, and this he considered a\nsufficient excuse for any line of conduct he chose to follow. When in\nbanishment at Longwood, and on his death-bed, he recalled the\ncircumstances of his childhood in conversations with the attendant\nphysician, a Corsican like himself. \"Nothing awed me; I feared no one.\nI struck one, I scratched another, I was a terror to everybody. It was\nmy brother Joseph with whom I had most to do; he was beaten, bitten,\nscolded, and I had put the blame on him almost before he knew what he\nwas about; was telling tales about him almost before he could collect\nhis wits. I had to be quick: my mama Letizia would have restrained my\nwarlike temper; she would not have put up with my defiant petulance.\nHer tenderness was severe, meting out punishment and reward with equal\njustice; merit and demerit, she took both into account.\"\n\nOf his earliest education he said at the same time: \"Like everything\nelse in Corsica, it was pitiful.\" Lucien Buonaparte, his great-uncle,\nwas a canon, a man of substance with an income of five thousand livres\na year, and of some education--sufficient, at least, to permit his\nfurther ecclesiastical advancement. \"Uncle\" Fesch, whose father had\nreceived the good education of a Protestant Swiss boy, and had in turn\nimparted his knowledge to his own son, was the friend and older\nplaymate of the turbulent little Buonaparte. The child learned a few\nnotions of Bible history, and, doubtless, also the catechism, from the\ncanon; by his eleven-year-old uncle he was taught his alphabet. In his\nsixth year he was sent to a dame's school. The boys teased him because\nhis stockings were always down over his shoes, and for his devotion to\nthe girls, one named Giacominetta especially. He met their taunts with\nblows, using sticks, bricks, or any handy weapon.\n\nAccording to his own story, he was fearless in the face of superior\nnumbers, however large. His mother, according to his brother Joseph,\ndeclared that he was a perfect imp of a child. She herself described\nhim as fond of playing at war with a drum, wooden sword, and files of\ntoy soldiers. The pious nuns who taught him recognized a certain gift\nfor figures in styling him their little mathematician. Later when in\nattendance at the Jesuit school he regularly encountered on his way\nthither a soldier with whom he exchanged his own piece of white bread\nfor a morsel of the other's coarse commissary loaf. The excuse he\ngave, according to his mother, was that he must learn to like such\nfood if he were to be a soldier. In time his passion for the simple\nmathematics he studied increased to such a degree that she assigned\nhim a rough shed in the rear of their home as a refuge from the\ndisturbing noise of the family. For exercise he walked the streets at\nnightfall with tumbled hair and disordered clothes. Of French he knew\nnot a word; he had lessons at school in his mother tongue, which he\nlearned to read under the instruction of the Abbe Recco. The worthy\nteacher arrayed his boys in two bodies: the diligent under the\nvictorious standard of Rome, the idle as vanquished Carthaginians.\nNapoleon of right belonged to the latter, but he was transferred, not\nbecause of merit, by the sheer force of his imperious temper.\n\nThis scanty information is all the trustworthy knowledge we possess\nconcerning the little Napoleon up to his tenth year. With slight\nadditions from other sources it is substantially the great Napoleon's\nown account of himself by the mouthpiece partly of his mother in his\nprosperous days, partly of Antommarchi in that last period of\nself-examination when, to him, as to other men, consistency seems the\nhighest virtue. He was, doubtless, striving to compound with his\nconscience by emphasizing the adage that the child is father to the\nman--that he was born what he had always been.\n\nIn 1775, Corsica had been for six years in the possession of France,\nand on the surface all was fair. There was, however, a little remnant\nof faithful patriots left in the island, with whom Paoli and his\nbanished friends were still in communication. The royal cabinet,\nseeking to remove every possible danger of disturbance, even so slight\na one as lay in the disaffection of the few scattered nationalists,\nand in the unconcealed distrust which these felt for their conforming\nfellow-citizens, began a little later to make advances, in order, if\npossible, to win at least Paoli's neutrality, if not his acquiescence.\nAll in vain: the exile was not to be moved. From time to time,\ntherefore, there was throughout Corsica a noticeable flow in the tide\nof patriotism. There are indications that the child Napoleon was\nconscious of this influence, listening probably with intense interest\nto the sympathetic tales about Paoli and his struggles for liberty\nwhich were still told among the people.\n\nAs to Charles de Buonaparte, some things he had hoped for from\nannexation were secured. His nobility and official rank were safe; he\nwas in a fair way to reach even higher distinction. But what were\nhonors without wealth? The domestic means were constantly growing\nsmaller, while expenditures increased with the accumulating dignities\nand ever-growing family. He had made his humble submission to the\nFrench; his reception had been warm and graceful. The authorities knew\nof his pretensions to the estates of his ancestors. The Jesuits had\nbeen disgraced and banished, but the much litigated Odone property had\nnot been restored to him; on the contrary, the buildings had been\nconverted into school-houses, and the revenues turned into various\nchannels. Years had passed, and it was evident that his suit was\nhopeless. How could substantial advantage be secured from the King?\n\nHis friends, General Marbeuf in particular, were of the opinion that\nhe could profit to a certain extent at least by securing for his\nchildren an education at the expense of the state. While it is likely\nthat from the first Joseph was destined for the priesthood, yet there\nwas provision for ecclesiastical training under royal patronage as\nwell as for secular, and a transfer from the latter to the former was\neasier than the reverse. Both were to be placed at the college of\nAutun for a preliminary course, whatever their eventual destination\nmight be. The necessary steps were soon taken, and in 1776 the formal\nsupplication for the two eldest boys was forwarded to Paris.\nImmediately the proof of four noble descents was demanded. The\nmovement of letters was slow, that of officials even slower, and the\ndelays in securing copies and authentications of the various documents\nwere long and vexatious.\n\nMeantime Choiseul had been disgraced, and on May tenth, 1774, the old\nKing had died; Louis XVI now reigned. The inertia which marked the\nbrilliant decadence of the Bourbon monarchy was finally overcome. The\nnew social forces were partly emancipated. Facts were examined, and\ntheir significance considered. Bankruptcy was no longer a threatening\nphantom, but a menacing reality of the most serious nature.\nRetrenchment and reform were the order of the day. Necker was trying\nhis promising schemes. There was, among them, one for a body\nconsisting of delegates from each of the three estates,--nobles,\necclesiastics, and burgesses,--to assist in deciding that troublesome\nquestion, the regulation of imposts. The Swiss financier hoped to\ndestroy in this way the sullen, defiant influence of the royal\nintendants. In Corsica the governor and the intendant both thought\nthemselves too shrewd to be trapped, and secured the appointment from\neach of the Corsican estates of men who were believed by them to be\ntheir humble servants. The needy suitor, Charles de Buonaparte, was to\nbe the delegate at Versailles of the nobility. They thought they knew\nthis man in particular, but he was to prove as malleable in France as\nhe had been in Corsica.\n\nThough nearly penniless, the noble deputy, with the vanity of the born\ncourtier, was flattered, and accepted the mission, setting out on\nDecember fifteenth, 1778, by way of Italy with his two sons Joseph and\nNapoleon. With them were Joseph Fesch, appointed to the seminary at\nAix, and Varesa, Letitia's cousin, who was to be sub-deacon at Autun.\nJoseph and Napoleon both asserted in later life that during their\nsojourn in Florence the grand duke gave his friend, their father, a\nletter to his royal sister, Marie Antoinette. As the grand duke was at\nthat time in Vienna, the whole account they give of the journey is\nprobably, though perhaps not intentionally, untrue. It was not to the\nQueen's intercession but to Marbeuf's powerful influence that the\nfinal partial success of Charles de Buonaparte's supplication was due.\nThis is clearly proven by the evidence of the archives. To the\ngeneral's nephew, bishop of Autun, Joseph, now too old to be received\nin a royal military school, and later Lucien, were both sent, the\nformer to be educated as a priest. It was probably Marbeuf's influence\nalso, combined with a desire to conciliate Corsica, which caused the\nherald's office finally to accept the documents attesting the\nBuonapartes' nobility.\n\nIt appears that the journey from Corsica through Florence and\nMarseilles had already wrought a marvelous change in the boy.\nNapoleon's teacher at Autun, the Abbe Chardon, described his pupil as\nhaving brought with him a sober, thoughtful character. He played with\nno one, and took his walks alone. In all respects he excelled his\nbrother Joseph. The boys of Autun, says the same authority, on one\noccasion brought the sweeping charge of cowardice against all\ninhabitants of Corsica, in order to exasperate him. \"If they [the\nFrench] had been but four to one,\" was the calm, phlegmatic answer of\nthe ten-year-old boy, \"they would never have taken Corsica; but when\nthey were ten to one....\" \"But you had a fine general--Paoli,\"\ninterrupted the narrator. \"Yes, sir,\" was the reply, uttered with an\nair of discontent, and in the very embodiment of ambition; \"I should\nmuch like to emulate him.\" The description of the untamed faun as he\nthen appeared is not flattering: his complexion sallow, his hair\nstiff, his figure slight, his expression lusterless, his manner\ninsignificant. Moreover, his behavior was sullen, and at first, of\ncourse, he spoke broken French with an Italian accent. Open-mouthed\nand with sparkling eyes, however, he listened attentively to the first\nrehearsal of his task; repetition he heartily disliked, and when\nrebuked for inattention he coldly replied: \"Sir, I know that already.\"\nOn April twenty-first, 1779, Napoleon, according to the evidence of\nhis personal memorandum, left Autun, having been admitted to Brienne,\nand it was to Marbeuf that in later life he correctly attributed his\nappointment. After spending three weeks with a school friend, the\nlittle fellow entered upon his duties about the middle of May.\n\nOn New Year's day, 1779, the Buonapartes had arrived at Autun, and for\nnearly four months the young Napoleone had been trained in the use of\nFrench. He learned to speak fluently, though not correctly, and wrote\nshort themes in a way to satisfy his teacher. Prodigy as he was later\ndeclared to have been, his real progress was slow, the difficulties of\nthat elegant and polished tongue having scarcely been reached; so that\nit was with a most imperfect knowledge of their language, and a sadly\ndefective pronunciation, that he made his appearance among his future\nschoolmates. Having, we may suppose, been assigned to the first\nvacancy that occurred in any of the royal colleges, his first\ndestination had been Tiron, the roughest and most remote of the\ntwelve. But as fortune would have it, a change was somehow made to\nBrienne. That establishment was rude enough. The instructors were\nMinim priests, and the life was as severe as it could be made with\nsuch a clientage under half-educated and inexperienced monks. In spite\nof all efforts to the contrary, however, the place had an air of\nelegance; there was a certain school-boy display proportionate to the\nmeans and to the good or bad breeding of the young nobles, also a very\nkeen discrimination among themselves as to rank, social quality, and\nrelative importance. Those familiar with the ruthlessness of boys in\ntheir treatment of one another can easily conceive what was the\nreception of the newcomer, whose nobility was unknown and unrecognized\nin France, and whose means were of the scantiest.\n\nDuring his son's preparatory studies the father had been busy at\nVersailles with further supplications--among them one for a supplement\nfrom the royal purse to his scanty pay as delegate, and another for\nthe speedy settlement of his now notorious claim. The former of the\ntwo was granted not merely to M. de Buonaparte, but to his two\ncolleagues, in view of the \"excellent behavior\"--otherwise\nsubserviency--of the Corsican delegation at Versailles. When, in\naddition, the certificate of Napoleon's appointment finally arrived,\nand the father set out to place his son at school, with a barely\nproper outfit, he had no difficulty in securing sufficient money to\nmeet his immediate and pressing necessities.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nNapoleon's School-days[2].\n\n              [Footnote 2: The authorities for the period are Masson:\n              Napoleon inconnu. Chuquet: La jeunesse de Napoleon.\n              Jung: Bonaparte et son temps. Boehtlingk: Napoleon\n              Bonaparte: seine Jugend und sein Emporkommen. Las Cases:\n              Memorial de Sainte-Helene. Antommarchi: Memoires.\n              Coston: Premieres annees de Napoleon, Nasica: Memoires\n              sur l'enfance et la jeunesse de Napoleon.]\n\n     Military Schools in France -- Napoleon's Initiation into the\n     Life of Brienne -- Regulations of the School -- The Course\n     of Study -- Napoleon's Powerful Friends -- His Reading and\n     Other Avocations -- His Comrades -- His Studies -- His\n     Precocity -- His Conduct and Scholarship -- The Change in\n     His Life Plan -- His Influence in His Family -- His Choice\n     of the Artillery Service.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1779-84.]\n\nIt was an old charge that the sons of poor gentlemen destined to be\nartillery officers were bred like princes. The institution at Brienne,\nwith eleven other similar academies, had been but recently founded as\na protest against the luxury which had reigned in the military schools\nat Paris and La Fleche. Both these had been closed for a time because\nthey could not be reformed; the latter was, however, one of the twelve\nfrom the first, and that at Paris was afterward reopened as a\nfinishing-school. The monasteries of various religious orders were\nchosen as seats of the new colleges, and their owners were put in\ncharge with instructions to secure simplicity of life and manners, the\nformation of character, and other desirable benefits, each one in its\nown way in the school or schools intrusted to it. The result so far\nhad been a failure; there were simply not twelve first-rate\ninstructors in each branch to be found in France for the new\npositions; the instruction was therefore limited and poor, so that in\nthe intellectual stagnation the right standards of conduct declined,\nwhile the old notions of hollow courtliness and conventional behavior\nflourished as never before. In order to enter his boy at Brienne,\nCharles de Buonaparte presented a certificate signed by the intendant\nand two neighbors, that he could not educate his sons without help\nfrom the King, and was a poor man, having no income except his salary\nas assessor. This paper was countersigned by Marbeuf as commanding\ngeneral, and to him the request was formally granted. This being the\nregular procedure, it is evident that all the young nobles of the\ntwelve schools enjoying the royal bounty were poor and should have had\nlittle or no pocket money. Perhaps for this very reason, though the\nschool provided for every expense including pocket money, polished\nmanners and funds obtained surreptitiously from powerful friends\nindifferent to rules, were the things most needed to secure kind\ntreatment for an entering boy. These were exactly what the young\ngentleman scholar from Corsica did not possess. The ignorant and\nunworldly Minim fathers could neither foresee nor, if they had\nforeseen, alleviate the miseries incident to his arrival under such\nconditions.\n\nAt Autun Napoleon had at least enjoyed the sympathetic society of his\nmild and emotional brother, whose easy-going nature could smooth many\na rough place. He was now entirely without companionship, resenting\nfrom the outset both the ill-natured attacks and the playful personal\nallusions through which boys so often begin, and with time knit ever\nmore firmly, their inexplicable friendships. To the taunts about\nCorsica which began immediately he answered coldly, \"I hope one day\nto be in a position to give Corsica her liberty.\" Entering on a\ncertain occasion a room in which unknown to him there hung a portrait\nof the hated Choiseul, he started back as he caught sight of it and\nburst into bitter revilings; for this he was compelled to undergo\nchastisement.\n\nBrienne was a nursery for the qualities first developed at Autun. The\nbuilding was a gloomy and massive structure of the early eighteenth\ncentury, which stood on a commanding site at the entrance of the town,\nflanked by a later addition somewhat more commodious. The dormitory\nconsisted of two long rows of cells opening on a double corridor,\nabout a hundred and forty in all: each of these chambers was six feet\nsquare, and contained a folding bed, a pitcher and a basin. The pupil\nwas locked in at bed-time, his only means of communication being a\nbell to arouse the guard who slept in the hall. Larger rooms were\nprovided for his toilet; and he studied where he recited, in still\nanother suite. There was a common refectory in which four simple meals\na day were served: for breakfast and luncheon, bread and water, with\nfruit either fresh or stewed; for dinner, soup with the soup-meat, a\nside-dish and dessert; for supper, a joint with salad or dessert. With\nthe last two was served a mild mixture of wine and water, known in\nschool slang as \"abundance.\" The outfit of clothing comprised\nunderwear for two changes a week, a uniform consisting of a blue cloth\ncoat, faced and trimmed with red, a waistcoat of the same with white\nrevers, and serge breeches either blue or black. The overcoat was of\nthe same material as the uniform, with the same trimming but with\nwhite lining. The studies comprised Latin, mathematics, the French\nlanguage and literature, English, German, geography, drawing, fencing,\nmusic, vocal as well as instrumental, and dancing.\n\n[Illustration: In the Museum of Versailles. Marie-Laetitia Ramolino\nBonaparte \"Madame Mere\"--Mother Of Napoleon I.]\n\nPerhaps the severe regimen of living could have been mitigated and\nbrightened by a course of study nominally and ostensibly so rich and\nfull; but in the list of masters, lay and clerical, there is not a\nname of eminence. Neither Napoleon nor his contemporary pupils\nrecalled in later years any portion of their work as stimulating, nor\nany instructor as having excelled in ability. The boys seem to have\ndisliked heartily both their studies and their masters. Young\nBuonaparte had likewise a distaste for society and was thrown upon his\nown unaided resources to satisfy his eager mind. Undisciplined in\nspirit, he was impatient of self-discipline and worked spasmodically\nin such subjects as he liked, disdaining the severe training of his\nmind, even by himself. He did learn to spell the foreign tongue of his\nadopted country, but his handwriting, never good, was bad or worse,\naccording to circumstances. Dark, solitary, and untamed, the new\nscholar assumed the indifference of wounded vanity, despised all\npastimes, and found delight either in books or in scornful\nexasperation of his comrades when compelled to associate with them.\nThere were quarrels and bitter fights, in which the Ishmaelite's hand\nwas against every other. Sometimes in a kind of frenzy he inflicted\nserious wounds on his fellow-students. At length even the teachers\nmocked him, and deprived him of his position as captain in the school\nbattalion.\n\nThe climax of the miserable business was reached when to a taunt that\nhis ancestry was nothing, \"his father a wretched tipstaff,\" Napoleon\nreplied by challenging his tormentor to fight a duel. For this offense\nhe was put in confinement while the instigator went unpunished. It was\nby the intervention of Marbeuf that his young friend was at length\nreleased. Bruised and wounded in spirit, the boy would gladly have\nshaken the dust of Brienne from his feet, but necessity forbade.\nEither from some direct communication Napoleon had with his protector,\nor through a dramatic but unauthenticated letter purporting to have\nbeen written by him to his friends in Corsica and still in existence,\nMarbeuf learned that the chiefest cause of all the bitterness was the\ninequality between the pocket allowances of the young French nobles\nand that of the young Corsican. The kindly general displayed the\nliberality of a family friend, and gladly increased the boy's\ngratuity, administering at the same time a smart rebuke to him for his\nreadiness to take offense. He is likewise thought to have introduced\nhis young charge to Mme. Lomenie de Brienne, whose mansion was near\nby.[3] This noble woman, it is asserted, became a second mother to the\nlonely child: though there were no vacations, yet long holidays were\nnumerous and these were passed with her; her tenderness softened his\nrude nature, the more so as she knew the value of tips to a\nschool-boy, and administered them liberally though judiciously.\n\n              [Footnote 3: The sources of these statements are two\n              letters of 5 April, 1781, and 8 October, 1783; first\n              printed in the Memoires sur la vie de Bonaparte, etc.,\n              etc., par le comte Charles d'Og.... This pseudonym\n              covers a still unknown author; the documents have been\n              for the most part considered genuine and have been\n              reprinted as such by many authorities, including Jung.\n              Though this author was an official in the ministry of\n              war and had its archives at his disposal, he gives one\n              letter without any authority and the other as in the\n              \"Archives de la guerre.\" Many searchers, including the\n              writer, have sought them there without result. Latterly\n              their authenticity has been denied on the ground of\n              inherent improbability, since pocket money was by rule\n              almost unknown in the royal colleges, and Corsican\n              homesickness is as common as that of the Swiss. But\n              rules prove nothing and the letters seem inherently\n              genuine.]\n\nNor was this, if true, the only light among the shadows in the picture\nof his later Brienne school-days. Each of the hundred and fifty pupils\nhad a small garden spot assigned to him. Buonaparte developed a\npassion for his own, and, annexing by force the neglected plots of\nhis two neighbors, created for himself a retreat, the solitude of\nwhich was insured by a thick and lofty hedge planted about it. To this\ncitadel, the sanctity of which he protected with a fury at times half\ninsane, he was wont to retire in the fair weather of all seasons, with\nwhatever books he could procure. In the companionship of these he\npassed happy, pleasant, and fruitful hours. His youthful patriotism\nhad been intensified by the hatred he now felt for French school-boys,\nand through them for France. \"I can never forgive my father,\" he once\ncried, \"for the share he had in uniting Corsica to France.\" Paoli\nbecame his hero, and the favorite subjects of his reading were the\nmighty deeds of men and peoples, especially in antiquity. Such matter\nhe found abundant in Plutarch's \"Lives.\"\n\nMoreover, his punishments and degradation by the school authorities at\nonce created a sentiment in his favor among his companions, which not\nonly counteracted the effect of official penalties, but gave him a\nsort of compensating leadership in their games. When driven by storms\nto abandon his garden haunt, and to associate in the public hall with\nthe other boys, he often instituted sports in which opposing camps of\nGreeks and Persians, or of Romans and Carthaginians, fought until the\nuproar brought down the authorities to end the conflict. On one\noccasion he proposed the game, common enough elsewhere, but not so\nfamiliar then in France, of building snow forts, of storming and\ndefending them, and of fighting with snowballs as weapons. The\nproposition was accepted, and the preparations were made under his\ndirection with scientific zeal; the intrenchments, forts, bastions,\nand redoubts were the admiration of the neighborhood. For weeks the\nmimic warfare went on, Buonaparte, always in command, being sometimes\nthe besieger and as often the besieged. Such was the aptitude, such\nthe resources, and such the commanding power which he showed in either\nrole, that the winter was always remembered in the annals of the\nschool.\n\nOf all his contemporaries only two became men of mark, Gudin and\nNansouty. Both were capable soldiers, receiving promotions and titles\nat Napoleon's hand during the empire. Bourrienne, having sunk to the\nlowest depths under the republic, found employment as secretary of\nGeneral Bonaparte. In this position he continued until the consulate,\nwhen he lost both fortune and reputation in doubtful money\nspeculations. From old affection he secured pardon and further\nemployment, being sent as minister to Hamburg. There his lust for\nmoney wrought his final ruin. The treacherous memoirs which appeared\nover his name are a compilation edited by him to obtain the means of\nlivelihood in his declining years. Throughout life Napoleon had the\nkindliest feelings for Brienne and all connected with it. In his death\nstruggle on the battle-fields of Champagne he showed favor to the town\nand left it a large legacy in his will. No schoolmate or master\nappealed to him in vain, and many of his comrades were in their\ninsignificant lives dependent for existence on his favor.\n\nIt is a trite remark that diamonds can be polished only by diamond\ndust. Whatever the rude processes were to which the rude nature of the\nyoung Corsican was subjected, the result was remarkable. Latin he\ndisliked, and treated with disdainful neglect. His particular\naptitudes were for mathematics, for geography, and above all for\nhistory, in which he made fair progress. His knowledge of mathematics\nwas never profound; in geography he displayed a remarkable and\nexcellent memory; biography was the department of history which\nfascinated him. In all directions, however, he was quick in his\nperceptions; the rapid maturing of his mind by reading and reflection\nwas evident to all his associates, hostile though they were. The most\nconvincing evidence of the fact will be found in a letter written,\nprobably in July, 1784, when he was fifteen years old, to an\nuncle,--possibly Fesch, more likely Paravicini,--concerning family\nmatters.[4] His brother Joseph had gone to Autun to be educated for\nthe Church, his sister (Maria-Anna) Elisa had been appointed on the\nroyal foundation at Saint-Cyr, and Lucien was, if possible, to be\nplaced like Napoleon at Brienne. The two younger children had already\naccompanied their father on his regular journey to Versailles, and\nLucien was now installed either in the school itself or near by, to be\nin readiness for any vacancy. All was well with the rest, except that\nJoseph was uneasy, and wished to become an officer too.\n\n              [Footnote 4: Du Casse, Supplement a la Correspondence de\n              Napoleon Ier, Vol. X, p. 50. Masson, I, 79-84.]\n\nThe tone of Napoleon is extraordinary. Opening with a commonplace\nlittle sketch of Lucien such as any elder brother might draw of a\nyounger, he proceeds to an analysis of Joseph which is remarkable.\nSearching and thorough, it explains with fullness of reasoning and\nillustration how much more advantageous from the worldly point of view\nboth for Joseph and for the family would be a career in the Church:\n\"the bishop of Autun would bestow a fat living on him, and he was\nhimself sure of becoming a bishop.\" As an _obiter dictum_ it contains\na curious expression of contempt for infantry as an arm, the origin of\nwhich feeling is by no means clear. Joseph wishes to be a soldier:\nvery well, but in what branch of the profession? He could not enter\nthe navy, for he knows no mathematics; nor is his doubtful health\nsuited to that career. He would have to study two years more for the\nnavy, and four if he were to be an engineer; however, the ceaseless\noccupation of this arm of the service would be more than his strength\ncould endure. Similar reasons militate against the artillery. There\nremains, therefore, only the infantry. \"Good. I see. He wants to be\nall day idle, he wants to march the streets all day, and besides, what\nis a slim infantry office? A poor thing, three quarters of the time;\nand that, neither my dear father nor you, nor my mother, nor my dear\nuncle the archdeacon, desires, for he has already shown some slight\ntendency to folly and extravagance.\" There is an utter absence of\nloose talk, or of enthusiasm, and no allusion to principle or\nsentiment. It is the work of a cold, calculating, and dictatorial\nnature. There is a poetical quotation in it, very apt, but very badly\nspelled; and while the expression throughout is fair, it is by no\nmeans what might be expected from a person capable of such thought,\nwho had been studying French for three years, and using it exclusively\nin daily life.\n\nIn August, 1783, Buonaparte and Bourrienne, according to the statement\nof the latter, shared the first prize in mathematics, and soon\nafterward, in the same year, a royal inspector, M. de Keralio, arrived\nat Brienne to test the progress of the King's wards. He took a great\nfancy to the little Buonaparte, and declaring that, though\nunacquainted with his family, he found a spark in him which must not\nbe extinguished, wrote an emphatic recommendation of the lad, couched\nin the following terms: \"M. de Bonaparte (Napoleon), born August\nfifteenth, 1769. Height, four feet ten inches ten lines [about five\nfeet three inches, English]. Constitution: excellent health, docile\ndisposition, mild, straightforward, thoughtful. Conduct most\nsatisfactory; has always been distinguished for his application in\nmathematics. He is fairly well acquainted with history and geography.\nHe is weak in all accomplishments--drawing, dancing, music, and the\nlike. This boy would make an excellent sailor; deserves to be admitted\nto the school in Paris.\" Unfortunately for the prospect, M. de\nKeralio, who might have been a powerful friend, died almost\nimmediately.\n\nBy means of further genuflections, supplications, and wearisome\npersistency, Charles de Buonaparte at last obtained favor not only for\nLucien, but for Joseph also. Deprived unjustly of his inheritance,\ndeprived also of his comforts and his home in pursuit of the ambitious\nschemes rendered necessary by that wrong, the poor diplomatist was now\nnear the end of his resources and his energy. Except for the short\nvisit of his father at Brienne on his way to Paris, it is almost\ncertain that the young Napoleon saw none of his elders throughout his\nsojourn in the former place. The event was most important to the boy\nand opened the pent-up flood of his tenderness: it was therefore a\nbitter disappointment when he learned that, having seen the royal\nphysician, his parent would return to Corsica by Autun, taking Joseph\nwith him, and would not stop at Brienne. Napoleon, by the advice of\nMarbeuf and more definitely by the support of his friend the\ninspector, had been designated for the navy; through the favor of the\nlatter he hoped to have been sent to Paris, and thence assigned to\nToulon, the naval port in closest connection with Corsica. There were\nso many influential applications, however, for that favorite branch of\nthe service that the department must rid itself of as many as\npossible; a youth without a patron would be the first to suffer. The\nagreement which the father had made at Paris was, therefore, that\nNapoleon, by way of compensation, might continue at Brienne, while\nJoseph could either go thither, or to Metz, in order to make up his\ndeficiencies in the mathematical sciences and pass his examinations to\nenter the royal service along with Napoleon, on condition that the\nlatter would renounce his plans for the navy, and choose a career in\nthe army.\n\nThe letter in which the boy communicates his decision to his father is\nas remarkable as the one just mentioned and very clearly the sequel to\nit. The anxious and industrious parent had finally broken down, and in\nhis feeble health had taken Joseph as a support and help on the\narduous homeward journey. With the same succinct, unsparing statement\nas before, Napoleon confesses his disappointment, and in commanding\nphrase, with logical analysis, lays down the reasons why Joseph must\ncome to Brienne instead of going to Metz. There is, however, a new\nelement in the composition--a frank, hearty expression of affection\nfor his family, and a message of kindly remembrance to his friends.\nBut the most striking fact, in view of subsequent developments, is a\nrequest for Boswell's \"History of Corsica,\" and any other histories or\nmemoirs relating to \"that kingdom.\" \"I will bring them back when I\nreturn, if it be six years from now.\"[5] The immediate sequel makes\nclear the direction of his mind. He probably did not remember that he\nwas preparing, if possible, to strip France of her latest and highly\ncherished acquisition at her own cost, or if he did, he must have felt\nlike the archer pluming his arrow from the off-cast feathers of his\nvictim's wing. It is plain that his humiliations at school, his\nstudies in the story of liberty, his inherited bent, and the present\ndisappointment, were all cumulative in the result of fixing his\nattention on his native land as the destined sphere of his activity.\n\n              [Footnote 5: This letter, which is without date, is\n              printed in Coston, as taken from the newspapers; again\n              in a revised form in Nasica: Memoires sur l'enfance et\n              la jeunesse de Napoleon, p. 71, who claimed to have\n              collated it with the original; and again in Jung:\n              Bonaparte et son temps, who gives as his reference,\n              Archives de la guerre, preserving exactly the form given\n              by Nasica. The Napoleon papers of the War Department\n              were freely, and I believe entirely, put into my hands\n              for examination. This letter was not among them; in\n              fact, my efforts to confirm the references of Jung were\n              sadly ineffectual.]\n\nFour days after the probable date of writing he passed his examination\na second time, before the new inspector, announced his choice of the\nartillery as his branch of the service, and a month later was ordered\nto the military academy in Paris. This institution had not merely been\nrestored to its former renown: it now enjoyed a special reputation as\nthe place of reward to which only the foremost candidates for official\nhonors were sent. The choice of artillery seems to have been reached\nby a simple process of exclusion; the infantry was too unintellectual\nand indolent, the cavalry too expensive and aristocratic; between the\nengineers and the artillery there was little to choose--in neither did\nwealth or influence control promotion. The decision seems to have\nfallen as it did because the artillery was accidentally mentioned\nfirst in the fatal letter he had received announcing the family\nstraits, and the necessary renunciation of the navy. On the\ncertificate which was sent up with Napoleon from Brienne was the note:\n\"Character masterful, imperious, and headstrong.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nIn Paris and Valence[6].\n\n              [Footnote 6: Authorities as before for this and the five\n              chapters following.]\n\n     Introduction to Paris -- Teachers and Comrades -- Death of\n     Charles de Buonaparte -- His Merits -- The School at Paris\n     -- Napoleon's Poverty -- His Character at the Close of His\n     School Years -- Appointed Lieutenant in the Regiment of La\n     Fere -- Demoralization of the French Army -- The Men in the\n     Ranks -- Napoleon as a Beau -- Return to Study -- His\n     Profession and Vocation.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1784-86.]\n\nIt was on October thirtieth, 1784 that Napoleon left Brienne for\nParis.[7] He was in the sixteenth year of his age, entirely ignorant\nof what were then called the \"humanities,\" but fairly versed in\nhistory, geography, and the mathematical sciences. His knowledge, like\nthe bent of his mind, was practical rather than theoretical, and he\nknew more about fortification and sieges than about metaphysical\nabstractions; more about the deeds of history than about its\nphilosophy. The new surroundings into which he was introduced by the\nMinim father who had accompanied him and his four comrades from\nBrienne, all somewhat younger than himself, were different indeed from\nthose of the rude convent he had left behind. The splendid palace\nconstructed on the plans of Gabriel early in the eighteenth century\nstill stands to attest the King's design of lodging his gentlemen\ncadets in a style worthy of their high birth, and of educating them in\nmanners as well as of instructing them. The domestic arrangements had\nbeen on a par with the regal lodgings of the corps. So far had matters\ngone in the direction of elegance and luxury that as we have said the\nestablishment was closed. But it had been reopened within a few\nmonths, about the end of 1777. While the worst abuses had been\ncorrected, yet still the food was, in quantity at least, lavish; there\nwere provided two uniforms complete each year, with underwear\nsufficient for two changes a week, what was then considered a great\nluxury; there was a great staff of liveried servants, and the officers\nin charge were men of polished manners and of the highest distinction.\nAt the very close of his life Napoleon recalled the arrangements as\nmade for men of wealth. \"We were fed and served splendidly, treated\naltogether like officers, enjoying a greater competence than most of\nour families, greater than most of us were destined to enjoy.\" At\nsixteen and with his inexperience he was perhaps an incompetent judge.\nOthers, Vaublanc for example, thought there was more show than\nsubstance.\n\n              [Footnote 7: This is the date given by himself on the\n              slip of paper headed \"Epoques de ma vie\" and contained\n              in the Fesch papers, now deposited in the Laurentian\n              Library at Florence. Here and there the text is very\n              difficult to decipher, but the line \"Parti pour l'ecole\n              de Paris, le 30 Octobre 1784\" is perfectly legible. Las\n              Cases, in the Memorial, Vol. I, p. 160, represents\n              Napoleon as quoting Keralio in declaring that it was not\n              for his birth or his attainments but for the qualities\n              he discerned in the boy that he sent him with imperfect\n              preparation to Paris.]\n\nBe that as it may, Bonaparte's defiant scorn and habits of solitary\nstudy grew stronger together. It is asserted that his humor found vent\nin a preposterous and peevish memorial addressed to the minister of\nwar on the proper training of the pupils in French military schools!\nHe may have written it, but it is almost impossible that it should\never have passed beyond the walls of the school, even, as is claimed,\nfor revision by a former teacher, Berton. Nevertheless he found\nalmost, if not altogether, for the first time a real friend in the\nperson of des Mazis, a youth noble by birth and nature, who was\nassigned to him as a pupil-teacher, and was moreover a foundation\nscholar like himself. It is also declared by various authorities that\nfrom time to time he enjoyed the agreeable society of the bishop of\nAutun, who was now at Versailles, of his sister Elisa at Saint-Cyr,\nand, toward the very close, of a family friend who had just settled in\nParis, the beautiful Mme. Permon, mother of the future duchess of\nAbrantes. Although born in Corsica, she belonged to a branch of the\nnoble Greek family of the Comneni. In view of the stringent\nregulations both of the military school and of Saint-Cyr, these visits\nare problematical, though not impossible.\n\nRigid as were the regulations of the royal establishments, their\nenforcement depended of course on the character of their directors.\nThe marquis who presided over the military school was a veteran\nplace-holder, his assistant was a man of no force, and the director of\nstudies was the only conscientious official of the three. He knew his\ncharge thoroughly and was recognized by Napoleon in later years as a\nman of worth. The course of studies was a continuation of that at\nBrienne, and there were twenty-one instructors in the various branches\nof mathematics, history, geography, and languages. De l'Esguille\nendorsed one of Buonaparte's exercises in history with the remark:\n\"Corsican by nation and character. He will go far if circumstances\nfavor.\" Domairon said of his French style that it was \"granite heated\nin a volcano.\" There were admirable masters, seven in number, for\nriding, fencing, and dancing. In none of these exercises did\nBuonaparte excel. It was the avowed purpose of the institution to make\nits pupils pious Roman Catholics. The parish priest at Brienne had\nadministered the sacraments to a number of the boys, including the\nyoung Corsican, who appears to have submitted without cavil to the\nsevere religious training of the Paris school: chapel with mass at\nhalf-past six in the morning, grace before and after all meals, and\nchapel again a quarter before nine in the evening; on holidays,\ncatechism for new students; Sundays, catechism and high mass, and\nvespers with confession every Saturday; communion every two months.\nLong afterwards the Emperor remembered de Juigne, his chaplain, with\nkindness and overwhelmed him with favors. Of the hundred and\nthirty-two scholars resident during Buonaparte's time, eighty-three\nwere boarders at four hundred dollars each; none of these attained\ndistinction, the majority did not even pass their examinations. The\nrest were scholars of the King, and were diligent; but even of these\nonly one or two were really able men.\n\nIt was in the city of Mme. Permon's residence, at Montpellier, that on\nthe twenty-fourth of February, 1785, Charles de Buonaparte died. This\nwas apparently a final and mortal blow to the Buonaparte fortunes, for\nit seemed as if with the father must go all the family expectations.\nThe circumstances were a fit close to the life thus ended. Feeling his\nhealth somewhat restored, and despairing of further progress in the\nsettlement of his well-worn claim by legal methods, he had determined\non still another journey of solicitation to Versailles. With Joseph as\na companion he started; but a serious relapse occurred at sea, and\nashore the painful disease continued to make such ravages that the\nfather and son set out for Montpellier to consult the famous\nspecialists of the medical faculty at that place. It was in vain, and,\nafter some weeks, on February twenty-fourth the heartbroken father\nbreathed his last. Having learned to hate the Jesuits, he had become\nindifferent to all religion, and is said by some to have repelled with\nhis last exertions the kindly services of Fesch, who was now a\nfrocked priest, and had hastened to his brother-in-law's bedside to\noffer the final consolations of the Church to a dying man. Others\ndeclare that he turned again to the solace of religion, and was\nattended on his death-bed by the Abbe Coustou. Joseph, prostrated by\ngrief, was taken into Mme. Permon's house and received the tenderest\nconsolation.[8]\n\n              [Footnote 8: Memoires du roi Joseph, I, 29.]\n\nFailure as the ambitious father had been, he had nevertheless been so\nfar the support of his family in their hopes of advancement. Sycophant\nand schemer as he had become, they recognized his untiring energy in\ntheir behalf, and truly loved him. He left them penniless and in debt,\nbut he died in their service, and they sincerely mourned for him. On\nthe twenty-third of March the sorrowing boy wrote to his great-uncle,\nthe archdeacon Lucien, a letter in eulogy of his father and begging\nthe support of his uncle as guardian. This appointment was legally\nmade not long after. On the twenty-eighth he wrote to his mother. Both\nthese letters are in existence, and sound like rhetorical school\nexercises corrected by a tutor. That to his mother is, however,\ndignified and affectionate, referring in a becoming spirit to the\nsupport her children owed her. As if to show what a thorough child he\nstill was, the dreary little note closes with an odd postscript giving\nthe irrelevant news of the birth, two days earlier, of a royal\nprince--the duke of Normandy! This may have been added for the benefit\nof the censor who examined all the correspondence of the young men.\n\nSome time before, General Marbeuf had married, and the pecuniary\nsupplies to his boy friend seem after that event to have stopped. Mme.\nde Buonaparte was left with four infant children, the youngest,\nJerome, but three months old. Their great-uncle, Lucien, the\narchdeacon, was kind, and Joseph, abandoning all his ambitions,\nreturned to be, if possible, the support of the family. Napoleon's\npoverty was no longer relative or imaginary, but real and hard.\nDrawing more closely than ever within himself, he became a still more\nardent reader and student, devoting himself with passionate industry\nto examining the works of Rousseau, the poison of whose political\ndoctrines instilled itself with fiery and grateful stinging into the\nthin, cold blood of the unhappy cadet. In many respects the\ninstruction he received was admirable, and there is a traditional\nanecdote that he was the best mathematician in the school. But on the\nwhole he profited little by the short continuation of his studies at\nParis. The marvelous French style which he finally created for himself\nis certainly unacademic in the highest degree; in the many courses of\nmodern languages he mastered neither German nor English, in fact he\nnever had more than a few words of either; his attainments in fencing\nand horsemanship were very slender. Among all his comrades he made but\none friend, while two of them became in later life his embittered\nfoes. Phelipeaux thwarted him at Acre; Picot de Peccaduc became\nSchwarzenberg's most trusted adviser in the successful campaigns of\nAustria against France.\n\nWhether to alleviate as soon as possible the miseries of his\ndestitution, or, as has been charged, to be rid of their querulous and\nexasperating inmate, the authorities of the military school shortened\nBuonaparte's stay to the utmost of their ability, and admitted him to\nexamination in August, 1785, less than a year from his admission.[9]\nHe passed with no distinction, being forty-second in rank, but above\nhis friend des Mazis, who was fifty-sixth. His appointment,\ntherefore, was due to an entire absence of rivalry, the young nobility\nhaving no predilection for the arduous duties of service in the\nartillery. He was eligible merely because he had passed the legal age,\nand had given evidence of sufficient acquisitions. In an oft-quoted\ndescription,[10] purporting to be an official certificate given to the\nyoung officer on leaving, he is characterized as reserved and\nindustrious, preferring study to any kind of amusement, delighting in\ngood authors, diligent in the abstract sciences, caring little for the\nothers,[11] thoroughly trained in mathematics and geography; quiet,\nfond of solitude, capricious, haughty, extremely inclined to egotism,\nspeaking little, energetic in his replies, prompt and severe in\nrepartee; having much self-esteem; ambitious and aspiring to any\nheight: \"the youth is worthy of protection.\" There is, unfortunately,\nno documentary evidence to sustain the genuineness of this report; but\nwhatever its origin, it is so nearly contemporary that it probably\ncontains some truth.\n\n              [Footnote 9: The examiner in mathematics was the great\n              Laplace.]\n\n              [Footnote 10: Taken from the apocryphal Memoirs of the\n              Count d'Og ... previously mentioned. See Masson:\n              Napoleon inconnu, I, 123; Chuquet, I, 260; Jung, I,\n              125.]\n\n              [Footnote 11: Las Cases, I, 112. Napoleon confessed his\n              inability to learn German, but prided himself on his\n              historical knowledge.]\n\nThe two friends had both asked for appointments in a regiment\nstationed at Valence, known by the style of La Fere. Des Mazis had a\nbrother in it; the ardent young Corsican would be nearer his native\nland, and might, perhaps, be detached for service in his home. They\nwere both nominated in September, but the appointment was not made\nuntil the close of October. Buonaparte was reduced to utter penury by\nthe long delay, his only resource being the two hundred livres\nprovided by the funds of the school for each of its pupils until they\nreached the grade of captain. It was probably, and according to the\ngenerally received account, at his comrade's expense, and in his\ncompany, that he traveled. Their slender funds were exhausted by\nboyish dissipation at Lyons, and they measured on foot the long\nleagues thence to their destination, arriving at Valence early in\nNovember.\n\nThe growth of absolutism in Europe had been due at the outset to the\nemployment of standing armies by the kings, and the consequent\nalliance between the crown, which was the paymaster, and the people,\nwho furnished the soldiery. There was constant conflict between the\ncrown and the nobility concerning privilege, constant friction between\nthe nobility and the people in the survivals of feudal relation. This\nsturdy and wholesome contention among the three estates ended at last\nin the victory of the kings. In time, therefore, the army became no\nlonger a mere support to the monarchy, but a portion of its moral\norganism, sharing its virtues and its vices, its weakness and its\nstrength, reflecting, as in a mirror, the true condition of the state\nso far as it was personified in the king. The French army, in the year\n1785, was in a sorry plight. With the consolidation of classes in an\nold monarchical society, it had come to pass that, under the\nprevailing voluntary system, none but men of the lowest social stratum\nwould enlist. Barracks and camps became schools of vice. \"Is there,\"\nexclaimed one who at a later day was active in the work of army\nreform--\"is there a father who does not shudder when abandoning his\nson, not to the chances of war, but to the associations of a crowd of\nscoundrels a thousand times more dangerous?\"\n\nWe have already had a glimpse of the character of the officers. Their\nfirst thought was social position and pleasure, duty and the practice\nof their profession being considerations of almost vanishing\nimportance. Things were quite as bad in the central administration.\nNeither the organization nor the equipment nor the commissariat was in\ncondition to insure accuracy or promptness in the working of the\nmachine. The regiment of La Fere was but a sample of the whole.\n\"Dancing three times a week,\" says the advertisement for recruits,\n\"rackets twice, and the rest of the time skittles, prisoners' base,\nand drill. Pleasures reign, every man has the highest pay, and all are\nwell treated.\" Buonaparte's income, comprising his pay of eight\nhundred, his provincial allowance of a hundred and twenty, and the\nschool pension of two hundred, amounted, all told, to eleven hundred\nand twenty livres a year; his necessary expenses for board and lodging\nwere seven hundred and twenty, leaving less than thirty-five livres a\nmonth, about seven dollars, for clothes and pocket money. Fifteen\nyears as lieutenant, fifteen as captain, and, for the rest of his\nlife, half pay with a decoration--such was the summary of the prospect\nbefore the ordinary commonplace officer in a like situation. Meantime\nhe was comfortably lodged with a kindly old soul, a sometime\ntavern-keeper named Bou, whose daughter, \"of a certain age,\" gave a\nmother's care to the young lodger. In his weary years of exile the\nEmperor recalled his service at Valence as invaluable. The artillery\nregiment of La Fere he said was unsurpassed in personnel and training;\nthough the officers were too old for efficiency, they were loyal and\nfatherly; the youngsters exercised their witty sarcasm on many, but\nthey loved them all.\n\nDuring the first months of his garrison service Buonaparte, as an\napprentice, saw arduous service in matters of detail, but he threw off\nentirely the darkness and reserve of his character, taking a full\ndraught from the brimming cup of pleasure. On January tenth, 1786, he\nwas finally received to full standing as lieutenant. The novelty, the\nabsence of restraint, the comparative emancipation from the arrogance\nand slights to which he had hitherto been subject, good news from the\nfamily in Corsica, whose hopes as to the inheritance were once more\nhigh--all these elements combined to intoxicate for a time the boy of\nsixteen. The strongest will cannot forever repress the exuberance of\nbudding manhood. There were balls, and with them the first experience\nof gallantry. The young officer even took dancing-lessons. Moreover,\nin the drawing-rooms of the Abbe Saint-Ruf and of his friends, for the\nfirst time he saw the manners and heard the talk of refined\nsociety--provincial, to be sure, but excellent. It was to the special\nfavor of Monseigneur de Marbeuf, the bishop of Autun, that he owed his\nwarm reception. The acquaintances there made were with persons of\nlocal consequence, who in later years reaped a rich harvest for their\ncondescension to the young stranger. In two excellent households he\nwas a welcome and intimate guest, that of Lauberie and Colombier.\nThere were daughters in both. His acquaintance with Mlle. de Lauberie\nwas that of one who respected her character and appreciated her\nbeauty. In 1805 she was appointed lady in waiting to the Empress, but\ndeclined the appointment because of her duties as wife and mother. In\nthe intimacy with Mlle. du Colombier there was more coquetry. She was\na year the senior and lived on her mother's estate some miles from the\ntown. Rousseau had made fashionable long walks and life in the open.\nThe frequent visits of Napoleon to Caroline were marked by youthful\ngaiety and budding love. They spent many innocent hours in the fields\nand garden of the chateau and parted with regret. Their friendship\nlasted even after she became Mme. de Bressieux, and they corresponded\nintimately for long years. Of his fellow-officers he saw but little,\nthough he ate regularly at the table of the \"Three Pigeons\" where the\nlieutenants had their mess. This was not because they were distant,\nbut because he had no genius for good-fellowship, and the habit of\nindifference to his comrades had grown strong upon him.\n\nThe period of pleasure was not long. It is impossible to judge whether\nthe little self-indulgence was a weak relapse from an iron purpose or\npart of a definite plan. The former is more likely, so abrupt and\napparently conscience-stricken was the return to labor. His\ninclinations and his earnest hope were combined in a longing for\nCorsica.[12] It was a bitter disappointment that under the army\nregulations he must serve a year as second lieutenant before leave\ncould be granted. As if to compensate himself and still his longings\nfor home and family, he sought the companionship of a young Corsican\nartist named Pontornini, then living at Tournon, a few miles distant.\nTo this friendship we owe the first authentic portrait of Buonaparte.\nIt exhibits a striking profile with a well-shaped mouth, and the\nexpression of gravity is remarkable in a sitter so young. The face\nportrays a studious mind. Even during the months from November to\nApril he had not entirely deserted his favorite studies, and again\nRousseau had been their companion and guide. In a little study of\nCorsica, dated the twenty-sixth of April, 1786, the earliest of his\nmanuscript papers, he refers to the Social Contract of Rousseau with\napproval, and the last sentence is: \"Thus the Corsicans were able, in\nobedience to all the laws of justice, to shake off the yoke of Genoa,\nand can do likewise with that of the French. Amen.\" But in the spring\nit was the then famous but since forgotten Abbe Raynal of whom he\nbecame a devotee. At the first blush it seems as if Buonaparte's\nstudies were irregular and haphazard. It is customary to attribute\nslender powers of observation and undefined purposes to childhood and\nyouth. The opinion may be correct in the main, and would, for the\nmatter of that, be true as regards the great mass of adults. But the\nmore we know of psychology through autobiographies, the more certain\nit appears that many a great life-plan has been formed in childhood,\nand carried through with unbending rigor to the end. Whether\nBuonaparte consciously ordered the course of his study and reading or\nnot, there is unity in it from first to last.\n\n              [Footnote 12: For an amusing caricature by a comrade at\n              Paris, see Chuquet: La jeunesse de Napoleon, I, 262. The\n              legend is: \"Buonaparte, cours, vole au secours de Paoli\n              pour le tirer des mains de ses ennemis.\"]\n\nAfter the first rude beginnings there were two nearly parallel lines\nin his work. The first was the acquisition of what was essential to\nthe practice of a profession--nothing more. No one could be a soldier\nin either army or navy without a practical knowledge of history and\ngeography, for the earth and its inhabitants are in a special sense\nthe elements of military activity. Nor can towns be fortified, nor\ncamps intrenched, nor any of the manifold duties of the general in the\nfield be performed without the science of quantity and numbers. Just\nthese things, and just so far as they were practical, the dark,\nambitious boy was willing to learn. For spelling, grammar, rhetoric,\nand philosophy he had no care; neither he nor his sister Elisa, the\ntwo strong natures of the family, could ever spell any language with\naccuracy and ease, or speak and write with rhetorical elegance. Among\nthe private papers of his youth there is but one mathematical study of\nany importance; the rest are either trivial, or have some practical\nbearing on the problems of gunnery. When at Brienne, his patron had\ncertified that he cared nothing for accomplishments and had none.\nThis was the case to the end. But there was another branch of\nknowledge equally practical, but at that time necessary to so few that\nit was neither taught nor learned in the schools--the art of politics.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nPrivate Study and Garrison Life.\n\n     Napoleon as a Student of Politics -- Nature of Rousseau's\n     Political Teachings -- The Abbe Raynal -- Napoleon Aspires\n     to be the Historian of Corsica -- Napoleon's First Love --\n     His Notions of Political Science -- The Books He Read --\n     Napoleon at Lyons -- His Transfer to Douay -- A Victim to\n     Melancholy -- Return to Corsica.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1786-87.]\n\nIn one sense it is true that the first Emperor of the French was a man\nof no age and of no country; in another sense he was, as few have\nbeen, the child of his surroundings and of his time. The study of\npolitics was his own notion; the matter and method of the study were\nconditioned by his relations to the thought of Europe in the\neighteenth century. He evidently hoped that his military and political\nattainments would one day meet in the culmination of a grand career.\nTo the world and probably to himself it seemed as if the glorious\nperiod of the Consulate were the realization of this hope. Those years\nof his life which so appear were, in fact, the least successful. The\nunsoundness of his political instructors, and the temper of the age,\ncombined to thwart this ambitious purpose, and render unavailing all\nhis achievements.\n\nRousseau had every fascination for the young of that time--a\ncaptivating style, persuasive logic, the sentiment of a poet, the\nintensity of a prophet. A native of Corsica would be doubly drawn to\nhim by his interest in that romantic island. Sitting at the feet of\nsuch a teacher, a young scholar would learn through convincing\nargument the evils of a passing social state as they were not\nexhibited elsewhere. He would discern the dangers of ecclesiastical\nauthority, of feudal privilege, of absolute monarchy; he would see\ntheir disastrous influence in the prostitution, not only of social,\nbut of personal morality; he would become familiar with the necessity\nfor renewing institutions as the only means of regenerating society.\nAll these lessons would have a value not to be exaggerated. On the\nother hand, when it came to the substitution of positive teaching for\nnegative criticism, he would learn nothing of value and much that was\nmost dangerous. In utter disregard of a sound historical method, there\nwas set up as the cornerstone of the new political structure a fiction\nof the most treacherous kind. Buonaparte in his notes, written as he\nread, shows his contempt for it in an admirable refutation of the\nfundamental error of Rousseau as to the state of nature by this\nremark: \"I believe man in the state of nature had the same power of\nsensation and reason which he now has.\" But if he did not accept the\npremises, there was a portion of the conclusion which he took with\navidity, the most dangerous point in all Rousseau's system; namely,\nthe doctrine that all power proceeds from the people, not because of\ntheir nature and their historical organization into families and\ncommunities, but because of an agreement by individuals to secure\npublic order, and that, consequently, the consent given they can\nwithdraw, the order they have created they can destroy. In this lay\nnot merely the germ, but the whole system of extreme radicalism, the\nessence, the substance, and the sum of the French Revolution on its\nextreme and doctrinaire side.\n\nRousseau had been the prophet and forerunner of the new social\ndispensation. The scheme for applying its principles is found in a\nwork which bears the name of a very mediocre person, the Abbe Raynal,\na man who enjoyed in his day an extended and splendid reputation which\nnow seems to have had only the slender foundations of unmerited\npersecution and the friendship of superior men. In 1770 appeared\nanonymously a volume, of which, as was widely known, he was the\ncompiler. \"The Philosophical and Political History of the\nEstablishments and Commerce of the Europeans in the Two Indies\" is a\nmiscellany of extracts from many sources, and of short essays by\nRaynal's brilliant acquaintances, on superstition, tyranny, and\nsimilar themes. The reputed author had written for the public prints,\nand had published several works, none of which attracted attention.\nThe amazing success of this one was not remarkable if, as some critics\nnow believe, at least a third of the text was by Diderot. However this\nmay be, the position of Raynal as a man of letters immediately became\na foremost one, and such was the vogue of a second edition published\nover his name in 1780 that the authorities became alarmed. The climax\nto his renown was achieved when, in 1781, his book was publicly\nburned, and the compiler fled into exile.\n\nBy 1785 the storm had finally subsided, and though he had not yet\nreturned to France, it is supposed that through the friendship of Mme.\ndu Colombier, the friendly patroness of the young lieutenant,\ncommunication was opened between the great man and his aspiring\nreader.[13] \"Not yet eighteen,\" are the startling words in the\nletter, written by Buonaparte, \"I am a writer: it is the age when we\nmust learn. Will my boldness subject me to your raillery? No, I am\nsure. If indulgence be a mark of true genius, you should have much\nindulgence. I inclose chapters one and two of a history of Corsica,\nwith an outline of the rest. If you approve, I will go on; if you\nadvise me to stop, I will go no further.\" The young historian's letter\nteems with bad spelling and bad grammar, but it is saturated with the\nspirit of his age. The chapters as they came to Raynal's hands are not\nin existence so far as is known, and posterity can never judge how\nmonumental their author's assurance was. The abbe's reply was kindly,\nbut he advised the novice to complete his researches, and then to\nrewrite his pieces. Buonaparte was not unwilling to profit by the\ncounsels he received: soon after, in July, 1786, he gave two orders to\na Genevese bookseller, one for books concerning Corsica, another for\nthe memoirs of Mme. de Warens and her servant Claude Anet, which are a\nsort of supplement to Rousseau's \"Confessions.\"\n\n              [Footnote 13: Masson (Napoleon inconnu, Vol. I, p. 160)\n              denies all the statements of this paragraph. He likewise\n              proves to his own satisfaction that Bonaparte was\n              neither in Lyons nor in Douay at this time. The\n              narrative here given is based on Coston and on Jung, who\n              follows the former in his reprint of the documents,\n              giving the very dubious reference, Mss. Archives de la\n              guerre. Although these manuscripts could not be found by\n              me, I am not willing to discard Jung's authority\n              completely nor to impugn his good faith. Men in office\n              frequently play strange pranks with official papers, and\n              these may yet be found. Moreover, there is some slight\n              collateral evidence. See Vieux: Napoleon a Lyon, p. 4,\n              and Souvenirs a l'usage des habitants de Douay. Douay,\n              1822.]\n\nDuring May of the same year he jotted down with considerable fullness\nhis notions of the true relations between Church and State. He had\nbeen reading Roustan's reply to Rousseau, and was evidently\noverpowered with the necessity of subordinating ecclesiastical to\nsecular authority. The paper is rude and incomplete, but it shows\nwhence he derived his policy of dealing with the Pope and the Roman\nChurch in France. It has very unjustly been called an attempted\nrefutation of Christianity: it is nothing of the sort. Ecclesiasticism\nand Christianity being hopelessly confused in his mind, he uses the\nterms interchangeably in an academic and polemic discussion to prove\nthat the theory of the social contract must destroy all ecclesiastical\nassumption of supreme power in the state.\n\nSome of the lagging days were spent not only in novel-reading, as the\nEmperor in after years confessed to Mme. de Remusat, but in attempts\nat novel-writing, to relieve the tedium of idle hours. It is said that\nfirst and last Buonaparte read \"Werther\" five times through. Enough\nremains among his boyish scribblings to show how fantastic were the\ndreams both of love and of glory in which he indulged. Many entertain\na suspicion that amid the gaieties of the winter he had really lost\nhis heart, or thought he had, and was repulsed. At least, in his\n\"Dialogue on Love,\" written five years later, he says, \"I, too, was\nonce in love,\" and proceeds, after a few lines, to decry the sentiment\nas harmful to mankind, a something from which God would do well to\nemancipate it. This may have referred to his first meeting and\nconversation with a courtesan at Paris, which he describes in one of\nhis papers, but this is not likely from the context, which is not\nconcerned with the gratification of sexual passion. It is of the\nnobler sentiment that he speaks, and there seems to have been in the\ninterval no opportunity for philandering so good as the one he had\nenjoyed during his boyish acquaintance with Mlle. Caroline du\nColombier. It has, at all events, been her good fortune to secure, by\nthis supposition, a place in history, not merely as the first girl\nfriend of Napoleon, but as the object of his first pure passion.\n\nBut these were his avocations; the real occupation of his time was\nstudy. Besides reading again the chief works of Rousseau, and\ndevouring those of Raynal, his most beloved author, he also read much\nin the works of Voltaire, of Filangieri, of Necker, and of Adam\nSmith. With note-book and pencil he extracted, annotated, and\ncriticized, his mind alert and every faculty bent to the clear\napprehension of the subject in hand. To the conception of the state as\na private corporation, which he had imbibed from Rousseau, was now\nadded the conviction that the institutions of France were no longer\nadapted to the occupations, beliefs, or morals of her people, and that\nrevolution was a necessity. To judge from a memoir presented some\nyears later to the Lyons Academy, he must have absorbed the teachings\nof the \"Two Indies\" almost entire.\n\nThe consuming zeal for studies on the part of this incomprehensible\nyouth is probably unparalleled. Having read Plutarch in his childhood,\nhe now devoured Herodotus, Strabo, and Diodorus; China, Arabia, and\nthe Indies dazzled his imagination, and what he could lay hands upon\nconcerning the East was soon assimilated. England and Germany next\nengaged his attention, and toward the close of his studies he became\nardent in examining the minutest particulars of French history. It\nwas, moreover, the science of history, and not its literature, which\noccupied him--dry details of revenue, resources, and institutions; the\nSorbonne, the bull Unigenitus, and church history in general; the\ncharacter of peoples, the origin of institutions, the philosophy of\nlegislation--all these he studied, and, if the fragments of his notes\nbe trustworthy evidence, as they surely are, with some thoroughness.\nHe also found time to read the masterpieces of French literature, and\nthe great critical judgments which had been passed upon them.[14]\n\n              [Footnote 14: The volumes of Napoleon inconnu contain\n              the text of these papers as deciphered for M. Masson and\n              revised by him. My own examination, which antedated his\n              transcription by more than a year (1891), led me to\n              trust their authenticity absolutely, as far as the\n              writer's memory and good faith are concerned. I cannot\n              rely as positively as Masson does on the Epoques de ma\n              vie, which has the appearance of a casual scribbling\n              done in an idle moment on the first scrap that came to\n              hand.]\n\nThe agreeable and studious life at Valence was soon ended. Early in\nAugust, 1786, a little rebellion, known as the \"Two-cent Revolt,\"\nbroke out in Lyons over a strike of the silk-weavers for two cents an\nell more pay and the revolt of the tavern-keepers against the\nenforcement of the \"Banvin,\" an ancient feudal right levying a heavy\ntax on the sale of wine. The neighboring garrisons were ordered to\nfurnish their respective quotas for the suppression of the uprising.\nBuonaparte's company was sent among others, but those earlier on the\nground had been active, several workmen had been killed, and the\ndisturbance was already quelled when he arrived. The days he spent at\nLyons were so agreeable that, as he wrote his uncle Fesch, he left the\ncity with regret \"to follow his destiny.\" His regiment had been\nordered northward to Douay in Flanders; he returned to Valence and\nreached that city about the end of August. His furlough began\nnominally on October first, but for the Corsican officers a month's\ngrace was added, so that he was free to leave on September first.\n\nThe time spent under the summer skies of the north would have been\ndreary enough if he had regularly received news from home. Utterly\nwithout success in finding occupation in Corsica, and hopeless as to\nFrance, Joseph had some time before turned his eyes toward Tuscany for\na possible career. He was now about to make a final effort, and seek\npersonally at the Tuscan capital official recognition with a view to\nrelearning his native tongue, now almost forgotten, and to obtaining\nsubsequent employment of any kind that might offer in the land of his\nbirth. Lucien, the archdeacon, was seriously ill, and General\nMarbeuf, the last influential friend of the family, had died. Louis\nhad been promised a scholarship in one of the royal artillery schools;\ndeprived of his patron, he would probably lose the appointment.\nFinally, the pecuniary affairs of Mme. de Buonaparte were again\nentangled, and now appeared hopeless. She had for a time been\nreceiving an annual state bounty for raising mulberry-trees, as France\nwas introducing silk culture into the island. The inspectors had\ncondemned this year's work, and were withholding a substantial portion\nof the allowance. These were the facts and they probably reached\nNapoleon at Valence; it was doubtless a knowledge of them which put an\nend to all his light-heartedness and to his study, historical or\npolitical. He immediately made ready to avail himself of his leave so\nthat he might instantly set out to his mother's relief.\n\nDespondent and anxious, he moped, grew miserable, and contracted a\nslight malarial fever which for the next six or seven years never\nentirely relaxed its hold on him. Among his papers has recently been\nfound the long, wild, pessimistic rhapsody to which reference has\nalready been made and in which there is talk of suicide. The plaint is\nof the degeneracy among men, of the destruction of primitive\nsimplicity in Corsica by the French occupation, of his own isolation,\nand of his yearning to see his friends once more. Life is no longer\nworth while; his country gone, a patriot has naught to live for,\nespecially when he has no pleasure and all is pain--when the character\nof those about him is to his own as moonlight is to sunlight. If there\nwere but a single life in his way, he would bury the avenging blade of\nhis country and her violated laws in the bosom of the tyrant. Some of\nhis complaining was even less coherent than this. It is absurd to take\nthe morbid outpouring seriously, except in so far as it goes to prove\nthat its writer was a victim of the sentimental egoism into which the\npsychological studies of the eighteenth century had degenerated, and\nto suggest that possibly if he had not been Napoleon he might have\nbeen a Werther. Though dated May third, no year is given, and it may\nwell describe the writer's feelings in any period of despondency. No\nsuch state of mind was likely to have arisen in the preceding spring,\nbut it may have been written even then as a relief to pent-up feelings\nwhich did not appear on the surface; or possibly in some later year\nwhen the agony of suffering for himself and his family laid hold upon\nhim. In any case it expresses a bitter melancholy, such as would be\nfelt by a boy face to face with want.\n\nAt Valence Napoleon visited his old friend the Abbe Saint-Ruf, to\nsolicit favor for Lucien, who, having left Brienne, would study\nnothing but the humanities, and was determined to become a priest. At\nAix he saw both his uncle Fesch and his brother. At Marseilles he is\nsaid to have paid his respects to the Abbe Raynal, requesting advice,\nand seeking further encouragement in his historical labors. This is\nvery doubtful, for there is no record of Raynal's return to France\nbefore 1787. Lodging in that city, as appears from a memorandum on his\npapers, with a M. Allard, he must soon have found a vessel sailing for\nhis destination, because he came expeditiously to Ajaccio, arriving in\nthat city toward the middle of the month, if the ordinary time had\nbeen consumed in the journey. Such appears to be the likeliest account\nof this period, although our knowledge is not complete. In the\narchives of Douay, there is, according to an anonymous local\nhistorian, a record of Buonaparte's presence in that city with the\nregiment of La Fere, and he is quoted as having declared at Elba to\nSir Neil Campbell that he had been sent thither. But in the \"Epochs of\nMy Life,\" he wrote that he left Valence on September first, 1786, for\nAjaccio, arriving on the fifteenth. Weighing the probabilities, it\nseems likely that the latter was doubtful, since there is but the\nslenderest possibility of his having been at Douay in the following\nyear, the only other hypothesis, and there exists no record of his\nactivities in Corsica before the spring of 1787. The chronology of the\ntwo years is still involved in obscurity and it is possible that he\nwent with his regiment to Douay, contracted his malaria there, and did\nnot actually get leave of absence until February first of the latter\nyear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nFurther Attempts at Authorship.\n\n     Straits of the Buonaparte Family -- Napoleon's Efforts to\n     Relieve Them -- Home Studies -- His History and Short\n     Stories -- Visit to Paris -- Renewed Petitions to Government\n     -- More Authorship -- Secures Extension of his Leave -- The\n     Family Fortunes Desperate -- The History of Corsica\n     Completed -- Its Style, Opinions, and Value -- Failure to\n     Find a Publisher -- Sentiments Expressed in his Short\n     Stories -- Napoleon's Irregularities as a French Officer --\n     His Life at Auxonne -- His Vain Appeal to Paoli -- The\n     History Dedicated to Necker.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1787-89.]\n\nWhen Napoleon arrived at Ajaccio, and, after an absence of eight\nyears, was again with his family, he found their affairs in a serious\ncondition. Not one of the old French officials remained; the\ndiplomatic leniency of occupation was giving place to the official\nstringency of a permanent possession; proportionately the disaffection\nof the patriot remnant among the people was slowly developing into a\nwide-spread discontent. Joseph, the hereditary head of a family which\nhad been thoroughly French in conduct, and was supposed to be so in\nsentiment, which at least looked to the King for further favors, was\nstill a stanch royalist. Having been unsuccessful in every other\ndirection, he was now seeking to establish a mercantile connection\nwith Florence which would enable him to engage in the oil-trade. A\nmodest beginning was, he hoped, about to be made. It was high time,\nfor the only support of his mother and her children, in the failure to\nsecure the promised subsidy for her mulberry plantations, was the\nincome of the old archdeacon, who was now confined to his room, and\ngrowing feebler every day under attacks of gout. Unfortunately,\nJoseph's well-meant efforts again came to naught.\n\nThe behavior of the pale, feverish, masterful young lieutenant was not\naltogether praiseworthy. He filled the house with his new-fangled\nphilosophy, and assumed a self-important air. Among his papers and in\nhis own handwriting is a blank form for engaging and binding recruits.\nClearly he had a tacit understanding either with himself or with\nothers to secure some of the fine Corsican youth for the regiment of\nLa Fere. But there is no record of any success in the enterprise.\nAmong the letters which he wrote was one dated April first, 1787, to\nthe renowned Dr. Tissot of Lausanne, referring to his correspondent's\ninterest in Paoli, and asking advice concerning the treatment of the\ncanon's gout. The physician never replied, and the epistle was found\namong his papers marked \"unanswered and of little interest.\" The old\necclesiastic listened to his nephew's patriotic tirades, and even\napproved; Mme. de Buonaparte coldly disapproved. She would have\npreferred calmer, more efficient common sense. Not that her son was\ninactive in her behalf; on the contrary, he began a series of busy\nrepresentations to the provincial officials which secured some\ngood-will and even trifling favor to the family. But the results were\notherwise unsatisfactory, for the mulberry money was not paid.\n\nNapoleon's zeal for study was not in the least abated in the\natmosphere of home. Joseph in his memoirs says the reunited family was\nhappy in spite of troubles. There was reciprocal joy in their\ncompanionship and his long absent brother was glad in the pleasures\nboth of home and of nature so congenial to his feelings and his\ntastes. The most important part of Napoleon's baggage appears to have\nbeen the books, documents, and papers he brought with him. That he had\ncollections on Corsica has been told. Joseph says he had also the\nclassics of both French and Latin literature as well as the\nphilosophical writings of Plato; likewise, he thinks, Ossian and\nHomer. In the \"Discourse\" presented not many years later to the Lyons\nAcademy and in the talks at St. Helena, Napoleon refers to his\nenjoyment of nature at this time; to the hours spent in the grotto, or\nunder the majestic oak, or in the shade of the olive groves, all parts\nof the sadly neglected garden of Milleli some distance from the house\nand belonging to his mother; to his walks on the meadows among the\nlowing herds; to his wanderings on the shore at sunset, his return by\nmoonlight, and the gentle melancholy which unbidden enveloped him in\nspite of himself. He savored the air of Corsica, the smell of its\nearth, the spicy breezes of its thickets, he would have known his home\nwith his eyes shut, and with them open he found it the earthly\nparadise. Yet all the while he was busy, very busy, partly with good\nreading, partly in the study of history, and in large measure with the\npractical conduct of the family affairs.\n\nAs the time for return to service drew near it was clear that the\nmother with her family of four helpless little children, all a serious\ncharge on her time and purse, could not be left without the support of\none older son, at least; and Joseph was now about to seek his fortune\nin Pisa. Accordingly Napoleon with methodical care drew up two papers\nstill existing, a memorandum of how an application for renewed leave\non the ground of sickness was to be made and also the form of\napplication itself, which no doubt he copied. At any rate he applied,\non the ground of ill health, for a renewal of leave to last five and a\nhalf months. It was granted, and the regular round of family cares\nwent on; but the days and weeks brought no relief. Ill health there\nwas, and perhaps sufficient to justify that plea, but the physical\nfever was intensified by the checks which want set upon ambition. The\npassion for authorship reasserted itself with undiminished violence.\nThe history of Corsica was resumed, recast, and vigorously continued,\nwhile at the same time the writer completed a short story entitled\n\"The Count of Essex,\"--with an English setting, of course,--and wrote\na Corsican novel. The latter abounds in bitterness against France, the\nmost potent force in the development of the plot being the dagger. The\nauthor's use of French, though easier, is still very imperfect. A\nslight essay, or rather story, in the style of Voltaire, entitled \"The\nMasked Prophet,\" was also completed.\n\nIt was reported early in the autumn that many regiments were to be\nmobilized for special service, among them that of La Fere. This gave\nNapoleon exactly the opening he desired, and he left Corsica at once,\nwithout reference to the end of his furlough. He reached Paris in\nOctober, a fortnight before he was due. His regiment was still at\nDouay: he may have spent a few days with it in that city. But this is\nnot certain, and soon after it was transferred to St. Denis, now\nalmost a suburb of Paris; it was destined for service in western\nFrance, where incipient tumults were presaging the coming storm.\nEventually its destination was changed and it was ordered to Auxonne.\nThe Estates-General of France were about to meet for the first time in\none hundred and seventy-five years; they had last met in 1614, and had\nbroken up in disorder. They were now called as a desperate remedy, not\nunderstood, but at least untried, for ever-increasing embarrassments;\nand the government, fearing still greater disorders, was making ready\nto repress any that might break out in districts known to be specially\ndisaffected. All this was apparently of secondary importance to young\nBuonaparte; he had a scheme to use the crisis for the benefit of his\nfamily. Compelled by their utter destitution at the time of his\nfather's death, he had temporarily and for that occasion assumed his\nfather's role of suppliant. Now for a second time he sent in a\npetition. It was written in Paris, dated November ninth, 1787, and\naddressed, in his mother's behalf, to the intendant for Corsica\nresident at the French capital. His name and position must have\ncarried some weight, it could not have been the mere effrontery of an\nadventurer which secured him a hearing at Versailles, an interview\nwith the prime minister, Lomenie de Brienne, and admission to all the\nminor officials who might deal with his mother's claim. All these\nprivileges he declares that he had enjoyed and the statements must\nhave been true. The petition was prefaced by a personal letter\ncontaining them. Though a supplication in form, the request is unlike\nhis father's humble and almost cringing papers, being rather a demand\nfor justice than a petition for favor; it is unlike them in another\nrespect, because it contains a falsehood, or at least an utterly\nmisleading half-truth: a statement that he had shortened his leave\nbecause of his mother's urgent necessities.\n\nThe paper was not handed in until after the expiration of his leave,\nand his true object was not to rejoin his regiment, as was hinted in\nit, but to secure a second extension of leave. Such was the slackness\nof discipline that he spent all of November and the first half of\nDecember in Paris. During this period he made acquaintance with the\ndarker side of Paris life. The papers numbered four, five, and six in\nthe Fesch collection give a fairly detailed account of one adventure\nand his bitter repentance. The second suggests the writing of history\nas an antidote for unhappiness, and the last is a long, rambling\neffusion in denunciation of pleasure, passion, and license; of\ngallantry as utterly incompatible with patriotism. His acquaintance\nwith history is ransacked for examples. Still another short effusion\nwhich may belong to the same period is in the form of an imaginary\nletter, saturated likewise with the Corsican spirit, addressed by King\nTheodore to Walpole. It has little value or meaning, except as it may\npossibly foreshadow the influence on Napoleon's imagination of\nEngland's boundless hospitality to political fugitives like Theodore\nand Paoli.\n\nLieutenant Buonaparte remained in Paris until he succeeded in\nprocuring permission to spend the next six months in Corsica, at his\nown charges. He was quite as disingenuous in his request to the\nMinister of War as in his memorial to the intendant for Corsica,\nrepresenting that the estates of Corsica were about to meet, and that\nhis presence was essential to safeguard important interests which in\nhis absence would be seriously compromised. Whatever such a plea may\nhave meant, his serious cares as the real head of the family were ever\nuppermost, and never neglected. Louis had, as was feared, lost his\nappointment, and though not past the legal age, was really too old to\nawait another vacancy; Lucien was determined to leave Brienne in any\ncase, and to stay at Aix in order to seize the first chance which\nmight arise of entering the seminary. Napoleon made some\nprovision--what it was is not known--for Louis's further temporary\nstay at Brienne, and then took Lucien with him as far as their route\nlay together. He reached his home again on the first of January, 1788.\n\nThe affairs of the family were at last utterly desperate, and were\nlikely, moreover, to grow worse before they grew better. The old\narchdeacon was failing daily, and, although known to have means, he\ndeclared himself destitute of ready money. With his death would\ndisappear a portion of his income; his patrimony and savings, which\nthe Buonapartes hoped of course to inherit, were an uncertain\nquantity, probably insufficient for the needs of such a family. The\nmulberry money was still unpaid; all hope of wresting the ancestral\nestates from the government authorities was buried; Joseph was without\nemployment, and, as a last expedient, was studying in Pisa for\nadmission to the bar. Louis and Lucien were each a heavy charge;\nNapoleon's income was insufficient even for his own modest wants,\nregulated though they were by the strictest economy. Who shall cast a\nstone at the shiftiness of a boy not yet nineteen, charged with such\ncares, yet consumed with ambition, and saturated with the romantic\nsentimentalism of his times? Some notion of his embarrassments and\ndespair can be obtained from a rapid survey of his mental states and\nthe corresponding facts. An ardent republican and revolutionary, he\nwas tied by the strongest bonds to the most despotic monarchy in\nEurope. A patriotic Corsican, he was the servant of his country's\noppressor. Conscious of great ability, he was seeking an outlet in the\npursuit of literature, a line of work entirely unsuited to his powers.\nThe head and support of a large family, he was almost penniless; if he\nshould follow his convictions, he and they might be altogether so. In\nthe period of choice and requiring room for experiment, he saw himself\ndoomed to a fixed, inglorious career, and caged in a framework of\nunpropitious circumstance. Whatever the moral obliquity in his feeble\nexpedients, there is the pathos of human limitations in their\ncharacter.\n\nWhether the resolution had long before been taken, or was of recent\nformation, Napoleon now intended to make fame and profit go hand in\nhand. The meeting of the Corsican estates was, as far as is known,\nentirely forgotten, and authorship was resumed, not merely with the\nardor of one who writes from inclination, but with the regular\ndrudgery of a craftsman. In spite of all discouragements, he appeared\nto a visitor in his family, still considered the most devoted in the\nisland to the French monarchy because so favored by it, as being \"full\nof vivacity, quick in his speech and motions, his mind apparently hard\nat work in digesting schemes and forming plans and proudly rejecting\nevery other suggestion but that of his own fancy. For this intolerable\nambition he was often reproved by the elder Lucien, his uncle, a\ndignitary of the church. Yet these admonitions seemed to make no\nimpression upon the mind of Napoleon, who received them with a grin of\npity, if not of contempt.\"[15] The amusements of the versatile and\nheadstrong boy would have been sufficient occupation for most men.\nRegulating, as far as possible, his mother's complicated affairs, he\njourneyed frequently to Bastia, probably to collect money due for\nyoung mulberry-trees which had been sold, possibly to get material for\nhis history. On these visits he met and dined with the artillery\nofficers of the company stationed there. One of them, M. de Roman, a\nvery pronounced royalist, has given in his memoirs a striking portrait\nof his guest.[16] \"His face was not pleasing to me at all, his\ncharacter still less; and he was so dry and sententious for a youth of\nhis age, a French officer too, that I never for a moment entertained\nthe thought of making him my friend. My knowledge of governments,\nancient and modern, was not sufficiently extended to discuss with him\nhis favorite subject of conversation. So when in my turn I gave the\ndinner, which happened three or four times that year, I retired after\nthe coffee, leaving him to the hands of a captain of ours, far better\nable than I was to lock arms with such a valiant antagonist. My\ncomrades, like myself, saw nothing in this but absurd pedantry. We\neven believed that this magisterial tone which he assumed was\nmeaningless until one day when he reasoned so forcibly on the rights\nof nations in general, his own in particular, _Stupete gentes!_ that\nwe could not recover from our amazement, especially when in speaking\nof a meeting of their Estates, about calling which there was some\ndeliberation, and which M. de Barrin sought to delay, following in\nthat the blunders of his predecessor, he said: 'that it was very\nsurprising that M. de Barrin thought to prevent them from deliberating\nabout their interests,' adding in a threatening tone, 'M. de Barrin\ndoes not know the Corsicans; he will see what they can do.' This\nexpression gave the measure of his character. One of our comrades\nreplied: 'Would you draw your sword against the King's representative?'\nHe made no answer. We separated coldly and that was the last time this\nformer comrade did me the honor to dine with me.\" Making all\nallowance, this incident exhibits the feeling and purpose of Napoleon.\nDuring these days he also completed a plan for the defense of St.\nFlorent, of La Mortilla, and of the Gulf of Ajaccio; drew up a report\non the organization of the Corsican militia; and wrote a paper on the\nstrategic importance of the Madeleine Islands. This was his play; his\nwork was the history of Corsica. It was finished sooner than he had\nexpected; anxious to reap the pecuniary harvest of his labors and\nresume his duties, he was ready for the printer when he left for\nFrance in the latter part of May to secure its publication. Although\ndedicated in its first form to a powerful patron, Monseigneur\nMarbeuf, then Bishop of Sens, like many works from the pen of genius\nit remained at the author's death in manuscript.\n\n              [Footnote 15: Correspondence of Sir John Sinclair, I,\n              47.]\n\n              [Footnote 16: Souvenirs d'un officier royaliste, par M.\n              de R..., Vol. I, p. 117.]\n\nThe book was of moderate size, and of moderate merit.[17] Its form,\nrepeatedly changed from motives of expediency, was at first that of\nletters addressed to the Abbe Raynal. Its contents display little\nresearch and no scholarship. The style is intended to be popular, and\nis dramatic rather than narrative. There is exhibited, as everywhere\nin these early writings, an intense hatred of France, a glowing\naffection for Corsica and her heroes. A very short account of one\nchapter will sufficiently characterize the whole work. Having outlined\nin perhaps the most effective passage the career of Sampiero, and\nsketched his diplomatic failures at all the European courts except\nthat of Constantinople, where at last he had secured sympathy and was\npromised aid, the author depicts the patriot's bitterness when\nrecalled by the news of his wife's treachery. Confronting his guilty\nspouse, deaf to every plea for pity, hardened against the tender\ncaresses of his children, the Corsican hero utters judgment. \"Madam,\"\nhe sternly says, \"in the face of crime and disgrace, there is no other\nresort but death.\" Vannina at first falls unconscious, but, regaining\nher senses, she clasps her children to her breast and begs life for\ntheir sake. But feeling that the petition is futile, she then recalls\nthe memory of her earlier virtue, and, facing her fate, begs as a last\nfavor that no base executioner shall lay his soiled hands on the wife\nof Sampiero, but that he himself shall execute the sentence. Vannina's\nbehavior moves her husband, but does not touch his heart. \"The pity\nand tenderness,\" says Buonaparte, \"which she should have awakened\nfound a soul thenceforward closed to the power of sentiment. Vannina\ndied. She died by the hands of Sampiero.\"\n\n              [Footnote 17: Printed in Napoleon inconnu, Vol. II, p.\n              167.]\n\nNeither the publishers of Valence, nor those of Dole, nor those of\nAuxonne, would accept the work. At Paris one was finally found who was\nwilling to take a half risk. The author, disillusioned but sanguine,\nwas on the point of accepting the proposition, and was occupied with\nconsidering ways and means, when his friend the Bishop of Sens was\nsuddenly disgraced. The manuscript was immediately copied and revised,\nwith the result, probably, of making its tone more intensely Corsican;\nfor it was now to be dedicated to Paoli. The literary aspirant must\nhave foreseen the coming crash, and must have felt that the exile was\nto be again the liberator, and perhaps the master, of his native land.\nAt any rate, he abandoned the idea of immediate publication, possibly\nin the dawning hope that as Paoli's lieutenant he could make Corsican\nhistory better than he could write it. It is this copy which has been\npreserved; the original was probably destroyed.\n\nThe other literary efforts of this feverish time were not as\nsuccessful even as those in historical writing. The stories are wild\nand crude; one only, \"The Masked Prophet,\" has any merit or interest\nwhatsoever. Though more finished than the others, its style is also\nabrupt and full of surprises; the scene and characters are Oriental;\nthe plot is a feeble invention. An ambitious and rebellious Ameer is\nstruck with blindness, and has recourse to a silver mask to deceive\nhis followers. Unsuccessful, he poisons them all, throws their corpses\ninto pits of quicklime, then leaps in himself, to deceive the world\nand leave no trace of mortality behind. His enemies believe, as he\ndesired, that he and his people have been taken up into heaven. The\nwhole, however, is dimly prescient, and the concluding lines of the\nfable have been thought by believers in augury to be prophetic.\n\"Incredible instance! How far can the passion for fame go!\" Among the\npapers of this period are also a constitution for the \"calotte,\" a\nsecret society of his regiment organized to keep its members up to the\nmark of conduct expected from gentlemen and officers, and many\npolitical notes. One of these rough drafts is a project for an essay\non royal power, intended to treat of its origin and to display its\nusurpations, and which closes with these words: \"There are but few\nkings who do not deserve to be dethroned.\"\n\nThe various absences of Buonaparte from his regiment up to this time\nare antagonistic to our modern ideas of military duty. The subsequent\nones seem simply inexplicable, even in a service so lax as that of the\ncrumbling Bourbon dynasty. Almost immediately after Joseph's return,\non the first of June he sailed for France. He did not reach Auxonne,\nwhere the artillery regiment La Fere was now stationed, until early in\nthat month, 1788. He remained there less than a year and a half, and\nthen actually obtained another leave of absence, from September tenth,\n1789, to February, 1791, which he fully intended should end in his\nretirement from the French service.[18] The incidents of this second\nterm of garrison life are not numerous, but from the considerable\nbody of his notes and exercises which dates from the period we know\nthat he suddenly developed great zeal in the study of artillery,\ntheoretical and practical, and that he redoubled his industry in the\npursuit of historical and political science. In the former line he\nworked diligently and became expert. With his instructor Duteil he\ngrew intimate and the friendship was close throughout life. He\nassociated on the best of terms with his old friend des Mazis and\nbegan a pleasant acquaintance with Gassendi. So faithful was he to the\nminutest details of his profession that he received marks of the\nhighest distinction. Not yet twenty and only a second lieutenant, he\nwas appointed, with six officers of higher rank, a member of the\nregimental commission to study the best disposal of mortars and cannon\nin firing shells. Either at this time or later (the date is\nuncertain), he had sole charge of important manoeuvers held in honor\nof the Prince of Conde. These honors he recounted with honest pride in\na letter dated August twenty-second to his great-uncle. Among the\nFesch papers are considerable fragments of his writing on the theory,\npractice, and history of artillery. Antiquated as are their contents,\nthey show how patient and thorough was the work of the student, and\nsome of their ideas adapted to new conditions were his permanent\npossession, as the greatest master of artillery at the height of his\nfame. In the study of politics he read Plato and examined the\nconstitutions of antiquity, devouring with avidity what literature he\ncould find concerning Venice, Turkey, Tartary, and Arabia. At the same\ntime he carefully read the history of England, and made some accurate\nobservations on the condition of contemporaneous politics in France.\n\n              [Footnote 18: Similar instances of repeated and\n              lengthened absence from duty among the young officers\n              are numerous and easily found in the archives.\n              Nevertheless, Buonaparte's case is a very extraordinary\n              example of how a clever person could work the system.\n              The facts are bad enough, but as many cities claimed\n              Homer, so in the Napoleonic legend events of a sojourn\n              at Strasburg about this time were given in great detail.\n              He was in relations with a famous actress and wrote\n              verses which are printed. Even Metternich records that\n              the young Napoleon Bonaparte had just left the Alsatian\n              capital when he himself arrived there in 1788. Later, in\n              1806, a fencing-master claimed that he had instructed\n              both these great men in the earlier year at Strasburg.\n              Yet the whole tale is impossible. See Napoleon inconnu,\n              Vol. I, p. 204.]\n\nHis last disappointment had rendered him more taciturn and\nmisanthropic than ever; it seems clear that he was working to become\nan expert, not for the benefit of France, but for that of Corsica.\nCharged with the oversight of some slight works on the fortifications,\nhe displayed such incompetence that he was actually punished by a\nshort arrest. Misfortune still pursued the family. The youth who had\nbeen appointed to Brienne when Louis was expecting a scholarship\nsuddenly died. Mme. de Buonaparte was true to the family tradition,\nand immediately forwarded a petition for the place, but was, as\nbefore, unsuccessful. Lucien was not yet admitted to Aix; Joseph was a\nbarrister, to be sure, but briefless. Napoleon once again, but for the\nlast time,--and with marked impatience, even with impertinence,--took\nup the task of solicitation. The only result was a good-humored,\nnon-committal reply. Meantime the first mutterings of the\nrevolutionary outbreak were heard, and spasmodic disorders, trifling\nbut portentous, were breaking out, not only among the people, but even\namong the royal troops. One of these, at Seurre, was occasioned by the\nnews that the hated and notorious syndicate existing under the\nscandalous agreement with the King known as the \"Bargain of Famine\"\nhad been making additional purchases of grain from two merchants of\nthat town. This was in April, 1789. Buonaparte was put in command of a\ncompany and sent to aid in suppressing the riot. But it was ended\nbefore he arrived; on May first he returned to Auxonne.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of W. C. Crane. Engraved by Huot.\nCharles Bonaparte, Father of the Emperor Napoleon, 1785.\nPainted by Girodet.]\n\nFour days later the Estates met at Versailles. What was passing in the\nmind of the restless, bitter, disappointed Corsican is again plainly\nrevealed. A famous letter to Paoli, to which reference has already\nbeen made, is dated June twelfth. It is a justification of his\ncherished work as the only means open to a poor man, the slave of\ncircumstances, for summoning the French administration to the bar\nof public opinion; viz., by comparing it with Paoli's. Willing to face\nthe consequences, the writer asks for documentary materials and for\nmoral support, ending with ardent assurances of devotion from his\nfamily, his mother, and himself. But there is a ring of false coin in\nmany of its words and sentences. The \"infamy\" of those who betrayed\nCorsica was the infamy of his own father; the \"devotion\" of the\nBuonaparte family had been to the French interest, in order to secure\nfree education, with support for their children, in France. The\n\"enthusiasm\" of Napoleon was a cold, unsentimental determination to\npush their fortunes, which, with opposite principles, would have been\nhonorable enough. In later years Lucien said that he had made two\ncopies of the history. It was probably one of these which has been\npreserved. Whether or not Paoli read the book does not appear. Be that\nas it may, his reply to Buonaparte's letter, written some months\nlater, was not calculated to encourage the would-be historian. Without\nabsolutely refusing the documents asked for by the aspiring writer, he\nexplained that he had no time to search for them, and that, besides,\nCorsican history was only important in any sense by reason of the men\nwho had made it, not by reason of its achievements. Among other bits\nof fatherly counsel was this: \"You are too young to write history.\nMake ready for such an enterprise slowly. Patiently collect your\nanecdotes and facts. Accept the opinions of other writers with\nreserve.\" As if to soften the severity of his advice, there follows a\nstrain of modest self-depreciation: \"Would that others had known less\nof me and I more of myself. _Probe diu vivimus_; may our descendants\nso live that they shall speak of me merely as one who had good\nintentions.\"\n\nBuonaparte's last shift in the treatment of his book was most\nundignified and petty. With the unprincipled resentment of despair, in\nwant of money, not of advice, he entirely remodeled it for the third\ntime, its chapters being now put as fragmentary traditions into the\nmouth of a Corsican mountaineer. In this form it was dedicated to\nNecker, the famous Swiss, who as French minister of finance was vainly\nstruggling with the problem of how to distribute taxation equally, and\nto collect from the privileged classes their share. A copy was first\nsent to a former teacher for criticism. His judgment was extremely\nsevere both as to expression and style. In particular, attention was\ncalled to the disadvantage of indulging in so much rhetoric for the\nbenefit of an overworked public servant like Necker, and to the\ninappropriateness of putting his own metaphysical generalizations and\ncaptious criticism of French royalty into the mouth of a peasant\nmountaineer. Before the correspondence ended, Napoleon's student life\nwas over. Necker had fled, the French Revolution was rushing on with\never-increasing speed, and the young adventurer, despairing of success\nas a writer, seized the proffered opening to become a man of action.\nIn a letter dated January twelfth, 1789, and written at Auxonne to his\nmother, the young officer gives a dreary account of himself. The\nswamps of the neighborhood and their malarious exhalations rendered\nthe place, he thought, utterly unwholesome. At all events, he had\ncontracted a low fever which undermined his strength and depressed his\nspirits. There was no immediate hope of a favorable response to the\npetition for the moneys due on the mulberry plantation because \"this\nunhappy period in French finance delays furiously (_sic_) the\ndiscussion of our affair. Let us hope, however, that we may be\ncompensated for our long and weary waiting and that we shall receive\ncomplete restitution.\" He writes further a terse sketch of public\naffairs in France and Europe, speaks despairingly of what the council\nof war has in store for the engineers by the proposed reorganization,\nand closes with tender remembrances to Joseph and Lucien, begging for\nnews and reminding them that he had received no home letter since the\npreceding October. The reader feels that matters have come to a climax\nand that the scholar is soon to enter the arena of revolutionary\nactivity. Curiously enough, the language used is French; this is\nprobably due to the fact that it was intended for the family, rather\nthan for the neighborhood circle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nThe Revolution in France.\n\n     The French Aristocracy -- Priests, Lawyers, and Petty Nobles\n     -- Burghers, Artisans, and Laborers -- Intelligent Curiosity\n     of the Nation -- Exasperating Anachronisms -- Contrast of\n     Demand and Resources -- The Great Nobles a Barrier to Reform\n     -- Mistakes of the King -- The Estates Meet at Versailles --\n     The Court Party Provokes Violence -- Downfall of Feudal\n     Privilege.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1787-89.]\n\nAt last the ideas of the century had declared open war on its\ninstitutions; their moral conquest was already coextensive with\ncentral and western Europe, but the first efforts toward their\nrealization were to be made in France, for the reason that the line of\nleast resistance was to be found not through the most downtrodden, but\nthrough the freest and the best instructed nation on the Continent.\nBoth the clergy and the nobility of France had become accustomed to\nthe absorption in the crown of their ancient feudal power. They were\ncontent with the great offices in the church, in the army, and in the\ncivil administration, with exemption from the payment of taxes; they\nwere happy in the delights of literature and the fine arts, in the\njoys of a polite, self-indulgent, and spendthrift society, so\nartificial and conventional that for most of its members a sufficient\noccupation was found in the study and exposition of its trivial but\ncomplex customs. The conduct and maintenance of a salon, the stage,\ngallantry; clothes, table manners, the use of the fan: these are\nspecimens of what were considered not the incidents but the essentials\nof life.\n\nThe serious-minded among the upper classes were as enlightened as any\nof their rank elsewhere. They were familiar with prevalent\nphilosophies, and full of compassion for miseries which, for lack of\npower, they could not remedy, and which, to their dismay, they only\nintensified in their attempts at alleviation. They were even ready for\nconsiderable sacrifices. The gracious side of the character of Louis\nXVI is but a reflection of the piety, moderation, and earnestness of\nmany of the nobles. His rule was mild; there were no excessive\nindignities practised in the name of royal power except in cases like\nthat of the \"Bargain of Famine,\" where he believed himself helpless.\nThe lower clergy, as a whole, were faithful in the performance of\ntheir duties. This was not true of the hierarchy. They were great\nlandowners, and their interests coincided with those of the upper\nnobility. The doubt of the country had not left them untouched, and\nthere were many without conviction or principle, time-serving and\nirreverent. The lawyers and other professional men were to be found,\nfor the most part, in Paris and in the towns. They had their\nlivelihood in the irregularities of society, and, as a class, were\nretentive of ancient custom and present social habits. Although by\nbirth they belonged in the main to the third estate, they were in\nreality adjunct to the first, and consequently, being integral members\nof neither, formed a strong independent class by themselves. The petty\nnobles were in much the same condition with regard to the wealthy,\npowerful families in their own estate and to the rich burghers; they\nmarried the fortunes of the latter and accepted their hospitality, but\notherwise treated them with the same exclusive condescension as that\ndisplayed to themselves by the great.\n\nBut if the estate of the clergy and the estate of the nobility were\nalike divided in character and interests, this was still more true of\nthe burghers. In 1614, at the close of the middle ages, the third\nestate had been little concerned with the agricultural laborer. For\nvarious reasons this class had been gradually emancipated until now\nthere was less serfage in France than elsewhere; more than a quarter,\nperhaps a third, of the land was in the hands of peasants and other\nsmall proprietors. This, to be sure, was economically disastrous, for\nover-division of land makes tillage unprofitable, and these very men\nwere the taxpayers. The change had been still more marked in the\ndenizens of towns. During the last two centuries the wealthy burgesses\nhad grown still more wealthy in the expansion of trade, commerce, and\nmanufactures; many had struggled and bought their way into the ranks\nof the nobility. The small tradesmen had remained smug, hard to move,\nand resentful of change. But there was a large body of men unknown to\nprevious constitutions, and growing ever larger with the increase in\npopulation--intelligent and unintelligent artisans, half-educated\nemployees in workshops, mills, and trading-houses, ever recruited from\nthe country population, seeking such intermittent occupation as the\ntowns afforded. The very lowest stratum of this society was then, as\nnow, most dangerous; idle, dissipated, and unscrupulous, they were yet\nsufficiently educated to discuss and disseminate perilous doctrines,\nand were often most ready in speech and fertile in resource.\n\nThis comparative well-being of a nation, devoted like the ancient\nGreeks to novelty, avid of great ideas and great deeds, holding\nopinions not merely for the pleasure of intellectual gymnastics but\nlogically and with a view to their realization, sensitive to\ninfluences like the deep impressions made on their thinkers by the\nEnglish and American revolutions--such relative comfort with its\nattendant opportunities for discussion was not the least of many\ncauses which made France the vanguard in the great revolution which\nhad already triumphed in theory throughout the continent and was\neventually to transform the social order of all Europe.\n\nDiscussion is not only a safety-valve, it is absolutely essential in\ngovernments where the religion, morals, opinions, and occupations of\nthe people give form and character to institutions and legislation.\nThe centralized and despotic Bourbon monarchy of France was an\nanachronism among an intelligent people. So was every institution\nemanating from and dependent upon it. It was impossible for the\nstructure to stand indefinitely, however tenderly it was treated,\nhowever cleverly it was propped and repaired. As in the case of\nEngland in 1688 and of her colonies in 1772, the immediate and direct\nagency in the crash was a matter of money. But the analogy holds good\nno further, for in France the questions of property and taxation were\nvastly more complex than in England, where the march of events had so\nlargely destroyed feudalism, or in America, where feudalism had never\nexisted. On the great French estates the laborers had first to support\nthe proprietor and his representatives, then the Church and the King;\nthe minute remainder of their gains was scarcely sufficient to keep\nthe wolf from the door. The small proprietors were so hampered in\ntheir operations by the tiny size of their holdings that they were\nstill restricted to ancient and wretched methods of cultivation; but\nthey too were so burdened with contributions direct and indirect that\nfamine was always imminent with them as well. Under whatever name the\ntax was known, license (octroi), bridge and ferry toll, road-work,\nsalt-tax, or whatever it may have been, it was chiefly distasteful not\nbecause of its form but because it was oppressive. Some of it was\npaid to the proprietors, some to the state. The former was more\nhateful because the gainer was near and more tangible; the hatred of\nthe country people for the feudal privileges and those who held them\nwas therefore concrete and quite as intense as the more doctrinaire\ndislike of the poor in the towns to the rich. Such was the alienation\nof classes from each other throughout the beginning and middle of the\ncentury that the disasters which French arms suffered at the hands of\nMarlborough and Frederick, so far from humiliating the nation, gave\npleasure and not pain to the masses because they were, as they\nthought, defeats not of France, but of the nobility and of the crown.\n\nFeudal dues had arisen when those imposing them had the physical force\nto compel their payment and were also the proprietors of the land on\nwhich they were exacted. Now the nobility were entirely stripped of\npower and in many instances of land as well. How empty and bottomless\nthe oppressive institutions and how burdensome the taxes which rested\non nothing but a paper grant, musty with age and backed only by royal\ncomplaisance! Want too was always looking in at the doors of the many,\nwhile the few were enjoying the national substance. This year there\nwas a crisis, for before the previous harvest time devastating\nhail-storms had swept the fields, in 1788; during the winter there had\nbeen pinching want and many had perished from destitution and cold;\nthe advancing seasons had brought warmth, but sufficient time had not\neven yet elapsed for fields and herds to bring forth their increase,\nand by the myriad firesides of the people hunger was still an\nunwelcome guest.\n\nWith wholesome economy such crises may be surmounted in a rich and\nfertile country. But economy had not been practised for fifty years by\nthe governing classes. As early as 1739 there had been a deficiency\nin the French finances. From small beginnings the annual loans had\ngrown until, in 1787, the sum to be raised over and above the regular\nincome was no less than thirty-two millions of dollars. This was all\ndue to the extravagance of the court and the aristocracy, who spent,\nfor the most part, far more than the amount they actually collected\nand which they honestly believed to be their income. Such a course was\nvastly more disastrous than it appeared, being ruinous not only to\npersonal but to national well-being, inasmuch as what the nobles, even\nthe earnest and honest ones, believed to be their legitimate income\nwas not really such. Two thirds of the land was in their hands; the\nother third paid the entire land-tax. They were therefore regarding as\ntheir own two thirds of what was in reality taken altogether from the\npockets of the small proprietors. Small sacrifices the ruling class\nprofessed itself ready to make, but such a one as to pay their share\nof the land-tax--never. It had been proposed also to destroy the\nmonopoly of the grain trade, and to abolish the road-work, a task more\nhateful to the people than any tax, because it brought them into\ndirect contact with the exasperating superciliousness of petty\nofficials. But in all these proposed reforms, Necker, Calonne, and\nLomenie de Brienne, each approaching the nobles from a separate\nstandpoint, had alike failed. The nobility could see in such\nretrenchment and change nothing but ruin for themselves. An assembly\nof notables, called in 1781, would not listen to propositions which\nseemed suicidal. The King began to alienate the affection of his\nnatural allies, the people, by yielding to the clamor of the court\nparty. From the nobility he could wring nothing. The royal treasury\nwas therefore actually bankrupt, the nobles believed that they were\nthreatened with bankruptcy, and the people knew that they themselves\nwere not only bankrupt, but also hungry and oppressed.\n\nAt last the King, aware of the nation's extremity, began to undertake\nreforms without reference to class prejudice, and on his own\nauthority. He decreed a stamp-tax, and the equal distribution of the\nland-tax. He strove to compel the unwilling parliament of Paris, a\ncourt of justice which, though ancient, he himself had but recently\nreconstituted, to register his decrees, and then banished it from the\ncapital because it would not. That court had been the last remaining\ncheck on absolutism in the country, and, as such, an ally of the\npeople; so that although the motives and the measures of Louis were\njust, the high-handed means to which he resorted in order to carry\nthem alienated him still further from the affections of the nation.\nThe parliament, in justifying its opposition, had declared that taxes\nin France could be laid only by the Estates-General. The people had\nalmost forgotten the very name, and were entirely ignorant of what\nthat body was, vaguely supposing that, like the English Parliament or\nthe American Congress, it was in some sense a legislative assembly.\nThey therefore made their voice heard in no uncertain sound, demanding\nthat the Estates should meet. Louis abandoned his attitude of\nindependence, and recalled the Paris parliament from Troyes, but only\nto exasperate its members still further by insisting on a huge loan,\non the restoration of civil rights to the Protestants, and on\nrestricting, not only its powers, but those of all similar courts\nthroughout the realm. The parliament then declared that France was a\nlimited monarchy with constitutional checks on the power of the crown,\nand exasperated men flocked to the city to remonstrate against the\nmenace to their liberties in the degradation of all the parliaments by\nthe King's action in regard to that of Paris. Those from Brittany\nformed an association, which soon admitted other members, and\ndeveloped into the notorious Jacobin Club, so called from its\nmeeting-place, a convent on the Rue St. Honore, once occupied by\nDominican monks who had moved thither from the Rue St. Jacques.\n\nTo summon the Estates was a virtual confession that absolutism in\nFrance was at an end. In the seventeenth century the three estates\ndeliberated separately. Such matters came before them as were\nsubmitted by the crown, chiefly demands for revenue. A decision was\nreached by the agreement of any two of the three, and whatever\nproposition the crown submitted was either accepted or rejected.\nThere was no real legislation. Louis no doubt hoped that the\neighteenth-century assembly would be like that of the seventeenth. He\ncould then, by the coalition of the nobles and the clergy against the\nburghers, or by any other arrangement of two to one, secure\nauthorization either for his loans or for his reforms, as the case\nmight be, and so carry both. But the France of 1789 was not the France\nof 1614. As soon as the call for the meeting was issued, and the\ndecisive steps were taken, the whole country was flooded with\npamphlets. Most of them were ephemeral; one was epochal. In it the\nAbbe Sieyes asked the question, \"What is the third estate?\" and\nanswered so as to strengthen the already spreading conviction that the\npeople of France were really the nation. The King was so far convinced\nas to agree that the third estate should be represented by delegates\nequal in number to those of the clergy and nobles combined. The\nelections passed quietly, and on May fifth, 1789, the Estates met at\nVersailles, under the shadow of the court. It was immediately evident\nthat the hands of the clock could not be put back two centuries, and\nthat here was gathered an assembly unlike any that had ever met in\nthe country, determined to express the sentiments, and to be the\nexecutive, of the masses who in their opinion constituted the nation.\nOn June seventeenth, therefore, after long talk and much hesitation,\nthe representatives of the third estate declared themselves the\nrepresentatives of the whole nation, and invited their colleagues of\nthe clergy and nobles to join them. Their meeting-place having been\nclosed in consequence of this decision, they gathered without\nauthorization in the royal tennis-court on June twentieth, and bound\nthemselves by oath not to disperse until they had introduced a new\norder. Louis was nevertheless nearly successful in his plan of keeping\nthe sittings of the three estates separate. He was thwarted by the\neloquence and courage of Mirabeau. On June twenty-seventh a majority\nof the delegates from the two upper estates joined those of the third\nestate in constituting a national assembly.\n\nAt this juncture the court party began the disastrous policy which in\nthe end was responsible for most of the terrible excesses of the\nFrench Revolution, by insisting that troops should be called to\nrestrain the Assembly, and that Necker should be banished. Louis\nshowed the same vacillating spirit now that he had displayed in\nyielding to the Assembly, and assented. The noble officers had lately\nshown themselves untrustworthy, and the men in the ranks refused to\nobey when called to fight against the people. The baser social\nelements of the whole country had long since swarmed to the capital.\nTheir leaders now fanned the flame of popular discontent until at last\nresort was had to violence. On July twelfth the barriers of Paris were\nburned, and the regular troops were defeated by the mob in the Place\nVendome; on July fourteenth the Bastille, in itself a harmless\nanachronism, but considered by the masses to typify all the tyrannical\nshifts and inhuman oppressions known to despotism, was razed to the\nground. As if to crown their baseness, the extreme conservatives among\nthe nobles, the very men who had brought the King to such straits, now\nabandoned him and fled.\n\nLouis finally bowed to the storm, and came to reside among his people\nin Paris, as a sign of submission. Bailly, an excellent and judicious\nman, was made mayor of the city, and Lafayette, with his American\nlaurels still unfaded, was made commander of a newly organized force,\nto be known as the National Guard. On July seventeenth the King\naccepted the red, white, and blue--the recognized colors of\nliberty--as national. The insignia of a dynasty were exchanged for the\nbadge of a principle. A similar transformation took place throughout\nthe land, and administration everywhere passed quietly into the hands\nof the popular representatives. The flying nobles found their chateaux\nhotter than Paris. Not only must the old feudal privileges go, but\nwith them the old feudal grants, the charters of oppression in the\nmuniment chests. These charters the peasants insisted must be\ndestroyed. If they could not otherwise gain possession of them, they\nresorted to violence, and sometimes in the intoxication of the hour\nthey exceeded the bounds of reason, abusing both the persons and the\nlegitimate property of their enemies. Death or surrender was often the\nalternative. So it was that there was no refuge on their estates, not\neven a temporary one, for those who had so long possessed them. Many\nhad already passed into foreign lands; the emigration increased, and\ncontinued in a steady stream. The moderate nobles, honest patriots to\nwhom life in exile was not life at all, now clearly saw that their\norder must yield: in the night session of August fourth, sometimes\ncalled the \"St. Bartholomew of privilege,\" they surrendered their\nprivileges in a mass. Every vestige, not only of feudal, but also of\nchartered privilege, was to be swept away; even the King's\nhunting-grounds were to be reduced to the dimensions permitted to a\nprivate gentleman. All men alike, it was agreed, were to renounce the\nconventional and arbitrary distinctions which had created inequality\nin civil and political life, and accept the absolute equality of\ncitizenship. Liberty and fraternity were the two springers of the new\narch; its keystone was to be equality. On August twenty-third the\nAssembly decreed freedom of religious opinion; on the next day freedom\nof the press.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nBuonaparte and Revolution in Corsica.\n\n     Napoleon's Studies Continued at Auxonne -- Another Illness\n     and a Furlough -- His Scheme of Corsican Liberation -- His\n     Appearance at Twenty -- His Attainments and Character -- His\n     Shifty Conduct -- The Homeward Journey -- New Parties in\n     Corsica -- Salicetti and the Nationalists -- Napoleon\n     Becomes a Political Agitator and Leader of the Radicals --\n     The National Assembly Incorporates Corsica with France and\n     Grants Amnesty to Paoli -- Momentary Joy of the Corsican\n     Patriots -- The French Assembly Ridicules Genoa's Protest --\n     Napoleon's Plan for Corsican Administration.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1789-90.]\n\nSuch were the events taking place in the great world while Buonaparte\nwas at Auxonne. That town, as had been expected, was most uneasy, and\non July nineteenth, 1789, there was an actual outbreak of violence,\ndirected there, as elsewhere, against the tax-receivers. The riot was\neasily suppressed, and for some weeks yet, the regular round of\nstudious monotony in the young lieutenant's life was not disturbed\nexcept as his poverty made his asceticism more rigorous. \"I have no\nother resource but work,\" he wrote to his mother; \"I dress but once in\neight days [Sunday parade?]; I sleep but little since my illness; it\nis incredible. I retire at ten, and rise at four in the morning. I\ntake but one meal a day, at three; that is good for my health.\"\n\nMore bad news came from Corsica. The starving patriot fell seriously\nill, and for a time his life hung in the balance. On August eighth he\nwas at last sufficiently restored to travel, and applied for a\nsix-months' furlough, to begin immediately. Under the regulations, in\nspite of his previous leaves and irregularities, he was this year\nentitled to such a vacation, but not before October. His plea that the\nwinter was unfavorable for the voyage to Corsica was characteristic,\nfor it was neither altogether true nor altogether false. He was\nfeverish and ill, excited by news of turmoils at home, and wished to\nbe on the scene of action; this would have been a true and sufficient\nground for his request. It was likewise true, however, that his chance\nfor a smooth passage was better in August than in October, and this\nevident fact, though probably irrelevant, might move the authorities.\nTheir answer was favorable, and on September sixteenth he left\nAuxonne.\n\nIn the interval occurred a mutiny in the regiment. The pay of the men\nwas far in arrears, and they demanded a division of the surplus which\nhad accumulated from the various regimental grants, and which was\nmanaged by the officers for the benefit of their own mess. The\nofficers were compelled to yield, so far had revolutionary license\nsupplanted royal and military authority. Of course a general orgy\nfollowed. It seems to have been during these days that the scheme of\nCorsican liberation which brought him finally into the field of\npolitics took shape in Napoleon's mind. Fesch had returned to Corsica,\nand had long kept his nephew thoroughly informed of the situation. By\nthe anarchy prevailing all about him in France, and beginning to\nprevail in Corsica, his eyes were opened to the possibilities of the\nRevolution for one who knew how to take advantage of the changed\norder.\n\nThe appearance of Buonaparte in his twentieth year was not in general\nnoteworthy. His head was shapely, but not uncommon in size, although\ndisproportionate to the frame which bore it. His forehead was wide and\nof medium height; on each side long chestnut hair--lanky as we may\nsuppose from his own account of his personal habits--fell in stiff,\nflat locks over his lean cheeks. His eyes were large, and in their\nsteel-blue irises, lurking under deep-arched and projecting brows, was\na penetrating quality which veiled the mind within. The nose was\nstraight and shapely, the mouth large, the lips full and sensuous,\nalthough the powerful projecting chin diminished somewhat the true\neffect of the lower one. His complexion was sallow. The frame of his\nbody was in general small and fine, particularly his hands and feet;\nbut his deep chest and short neck were huge. This lack of proportion\ndid not, however, interfere with his gait, which was firm and steady.\nThe student of character would have declared the stripling to be\nself-reliant and secretive; ambitious and calculating; masterful, but\nkindly. In an age when phrenology was a mania, its masters found in\nhis cranium the organs of what they called imagination and causality,\nof individuality, comparison, and locality--by which jargon they meant\nto say that he had a strong power of imaging and of inductive\nreasoning, a knowledge of men, of places, and of things.\n\nThe life of the young officer had thus far been so commonplace as to\nawaken little expectation for his future. Poor as he was, and careful\nof his slim resources, he had, like the men of his class, indulged his\npassions to a certain degree; but he had not been riotous in his\nliving, and he had so far not a debt in the world. What his education\nand reading were makes clear that he could have known nothing with a\nscholar's comprehensive thoroughness except the essentials of his\nprofession. But he could master details as no man before or since; he\nhad a vast fund of information, and a historic outline drawn in fair\nproportion and powerful strokes. His philosophy was meager, but he\nknew the principles of Rousseau and Raynal thoroughly. His conception\nof politics and men was not scientific, but it was clear and\npractical. The trade of arms had not been to his taste. He heartily\ndisliked routine, and despised the petty duties of his rank. His\nprofession, however, was a means to an end; of any mastery of strategy\nor tactics or even interest in them he had as yet given no sign, but\nhe was absorbed in contemplating and analyzing the exploits of the\ngreat world-conquerors. In particular his mind was dazzled by the\nsplendors of the Orient as the only field on which an Alexander could\nhave displayed himself, and he knew what but a few great minds have\ngrasped, that the interchange of relations between the East and the\nWest had been the life of the world. The greatness of England he\nunderstood to be largely due to her bestriding the two hemispheres.\n\nUp to this moment he had been a theorist, and might have wasted his\nfine powers by further indulgence in dazzling generalizations, as so\nmany boys do when not called to test their hypotheses by experience.\nHenceforward he was removed from this temptation. A plan for an\nelective council in Corsica to replace that of the nobles, and for a\nlocal militia, having been matured, he was a cautious and practical\nexperimenter from the moment he left Auxonne. Thus far he had put into\npractice none of his fine thoughts, nor the lessons learned in books.\nThe family destitution had made him a solicitor of favors, and, but\nfor the turn in public affairs, he might have continued to be one. His\nown inclinations had made him both a good student and a poor officer;\nwithout a field for larger duties, he might have remained as he was.\nIn Corsica his line of conduct was not changed abruptly: the\npossibilities of greater things dawning gradually, the application of\ngreat conceptions already formed, came with the march of events, not\nlike the sun bursting out from behind a cloud.\n\nTraveling by way of Aix, Napoleon took the unlucky Lucien with him.\nThis wayward but independent younger brother, making no allowance, as\nhe tells us in his published memoirs, for the disdain an older boy at\nschool is supposed to feel for a younger one, blood relative or not,\nhad been repelled by the cold reception his senior had given him at\nBrienne. Having left that school against the advice of the same\nwould-be mentor, his suit for admission to Aix had been fruitless.\nNecessity was driving him homeward, and the two who in after days were\nagain to be separated were now, for almost the only time in their\nlives, companions for a considerable period. Their intercourse made\nthem no more harmonious in feeling. The only incident of the journey\nwas a visit to the Abbe Raynal at Marseilles. We would gladly know\nsomething of the talk between the master and the pupil, but we do not.\n\nNapoleon found no change in the circumstances of the Buonaparte\nfamily. The old archdeacon was still living, and for the moment all\nexcept Elisa were at home. On the whole, they were more needy than\never. The death of their patron, Marbeuf, had been followed by the\nfinal rejection of their long-urged suit, and this fact, combined with\nthe political opinions of the elder Lucien, was beginning to wean them\nfrom the official clique. There were the same factions as before--the\nofficial party and the patriots. Since the death of Charles de\nBuonaparte, the former had been represented at Versailles by\nButtafuoco, Choiseul's unworthy instrument in acquiring the island,\nand now, as then, an uninfluential and consequential self-seeker. Its\nmembers were all aristocrats and royalist in politics. The higher\npriesthood were of similar mind, and had chosen the Abbe Peretti to\nrepresent them; the parish priests, as in France, were with the\npeople. Both the higher classes were comparatively small; in spite of\ntwenty years of peace under French rule, they were both excessively\nunpopular, and utterly without any hold on the islanders. They had but\none partizan with an influential name, a son of the old-time patriot\nGaffori, the father-in-law of Buttafuoco. The overwhelming majority of\nthe natives were little changed in their temper. There were the old,\nunswerving patriots who wanted absolute independence, and were now\ncalled Paolists; there were the self-styled patriots, the younger men,\nwho wanted a protectorate that they might enjoy virtual independence\nand secure a career by peace. There was in the harbor towns on the\neastern <DW72> the same submissive, peace-loving temper as of old; in\nthe west the same fiery, warlike spirit. Corte was the center of\nPaoli's power, Calvi was the seat of French influence, Bastia was\nradical, Ajaccio was about equally divided between the younger and\nolder parties, with a strong infusion of official influence.\n\nBoth the representatives of the people in the national convention were\nof the moderate party; one of them, Salicetti, was a man of ability, a\nfriend of the Buonapartes, and destined later to influence deeply the\ncourse of their affairs. He and his colleague Colonna were urging on\nthe National Assembly measures for the local administration of the\nisland. To this faction, as to the other, it had become clear that if\nCorsica was to reap the benefits of the new era it must be by union\nunder Paoli. All, old and young alike, desired a thorough reform of\ntheir barbarous jurisprudence, and, like all other French subjects, a\nfree press, free trade, the abolition of all privilege, equality in\ntaxation, eligibility to office without regard to rank, and the\ndiminution of monastic revenues for the benefit of education. Nowhere\ncould such changes be more easily made than in a land just emerging\nfrom barbarism, where old institutions were disappearing and new ones\nwere still fluid. Paoli himself had come to believe that independence\ncould more easily be secured from a regenerated France, and with her\nhelp, than by a warfare which might again arouse the ambition of\nGenoa.\n\nBuonaparte's natural associates were the younger men--Masseria, son of\na patriot line; Pozzo di Borgo, Peraldi, Cuneo, Ramolini, and others\nless influential. The only Corsican with French military training, he\nwas, in view of uncertainties and probabilities already on the\nhorizon, a person of considerable consequence. His contribution to the\nschemes of the young patriots was significant: it consisted in a\nproposal to form a body of local militia for the support of that\ncentral committee which his friends so ardently desired. The plan was\npromptly adopted by the associates, the radicals seeing in it a means\nto put arms once more into the hands of the people, the others no\ndoubt having in mind the storming of the Bastille and the possibility\nof similar movements in Ajaccio and elsewhere. Buonaparte, the only\ntrained officer among them, may have dreamed of abandoning the French\nservice, and of a supreme command in Corsica. Many of the people who\nappeared well disposed toward France had from time to time received\npermission from the authorities to carry arms, many carried them\nsecretly and without a license; but proportionately there were so few\nin both classes that vigorous or successful armed resistance was in\nmost places impracticable. The attitude of the department of war at\nParis was regulated by Buttafuoco, and was of course hostile to the\ninsidious scheme of a local militia. The minister of war would do\nnothing but submit the suggestion to the body against whose influence\nit was aimed, the hated council of twelve nobles. The stupid sarcasm\nof such a step was well-nigh criminal.\n\nUnder such instigation the flames of discontent broke out in Corsica.\nPaoli's agents were again most active. In many towns the people rose\nto attack the citadels or barracks, and to seize the authority. In\nAjaccio Napoleon de Buonaparte promptly asserted himself as the\nnatural leader. The already existing democratic club was rapidly\norganized into the nucleus of a home guard, and recruited in numbers.\nBut there were none of Paoli's mountaineers to aid the unwarlike\nburghers, as there had been in Bastia. Gaffori appeared on the scene,\nbut neither the magic of his name, the troops that accompanied him,\nnor the adverse representations of the council, which he brought with\nhim, could allay the discontent. He therefore remained for three days\nin seclusion, and then departed in secret. On the other hand, the\npopulace was intimidated, permitting without resistance the rooms of\nthe club to be closed by the troops, and the town to be put under\nmartial law. Nothing remained for the agitators but to protest and\ndisperse. They held a final meeting, therefore, on October\nthirty-first, 1789, in one of the churches, and signed an appeal to\nthe National Assembly, to be presented by Salicetti and Colonna. It\nhad been written, and was read aloud, by Buonaparte, as he now signed\nhimself.[19] Some share in its composition was later claimed for\nJoseph, but the fiery style, the numerous blunders in grammar and\nspelling, the terse thought, and the concise form, are all\ncharacteristic of Napoleon. The right of petition, the recital of\nunjust acts, the illegal action of the council, the use of force, the\nhollowness of the pretexts under which their request had been\nrefused, the demand that the troops be withdrawn and redress\ngranted--all these are crudely but forcibly presented. The document\npresages revolution. Under a well-constituted and regular authority,\nits writer and signatories would of course have been punished for\ninsubordination. Even as things were, an officer of the King was\nrunning serious risks by his prominence in connection with it.\n\n              [Footnote 19: Printed in Coston, II, 94.]\n\nDiscouraging as was the outcome of this movement in Ajaccio, similar\nagitations elsewhere were more successful. The men of Isola Rossa,\nunder Arena, who had just returned from a consultation with Paoli in\nEngland, were entirely successful in seizing the supreme authority; so\nwere those of Bastia, under Murati, a devoted friend of Paoli. One\nuntrustworthy authority, a personal enemy of Buonaparte, declares that\nthe latter, thwarted in his own town, at once went over to Bastia,\nthen the residence of General de Barrin, the French royalist governor,\nand successfully directed the revolt in that place, but there is no\ncorroborative evidence to this doubtful story.\n\nSimultaneously with these events the National Assembly had been\ndebating how the position of the King under the new constitution was\nto be expressed by his title. Absolutism being ended, he could no\nlonger be king of France, a style which to men then living implied\nownership. King of the French was selected as the new form; should\nthey add \"and of Navarre\"? Salicetti, with consummate diplomacy, had\nalready warned many of his fellow-delegates of the danger lest England\nshould intervene in Corsica, and France lose one of her best\nrecruiting-grounds. To his compatriots he set forth that France was\nthe best protector, whether they desired partial or complete\nindependence. He now suggested that if the Assembly thus recognized\nthe separate identity of the Pyrenean people, they must supplement\ntheir phrase still further by the words \"and of Corsica\"; for it had\nbeen only nominally, and as a pledge, that Genoa in 1768 had put\nFrance in control. At this stage of the debate, Volney presented a\nnumber of formal demands from the Corsican patriots asking that the\nposition of their country be defined. One of these papers certainly\ncame from Bastia; among them also was probably the document which had\nbeen executed at Ajaccio. This was the culmination of the skilful\nrevolutionary agitation which had been started and directed by\nMasseria under Paoli's guidance. The anomalous position of both\nCorsica and Navarre was clearly depicted in the mere presentation of\nsuch petitions. \"If the Navarrese are not French, what have we to do\nwith them, or they with us?\" said Mirabeau. The argument was as\nunanswerable for one land as for the other, and both were incorporated\nin the realm: Corsica on November thirtieth, by a proposition of\nSalicetti's, who was apparently unwilling, but who posed as one under\nimperative necessity. In reality he had reached the goal for which he\nhad long been striving. Dumouriez, later so renowned as a general, and\nMirabeau, the great statesman and orator, had both been members of the\nFrench army of occupation which reduced Corsica to submission. The\nlatter now recalled his misdeed with sorrow and shame in an\nimpassioned plea for amnesty to all political offenders, including\nPaoli. There was bitter opposition, but the great orator prevailed.\n\nThe news was received in Corsica with every manifestation of joy;\nbonfires were lighted, and Te Deums were sung in the churches. Paoli\nto rejoin his own again! What more could disinterested patriots\ndesire? Corsica a province of France! How could her aspiring youth\nsecure a wider field for the exercise of their powers, and the\nattainment of ambitious ends? The desires of both parties were\ntemporarily fulfilled. The names of Mirabeau, Salicetti, and Volney\nwere shouted with acclaim, those of Buttafuoco and Peretti with\nreprobation. The regular troops were withdrawn from Ajaccio; the\nascendancy of the liberals was complete.\n\nThen feeble Genoa was heard once more. She had pledged the\nsovereignty, not sold it; had yielded its exercise, and not the thing\nitself; France might administer the government as she chose, but\nannexation was another matter. She appealed to the fairness of the\nKing and the National Assembly to safeguard her treaty rights. Her\ntone was querulous, her words without force. In the Assembly the\nprotest was but fuel to the fire. On January twenty-first, 1790,\noccurred an animated debate in which the matter was fully considered.\nThe discussion was notable, as indicating the temper of parties and\nthe nature of their action at that stage of the Revolution. Mirabeau\nas ever was the leader. He and his friends were scornful not only\nbecause of Genoa's temerity in seeming still to claim what France had\nconquered, but of her conception that mere paper contracts were\nbinding where principles of public law were concerned! The opposition\nmildly but firmly recalled the existence of other nations than France,\nand suggested the consequences of international bad faith. The\nconclusion of the matter was the adoption of a cunning and insolent\ncombination of two propositions, one made by each side, \"to lay the\nrequest on the table, or to explain that there is no occasion for its\nconsideration.\" The incident is otherwise important only in the light\nof Napoleon's future dealings with the Italian commonwealth.\n\nThe situation was now most delicate, as far as Buonaparte was\nconcerned. His suggestion of a local militia contemplated the\nextension of the revolutionary movement to Corsica. His appeal to the\nNational Assembly demanded merely the right to do what one French city\nor district after another had done: to establish local authority, to\nform a National Guard, and to unfurl the red, white, and blue. There\nwas nothing in it about the incorporation of Corsica in France; that\nhad come to pass through the insurgents of Bastia, who had been\norganized by Paoli, inspired by the attempt at Ajaccio, and guided at\nlast by Salicetti. A little later Buonaparte took pains to set forth\nhow much better, under his plan, would have been the situation of\nCorsican affairs if, with their guard organized and their colors\nmounted, they could have recalled Paoli, and have awaited the event\nwith power either to reject such propositions as the royalists, if\nsuccessful, would have made, or to accept the conclusions of the\nFrench Assembly with proper self-respect, and not on compulsion.\nHitherto he had lost no opportunity to express his hatred of France;\nit is possible that he had planned the virtual independence of\nCorsica, with himself as the liberator, or at least as Paoli's\nSampiero. The reservations of his Ajaccio document, and the bitterness\nof his feelings, are not, however, sufficient proof of such a\npresumption. But the incorporation had taken place, Corsica was a\nportion of France, and everybody was wild with delight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nFirst Lessons in Revolution.\n\n     French Soldier and Corsican Patriot -- Paoli's Hesitancy --\n     His Return to Corsica -- Cross-Purposes in France -- A New\n     Furlough -- Money Transactions of Napoleon and Joseph --\n     Open Hostilities Against France -- Address to the French\n     Assembly -- The Bastia Uprising -- Reorganization of\n     Corsican Administration -- Meeting of Napoleon and Paoli --\n     Corsican Politics -- Studies in Society.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1790.]\n\nWhat was to be the future of one whose feelings were so hostile to the\nnation with the fortunes of which he now seemed irrevocably\nidentified? There is no evidence that Buonaparte ever asked himself\nsuch disquieting questions. To judge from his conduct, he was not in\nthe least troubled. Fully aware of the disorganization, both social\nand military, which was well-nigh universal in France, with two months\nmore of his furlough yet unexpired, he awaited developments, not\nhastening to meet difficulties before they presented themselves. What\nthe young democrats could do, they did. The town government was\nentirely reorganized, with a friend of the Buonapartes as mayor, and\nJoseph--employed at last!--as his secretary. A local guard was also\nraised and equipped. Being French, however, and not Corsican, Napoleon\ncould not accept a command in it, for he was already an officer in the\nFrench army. But he served in the ranks as a common soldier, and was\nan ardent agitator in the club, which almost immediately reopened its\ndoors. In the impossibility of further action there was a relapse into\nauthorship. The history of Corsica was again revised, though not\nsoftened; the letters into which it was divided were addressed to\nRaynal. In collaboration with Fesch, Buonaparte also drew up a memoir\non the oath which was required from priests.\n\nWhen Paoli first received news of the amnesty granted at the instance\nof Mirabeau, and of the action taken by the French Assembly, which had\nmade Corsica a French department, he was delighted and deeply moved.\nHis noble instincts told him at once that he could no longer live in\nthe enjoyment of an English pension or even in England; for he was\nconvinced that his country would eventually reach a more perfect\nautonomy under France than under the wing of any other power, and that\nas a patriot he must not fail even in appearance to maintain that\nposition. But he also felt that his return to Corsica would endanger\nthe success of this policy; the ardent mountaineers would demand more\nextreme measures for complete independence than he could take; the\nlowlanders would be angry at the attitude of sympathy with his old\nfriends which he must assume. In a spirit of self-sacrifice,\ntherefore, he made ready to exchange his comfortable exile for one\nmore uncongenial and of course more bitter.\n\nBut the National Assembly, with less insight, desired nothing so much\nas his presence in the new French department. He was growing old, and\nyielded against his better judgment to the united solicitation of\nFrench interest and of Corsican impolicy. Passing through France, he\nwas detained for over two months by the ovations forced upon him. In\nParis the King urged him to accept honors of every kind; but they were\nfirmly refused: the reception, however, which the Assembly gave him in\nthe name of liberty, he declared to be the proudest occasion of his\nlife. At Lyons the populace crowded the streets to cheer him, and\ndelegations from the chief towns of his native island met him to\nsolicit for each of their respective cities the honor of his landing.\nOn July fourteenth, 1790, after twenty-one years of exile, the now\naged hero set foot on Corsican land at Maginajo, near Capo Corso. His\nfirst act was to kneel and kiss the soil. The nearest town was Bastia,\nthe revolutionary capital. There and elsewhere the rejoicings were\ngeneral, and the ceremonies were such as only the warm hearts and\nwilling hands of a primitive Italian people could devise and perform.\nNot one true Corsican but must \"see and hear and touch him.\" But in\nless than a month his conduct was, as he had foreseen, so\nmisrepresented by friend and foe alike, that it was necessary to\ndefend him in Paris against the charge of scheming to hand over the\nisland to England.\n\nIt is not entirely clear where Buonaparte was during this time. It is\nsaid that he was seen in Valence during the latter part of January,\nand the fact is adduced to show how deep and secret were his plans for\npreserving the double chance of an opening in either France or\nCorsica, as matters might turn out. The love-affair to which he refers\nin that thesis on the topic to which reference has been made would be\nan equally satisfactory explanation, considering his age. Whatever was\nthe fact as to those few days, he was not absent long. The serious\ndivision between the executive in France and the new Assembly came to\nlight in an ugly circumstance which occurred in March. On the\neighteenth a French flotilla unexpectedly appeared off St. Florent. It\nwas commanded by Rully, an ardent royalist, who had long been employed\nin Corsica. His secret instructions were to embark the French troops,\nand to leave the island to its fate. This was an adroit stab at the\nrepublicans of the Assembly; for, should the evacuation be secured,\nit was believed that either the radicals in Corsica would rise,\noverpower, and destroy the friends of France, call in English help,\nand diminish the number of democratic departments by one, or that\nGenoa would immediately step in and reassert her sovereignty. The\nmoderates of St. Florent were not to be thus duped; sharp and angry\ndiscussions arose among both citizens and troops as to the obedience\ndue to such orders, and soon both soldiers and townsfolk were in a\nfrenzy of excitement. A collision between the two parties occurred,\nand Rully was killed. Papers were found on his person which proved\nthat his sympathizers would gladly have abandoned Corsica to its fate.\nFor the moment the young Corsicans were more devoted than ever to\nPaoli, since now only through his good offices with the French\nAssembly could a chance for the success of their plans be secured.\n\nSuch was the diversity of opinion as to ways and means, as to\nresources, opportunities, and details, that everything was, for the\nmoment, in confusion. On April sixteenth Buonaparte applied for an\nextension of his furlough until the following October, on the plea of\ncontinued ill-health, that he might drink the waters a second time at\nOrezza, whose springs, he explained, had shown themselves to be\nefficacious in his complaint. He may have been at that resort once\nbefore, or he may not. Doubtless the fever was still lingering in his\nsystem. What the degree of his illness was we cannot tell. It may have\nunfitted him for active service with his regiment; it did not disable\nhim from pursuing his occupations in writing and political agitation.\nHis request was granted on May twentieth. The history of Corsica was\nnow finally revised, and the new dedication completed. This, with a\nletter and some chapters of the book, was forwarded to Raynal,\nprobably by post. Joseph, who was one of the delegates to meet Paoli,\nwould pass through Marseilles, wrote Napoleon to the abbe, and would\nhand him the rest if he should so desire. The text of the unlucky book\nwas not materially altered. Its theory appears always to have been\nthat history is but a succession of great names, and the story,\ntherefore, is more a biographical record than a connected narrative.\nThe dedication, however, was a new step in the painful progress of\nmore accurate thinking and better expression; the additions to the\nvolume contained, amid many immaturities and platitudes, some ripe and\nclever thought. Buonaparte's passion for his bantling was once more\nthe ardor of a misdirected genius unsullied by the desire for money,\nwhich had played a temporary part.\n\nWe know nothing definite of his pecuniary affairs, but somehow or\nother his fortunes must have mended. There is no other explanation of\nhis numerous and costly journeys, and we hear that for a time he had\nmoney in his purse. In the will which he dictated at St. Helena is a\nbequest of one hundred thousand francs to the children of his friend\nwho was the first mayor of Ajaccio by the popular will. It is not\nunlikely that the legacy was a grateful souvenir of advances made\nabout this time. There is another possible explanation. The club of\nAjaccio had chosen a delegation, of which Joseph Buonaparte was a\nmember, to bring Paoli home from France. To meet its expenses, the\nmunicipality had forced the authorities of the priests' seminary to\nopen their strong box and to hand over upward of two thousand francs.\nNapoleon may have shared Joseph's portion. We should be reminded in\nsuch a stroke, but with a difference, to be sure, of what happened\nwhen, a few years later, the hungry and ragged soldiers of the\nRepublic were led into the fat plains of Lombardy.\n\nThe contemptuous attitude of the Ajaccio liberals toward the religion\nof Rome seriously alienated the superstitious populace from them.\nBuonaparte was once attacked in the public square by a procession\norganized to deprecate the policy of the National Assembly with regard\nto the ecclesiastical estates. One of the few royalist officials left\nin Corsica also took advantage of the general disorder to express his\nfeelings plainly as to the acts of the same body. He was arrested,\ntried in Ajaccio, and acquitted by a sympathetic judge. At once the\nliberals took alarm; their club and the officials first protested, and\nthen on June twenty-fifth assumed the offensive in the name of the\nAssembly. It was on this occasion probably that he was seen by the\nfamily friend who narrated his memories to the English diarist already\nmentioned. \"I remember to have seen Napoleon very active among the\nenraged populace against those then called aristocrats, and running\nthrough the streets of Ajaccio so busy in promoting dissatisfaction\nthat, though he lost his hat, he did not feel nor care for the effects\nof the scorching sun to which he was exposed the whole of that\nmemorable day. The revolution having struck its poisonous root,\nNapoleon never ceased stirring up his brothers, Joseph and Lucien,\nwho, being moved at his instance, were constantly attending clubs and\npopular meetings where they often delivered speeches and debated\npublic matters, while Napoleon sat listening in silence, as he had no\nturn for oratory.\" \"One day in December,\" the narrator continues, \"I\nwas sent for by his uncle already mentioned, in order to assist him in\npreparing his testament; and, after having settled his family\nconcerns, the conversation turned upon politics, when, speaking of the\nimprobability of Italy being revolutionized, Napoleon, then present,\nquickly replied: 'Had I the command, I would take Italy in twenty-four\nhours.'\"[20]\n\n              [Footnote 20: Correspondence of Sir John Sinclair, I,\n              47.]\n\nAt last the opportunity to emulate the French cities seemed assured.\nIt was determined to organize a local independent government, seize\nthe citadel with the help of the home guard, and throw the hated\nroyalists into prison. But the preparations were too open: the\ngovernor and most of his friends fled in season to their stronghold,\nand raised the drawbridge; the agitators could lay hands on but four\nof their enemies, among whom were the judge, the offender, and an\nofficer of the garrison. So great was the disappointment of the\nradicals that they would have vented their spite on these; it was with\ndifficulty that the lives of the prisoners were saved by the efforts\nof the militia officers. The garrison really sympathized with the\ninsurgents, and would not obey orders to suppress the rising by an\nattack. In return for this forbearance the regular soldiers stipulated\nfor the liberation of their officer. In the end the chief offenders\namong the radicals were punished by imprisonment or banished, and the\ntumult subsided; but the French officials now had strong support, not\nonly from the hierarchy, as before, but from the plain pious people\nand their priests.\n\nThis result was a second defeat for Napoleon Buonaparte, who was\nalmost certainly the instigator and leader of the uprising. He had\nbeen ready at any moment to assume the direction of affairs, but again\nthe outcome of such a movement as could alone secure a possible\ntemporary independence for Corsica and a military command for himself\nwas absolutely naught. Little perturbed by failure, he took up the pen\nto write a proclamation justifying the action of the municipal\nauthorities. The paper was dated October thirty-first, 1789, and\nfearlessly signed both by himself and the other leaders, including the\nmayor. It execrates the sympathizers with the old order in France, and\nlauds the Assembly, with all its works; denounces those who sold the\nland to France, which could offer nothing but an end of the chain that\nbound her; and warns the enemies of the new constitution that their\nday is over. There is a longing reference to the ideal self-determination\nwhich the previous attempt might have secured. The present rising is\njustified, however, as an effort to carry out the principles of the\nnew charter.[21] There are the same suggested force and suppressed\nfury as in his previous manifesto, the same fervid rhetoric, the same\nlack of coherence in expression. The same two elements, that of the\neighteenth-century metaphysics and that of his own uncultured force,\ncombine in the composition. Naturally enough, the unrest of the town\nwas not diminished; there was even a slight collision between the\ngarrison and the civil authorities.\n\n              [Footnote 21: For the text see Napoleon inconnu, II,\n              92.]\n\nBuonaparte was of course suspected and hated by Catholics and military\nalike. French officer though he was, no one in Corsica thought of him\notherwise than as a Corsican revolutionist. Among his own friends he\ncontinued his unswerving career. It was he who was chosen to write the\naddress from Ajaccio to Paoli, although the two men did not meet until\nsomewhat later. With the arrival of the great liberator the grasp of\nthe old officials on the island relaxed, and the bluster of the few\nwho had grown rich in the royal service ceased. The Assembly was\nfinally triumphant; this new department was at last to be organized\nlike those of the adoptive mother. It was high time, for the public\norder was seriously endangered in this transition period. The\ndisturbances at Ajaccio had been trifling compared with the\nrevolutionary procedure inaugurated and carried to extremes in Bastia.\nThis city being the capital and residence of the governor, Buonaparte\nand his comrades had no sooner completed their address to the French\nAssembly than they hurried thither to beard de Barrin and\nrevolutionize the garrison. Their success was complete: garrison and\ncitizens alike were roused and the governor cowed. Both soldiers and\npeople assumed the tricolor cockade on November fifth, 1789. Barrin\neven assented to the formation of a national militia. On this basis\norder was established. This was another affair from that at Ajaccio\nand attracted the attention of the Paris Assembly, strongly\ninfluencing the government in its arrangements with Paoli. The young\nBuonaparte was naturally very uneasy as to his position and so\nremained fairly quiet until February, when the incorporation of the\nisland with France was completed. Immediately he gave free vent to his\nenergies. Two letters of Napoleon's written in August, 1790, display a\nfeverish spirit of unrest in himself, and enumerate the many uprisings\nin the neighborhood with their varying degrees of success. Under\nprovisional authority, arrangements were made, after some delay, to\nhold elections for the officials of the new system whose legal\ndesignation was directors. Their appointment and conduct would be\ndeterminative of Corsica's future, and were therefore of the highest\nimportance.\n\nIn a pure democracy the voters assemble to deliberate and record their\ndecisions. Such were the local district meetings in Corsica. These\nchose the representatives to the central constituent assembly, which\nwas to meet at Orezza on September ninth, 1790. Joseph Buonaparte and\nFesch were among the members sent from Ajaccio. The healing waters\nwhich Napoleon wished to quaff at Orezza were the influence of the\ndebates. Although he could not be a member of the assembly on account\nof his youth, he was determined to be present. The three relatives\ntraveled from their home in company, Joseph enchanted by the scenery,\nNapoleon studying the strategic points on the way. In order that his\npresence at Orezza might not unduly affect the course of events, Paoli\nhad delicately chosen as his temporary home the village of Rostino,\nwhich was on their route. Here occurred the meeting between the two\ngreat Corsicans, the man of ideas and the man of action. No doubt\nPaoli was anxious to win a family so important and a patriot so\nardent. In any case, he invited the three young men to accompany him\nover the fatal battle-ground of Ponte Nuovo. If it had really been\nNapoleon's ambition to become the chief of the French National Guard\nfor Corsica, which would now, in all probability, be fully organized,\nit is very likely that he would have exerted himself to secure the\nfavor of the only man who could fulfil his desire. There is, however,\na tradition which tends to show quite the contrary: it is said that\nafter Paoli had pointed out the disposition of his troops for the\nfatal conflict Napoleon dryly remarked, \"The result of these\narrangements was just what it was bound to be.\" Among the Emperor's\nreminiscences at the close of his life, he recalled this meeting,\nbecause Paoli had on that occasion declared him to be a man of ancient\nmold, like one of Plutarch's heroes.\n\nThe constituent assembly at Orezza sat for a month. Its sessions\npassed almost without any incident of importance except the first\nappearance of Napoleon as an orator in various public meetings held in\nconnection with its labors. He is said to have been bashful and\nembarrassed in his beginnings, but, inspirited by each occasion, to\nhave become more fluent, and finally to have won the attention and\napplause of his hearers. What he said is not known, but he spoke in\nItalian, and succeeded in his design of being at least a personage in\nthe pregnant events now occurring. Both parties were represented in\nthe proceedings and conclusions of the convention. Corsica was to\nconstitute but a single department. Paoli was elected president of its\ndirectory and commander-in-chief of its National Guard, a combination\nof offices which again made him virtual dictator. He accepted them\nunwillingly, but the honors of a statue and an annual grant of ten\nthousand dollars, which were voted at the same time, he absolutely\ndeclined. The Paolist party secured the election of Canon Belce as\nvice-president, of Panatheri as secretary, of Arena as Salicetti's\nsubstitute, of Pozzo di Borgo and Gentili as members of the directory.\nColonna, one of the delegates to the National Assembly, was a member\nof the same group. The younger patriots, or Young Corsica, as we\nshould say now, perhaps, were represented by their delegate and leader\nSalicetti, who was chosen as plenipotentiary in Buttafuoco's place,\nand by Multedo, Gentili, and Pompei as members of the directory. For\nthe moment, however, Paoli was Corsica, and such petty politics was\nsignificant only as indicating the survival of counter-currents. There\nwas some dissent to a vote of censure passed upon the conduct of\nButtafuoco and Peretti, but it was insignificant. Pozzo di Borgo and\nGentili were chosen to declare at the bar of the National Assembly the\ndevotion of Corsica to its purposes, and to the course of reform as\nrepresented by it. They were also to secure, if possible, both the\npermission to form a departmental National Guard, and the means to pay\nand arm it.\n\nThe choice of Pozzo di Borgo for a mission of such importance in\npreference to Joseph was a disappointment to the Buonapartes. In fact,\nnot one of the plans concerted by the two brothers succeeded. Joseph\nsustained the pretensions of Ajaccio to be capital of the island, but\nthe honor was awarded to Bastia. He was not elected a member of the\ngeneral directory, though he succeeded in being made a member for\nAjaccio in the district directory. Whether to work off his ill humor,\nor from far-seeing purpose, Napoleon used the hours not spent in\nwire-pulling and listening to the proceedings of the assembly for\nmaking a series of excursions which were a virtual canvass of the\nneighborhood. The houses of the poorest were his resort; partly by his\ninborn power of pleasing, partly by diplomacy, he won their hearts and\nlearned their inmost feelings. His purse, which was for the moment\nfull, was open for their gratification in a way which moved them\ndeeply. For years target practice had been forbidden, as giving\ndangerous skill in the use of arms. Liberty having returned, Napoleon\nreorganized many of the old rural festivals in which contests of that\nnature had been the chief feature, offering prizes from his own means\nfor the best marksmen among the youth. His success in feeling the\npulse of public opinion was so great that he never forgot the lesson.\nNot long afterward, in the neighborhood of Valence,--in fact, to the\nlatest times,--he courted the society of the lowly, and established,\nwhen possible, a certain intimacy with them. This gave him popularity,\nwhile at the same time it enabled him to obtain the most valuable\nindications of the general temper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTraits of Character.\n\n     Literary Work -- The Lyons Prize -- Essay on Happiness --\n     Thwarted Ambition -- The Corsican Patriots -- The Brothers\n     Napoleon and Louis -- Studies in Politics -- Reorganization\n     of the Army -- The Change in Public Opinion -- A New Leave\n     of Absence -- Napoleon Again at Auxonne -- Napoleon as a\n     Teacher -- Further Literary Efforts -- The Sentimental\n     Journey -- His Attitude Toward Religion.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1791.]\n\nOn his return to Ajaccio, the rising agitator continued as before to\nfrequent his club. The action of the convention at Orezza in\ndisplacing Buttafuoco had inflamed the young politicians still more\nagainst the renegade. This effect was further heightened when it was\nknown that, at the reception of their delegates by the National\nAssembly, the greater council had, under Mirabeau's leadership,\nvirtually taken the same position regarding both him and his\ncolleague. Napoleon had written, probably in the previous year, a\nnotorious diatribe against Buttafuoco in the form of a letter to its\nobject and the very night on which the news from Paris was received,\nhe seized the opportunity to read it before the club at Ajaccio. The\npaper, as now in existence, is pompously dated January twenty-third,\n1791, from \"my summer house of Milleli.\" This was the retreat on one\nof the little family properties, to which reference has been made.\nThere in the rocks was a grotto known familiarly by that name;\nNapoleon had improved and beautified the spot, using it, as he did his\ngarden at Brienne, for contemplation and quiet study. Although the\nletter to Matteo Buttafuoco has been often printed, and was its\nauthor's first successful effort in writing, much emphasis should not\nbe laid on it except in noting the better power to express tumultuous\nfeeling, and in marking the implications which show an expansion of\ncharacter. Insubordinate to France it certainly is, and intemperate;\nturgid, too, as any youth of twenty could well make it. No doubt,\nalso, it was intended to secure notoriety for the writer. It makes\nclear the thorough apprehension its author had as to the radical\ncharacter of the Revolution. It is his final and public renunciation\nof the royalist principles of Charles de Buonaparte. It contains also\nthe last profession of morality which a youth is not ashamed to make\nbefore the cynicism of his own life becomes too evident for the\ncastigation of selfishness and insincerity in others. Its substance is\na just reproach to a selfish trimmer; the froth and scum are\ncharacteristic rather of the time and the circumstances than of the\npersonality behind them. There is no further mention of a difference\nbetween the destinies of France and Corsica. To compare the pamphlet\nwith even the poorest work of Rousseau, as has often been done, is\nabsurd; to vilify it as ineffective trash is equally so.\n\nAs may be imagined, the \"Letter\" was received with mad applause, and\nordered to be printed. It was now the close of January; Buonaparte's\nleave had expired on October fifteenth. On November sixteenth, after\nloitering a whole month beyond his time, he had secured a document\nfrom the Ajaccio officials certifying that both he and Louis were\ndevoted to the new republican order, and bespeaking assistance for\nboth in any difficulties which might arise. The busy Corsican\nperfectly understood that he might already at that time be regarded as\na deserter in France, but still he continued his dangerous loitering.\nHe had two objects in view, one literary, one political. Besides the\nsuccessful \"Letter\" he had been occupied with a second composition,\nthe notion of which had probably occupied him as his purse grew\nleaner. The jury before which this was to be laid was to be, however,\nnot a heated body of young political agitators, but an association of\nold and mature men with calm, critical minds--the Lyons Academy. That\nsociety was finally about to award a prize of fifteen hundred livres\nfounded by Raynal long before--as early as 1780--for the best thesis\non the question: \"Has the discovery of America been useful or hurtful\nto the human race? If the former, how shall we best preserve and\nincrease the benefits? If the latter, how shall we remedy the evils?\"\nAmericans must regret that the learned body had been compelled for\nlack of interest in so concrete a subject to change the theme, and now\noffered in its place the question: \"What truths and ideas should be\ninculcated in order best to promote the happiness of mankind?\"\n\nNapoleon's astounding paper on this remarkable theme was finished in\nDecember. It bears the marks of carelessness, haste, and\nover-confidence in every direction--in style, in content, and in lack\nof accuracy. \"Illustrious Raynal,\" writes the author, \"the question I\nam about to discuss is worthy of your steel, but without assuming to\nbe metal of the same temper, I have taken courage, saying to myself\nwith Correggio, I, too, am a painter.\" Thereupon follows a long\nencomium upon Paoli, whose principal merit is explained to have been\nthat he strove in his legislation to keep for every man a property\nsufficient with moderate exertion on his own part for the sustenance\nof life. Happiness consists in living conformably to the constitution\nof our organization. Wealth is a misfortune, primogeniture a relic of\nbarbarism, celibacy a reprehensible practice. Our animal nature\ndemands food, shelter, clothing, and the companionship of woman. These\nare the essentials of happiness; but for its perfection we require\nboth reason and sentiment. These theses are the tolerable portions,\nbeing discussed with some coherence. But much of the essay is mere\nmeaningless rhetoric and bombast, which sounds like the effusion of a\nboyish rhapsodist. \"At the sound of your [reason's] voice let the\nenemies of nature be still, and swallow their serpents' tongues in\nrage.\" \"The eyes of reason restrain mankind from the precipice of the\npassions, as her decrees modify likewise the feeling of their rights.\"\nMany other passages of equal absurdity could be quoted, full of\nfar-fetched metaphor, abounding in strange terms, straining rhetorical\nfigures to distortion.[22] And yet in spite of the bombast, certain\nessential Napoleonic ideas appear in the paper much as they endured to\nthe end, namely, those on heredity, on the equal division of property,\nand on the nature of civil society. And there is one prophetic\nsentence which deserves to be quoted. \"A disordered imagination! there\nlies the cause and source of human misfortune. It sends us wandering\nfrom sea to sea, from fancy to fancy, and when at last it grows calm,\nopportunity has passed, the hour strikes, and its possessor dies\nabhorring life.\" In later days the author threw what he probably\nsupposed was the only existing manuscript of this vaporing effusion\ninto the fire. But a copy of it had been made at Lyons, perhaps\nbecause one of the judges thought, as he said, that it \"might have\nbeen written by a man otherwise gifted with common sense.\" Another has\nbeen found among the papers confided by Napoleon to Fesch. The proofs\nof authenticity are complete. It seems miraculous that its writer\nshould have become, as he did, master of a concise and nervous style\nwhen once his words became the complement of his deeds.\n\n              [Footnote 22: These phrases may nearly all be found in\n              the notes which he had taken or jottings he had made\n              while reading Voltaire and Rousseau: Napoleon inconnu,\n              II, 209-292.]\n\nThe second cause for Buonaparte's delay in returning to France on the\nexpiration of his furlough was his political and military ambition.\nThis was suddenly quenched by the receipt of news that the Assembly at\nParis would not create the longed-for National Guard, nor the ministry\nlend itself to any plan for circumventing the law. It was, therefore,\nevident that every chance of becoming Paoli's lieutenant was finally\ngone. By the advice of the president himself, therefore, Buonaparte\ndetermined to withdraw once more to France and to await results.\nCorsica was still distracted. A French official sent by the war\ndepartment just at this time to report on its condition is not sparing\nof the language he uses to denounce the independent feeling and\nanti-French sympathies of the people. \"The Italian,\" he says,\n\"acquiesces, but does not forgive; an ambitious man keeps no faith,\nand estimates his life by his power.\" The agent further describes the\nCorsicans as so accustomed to unrest by forty years of anarchy that\nthey would gladly seize the first occasion to throw off the domination\nof laws which restrain the social disorder. The Buonaparte faction,\nenumerated with the patriot brigand Zampaglini at their head, he calls\n\"despicable creatures,\" \"ruined in reputation and credit.\"\n\nIt would be hard to find a higher compliment to Paoli and his friends,\nconsidering the source from which these words emanated. They were all\npoor and they were all in debt. Even now, in the age of reform, they\nsaw their most cherished plans thwarted by the presence in every town\nof garrisons composed of officers and men who, though long resident\nin the island, and attached to its people by many ties, were\nnevertheless conservative in their feelings, and, by the instinct of\ntheir tradition and discipline, devoted to the still powerful official\nbureaus not yet destroyed by the Revolution. To replace these by a\nwell-organized and equipped National Guard was now the most ardent\nwish of all patriots. There was nothing unworthy in Napoleon's longing\nfor a command under the much desired but ever elusive reconstitution\nof a force organized and armed according to the model furnished by\nFrance itself. Repeated disappointments like those he had suffered\nbefore, and was experiencing again, would have crushed the spirit of a\ncommon man.\n\nBut the young author had his manuscripts in his pocket; one of them he\nhad means and authority to publish. Perfectly aware, moreover, of the\ndisorganization in the nation and the army, careless of the order\nfulminated on December second, 1790, against absent officers, which he\nknew to be aimed especially at the young nobles who were deserting in\ntroops, with his spirit undaunted, and his brain full of resources, he\nleft Ajaccio on February first, 1791, having secured a new set of\ncertificates as to his patriotism and devotion to the cause of the\nRevolution. Like the good son and the good brother which he had always\nbeen, he was not forgetful of his family. Life at his home had not\nbecome easier. Joseph, to be sure, had an office and a career, but the\nyounger children were becoming a source of expense, and Lucien would\nnot accept the provision which had been made for him. The next, now\nready to be educated and placed, was Louis, a boy already between\ntwelve and thirteen years old; accordingly Louis accompanied his\nbrother. Napoleon had no promise, not even an outlook, for the child;\nbut he determined to have him at hand in case anything should turn\nup, and while waiting, to give him from his own slender means whatever\nprecarious education the times and circumstances could afford. We can\nunderstand the untroubled confidence of the boy; we must admire the\ntrust, determination, and self-reliance of the elder brother.\n\nThough he had overrun his leave for three and a half months, there was\nnot only no severe punishment in store for Napoleon on his arrival at\nAuxonne, but there was considerate regard, and, later, promotion.\nOfficers with military training and loyal to the Assembly were\nbecoming scarce. The brothers had traveled slowly, stopping first for\na short time at Marseilles, and then at Aix to visit friends,\nwandering several days in a leisurely way through the parts of\nDauphiny round about Valence. Associating again with the country\npeople, and forming opinions as to the course of affairs, Buonaparte\nreopened his correspondence with Fesch on February eighth from the\nhamlet of Serve in order to acquaint him with the news and the\nprospects of the country, describing in particular the formation of\npatriotic societies by all the towns to act in concert for carrying\nout the decrees of the Assembly.[23] This beginning of \"federation for\nthe Revolution,\" as it was called, in its spread finally welded the\nwhole country, civil and even military authorities, together.\nNapoleon's presence in the time and place of its beginning explains\nmuch that followed. It was February thirteenth when he rejoined his\nregiment.\n\n              [Footnote 23: \"I am in the cabin of a poor man whence I\n              like to write you after long conversation with these\n              good people.\" Nasica, p. 161.]\n\nComparatively short as had been the time of Buonaparte's absence,\neverything in France, even the army, had changed and was still\nchanging. Step by step the most wholesome reforms were introduced as\neach in turn showed itself essential: promotion exclusively according\nto service among the lower officers; the same, with room for royal\ndiscretion, among the higher grades; division of the forces into\nregulars, reserves, and national guards, the two former to be still\nrecruited by voluntary enlistment. The ancient and privileged\nconstabulary, and many other formerly existing but inefficient armed\nbodies, were swept away, and the present system of gendarmerie was\ncreated. The military courts, too, were reconstituted under an\nimpartial body of martial law. Simple numbers were substituted for the\ntitular distinctions hitherto used by the regiments, and a fair\nschedule of pay, pensions, and military honors abolished all chance\nfor undue favoritism. The necessity of compulsory enlistment was urged\nby a few with all the energy of powerful conviction, but the plan was\ndismissed as despotic. The Assembly debated as to whether, under the\nnew system, king or people should wield the military power. They could\nfind no satisfactory solution, and finally adopted a weak compromise\nwhich went far to destroy the power of Mirabeau, because carried\nthrough by him. The entire work of the commission was temporarily\nrendered worthless by these two essential defects--there was no way of\nfilling the ranks, no strong arm to direct the system.\n\nThe first year of trial, 1790, had given the disastrous proof. By this\ntime all monarchical and absolutist Europe was awakened against\nFrance; only a mere handful of enthusiastic men in England and\nAmerica, still fewer elsewhere, were in sympathy with her efforts. The\nstolid common sense of the rest saw only ruin ahead, and viewed\naskance the idealism of her unreal subtleties. The French nobles,\nsickened by the thought of reform, had continued their silly and\nwicked flight; the neighboring powers, now preparing for an armed\nresistance to the spread of the Revolution, were not slow to abet\nthem in their schemes. On every border agencies for the encouragement\nof desertion were established, and by the opening of 1791 the\neffective fighting force of France was more than decimated. There was\nno longer any question of discipline; it was enough if any person\nworthy to command or serve could be retained. But the remedy for this\ndisorganization was at hand. In the letter to Fesch, to which\nreference has already been made, Napoleon, after his observations\namong the people, wrote: \"I have everywhere found the peasants firm in\ntheir stirrups [steadfast in their opinions], especially in Dauphiny.\nThey are all disposed to perish in support of the constitution. I saw\nat Valence a resolute people, patriotic soldiers, and aristocratic\nofficers. There are, however, some exceptions, for the president of\nthe club is a captain named du Cerbeau. He is captain in the regiment\nof Forez in garrison at Valence.... The women are everywhere royalist.\nIt is not amazing; Liberty is a prettier woman than they, and eclipses\nthem. All the parish priests of Dauphiny have taken the civic oath;\nthey make sport of the bishop's outcry.... What is called good society\nis three fourths aristocratic--that is, they disguise themselves as\nadmirers of the English constitution.\"\n\nWhat a concise, terse sketch of that rising tide of national feeling\nwhich was soon to make good all defects and to fill all gaps in the\nnew military system, put the army as part of the nation under the\npopular assembly, knit regulars, reserves, and home guard into one,\nand give moral support to enforcing the proposal for compulsory\nenlistment!\n\nThis movement was Buonaparte's opportunity. Declaring that he had\ntwice endeavored since the expiration of his extended furlough to\ncross into France, he produced certificates to that effect from the\nauthorities of Ajaccio, and begged for his pay and allowances since\nthat date. His request was granted. It is impossible to deny the truth\nof his statement, or the genuineness of his certificates. But both\nwere loose perversions of a half-truth, shifts palliated by the\nuncertainties of a revolutionary epoch. A habitual casuistry is\nfurther shown in an interesting letter written at the same time to M.\nJames, a business friend of Joseph's at Chalons, in which there occurs\na passage of double meaning, to the effect that his elder brother\n\"hopes to come in person the following year as deputy to the National\nAssembly,\" which was no doubt true; for, in spite of being\nincapacitated by age, he had already sat in the Corsican convention\nand in the Ajaccio councils. But the imperfect French of the passage\ncould also mean, and, casually read, does carry the idea, that Joseph,\nbeing already a deputy, would visit his friend the following year in\nperson.\n\nBuonaparte's connection with his old regiment was soon to be broken.\nHe joined it on February thirteenth; he left it on June fourteenth.\nWith these four months his total service was five years and nine\nmonths; but he had been absent, with or without leave, something more\nthan half the time! His old friends in Auxonne were few in number, if\nindeed there were any at all. No doubt his fellow-officers were tired\nof performing the absentee's duties, and of good-fellowship there\ncould be in any case but little, with such difference of taste,\npolitics, and fortune as there was between him and them. However, he\nmade a few new friends; but it was in the main the old solitary life\nwhich he resumed. His own room was in a cheap lodging-house, and,\naccording to the testimony of a visitor, furnished with a wretched\nuncurtained couch, a table, and two chairs. Louis slept on a pallet in\na closet near by. All pleasures but those of hope were utterly\nbanished from those plucky lives, while they studied in preparation\nfor the examination which might admit the younger to his brother's\ncorps. The elder pinched and scraped to pay the younger's board;\nhimself, according to a probable but rather untrustworthy account,\nbrushing his own clothes that they might last longer, and supping\noften on dry bread. His only place of resort was the political club.\nOne single pleasure he allowed himself--the occasional purchase of\nsome long-coveted volume from the shelves of a town bookseller.[24]\n\n              [Footnote 24: Napoleon inconnu, II, 108 _et seq._]\n\nOf course neither authorship nor publication was forgotten. During\nthese months were completed the two short pieces, a \"Dialogue on\nLove,\" and the acute \"Reflections on the State of Nature,\" from both\nof which quotations have already been given. \"I too was once in love,\"\nhe says of himself in the former. It could not well have been in\nAjaccio, and it must have been the memories of the old Valence, of a\npleasant existence now ended, which called forth the doleful\nconfession. It was the future Napoleon who was presaged in the\nantithesis. \"I go further than the denial of its existence; I believe\nit hurtful to society, to the individual welfare of men.\" The other\ntrenchant document demolishes the cherished hypothesis of Rousseau as\nto man in a state of nature. The precious manuscripts brought from\nCorsica were sent to the only publisher in the neighborhood, at Dole.\nThe much-revised history was refused; the other--whether by moneys\nfurnished from the Ajaccio club, or at the author's risk, is not\nknown--was printed in a slim octavo volume of twenty-one pages, and\npublished with the title, \"Letter of Buonaparte to Buttafuoco.\" A copy\nwas at once sent to Paoli with a renewed request for such documents as\nwould enable the writer to complete his pamphlet on Corsica. The\npatriot again replied in a very discouraging tone: Buttafuoco was too\ncontemptible for notice, the desired papers he was unable to send, and\nsuch a boy could not in any case be a historian. Buonaparte was\nundismayed and continued his researches. Joseph was persuaded to add\nhis solicitations for the desired papers to those of his brother, but\nhe too received a flat refusal.\n\nShort as was Buonaparte's residence at Auxonne, he availed himself to\nthe utmost of the slackness of discipline in order to gratify his\ncuriosity as to the state of the country. He paid frequent visits to\nMarmont in Dijon, and he made what he called at St. Helena his\n\"Sentimental Journey to Nuits\" in Burgundy. The account he gave Las\nCases of the aristocracy in the little city, and of its assemblies at\nthe mansion of a wine-merchant's widow, is most entertaining. To his\nhost Gassendi and to the worthy mayor he aired his radical doctrines\nwith great complacence, but according to his own account he had not\nthe best of it in the discussions which ensued. Under the empire\nGassendi's son was a member of the council of state, and in one of its\nsessions he dared to support some of his opinions by quoting Napoleon\nhimself. The Emperor remembered perfectly the conversation at Nuits,\nbut meaningly said that his friend must have been asleep and dreaming.\n\nSeveral traditions which throw some light on Buonaparte's attitude\ntoward religion date from this last residence in Auxonne. He had been\nprepared for confirmation at Brienne by a confessor who was now in\nretirement at Dole, the same to whom when First Consul he wrote an\nacknowledgment of his indebtedness, adding: \"Without religion there is\nno happiness, no future possible. I commend me to your prayers.\" The\ndwelling of this good man was the frequent goal of his walks abroad.\nAgain, he once jocularly asked a friend who visited him in his room,\nif he had heard mass that morning, opening, as he spoke, a trunk, in\nwhich was the complete vestment of a priest. The regimental chaplain,\nwho must have been his friend, had confided it to him for\nsafe-keeping. Finally, it was in these dark and never-forgotten days\nof trial that Louis was confirmed, probably by the advice of his\nbrother. Even though Napoleon had collaborated with Fesch in the paper\non the oath of priests to the constitution, though he himself had been\nmobbed in Corsica as the enemy of the Church, it does not appear that\nhe had any other than decent and reverent feelings toward religion and\nits professors.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe Revolution in the Rhone Valley.\n\n     A Dark Period -- Buonaparte, First Lieutenant -- Second\n     Sojourn in Valence -- Books and Reading -- The National\n     Assembly of France -- The King Returns from Versailles --\n     Administrative Reforms in France -- Passing of the Old Order\n     -- Flight of the King -- Buonaparte's Oath to Sustain the\n     Constitution -- His View of the Situation -- His\n     Revolutionary Zeal -- Insubordination -- Impatience with\n     Delay -- A Serious Blunder Avoided -- Return to Corsica.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1791.]\n\nThe tortuous course of Napoleon's life for the years from 1791 to 1795\nhas been neither described nor understood by those who have written in\nhis interest. It was his own desire that his biographies, in spite of\nthe fact that his public life began after Rivoli, should commence with\nthe recovery of Toulon for the Convention. His detractors, on the\nother hand, have studied this prefatory period with such evident bias\nthat dispassionate readers have been repelled from its consideration.\nAnd yet the sordid tale well repays perusal; for in this epoch of his\nlife many of his characteristic qualities were tempered and ground to\nthe keen edge they retained throughout. Swept onward toward the\ntrackless ocean of political chaos, the youth seemed afloat without\noars or compass: in reality, his craft was well under control, and his\nchart correct. Whether we attribute his conduct to accident or to\ndesign, from an adventurer's point of view the instinct which made him\nspread his sails to the breezes of Jacobin favor was quite as sound as\nthat which later, when Jacobinism came to be abhorred, made him\nanxious that the fact should be forgotten.\n\nIn the earlier stages of army reorganization, changes were made\nwithout much regard to personal merit, the dearth of efficient\nofficers being such that even the most indifferent had some value.\nAbout the first of June, 1791, Buonaparte was promoted to the rank of\nfirst lieutenant, with a salary of thirteen hundred livres, and\ntransferred to the Fourth Regiment, which was in Valence. He heard the\nnews with mingled feelings: promotion was, of course, welcome, but he\nshrank from returning to his former station, and from leaving the\nthree or four warm friends he had among his comrades in the old\nregiment. On the ground that the arrangements he had made for\neducating Louis would be disturbed by the transfer, he besought the\nwar office for permission to remain at Auxonne with the regiment, now\nknown as the First. Probably the real ground of his disinclination was\nthe fear that a residence at Valence might revive the painful emotions\nwhich time had somewhat withered. He may also have felt how discordant\nthe radical opinions he was beginning to hold would be with those\nstill cherished by his former friends. But the authorities were\ninexorable, and on June fourteenth the brothers departed, Napoleon for\nthe first time leaving debts which he could not discharge: for the new\nuniform of a first lieutenant, a sword, and some wood, he owed about a\nhundred and fifteen livres. This sum he was careful to pay within a\nfew years and as soon as his affairs permitted.\n\nArrived at Valence, he found that the old society had vanished. Both\nthe bishop and the Abbe Saint-Ruf were dead. Mme. du Colombier had\nwithdrawn with her daughter to her country-seat. The brothers were\nable, therefore, to take up their lives just where they had made the\nbreak at Auxonne: Louis pursuing the studies necessary for entrance to\nthe corps of officers, Napoleon teaching him, and frequenting the\npolitical club; both destitute and probably suffering, for the\nofficer's pay was soon far in arrears. In such desperate straits it\nwas a relief for the elder brother that the allurements of his former\nassociations were dissipated; such companionship as he now had was\namong the middle and lower classes, whose estates were more\nproportionate to his own, and whose sentiments were virtually\nidentical with those which he professed.\n\nThe list of books which he read is significant: Coxe's \"Travels in\nSwitzerland,\" Duclos's \"Memoirs of the Reigns of Louis XIV and Louis\nXV,\" Machiavelli's \"History of Florence,\" Voltaire's \"Essay on\nManners,\" Duvernet's \"History of the Sorbonne,\" Le Noble's \"Spirit of\nGerson,\" and Dulaure's \"History of the Nobility.\" There exist among\nhis papers outlines more or less complete of all these books. They\nprove that he understood what he read, but unlike other similar\njottings by him they give little evidence of critical power. Aside\nfrom such historical studies as would explain the events preliminary\nto that revolutionary age upon which he saw that France was entering,\nhe was carefully examining the attitude of the Gallican Church toward\nthe claims of the papacy, and considering the role of the aristocracy\nin society. It is clear that he had no intention of being merely a\ncurious onlooker at the successive phases of the political and social\ntransmutation already beginning; he was bent on examining causes,\ncomprehending reasons, and sharing in the movement itself.\n\nBy the summer of 1791 the first stage in the transformation of France\nhad almost passed. The reign of moderation in reform was nearly over.\nThe National Assembly had apprehended the magnitude but not the nature\nof its task, and was unable to grasp the consequences of the new\nconstitution it had outlined. The nation was sufficiently familiar\nwith the idea of the crown as an executive, but hitherto the executive\nhad been at the same time legislator; neither King nor people quite\nknew how the King was to obey the nation when the former, trained in\nthe school of the strictest absolutism, was deprived of all volition,\nand the latter gave its orders through a single chamber, responsive to\nthe levity of the masses, and controlled neither by an absolute veto\npower, nor by any feeling of responsibility to a calm public opinion.\nThis was the urgent problem which had to be solved under conditions\nthe most unfavorable that could be conceived.\n\nDuring the autumn of 1789 famine was actually stalking abroad. The\nParisian populace grew gaunt and dismal, but the King and aristocracy\nat Versailles had food in plenty, and the contrast was heightened by a\nlavish display in the palace. The royal family was betrayed by one of\nits own house, the despicable Philip \"Egalite,\" who sought to stir up\nthe basest dregs of society, that in the ferment he might rise to the\ntop; hungry Paris, stung to action by rumors which he spread and by\nbribes which he lavished, put Lafayette at its head, and on October\nfifth marched out to the gates of the royal residence in order to make\nconspicuous the contrast between its own sufferings and the wasteful\ncomfort of its servants, as the King and his ministers were now\nconsidered to be. Louis and the National Assembly yielded to the\nmenace, the court returned to Paris, politics grew hotter and more\nbitter, the fickleness of the mob became a stronger influence. Soon\nthe Jacobin Club began to wield the mightiest single influence, and as\nit did so it grew more and more radical.\n\nThroughout the long and trying winter the masses remained,\nnevertheless, quietly expectant. There was much tumultuous talk, but\naction was suspended while the Assembly sat and struggled to solve its\nproblem, elaborating a really fine paper constitution. Unfortunately,\nthe provisions of the document had no relation to the political habits\nof the French nation, or to the experience of England and the United\nStates, the only free governments then in existence. Feudal privilege,\nfeudal provinces, feudal names having been obliterated, the whole of\nFrance was rearranged into administrative departments, with\ngeographical in place of historical boundaries. It was felt that the\necclesiastical domains, the holders of which were considered as mere\ntrustees, should be adapted to the same plan, and this was done.\nEcclesiastical as well as aristocratic control was thus removed by the\nstroke of a pen. In other words, by the destruction of the mechanism\nthrough which the temporal and spiritual authorities exerted the\nremnants of their power, they were both completely paralyzed. The King\nwas denied all initiative, being granted merely a suspensive veto, and\nin the reform of the judicial system the prestige of the lawyers was\nalso destroyed. Royalty was turned into a function, and the courts\nwere stripped of both the moral and physical force necessary to compel\nobedience to their decrees. Every form of the guardianship to which\nfor centuries the people had been accustomed was thus removed--royal,\naristocratic, ecclesiastical, and judicial. Untrained to self-control,\nthey were as ready for mad excesses as were the German Anabaptists\nafter the Reformation or the English sectaries after the execution of\nCharles.\n\nAttention has been called to the disturbances which arose in Auxonne\nand elsewhere, to the emigration of the nobles from that quarter, to\nthe utter break between the parish priests and the higher church\nfunctionaries in Dauphiny; this was but a sample of the whole. When,\non July fourteenth, 1790, the King accepted a constitution which\ndecreed a secular reorganization of the ecclesiastical hierarchy\naccording to the terms of which both bishops and priests were to be\nelected by the taxpayers, two thirds of all the clergy in France\nrefused to swear allegiance to it. All attempts to establish the new\nadministrative and judicial systems were more or less futile; the\ndisaffection of officials and lawyers became more intense. In Paris\nalone the changes were introduced with some success, the municipality\nbeing rearranged into forty-eight sections, each with a primary\nassembly. These were the bodies which later gave Buonaparte the\nopening whereby he entered his real career. The influence of the\nJacobin Club increased, just in proportion as the majority of its\nmembers grew more radical. Necker trimmed to their demands, but lost\npopularity by his monotonous calls for money, and fell in September,\nreaching his home on Lake Leman only with the greatest difficulty.\nMirabeau succeeded him as the sole possible prop to the tottering\nthrone. Under his leadership the moderate monarchists, or Feuillants,\nas they were later called, from the convent of that order to which\nthey withdrew, seceded from the Jacobins, and before the Assembly had\nceased its work the nation was cleft in two, divided into opponents\nand adherents of monarchy. As if to insure the disasters of such an\nantagonism, the Assembly, which numbered among its members every man\nin France of ripe political experience, committed the incredible folly\nof self-effacement, voting that not one of its members should be\neligible to the legislature about to be chosen.\n\nA new impulse to the revolutionary movement was given by the death of\nMirabeau on April second, 1791. His obsequies were celebrated in many\nplaces, and, being a native of Provence, there were probably solemn\nceremonies at Valence. There is a tradition that they occurred during\nBuonaparte's second residence in the city, and that it was he who\nsuperintended the draping of the choir in the principal church. It is\nsaid that the hangings were arranged to represent a funerary urn, and\nthat beneath, in conspicuous letters, ran the legend: \"Behold what\nremains of the French Lycurgus.\" Mirabeau had indeed displayed a\ngenius for politics, his scheme for a strong ministry, chosen from the\nAssembly, standing in bold relief against the feebleness of Necker in\npersuading Louis to accept the suspensive veto, and to choose his\ncabinet without relation to the party in power. When the mad\ndissipation of the statesman's youth demanded its penalty at the hour\nso critical for France, the King and the moderates alike lost courage.\nIn June the worried and worn-out monarch determined that the game was\nnot worth the playing, and on the twenty-first he fled. Though he was\ncaptured, and brought back to act the impossible role of a democratic\nprince, the patriots who had wished to advance with experience and\ntradition as guides were utterly discredited. All the world could see\nhow pusillanimous was the royalty they had wished to preserve, and the\nmasses made up their mind that, real or nominal, the institution was\nnot only useless, but dangerous. This feeling was strong in the Rhone\nvalley and the adjoining districts, which have ever been the home of\nextreme radicalism. Sympathy with Corsica and the Corsicans had long\nbeen active in southeastern France. Neither the island nor its people\nwere felt to be strange. When a society for the defense of the\nconstitution was formed in Valence, Buonaparte, though a Corsican, was\nat first secretary, then president, of the association.\n\nThe \"Friends of the Constitution\" grew daily more numerous, more\npowerful, and more radical in that city; and when the great solemnity\nof swearing allegiance to the new order was to be celebrated, it was\nchosen as a convenient and suitable place for a convention of\ntwenty-two similar associations from the neighboring districts. The\nmeeting took place on July third, 1791; the official administration of\nthe oath to the civil, military, judicial, and ecclesiastical\nauthorities occurred on the fourteenth. Before a vast altar erected on\nthe drill-ground, in the presence of all the dignitaries, with cannon\nbooming and the air resounding with shouts and patriotic songs, the\nofficials in groups, the people in mass, swore with uplifted hands to\nsustain the constitution, to obey the National Assembly, and to die,\nif need be, in defending French territory against invasion. Scenes as\nimpressive and dramatic as this occurred all over France. They\nappealed powerfully to the imagination of the nation, and profoundly\ninfluenced public opinion. \"Until then,\" said Buonaparte, referring to\nthe solemnity, \"I doubt not that if I had received orders to turn my\nguns against the people, habit, prejudice, education, and the King's\nname would have induced me to obey. With the taking of the national\noath it became otherwise; my instincts and my duty were thenceforth in\nharmony.\"\n\nBut the position of liberal officers was still most trying. In the\nstreets and among the people they were in a congenial atmosphere;\nbehind the closed doors of the drawing-rooms, in the society of\nladies, and among their fellows in the mess, there were constraint and\nsuspicion. Out of doors all was exultation; in the houses of the\nhitherto privileged classes all was sadness and uncertainty. But\neverywhere, indoors or out, was spreading the fear of war, if not\ncivil at least foreign war, with the French emigrants as the allies of\nthe assailants. On this point Buonaparte was mistaken. As late as\nJuly twenty-seventh, 1791, he wrote to Naudin, an intimate friend who\nwas chief of the military bureau at Auxonne: \"Will there be war? No;\nEurope is divided between sovereigns who rule over men and those who\nrule over cattle and horses. The former understand the Revolution, and\nare terrified; they would gladly make personal sacrifices to\nannihilate it, but they dare not lift the mask for fear the fire\nshould break out in their own houses. See the history of England,\nHolland, etc. Those who bear the rule over horses misunderstand and\ncannot grasp the bearing of the constitution. They think this chaos of\nincoherent ideas means an end of French power. You would suppose, to\nlisten to them, that our brave patriots were about to cut one\nanother's throats and with their blood purge the land of the crimes\ncommitted against kings.\" The news contained in this letter is most\ninteresting. There are accounts of the zeal and spirit everywhere\nshown by the democratic patriots, of a petition for the trial of the\nKing sent up from the recent meeting at Valence, and an assurance by\nthe writer that his regiment is \"sure,\" except as to half the\nofficers. He adds in a postscript: \"The southern blood courses in my\nveins as swiftly as the Rhone. Pardon me if you feel distressed in\nreading my scrawl.\"[25]\n\n              [Footnote 25: Buonaparte to Naudin, 27 July, 1791, in\n              Buchez et Roux, Histoire Parlementaire, XVII, 56.]\n\nRestlessness is the habit of the agitator, and Buonaparte's\ntemperament was not exceptional. His movements and purposes during the\nmonths of July and August are very uncertain in the absence of\ndocumentary evidence sufficient to determine them. But his earliest\nbiographers, following what was in their time a comparatively short\ntradition, enable us to fix some things with a high degree of\nprobability. The young radical had been but two months with his new\ncommand when he began to long for change; the fever of excitement and\nthe discomfort of his life, with probably some inkling that a Corsican\nnational guard would ere long be organized, awakened in him a purpose\nto be off once more, and accordingly he applied for leave of absence.\nHis colonel, a very lukewarm constitutionalist, angry at the notoriety\nwhich his lieutenant was acquiring, had already sent in a complaint of\nBuonaparte's insubordinate spirit and of his inattention to duty.\nStanding on a formal right, he therefore refused the application. With\nthe quick resource of a schemer, Buonaparte turned to a higher\nauthority, his friend Duteil, who was inspector-general of artillery\nin the department and not unfavorable. Something, however, must have\noccurred to cause delay, for weeks passed and the desired leave was\nnot granted.\n\nWhile awaiting a decision the applicant was very uneasy. To friends he\nsaid that he would soon be in Paris; to his great-uncle he wrote,\n\"Send me three hundred livres; that sum would take me to Paris. There,\nat least, a person can show himself, overcome obstacles. Everything\ntells me that I shall succeed there. Will you stop me for lack of a\nhundred crowns?\" And again: \"I am waiting impatiently for the six\ncrowns my mother owes me; I need them sadly.\" These demands for money\nmet with no response. The explanation of Buonaparte's impatience is\nsimple enough. One by one the provincial societies which had been\nformed to support the constitution were affiliating themselves with\nthe influential Jacobins at Paris, who were now the strongest single\npolitical power in the country. He was the recognized leader of their\nsympathizers in the Rhone valley. He evidently intended to go to\nheadquarters and see for himself what the outlook was. With backers\nsuch as he thus hoped to find, some advantage, perhaps even the\nlong-desired command in Corsica, might be secured.\n\nIt was rare good fortune that the young hotspur was not yet to be cast\ninto the seething caldron of French politics. The time was not yet\nripe for the exercise of his powers. The storming of the Bastille had\nsymbolized the overthrow of privilege and absolute monarchy; the\nflight of the King presaged the overthrow of monarchy, absolute or\notherwise. The executive gone, the legislature popular and democratic\nbut ignorant how to administer or conduct affairs, the judiciary\nequally disorganized, and the army transforming itself into a\npatriotic organization--was there more to come? Yes. Thus far, in\nspite of well-meant attempts to substitute new constructions for the\nold, all had been disintegration. French society was to be reorganized\nonly after further pulverizing; cohesion would begin only under\npressure from without--a pressure applied by the threats of erratic\nroyalists that they would bring in the foreign powers to coerce and\narbitrate, by the active demonstrations of the emigrants, by the\noutbreak of foreign wars. These were the events about to take place;\nthey would in the end evolve from the chaos of mob rule first the\nirregular and temporary dictatorship of the Convention, then the\ntyranny of the Directory; at the same time they would infuse a fervor\nof patriotism, into the whole mass of the French nation, stunned,\nhelpless, and leaderless, but loyal, brave, and vigorous. In such a\ncrisis the people would tolerate, if not demand, a leader strong to\nexact respect for France and to enforce his commands; would prefer the\nvigorous mastery of one to the feeble misrule of the many or the few.\nStill further, the man was as unready as the time; for it was, in all\nprobability, not as a Frenchman but as an ever true Corsican patriot\nthat Buonaparte wished to \"show himself, overcome obstacles\" at this\nconjuncture.\n\nOn August fourth, 1791, the National Assembly at last decided to form\na paid volunteer national guard of a hundred thousand men, and their\ndecision became a law on August twelfth. The term of enlistment was a\nyear; four battalions were to be raised in Corsica. Buonaparte heard\nof the decision on August tenth, and was convinced that the hour for\nrealizing his long-cherished aspirations had finally struck. He could\ncertainly have done much in Paris to secure office in a\nFrench-Corsican national guard, and with this in mind he immediately\nwrote a memorandum on the armament of the new force, addressing it,\nwith characteristic assurance, to the minister of war. When, however,\nthree weeks later, on August thirtieth, 1791, a leave of absence\narrived, to which he was entitled in the course of routine, and which\nwas not granted by the favor of any one, he had abandoned all idea of\nservice under France in the Corsican guard. The disorder of the times\nwas such that while retaining office in the French army he could test\nin an independent Corsican command the possibility of climbing to\nleadership there before abandoning his present subordinate place in\nFrance. In view, apparently, of this new venture, he had for some time\nbeen taking advances from the regimental paymaster, until he had now\nin hand a considerable sum--two hundred and ninety livres. A formal\nannouncement to the authorities might have elicited embarrassing\nquestions from them, so he and Louis quietly departed without\nexplanations, leaving for the second time debts of considerable\namount. They reached Ajaccio on September sixth, 1791. Napoleon was\nnot actually a deserter, but he had in contemplation a step toward the\ndefiance of French authority--the acceptance of service in a Corsican\nmilitary force.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nBuonaparte the Corsican Jacobin.\n\n     Buonaparte's Corsican Patriotism -- His Position in His\n     Family -- The Situation of Joseph -- Corsican Politics --\n     Napoleon's Power in the Jacobin Club of Ajaccio -- His\n     Failure as a Contestant for Literary Honors -- Appointed\n     Adjutant-General -- His Attitude Toward France -- His New\n     Ambitions -- Use of Violence -- Lieutenant-Colonel of\n     Volunteers -- Politics in Ajaccio -- His First Experience of\n     Street Warfare -- His Manifesto -- Dismissed to Paris -- His\n     Plans -- The Position of Louis XVI -- Buonaparte's\n     Delinquencies -- Disorganization in the Army -- Petition for\n     Reinstatement -- The Marseillais -- Buonaparte a Spectator\n     -- His Estimate of France -- His Presence at the Scenes of\n     August Tenth -- State of Paris -- Flight of Lafayette.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1791-92.]\n\nThis was the third time in four years that Buonaparte had revisited\nhis home.[26] On the plea of ill health he had been able the first\ntime to remain a year and two months, giving full play to his Corsican\npatriotism and his own ambitions by attendance at Orezza, and by\npolitical agitation among the people. The second time he had remained\na year and four months, retaining his hold on his commission by\nsubterfuges and irregularities which, though condoned, had strained\nhis relations with the ministry of war in Paris. He had openly defied\nthe royal authority, relying on the coming storm for the concealment\nof his conduct if it should prove reprehensible, or for preferment in\nhis own country if Corsica should secure her liberties. There is no\nreason, therefore, to suppose that his intentions for the third visit\nwere different from those displayed in the other two, although again\nsolicitude for his family was doubtless one of many considerations.\n\n              [Footnote 26: It is not entirely clear whether he\n              arrived late in September or early in October, 1791. He\n              remained until May, 1792.]\n\nDuring Napoleon's absence from Corsica the condition of his family had\nnot materially changed. Soon after his arrival the old archdeacon\ndied, and his little fortune fell to the Buonapartes. Joseph, failing\nshortly afterward in his plan of being elected deputy to the French\nlegislature, was chosen a member of the Corsican directory. He was,\ntherefore, forced to occupy himself entirely with his new duties and\nto live at Corte. Fesch, as the eldest male, the mother's brother, and\na priest at that, expected to assume the direction of the family\naffairs. But he was doomed to speedy disenchantment: thenceforward\nNapoleon was the family dictator. In conjunction with his uncle he\nused the whole or a considerable portion of the archdeacon's savings\nfor the purchase of several estates from the national domain, as the\nsequestrated lands of the monasteries were called. Rendered thus more\nself-important, he talked much in the home circle concerning the\ngreatness of classical antiquity, and wondered \"who would not\nwillingly have been stabbed, if only he could have been Caesar? One\nfeeble ray of his glory would be an ample recompense for sudden\ndeath.\" Such chances for Caesarism as the island of Corsica afforded\nwere very rapidly becoming better.\n\nThe Buonapartes had no influence whatever in these elections. Joseph\nwas not even nominated. The choice fell upon two men selected by\nPaoli: one of them, Peraldi, was already embittered against the\nfamily; the other, Pozzo di Borgo, though so far friendly enough,\nthereafter became a relentless foe. Rising to eminence as a diplomat,\naccepting service in one and another country of Europe, the latter\nthwarted Napoleon at several important conjunctures. Paoli is thought\nby some to have been wounded by the frank criticism of his strategy by\nNapoleon: more likely he distrusted youths educated in France, and\nwho, though noisy Corsicans, were, he shrewdly guessed, impregnated\nwith French idealism. He himself cared for France only as by her help\nthe largest possible autonomy for Corsica could be secured. In the\ndirectory of the department of Corsica, Joseph, and with him the\nBuonaparte influence, was reduced to impotence, while gratified with\nhigh position. The ignorance of the administrators was only paralleled\nby the difficulties of their work.\n\nDuring the last few months religious agitation had been steadily\nincreasing. Pious Catholics were embittered by the virtual expulsion\nof the old clergy, and the induction to office of new priests who had\nsworn to uphold the constitution. Amid the disorders of administration\nthe people in ever larger numbers had secured arms; as of yore, they\nappeared at their assemblies under the guidance of their chiefs, ready\nto fight at a moment's notice. It was but a step to violence, and\nwithout any other provocation than religious exasperation the\ntownsfolk of Bastia had lately sought to kill their new bishop. Even\nArena, who had so recently seized the place in Paoli's interest, was\nnow regarded as a French radical, maltreated, and banished with his\nsupporters to Italy. The new election was at hand; the contest between\nthe Paolists and the extreme French party grew hotter and hotter. Not\nonly deputies to the new assembly, but likewise the superior officers\nof the new guard, were to be elected. Buonaparte, being only a\nlieutenant of the regulars, could according to the law aspire no\nhigher than an appointment as adjutant-major with the title and pay of\ncaptain. It was not worth while to lose his place in France for this,\nso he determined to stand for one of the higher elective offices,\nthat of lieutenant-colonel, a position which would give him more\npower, and, under the latest legislation, entitle him to retain his\ngrade in the regular army.\n\nThere were now two political clubs in Ajaccio: that of the Corsican\nJacobins, country people for the most part; and that of the Corsican\nFeuillants, composed of the officials and townsfolk. Buonaparte became\na moving spirit in the former, and determined at any cost to destroy\nthe influence of the latter. The two previous attempts to secure\nAjaccio for the radicals had failed; a third was already under\nconsideration. The new leader began to garnish his language with those\nfine and specious phrases which thenceforth were never wanting in his\nutterances at revolutionary crises. \"Law,\" he wrote about this time,\n\"is like those statues of some of the gods which are veiled under\ncertain circumstances.\" For a few weeks there was little or nothing to\ndo in the way of electioneering at home; he therefore obtained\npermission to travel with the famous Volney, who desired a\nphilosopher's retreat from Paris storms and had been chosen director\nof commerce and manufactures in the island. This journey was for a\ncandidate like Buonaparte invaluable as a means of observation and of\nwinning friends for his cause.\n\nBefore the close of this trip his furlough had expired, his regiment\nhad been put on a war footing, and orders had been issued for the\nreturn of every officer to his post by Christmas day. But in the\nexecution of his fixed purpose the young Corsican patriot was heedless\nof military obligations to France, and wilfully remained absent from\nduty. Once more the spell of a wild, free life was upon him; he was\nenlisted for the campaign, though without position or money to back\nhim. The essay on happiness which he had presented to the Academy of\nLyons had failed, as a matter of course, to win the prize, one of the\njudges pronouncing it \"too badly arranged, too uneven, too\ndisconnected, and too badly written to deserve attention.\" This\ndecision was a double blow, for it was announced about this time, at a\nmoment when fame and money would both have been most welcome. The\nscanty income from the lands purchased with the legacy of the old\narchdeacon remained the only resource of the family for the lavish\nhospitality which, according to immemorial, semi-barbarous tradition,\nwas required of a Corsican candidate.\n\nA peremptory order was now issued from Paris that those officers of\nthe line who had been serving in the National Guard with a grade lower\nthan that of lieutenant-colonel should return to regular service\nbefore April first, 1792. Here was an implication which might be\nturned to account. As a lieutenant on leave, Buonaparte should of\ncourse have returned on December twenty-fifth; if, however, he were an\nofficer of volunteers he could plead the new order. Though as yet the\nrecruits had not come in, and no companies had been formed, the mere\nidea was sufficient to suggest a means for saving appearances. An\nappointment as adjutant-major was solicited from the major-general in\ncommand of the department, and he, under authorization obtained in due\ntime from Paris, granted it. Safe from the charge of desertion thus\nfar, it was essential for his reputation and for his ambition that\nBuonaparte should be elected lieutenant-colonel. Success would enable\nhim to plead that his first lapse in discipline was due to irregular\norders from his superior, that anyhow he had been an adjutant-major,\nand that finally the position of lieutenant-colonel gave him immunity\nfrom punishment, and left him blameless.\n\nHe nevertheless was uneasy, and wrote two letters of a curious\ncharacter to his friend Sucy, the commissioner-general at Valence. In\nthe first, written five weeks after the expiration of his leave, he\ncalmly reports himself, and gives an account of his occupations,\nmentioning incidentally that unforeseen circumstances, duties the\ndearest and most sacred, had prevented his return. His correspondent\nwould be so kind as not to mention the letter to the \"gentlemen of the\nregiment,\" but the writer would immediately return if his friend in\nhis unassisted judgment thought best. In the second he plumply\ndeclares that in perilous times the post of a good Corsican is at\nhome, that therefore he had thought of resigning, but his friends had\narranged the middle course of appointing him adjutant-major in the\nvolunteers so that he could make his duty as a soldier conform to his\nduty as a patriot. Asking for news of what is going on in France, he\nsays, writing like an outsider, \"If _your_ nation loses courage at\nthis moment, it is done with forever.\"\n\nIt was toward the end of March that the volunteers from the mountains\nbegan to appear in Ajaccio for the election of their officers.\nNapoleon had bitter and powerful rivals, but his recent trip had\napparently enabled him to win many friends among the men. While,\ntherefore, success was possible by that means, there was another\ninfluence almost as powerful--that of three commissioners appointed by\nthe directory of the island to organize and equip the battalion. These\nwere Morati, a friend of Peraldi, the Paolist deputy; Quenza, more or\nless neutral, and Grimaldi, a devoted partisan of the Buonapartes.\nWith skilful diplomacy Napoleon agreed that he would not presume to be\na candidate for the office of first lieutenant-colonel, which was\ndesired by Peretti, a near friend of Paoli, for his brother-in-law,\nQuenza, but would seek the position of second lieutenant-colonel. In\nthis way he was assured of good will from two of the three\ncommissioners; the other was of course hostile, being a partizan of\nPeraldi.\n\nThe election, as usual in Corsica, seems to have passed in turbulence\nand noisy violence. His enemies attacked Buonaparte with every weapon:\ntheir money, their influence, and in particular with ridicule. His\nstature, his poverty, and his absurd ambitions were held up to\ncontempt and scorn. The young hotspur was cut to the quick, and,\nforgetting Corsican ways, made the witless blunder of challenging\nPeraldi to a duel, an institution scorned by the Corsican devotees of\nthe vendetta. The climax of contempt was Peraldi's failure even to\nnotice the challenge. At the crisis, Salicetti, a warm friend of the\nBuonapartes and a high official of the department, appeared with a\nconsiderable armed force to maintain order. This cowed the\nconservatives. The third commissioner, living as a guest with Peraldi,\nwas seized during the night preceding the election by a body of\nBuonaparte's friends, and put under lock and key in their candidate's\nhouse--\"to make you entirely free; you were not free where you were,\"\nsaid the instigator of the stroke, when called to explain. To the use\nof fine phrases was now added a facility in employing violence at a\npinch which likewise remained characteristic of Buonaparte's career\ndown to the end. Nasica, who alone records the tale, sees in this\nevent the precursor of the long series of state-strokes which\nculminated on the eighteenth Brumaire. There is a story that in one of\nthe scuffles incident to this brawl a member of Pozzo di Borgo's\nfamily was thrown down and trampled on. Be that as it may, Buonaparte\nwas successful. This of course intensified the hatred already\nexisting, and from that moment the families of Peraldi and of Pozzo di\nBorgo were his deadly enemies.\n\nQuenza, who was chosen first lieutenant-colonel, was a man of no\ncharacter whatever, a nobody. He was moreover absorbed in the duties\nof a place in the departmental administration. Buonaparte, therefore,\nwas in virtual command of a sturdy, well-armed, legal force. Having\nbeen adjutant-major, and being now a regularly elected lieutenant-colonel\naccording to statute, he applied, with a well-calculated effrontery,\nto his regimental paymaster for the pay which had accrued during his\nabsence. It was at first refused, for in the interval he had been\ncashiered for remaining at home in disobedience to orders; but such\nwere the irregularities of that revolutionary time that later, virtual\ndeserter as he had been, it was actually paid and he was restored to\nhis place. He sought and obtained from the military authorities of the\nisland certificates of his regular standing and leave to present them\nin Paris if needed to maintain his rank as a French officer, but in\nthe final event there was no necessity for their use. No one was more\nadroit than Buonaparte in taking advantage of possibilities. He was a\npluralist without conscience. A French regular if the emergency should\ndemand it, he was likewise a Corsican patriot and commander in the\nvolunteer guard of the island, fully equipped for another move.\nPerhaps, at last, he could assume with success the liberator's role of\nSampiero. But an opportunity must occur or be created. One was easily\narranged.\n\nAjaccio had gradually become a resort for many ardent Roman Catholics\nwho had refused to accept the new order. The town authorities,\nalthough there were some extreme radicals among them, were, on the\nwhole, in sympathy with these conservatives. Through the devices of\nhis friends in the city government, Buonaparte's battalion, the\nsecond, was on one pretext or another assembled in and around the\ntown. Thereupon, following the most probable account, which, too, is\nsupported by Buonaparte's own story, a demand was made that according\nto the recent ecclesiastical legislation of the National Assembly, the\nCapuchin monks, who had been so far undisturbed, should evacuate their\nfriary. Feeling ran so high that the other volunteer companies were\nsummoned; they arrived on April first. At once the public order was\njeopardized: on one extreme were the religious fanatics, on the other\nthe political agitators, both of whom were loud with threats and ready\nfor violence. In the middle, between two fires, was the mass of the\npeople, who sympathized with the ecclesiastics, but wanted peace at\nany hazard. Quarreling began first between individuals of the various\nfactions, but it soon resulted in conflicts between civilians and the\nvolunteer guard. The first step taken by the military was to seize and\noccupy the cloister, which lay just below the citadel, the final goal\nof their leader, whoever he was, and the townsfolk believed it was\nBuonaparte. Once inside the citadel walls, the Corsicans in the\nregular French service would, it was hoped, fraternize with their kin;\nwith such a beginning, all the garrison might in time be won over.\n\nThis further exasperated the ultramontanes, and on Easter day, April\neighth, they made demonstrations so serious that the scheming\ncommander--Buonaparte again, it was believed--found the much desired\npretext to interfere; there was a melee, and one of the militia\nofficers was killed. Next morning the burghers found their town beset\nby the volunteers. Good citizens kept to their houses, while the\nacting mayor and the council were assembled to authorize an attack on\nthe citadel. The authorities could not agree, and dispersed; the\nfollowing forenoon it was discovered that the acting mayor and his\nsympathizers had taken refuge in the citadel. From the vantage of\nthis stronghold they proposed to settle the difficulty by the\narbitration of a board composed of two from each side, under the\npresidency of the commandant. There was again no agreement.\n\nWorn out at last by the haggling and delay, an officer of the garrison\nfinally ordered the militia officers to withdraw their forces. By the\nadvice of some determined radical--Buonaparte again, in all\nprobability--the latter flatly refused, and the night was spent in\npreparation for a conflict which seemed inevitable. But early in the\nmorning the commissioners of the department, who had been sent by\nPaoli to preserve the peace, arrived in a body. They were welcomed\ngladly by the majority of the people, and, after hearing the case,\ndismissed the battalion of volunteers to various posts in the\nsurrounding country. Public opinion immediately turned against\nBuonaparte, convinced as the populace was that he was the author of\nthe entire disturbance. The commander of the garrison was embittered,\nand sent a report to the war department displaying the young officer's\nbehavior in the most unfavorable light. Buonaparte's defense was\ncontained in a manifesto which made the citizens still more furious by\nits declaration that the whole civic structure of their town was\nworthless, and should have been overthrown.\n\nThe aged Paoli found his situation more trying with every day. Under a\nconstitutional monarchy, such as he had admired and studied in\nEngland, such as he even yet hoped for and expected in France, he had\nbelieved his own land might find a virtual autonomy. With riot and\ndisorder in every town, it would not be long before the absolute\ndisqualification of his countrymen for self-government would be proved\nand the French administration restored. For his present purpose,\ntherefore, the peace must be kept, and Buonaparte, upon whom, whether\njustly or not, the blame for these recent broils rested, must be\nremoved elsewhere, if possible; but as the troublesome youth was the\nson of an old friend and the head of a still influential family, it\nmust be done without offense. The government at Paris might be\npacified if the absentee officer were restored to his post; with\nQuenza in command of the volunteers, there would be little danger of a\nsecond outbreak in Ajaccio.\n\nIt was more than easy, therefore, for the discredited revolutionary,\non the implied condition and understanding that he should leave\nCorsica, to secure from the authorities the papers necessary to put\nhimself and his actions in the most favorable light. Buonaparte armed\nhimself accordingly with an authenticated certificate as to the posts\nhe had held, and the period during which he had held them, and with\nanother as to his \"civism\"--the phrase used at that time to designate\nthe quality of friendliness to the Revolution. The former seems to\nhave been framed according to his own statements, and was speciously\ndeceptive; yet in form the commander-in-chief, the municipality of\nAjaccio, and the authorities of the department were united in\ncertifying to his unblemished character and regular standing. This was\nsomething. Whither should the scapegoat betake himself? Valence, where\nthe royalist colonel regarded him as a deserter, was of course closed,\nand in Paris alone could the necessary steps be taken to secure\nrestoration to rank with back pay, or rather the reversal of the whole\nrecord as it then stood on the regimental books. For this reason he\nlikewise secured letters of introduction to the leading Corsicans in\nthe French capital. His departure was so abrupt as to resemble\nflight. He hastened to Corte, and remained just long enough to\nunderstand the certainty of his overwhelming loss in public esteem\nthroughout Corsica. On the way he is said to have seen Paoli for a\nshort time and to have received some encouragement in a plan to raise\nanother battalion of volunteers. Joseph claimed to have advised his\nbrother to have nothing to do with the plan, but to leave immediately\nfor France. In any case Napoleon's mind was clear. A career in Corsica\non the grand scale was impossible for him. Borrowing money for the\njourney, he hurried away and sailed from Bastia on May second, 1792.\nThe outlook might have disheartened a weaker man. Peraldi, the\nCorsican deputy, was a near relative of the defeated rival; Paoli's\ndispleasure was only too manifest; the bitter hate of a large element\nin Ajaccio, including the royalist commander of the garrison, was\nunconcealed. Napoleon's energy, rashness, and ambition combined to\nmake Pozzo di Borgo detest him. He was accused of being a traitor, the\nsource of all trouble, of plotting a new St. Bartholomew, ready for\nany horror in order to secure power. Rejected by Corsica, would France\nreceive him? Would not the few French friends he had be likewise\nalienated by these last escapades? Could the formal record of\nregimental offenses be expunged? In any event, how slight the prospect\nof success in the great mad capital, amid the convulsive throes of a\nnation's disorders!\n\nBut in the last consideration lay his only chance: the nation's\ndisorder was to supply the remedy for Buonaparte's irregularities. The\nKing had refused his sanction to the secularization of the estates\nwhich had once been held by the emigrants and recusant ecclesiastics;\nthe Jacobins retorted by open hostility to the monarchy. The plotting\nof noble and princely refugees with various royal and other schemers\ntwo years before had been a crime against the King and the\nconstitutionalists, for it jeopardized their last chance for\nexistence, even their very lives. Within so short a time what had been\ncriminal in the emigrants had seemingly become the only means of\nself-preservation for their intended victim. His constitutional\nsupporters recognized that, in the adoption of this course by the\nKing, the last hope of a peaceful solution to their awful problem had\ndisappeared. It was now almost certain and generally believed that\nLouis himself was in negotiation with the foreign sovereigns; to\nthwart his plans and avert the consequences it was essential that open\nhostilities against his secret allies should be begun. Consequently,\non April twentieth, 1792, by the influence of the King's friends war\nhad been declared against Austria. The populace, awed by the armies\nthus called out, were at first silently defiant, an attitude which\nchanged to open fury when the defeat of the French troops in the\nAustrian Netherlands was announced.\n\nThe moderate republicans, or Girondists, as they were called from the\ndistrict where they were strongest, were now the mediating party;\ntheir leader, Roland, was summoned to form a ministry and appease this\npopular rage. It was one of his colleagues who had examined the\ncomplaint against Buonaparte received from the commander of the\ngarrison at Ajaccio. According to a strict interpretation of the\nmilitary code there was scarcely a crime which Buonaparte had not\ncommitted: desertion, disobedience, tampering, attack on constituted\nauthority, and abuse of official power. The minister reported the\nconduct of both Quenza and Buonaparte as most reprehensible, and\ndeclared that if their offense had been purely military he would have\ncourt-martialed them.\n\nLearning first at Marseilles that war had broken out, and that the\ncompanies of his regiment were dispersed to various camps for active\nservice, Buonaparte hastened northward. A new passion, which was\nindicative of the freshly awakened patriotism, had taken possession of\nthe popular fancy. Where the year before the current and universal\nphrase had been \"federation,\" the talk was now all for the \"nation.\"\nIt might well be so. Before the traveler arrived at his destination\nfurther disaster had overtaken the French army, one whole regiment had\ndeserted under arms to the enemy, and individual soldiers were\nescaping by hundreds. The officers of the Fourth Artillery were\nresigning and running away in about equal numbers. Consternation ruled\nsupreme, treason and imbecility were everywhere charged against the\nauthorities. War within, war without, and the army in a state of\ncollapse! The emigrant princes would return, and France be sold to a\nbondage tenfold more galling than that from which she was struggling\nto free herself.\n\nWhen Buonaparte reached Paris on May twenty-eighth, 1792, the outlook\nwas poor for a suppliant, bankrupt in funds and nearly so in\nreputation; but he was undaunted, and his application for\nreinstatement in the artillery was made without the loss of a moment.\nA new minister of war had been appointed but a few days before,--there\nwere six changes in that office during as many months,--and the\nassistant now in charge of the artillery seemed favorable to the\nrequest. For a moment he thought of restoring the suppliant to his\nposition, but events were marching too swiftly, and demands more\nurgent jostled aside the claims of an obscure lieutenant with a shady\ncharacter. Buonaparte at once grasped the fact that he could win his\ncause only by patience or by importunity, and began to consider how he\nshould arrange for a prolonged stay in the capital. His scanty\nresources were already exhausted, but he found Bourrienne, a former\nschool-fellow at Brienne, in equal straits, waiting like himself for\nsomething to turn up. Over their meals in a cheap restaurant on the\nRue St. Honore they discussed various means of gaining a livelihood,\nand seriously contemplated a partnership in subletting furnished\nrooms. But Bourrienne very quickly obtained the post of secretary in\nthe embassy at Stuttgart, so that his comrade was left to make his\nstruggle alone by pawning what few articles of value he possessed.\n\nThe days and weeks were full of incidents terrible and suggestive in\ntheir nature. The Assembly dismissed the King's body-guard on May\ntwenty-ninth; on June thirteenth, the Girondists were removed from the\nministry; within a few days it was known at court that Prussia had\ntaken the field as an ally of Austria, and on the seventeenth a\nconservative, Feuillant cabinet was formed. Three days later the\npopular insurrection began, on the twenty-sixth the news of the\ncoalition was announced, and on the twenty-eighth Lafayette endeavored\nto stay the tide of furious discontent which was now rising in the\nAssembly. But it was as ruthless as that of the ocean, and on July\neleventh the country was declared in danger. There was, however, a\ntemporary check to the rush, a moment of repose in which the King, on\nthe fourteenth, celebrated among his people the fall of the Bastille.\nBut an address from the local assembly at Marseilles had arrived,\ndemanding the dethronement of Louis and the abolition of the monarchy.\nSuch was the impatience of the great southern city that, without\nwaiting for the logical effect of their declaration, its inhabitants\ndetermined to make a demonstration in Paris. On the thirtieth a\ndeputation five hundred strong arrived before the capital. On August\nthird, they entered the city singing the immortal song which bears\ntheir name, but which was written at Strasburg by an officer of\nengineers, Rouget de Lisle. The southern fire of the newcomers kindled\nagain the flame of Parisian sedition, and the radicals fanned it. At\nlast, on August tenth, the conflagration burst forth in an uprising\nsuch as had not yet been seen of all that was outcast and lawless in\nthe great town; with them consorted the discontented and the envious,\nthe giddy and the frivolous, the curious and the fickle, all the\nunstable elements of society. This time the King was unnerved; in\ndespair he fled for asylum to the chamber of the Assembly. That body,\nunsympathetic for him, but sensitive to the ragings of the mob\nwithout, found the fugitive unworthy of his office. Before night the\nkingship was abolished, and the royal family were imprisoned in the\nTemple.\n\nThere is no proof that the young Corsican was at this time other than\nan interested spectator. In a hurried letter written to Joseph on May\ntwenty-ninth he notes the extreme confusion of affairs, remarks that\nPozzo di Borgo is on good terms with the minister of war, and\nrecommends his brother to keep on good terms with Paoli. There is a\ncharacteristic little paragraph on the uniform of the national guard.\nThough he makes no reference to the purpose of his journey, it is\nclear that he is calm, assured that in the wholesale flight of\nofficers a man like himself is assured of restoration to rank and\nduty. Two others dated June fourteenth and eighteenth respectively are\nscarcely more valuable. He gives a crude and superficial account of\nFrench affairs internal and external, of no value as history. He had\nmade unsuccessful efforts to revive the plea for their mother's\nmulberry subsidies, had dined with Mme. Permon, had visited their\nsister Marianna at St. Cyr, where she had been called Elisa to\ndistinguish her from another Marianna. He speculates on the chance of\nher marrying without a dot. In quiet times, the wards of St. Cyr\nreceived, on leaving, a dowry of three thousand livres, with three\nhundred more for an outfit; but as matters then were, the\nestablishment was breaking up and there were no funds for that\npurpose. Like the rest, the Corsican girl was soon to be stripped of\nher pretty uniform, the neat silk gown, the black gloves, and the\ndainty bronze slippers which Mme. de Maintenon had prescribed for the\nnoble damsels at that royal school. In another letter written four\ndays later there is a graphic account of the threatening\ndemonstrations made by the rabble and a vivid description which\nindicates Napoleon's being present when the mob recoiled at the very\ndoor of the Tuileries before the calm and dignified courage of the\nKing. There is even a story, told as of the time, by Bourrienne, a\nvery doubtful authority, but probably invented later, of Buonaparte's\nopenly expressing contempt for riots. \"How could the King let the\nrascals in! He should have shot down a few hundred, and the rest would\nhave run.\" This statement, like others made by Bourrienne, is to be\nreceived with the utmost caution.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of W. C. Crane.\nBonaparte, General in Chief of the Army of Italy.]\n\nIn a letter written about the beginning of July, probably to Lucien or\npossibly to Joseph, and evidently intended to be read in the Jacobin\nClub of Ajaccio, there are clear indications of its writer's temper.\nHe speaks with judicious calmness of the project for educational\nreform; of Lafayette's appearance before the Assembly, which had\npronounced the country in danger and was now sitting in permanence, as\nperhaps necessary to prevent its taking an extreme and dangerous\ncourse; of the French as no longer deserving the pains men took for\nthem, since they were a people old and without continuity or\ncoherence;[27] of their leaders as poor creatures engaged on low\nplots; and of the damper which such a spectacle puts on ambition.\nClearly the lesson of moderation which he inculcates is for the first\ntime sincerely given. The preacher, according to his own judgment for\nthe time being, is no Frenchman, no demagogue, nothing but a simple\nCorsican anxious to live far from the madness of mobs and the\nemptiness of so-called glory.\n\n              [Footnote 27: The rare and curious pamphlet entitled\n              \"Manuscrit de l'Ile d'Elbe,\" attributed to Montholon and\n              probably published by Edward O'Meara, contains headings\n              for ten chapters which were dictated by Napoleon at Elba\n              on February twenty-second, 1815. The argument is: The\n              Bourbons ascended the throne, in the person of Henry IV,\n              by conquering the so-called Holy League against the\n              Protestants, and by the consent of the people; a third\n              dynasty thus followed the second; then came the\n              republic, and its succession was legitimated by victory,\n              by the will of the people, and by the recognition of all\n              the powers of Europe. The republic made a new France by\n              emancipating the Gauls from the rule of the Franks. The\n              people had raised their leader to the imperial throne in\n              order to consolidate their new interests: this was the\n              fourth dynasty, etc., etc. The contemplated book was to\n              work out in detail this very conception of a nation as\n              passing through successive phases: at the close of each\n              it is worn out, but a new rule regenerates it, throwing\n              off the incrustations and giving room to the life\n              within. It is interesting to note the genesis of\n              Napoleon's ideas and the pertinacity with which he held\n              them.]\n\nIt has been asserted that on the dreadful day of August tenth\nBuonaparte's assumed philosophy was laid aside, and that he was a mob\nleader at the barricades. His own account of the matter as given at\nSt. Helena does not bear this out. \"I felt,\" said he, \"as if I should\nhave defended the King if called to do so. I was opposed to those who\nwould found the republic by means of the populace. Besides, I saw\ncivilians attacking men in uniforms; that gave me a shock.\" He said\nfurther in his reminiscences that he viewed the entire scene from the\nwindows of a furniture shop kept by Fauvelet de Bourrienne, brother\nof his old school friend. The impression left after reading his\nnarrative of the frightful carnage before the Tuileries, of the\nindecencies committed by frenzied women at the close of the fight, of\nthe mad excitement in the neighboring cafes, and of his own calmness\nthroughout, is that he was in no way connected either with the actors\nor their deeds, except to shout, \"Hurrah for the nation!\" when\nsummoned to do so by a gang of ruffians who were parading the streets\nunder the banner of a gory head elevated on a pike.[28] The truth of\nhis statements cannot be established by any collateral evidence.\n\n              [Footnote 28: Las Cases: Memorial de Sainte Helene, V,\n              170.]\n\nIt is not likely that an ardent radical leader like Buonaparte, well\nknown and influential in the Rhone valley, had remained a stranger to\nthe Marseilles deputation. If the Duchesse d'Abrantes be worthy of any\ncredence, he was very influential, and displayed great activity with\nthe authorities during the seventh and eighth, running hither,\nthither, everywhere, to secure redress for an illegal domiciliary\nvisit which her mother, Mme. Permon, had received on the seventh. But\nher testimony is of very little value, such is her anxiety to\nestablish an early intimacy with the great man of her time. Joseph, in\nhis memoirs,[29] declares that his brother was present at the conflict\nof August tenth, and that Napoleon wrote him at the time, \"If Louis\nXVI had appeared on horseback, he would have conquered.\" \"After the\nvictory of the Marseillais,\" continues the passage quoted from the\nletter, \"I saw a man about to kill a soldier of the guard. I said to\nhim, 'Southron, let us spare the unfortunate!' 'Art thou from the\nSouth?' 'Yes.' 'Well, then, we will spare him.'\" Moreover, it is a\nfact that Santerre, the notorious leader of the mob on that day, was\nthree years later, on the thirteenth of Vendemiaire, most useful to\nBuonaparte; that though degraded from the office of general to which\nhe was appointed in the revolutionary army, he was in 1800 restored to\nhis rank by the First Consul. All this is consistent with Napoleon's\nassertion, but it proves nothing conclusively; and there is certainly\nground for suspicion when we reflect that these events were ultimately\ndecisive of Buonaparte's fortunes.\n\n              [Footnote 29: Memoires du roi Joseph, I, 47.]\n\nThe Feuillant ministry fell with the King, and an executive council\ncomposed of radicals took its place. For one single day Paris reeled\nlike a drunkard, but on the next the shops were open again. On the\nfollowing Sunday the opera was packed at a benefit performance for the\nwidows and orphans of those who had fallen in victory. A few days\nlater Lafayette, as commander of the armies in the North, issued a\npronunciamento against the popular excesses. He even arrested the\ncommissioners of the Assembly who were sent to supplant him and take\nthe ultimate direction of the campaign. But he quickly found that his\nold prestige was gone; he had not kept pace with the mad rush of\npopular opinion; neither in person nor as the sometime commander of\nthe National Guard had he any longer the slightest influence.\nImpeached and declared an outlaw, he, like the King, lost his balance,\nand fled for refuge into the possessions of Liege. The Austrians\nviolated the sanctuary of neutral territory, and captured him, exactly\nas Napoleon at a later day violated the neutrality of Baden in the\ncase of the Duc d'Enghien. On August twenty-third the strong place of\nLongwy was delivered into the hands of the Prussians, the capitulation\nbeing due, as was claimed, to treachery among the French officers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nBuonaparte the French Jacobin.\n\n     Reinstatement -- Further Solicitation -- Promotion --\n     Napoleon and Elisa -- Occupations in Paris -- Return to\n     Ajaccio -- Disorders in Corsica -- Buonaparte a French\n     Jacobin -- Expedition against Sardinia -- Course of French\n     Affairs -- Paoli's Changed Attitude -- Estrangement of\n     Buonaparte and Paoli -- Mischances in the Preparations\n     against Sardinia -- Failure of the French Detachment --\n     Buonaparte and the Fiasco of the Corsican Detachment -- His\n     Commission Lapses -- Further Developments in France --\n     Results of French Victory -- England's Policy -- Paoli in\n     Danger -- Denounced and Summoned to Paris.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1792-93.]\n\nThe committee to which Buonaparte's request for reinstatement was\nreferred made a report on June twenty-first, 1792, exonerating him\nfrom blame. The reasons given were avowedly based on the\nrepresentations of the suppliant himself: first, that Duteil, the\ninspector, had given him permission to sail for Corsica in time to\navoid the equinox, a distorted truth; and, second, that the Corsican\nauthorities had certified to his civism, his good conduct, and his\nconstant presence at home during his irregular absence from the army,\na truthful statement, but incomplete, since no mention was made of the\ndisgraceful Easter riots at Ajaccio and of Buonaparte's share in them.\nThe attitude of the government is clearly expressed in a despatch of\nJuly eighth from the minister of war, Lajard, to Maillard, commander\nof the Ajaccio garrison. The misdeeds of Quenza and Buonaparte were of\na civil and not a military nature, cognizable therefore under the new\nlegislation only by ordinary courts, not by military tribunals. The\nuprisings, however, had been duly described to the commissioners by\nPeraldi: they state as their opinion that the deputy was ill-informed\nand that his judgment should not stand in the way of justice to M. de\nBuonaparte. On July tenth the minister of war adopted the committee's\nreport, and this fact was announced in a letter addressed by him to\nCaptain Buonaparte!\n\nThe situation is clearly depicted in a letter of August seventh from\nNapoleon to Joseph. Current events were so momentous as to overshadow\npersonal considerations. Besides, there had been no military\nmisdemeanor at Ajaccio and his reinstatement was sure. As things were,\nhe would probably establish himself in France, Corsican as his\ninclinations were. Joseph must get himself made a deputy for Corsica\nto the Assembly, otherwise his role would be unimportant. He had been\nstudying astronomy, a superb science, and with his knowledge of\nmathematics easy of acquisition. His book--the history, no doubt--was\ncopied and ready, but this was no time for publication; besides, he no\nlonger had the \"petty ambition of an author.\" His family desired he\nshould go to his regiment (as likewise did the military authorities at\nParis), and thither he would go.\n\nA formal report in his favor was drawn up on August twentieth. On the\nthirtieth he was completely reinstated, or rather his record was\nentirely sponged out and consigned, as was hoped, to oblivion; for his\ncaptain's commission was dated back to February sixth, 1792, the day\non which his promotion would have occurred in due course if he had\nbeen present in full standing with his regiment. His arrears for that\nrank were to be paid in full. Such success was intoxicating. Monge,\nthe great mathematician, had been his master at the military school in\nParis, and was now minister of the navy. True to his nature, with the\ncarelessness of an adventurer and the effrontery of a gambler, the\nnewly fledged captain promptly put in an application for a position as\nlieutenant-colonel of artillery in the sea service. The authorities\nmust have thought the petition a joke, for the paper was pigeonholed,\nand has been found marked S. R., that is, _sans reponse_--without\nreply. Probably it was written in earnest, the motive being possibly\nan invincible distaste for the regiment in which he had been\ndisgraced, which was still in command of a colonel who was not\ndisposed to leniency.\n\nAn easy excuse for shirking duty and returning to the old habits of a\nCorsican agitator was at hand. The events of August tenth settled the\nfate of all monarchical institutions, even those which were partly\ncharitable. Among other royal foundations suppressed by the Assembly\non August eighteenth was that of St. Cyr, formally styled the\nEstablishment of St. Louis. The date fixed for closing was just\nsubsequent to Buonaparte's promotion, and the pupils were then to be\ndismissed. Each beneficiary was to receive a mileage of one livre for\nevery league she had to traverse. Three hundred and fifty-two was the\nsum due to Elisa. Some one must escort an unprotected girl on the long\njourney; no one was so suitable as her elder brother and natural\nprotector. Accordingly, on September first, the brother and sister\nappeared before the proper authorities to apply for the traveling\nallowance of the latter. Whatever other accomplishments Mlle. de\nBuonaparte had learned at the school of St. Louis, she was still as\ndeficient in writing and spelling as her brother. The formal\nrequisitions written by both are still extant; they would infuriate\nany conscientious teacher in a primary school. Nor did they suffice:\nthe school authorities demanded an order from both the city and\ndepartment officials. It was by the kind intervention of the mayor\nthat the red tape was cut; the money was paid on the next day, and\nthat night the brother and the sister lodged in the Holland Patriots'\nHotel in Paris, where they appear to have remained for a week.\n\nThis is the statement of an early biographer, and appears to be borne\nout by an autograph letter of Napoleon's, recently found, in which he\nsays he left Paris on a date which, although the figure is blurred,\nseems to be the ninth.[30] Some days would be necessary for the new\ncaptain to procure a further leave of absence. Judging from subsequent\nevents, it is possible that he was also seeking further acquaintance\nand favor with the influential Jacobins of Paris. During the days from\nthe second to the seventh more than a thousand of the royalists\nconfined in the prisons of Paris were massacred. It seems incredible\nthat a man of Napoleon's temperament should have seen and known\nnothing of the riotous events connected with such bloodshed. Yet\nnowhere does he hint that he had any personal knowledge. It is\npossible that he left earlier than is generally supposed, but it is\nnot likely in view of the known dates of his journey. In any case he\ndid not seriously compromise himself, doing at the most nothing\nfurther than to make plans for the future. It may have become clear to\nhim, for it was true and he behaved accordingly, that France was not\nyet ready for him, nor he for France.\n\n              [Footnote 30: Napoleon inconnu, II, 408.]\n\nIt is, moreover, a strong indication of Buonaparte's interest in the\nFrench Revolution being purely tentative that as soon as the desired\nleave was granted, probably in the second week of September, without\nwaiting for the all-important fifteen hundred livres of arrears, now\ndue him, but not paid until a month later, he and his sister set out\nfor home. They traveled by diligence to Lyons, and thence by the\nRhone to Marseilles. During the few hours' halt of the boat at\nValence, Napoleon's friends, among them some of his creditors, who\napparently bore him no grudge, waited on him with kindly\nmanifestations of interest. His former landlady, Mme. Bou, although\nher bill had been but insignificantly diminished by payments on\naccount, brought as her gift a basket of the fruit in which the\nneighborhood abounds at that season. The regiment was no longer there,\nthe greater portion, with the colonel, being now on the northeastern\nfrontier under Dumouriez, facing the victorious legions of Prussia and\nAustria. On the fourteenth the travelers were at Marseilles; in that\nfriendly democratic city they were nearly mobbed as aristocrats\nbecause Elisa wore feathers in her hat. It is said that Napoleon flung\nthe offending object into the crowd with a scornful \"No more\naristocrats than you,\" and so turned their howls into laughing\napproval. It was about a month before the arrears of pay reached\nMarseilles, two thousand nine hundred and fifty livres in all, a\nhandsome sum of money and doubly welcome at such a crisis. It was\nprobably October tenth when they sailed for Corsica, and on the\nseventeenth Buonaparte was once more in his home, no longer so\nconfident, perhaps, of a career among his own people, but determined\nto make another effort. It was his fourth return. Lucien and Fesch\nwere leaders in the radical club; Joseph was at his old post, his\nambition to represent Ajaccio at Paris was again thwarted, the\nsuccessful candidate having been Multedo, a family friend; Louis, as\nusual, was disengaged and idle; Mme. Buonaparte and the younger\nchildren were well; he himself was of course triumphantly vindicated\nby his promotion. The ready money from the fortune of the old\narchdeacon was long since exhausted, to be sure; but the excellent\nvineyards, mulberry plantations, and gardens of the family properties\nwere still productive, and Napoleon's private purse had been\nreplenished by the quartermaster of his regiment.\n\nThe course of affairs in France had materially changed the aspect of\nCorsican politics; the situation was, if anything, more favorable for\na revolutionary venture than ever before. Salicetti had returned to\nCorsica after the adjournment of the Constituent Assembly with many\nnew ideas which he had gathered from observing the conduct of the\nParis commune, and these he unstintingly disseminated among his\nsympathizers. They proved to be apt scholars, and quickly caught the\ntricks of demagogism, bribery, corruption, and malversation of the\npublic funds. He had returned to France before Buonaparte arrived, as\na member of the newly elected legislature, but his evil influence\nsurvived his departure, and his lieutenants were ubiquitous and\nactive. Paoli had been rendered helpless, and was sunk in despair. He\nwas now commander-in-chief of the regular troops in garrison, but it\nwas a position to which he had been appointed against his will, for it\nweakened his influence with his own party. Pozzo di Borgo, his stanch\nsupporter and Buonaparte's enemy, was attorney-general in Salicetti's\nstead. As Paoli was at the same time general of the volunteer guard,\nthe entire power of the islands, military and civil, was in his hands:\nbut the responsibility for good order was likewise his, and the people\nwere, if anything, more unruly than ever; for it was to their minds\nillogical that their idol should exercise such supreme power, not as a\nCorsican, but in the name of France. The composition of the two chief\nparties had therefore changed materially, and although their\nrespective views were modified to a certain extent, they were more\nembittered than ever against each other.\n\nBuonaparte could not be neutral; his nature and his surroundings\nforbade it. His first step was to resume his command in the\nvolunteers, and, under pretext of inspecting their posts, to make a\njourney through the island; his second was to go through the form of\nseeking a reconciliation with Paoli. Corsican historians, in their\neagerness to appropriate the greatness of both Paoli and Napoleon,\nhabitually misrepresent their relations. At this time each was playing\nfor his own hand, the elder exclusively for Corsica's advantage as he\nsaw it; the younger was more ambitious personally, although he was\nbeginning to see that in the course of the Revolution Corsica would\nsecure more complete autonomy as a French department than in any other\nway. It is not at all clear that as late as this time Paoli was eager\nfor Napoleon's assistance nor the latter for Paoli's support. The\ncomplete breach came soon and lasted until, when their views no longer\nclashed, they both spoke generously one of the other. In the clubs,\namong his friends and subordinates at the various military stations,\nNapoleon's talk was loud and imperious, his manner haughty and\nassuming. A letter written by him at the time to Costa, then\nlieutenant in the militia and a thorough Corsican, explains that the\nwriter is detained from going to Bonifacio by an order from the\ngeneral (Paoli) to come to Corte; he will, however, hasten to his post\nat the head of the volunteers on the very next day, and there will be\nan end to all disorder and irregularity. \"Greet our friends, and\nassure them of my desire to further their interests.\" The epistle was\nwritten in Italian, but that fact signifies little in comparison with\nthe new tone used in speaking about France: \"The enemy has abandoned\nVerdun and Longwy, and recrossed the river to return home, but our\npeople are not asleep.\" Lucien added a postscript explaining that he\nhad sent a pamphlet to his dear Costa, as to a friend, not as to a\nco-worker, for that he had been unwilling to be. Both the brothers\nseem already to have considered the possibility of abandoning Corsica.\n\nNo sooner had war been declared against Austria in April, than it\nbecame evident that the powers whose territories bordered on those of\nFrance had previously reached an agreement, and were about to form a\ncoalition in order to make the war general. The Austrian Netherlands,\nwhat we now know as Belgium, were already saturated with the\nrevolutionary spirit. It was not probable that much annoyance would\ncome from that quarter. Spain, Prussia, and Holland would, however,\nsurely join the alliance; and if the Italian principalities, with the\nkingdom of Sardinia, should take the same course, France would be in\ndire straits. It was therefore suggested in the Assembly that a blow\nshould be struck at the house of Savoy, in order to awe both that and\nthe other courts of Italy into inactivity. The idea of an attack on\nSardinia for this purpose originated in Corsica, but among the friends\nof Salicetti, and it was he who urged the scheme successfully. The\nsister island was represented as eager to free itself from the control\nof Savoy. In order to secure Paoli's influence not only in his own\nisland, but in Sardinia, where he was likewise well known and admired,\nthe ministers forced upon him the unwelcome appointment of\nlieutenant-general in the regular army, and his friend Peraldi was\nsent to prepare a fleet at Toulon.\n\nThe events of August tenth put an end for the time being to\nconstitutional government in France. The commissioners of the Paris\nsections supplanted the municipal council, and Danton, climbing to\npower as the representative \"plain man,\" became momentarily the\npresiding genius of the new Jacobin commune, which was soon able to\nusurp the supreme control of France. A call was issued for the\nelection by manhood suffrage of a National Convention, and a committee\nof surveillance was appointed with the bloodthirsty Marat as its\nmotive power. At the instigation of this committee large numbers of\nroyalists, constitutionalists, and others suspected of holding kindred\ndoctrines, were thrown into prison. The Assembly went through the form\nof confirming the new despotism, including both the commune of the\nsections and a Jacobin ministry in which Danton held the portfolio of\njustice. It then dispersed. On September second began that general\nclearance of the jails under mock forms of justice to which reference\nhas been made. It was really a massacre, and lasted, as has been said,\nfor five days. Versailles, Lyons, Meaux, Rheims, and Orleans were\nsimilarly \"purified.\" Amid these scenes the immaculate Robespierre,\nwhose hands were not soiled with the blood spilled on August tenth,\nappeared as the calm statesman controlling the wild vagaries of the\nrough and impulsive but unselfish and uncalculating Danton. These two,\nwith Philip Egalite and Collot d'Herbois, were among those elected to\nrepresent Paris in the Convention. That body met on September\ntwenty-first. As they sat in the amphitheater of the Assembly, the\nGirondists, or moderate republicans, who were in a strong majority,\nwere on the right of the president's chair. High up on the extreme\nleft were the Jacobins, or \"Mountain\"; between were placed those timid\ntrimmers who were called the \"Plain\" and the \"Marsh\" according to the\ndegree of their democratic sentiments. The members were, of course,\nwithout exception republicans. The first act of the Convention was to\nabolish the monarchy, and to declare France a republic. The next was\nto establish an executive council. It was decreed that September\ntwenty-second, 1792, was the \"first day of the year I of the\nrepublic.\" Under the leadership of Brissot and Roland, the Girondists\nasserted their power as the majority, endeavoring to restore order in\nParis, and to bridle the extreme Jacobins. But notwithstanding its\nright views and its numbers, the Girondist party displayed no\nsagacity; before the year I was three months old, the unscrupulous\nJacobins, with the aid of the Paris commune, had reasserted their\nsupremacy.\n\nThe declaration of the republic only hastened the execution of\nSalicetti's plan regarding Sardinia, and the Convention was more\nenergetic than the Legislative had been. The fleet was made ready,\ntroops from France were to be embarked at Villefranche, and a force\ncomposed in part of regulars, in part of militia, was to be equipped\nin Corsica and to sail thence to join the main expedition.\nBuonaparte's old battalion was among those that were selected from the\nCorsican volunteers. From the outset Paoli had been unfriendly to the\nscheme; its supporters, whose zeal far outran their means, were not\nhis friends. Nevertheless, he was in supreme command of both regulars\nand volunteers, and the government having authorized the expedition,\nthe necessary orders had to be issued through him as the only channel\nof authority. Buonaparte's reappearance among his men had been of\ncourse irregular. Being now a captain of artillery in the Fourth\nRegiment, on active service and in the receipt of full pay, he could\nno longer legally be a lieutenant-colonel of volunteers, a position\nwhich had also been made one of emolument. But he was not a man to\nstand on slight formalities, and had evidently determined to seize\nboth horns of the dilemma.\n\nPaoli, as a French official, of course could not listen for an instant\nto such a preposterous notion. But as a patriot anxious to keep all\nthe influence he could, and as a family friend of the Buonapartes, he\nwas unwilling to order the young captain back to his post in France,\nas he might well have done. The interview between the two men at Corte\nwas, therefore, indecisive. The older was benignant but firm in\nrefusing his formal consent; the younger pretended to be indignant\nthat he could not secure his rights: it is said that he even\nthreatened to denounce in Paris the anti-nationalist attitude of his\nformer hero. So it happened that Buonaparte returned to Ajaccio with a\npermissive authorization, and, welcomed by his men, assumed a command\nto which he could have no claim, while Paoli shut his eyes to an act\nof flagrant insubordination. Paoli saw that Buonaparte was irrevocably\ncommitted to revolutionary France; Buonaparte was convinced, or\npretended to be, that Paoli was again leaning toward an English\nprotectorate. French imperialist writers hint without the slightest\nbasis of proof that both Paoli and Pozzo di Borgo were in the pay of\nEngland. Many have believed, in the same gratuitous manner, that there\nwas a plot among members of the French party to give Buonaparte the\nchance, by means of the Sardinian expedition, to seize the chief\ncommand at least of the Corsican troops, and thus eventually to\nsupplant Paoli. If this conjecture be true, Paoli either knew nothing\nof the conspiracy, or behaved as he did because his own plans were not\nyet ripe. The drama of his own personal perplexities, cross-purposes,\nand ever false positions, was rapidly moving to an end; the logic of\nevents was too strong for the upright but perplexed old patriot, and a\nscene or two would soon complete the final act of his public career.\n\nThe plan for invading Sardinia was over-complex and too nicely\nadjusted. One portion of the fleet was to skirt the Italian shores,\nmake demonstrations in the various harbors, and demand in one of\nthem--that of Naples--public reparation for an insult already offered\nto the new French flag, which displayed the three colors of liberty.\nThe other portion was first to embark the Corsican guards and French\ntroops at Ajaccio, then to unite with the former in the Bay of Palma,\nwhence both were to proceed against Cagliari. But the French soldiers\nto be taken from the Army of the Var under General Anselme were in\nfact non-existent; the only military force to be found was a portion\nof the Marseilles national guard--mere boys, unequipped, untrained,\nand inexperienced. Winds and waves, too, were adverse: two of the\nvessels were wrecked, and one was disabled. The rest were badly\ndemoralized, and their crews became unruly. On the arrival of the\nships at Ajaccio, a party of roistering sailors went ashore,\naffiliated immediately with the French soldiers of the garrison, and\nin the rough horse-play of such occasions picked a quarrel with\ncertain of the Corsican militia, killing two of their number. The\ncharacter of the islanders showed itself at once in further violence\nand the fiercest threats. The tumult was finally allayed, but it was\nperfectly clear that for Corsicans and Marseillais to be embarked on\nthe same vessel was to invite mutiny, riot, and bloodshed.\n\nBuonaparte thought he saw his way to an independent command, and at\nonce proposed what was manifestly the only alternative--a separate\nCorsican expedition. The French fleet accordingly embarked the\ngarrison troops, and proceeded on its way; the Corsicans remained\nashore, and Buonaparte with them. Scenes like that at Ajaccio were\nrepeated in the harbor of St. Florent, and the attack on Cagliari by\nthe French failed, partly, as might be supposed, from the poor\nequipment of the fleet and the wretched quality of the men, partly\nbecause the two flotillas, or what was left of them, failed to effect\na junction at the appointed place and time. When they did unite, it\nwas February fourteenth, 1793; the men were ill fed and mutinous; the\ntroops that landed to storm the place fell into a panic, and would\nactually have surrendered if the officers had not quickly reembarked\nthem. The costly enterprise met with but a single success: Naples was\ncowed, and the court promised neutrality, with reparation for the\ninsult to the tricolor.\n\nThe Corsican expedition was quite as ill-starred as the French. Paoli\naccepted Buonaparte's plan, but appointed his nephew, Colonna-Cesari,\nto lead, with instructions to see that, if possible, \"this unfortunate\nexpedition shall end in smoke.\"[31] The disappointed but stubborn\nyoung aspirant remained in his subordinate place as an officer of the\nsecond battalion of the Corsican national guard. It was a month before\nthe volunteers could be equipped and a French corvette with her\nattendant feluccas could be made ready to sail. On February twentieth,\n1793, the vessels were finally armed, manned, and provisioned. The\ndestination of the flotilla was the Magdalena Islands, one of which is\nCaprera, since renowned as the home of Garibaldi. The troops embarked\nand put to sea. Almost at once the wind fell; there was a two days'\ncalm, and the ships reached their destination with diminished supplies\nand dispirited crews. The first attack, made on St. Stephen, was\nsuccessful. Buonaparte and his guns were then landed on that spot to\nbombard, across a narrow strait, Magdalena, the chief town on the main\nisland. The enemy's fire was soon silenced, and nothing remained but\nfor the corvette to work slowly round the intervening island of\nCaprera, and take possession. The vessel had suffered slightly from\nthe enemy's fire, two of her crew having been killed. On the pretense\nthat a mutiny was imminent, Colonna-Cesari declared that cooeperation\nbetween the sloop and the shore batteries was no longer possible; the\nartillery and their commander were reembarked only with the utmost\ndifficulty; the unlucky expedition returned on February twenty-seventh\nto Bonifacio.\n\n              [Footnote 31: Reported by Arrighi and Renucci and given\n              in Napoleon inconnu, II, 418.]\n\nBoth Buonaparte and Quenza were enraged with Paoli's nephew, declaring\nhim to have acted traitorously. It is significant of the utter anarchy\nthen prevailing that nobody was punished for the disgraceful fiasco.\nBuonaparte, on landing, at once bade farewell to his volunteers. He\nreported to the war ministry in Paris--and a copy of the memorial was\nsent to Paoli as responsible for his nephew--that the Corsican\nvolunteers had been destitute of food, clothing, and munitions; but\nthat nevertheless their gallantry had overcome all difficulties, and\nthat in the hour of victory they were abased by the shameful conduct\nof their comrades. He must have expressed himself freely, for he was\nmobbed by the sailors in the square of Bonifacio. The men from\nBocagnano, partly from the Buonaparte estates at that place, rescued\nhim from serious danger.[32] When he entered Ajaccio, on March third,\nhe found that he was no longer, even by assumption, a lieutenant-colonel;\nfor during his short absence the whole Corsican guard had been\ndisbanded to make way for two battalions of light infantry whose\nofficers were to be appointed by the directory of the island.\n\n              [Footnote 32: For the original of this protest see\n              Napoleon inconnu, II, 439.]\n\nStrange news now greeted his ears. Much of what had occurred since his\ndeparture from Paris he already knew. France having destroyed root and\nbranch the tyranny of feudal privileges, the whole social edifice was\nslack in every joint, and there was no strong hand to tighten the\nbolts; for the King, in dallying with foreign courts, had virtually\ndeserted his people. The monarchy had therefore fallen, but not until\nits friends had resorted to the expedient of a foreign war as a prop\nto its fortunes. The early victories won by Austria and Prussia had\nstung the nation to madness. Robespierre and Danton having become\ndictators, all moderate policy was eclipsed. The executive council of\nthe Convention, determined to appease the nation, gathered their\nstrength in one vigorous effort, and put three great armies in the\nfield. On November sixth, 1792, to the amazement of the world,\nDumouriez won the battle of Jemmapes, thus conquering the Austrian\nNetherlands as far north as Liege.\n\nThe Scheldt, which had been closed since 1648 through the influence of\nEngland and Holland, was reopened, trade resumed its natural channel,\nand, in the exuberance of popular joy, measures were taken for the\nimmediate establishment of a Belgian republic. The other two armies,\nunder Custine and Kellermann, were less successful. The former, having\noccupied Frankfort, was driven back to the Rhine; the latter defeated\nthe Allies at Valmy, but failed in the task of coming to Custine's\nsupport at the proper moment for combined action. Meantime the\nagitation in Paris had taken the form of personal animosity to \"Louis\nCapet,\" as the leaders of the disordered populace called the King. In\nNovember he was summoned to the bar of the Convention and questioned.\nWhen it came to the consideration of an actual trial, the Girondists,\nwilling to save the prisoner's life, claimed that the Convention had\nno jurisdiction, and must appeal to the sovereign people for\nauthorization. The Jacobins insisted on the sovereign power of the\nConvention, Robespierre protesting in the name of the people against\nan appeal to the people. Supported by the noisy outcries not only of\nthe Parisian populace, but of their followers elsewhere, the radicals\nprevailed. By a vote of three hundred and sixty-six to three hundred\nand fifty-five the verdict of death was pronounced on January\nseventeenth, 1793, and four days later the sentence was executed. This\nact was a defiance to all monarchs, or, in other words, to all Europe.\n\nThe younger Pitt was at this juncture prime minister of England. Like\nthe majority of his countrymen, he had mildly approved the course of\nthe French Revolution down to 1789; with them, in the same way, his\nopinions had since that time undergone a change. By the aid of Burke's\nbiased but masterful eloquence the English people were gradually\nconvinced that Jacobinism, violence, and crime were the essence of the\nmovement, constitutional reform but a specious pretext. Between 1789\nand 1792 there was a rising tide of adverse public sentiment so swift\nand strong that Pitt was unable to follow it. By the execution of\nLouis the English moderates were silenced; the news was received with\na cry of horror, and the nation demanded war. Were kings' heads to\nfall, and republican ideas, supported by republican armies, to spread\nlike a conflagration? The still monarchical liberals of England could\ngive no answer to the case of Louis or to the instance of Belgium, and\nwere stunned. The English anti-Jacobins became as fanatical as the\nFrench Jacobins. Pitt could not resist the torrent. Yet in his extreme\nnecessity he saw his chance for a double stroke: to throw the blame\nfor the war on France, and to consolidate once more his nearly\nvanished power in parliament. With masterly adroitness France was\ntempted into a declaration of war against England. Enthusiasm raged in\nParis like fire among dry stubble. France, if so it must be, against\nthe world! Liberty and equality her religion! The land a camp! The\nentire people an army! Three hundred thousand men to be selected,\nequipped, and drilled at once!\n\nNothing indicates that Buonaparte was in any way moved by the terrible\nmassacres of September, or even by the news of the King's unmerited\nfate. But the declaration of war was a novelty which must have deeply\ninterested him; for what was Paoli now to do? From gratitude to\nEngland he had repeatedly and earnestly declared that he could never\ntake up arms against her. He was already a lieutenant-general in the\nservice of her enemy, his division was assigned to the feeble and\ndisorganized Army of Italy, which was nominally being equipped for\nactive service, and the leadership, so ran the news received at\nAjaccio, had been conferred on the Corsican director. The fact was\nthat the radicals of the Convention had long been aware of the old\npatriot's devotion to constitutional monarchy, and now saw their way\nto be rid of so dangerous a foe. Three successive commanders of that\narmy had already found disgrace in their attempts with inadequate\nmeans to dislodge the Sardinian troops from the mountain passes of the\nMaritime Alps. Mindful, therefore, of their fate, and of his\nobligations to England, Paoli firmly refused the proffered honor.\nSuspicion as to the existence of an English party in the island had\nearly been awakened among the members of the Mountain; for half the\nCorsican delegation to the Convention had opposed the sentence passed\non the King, and Salicetti was the only member who voted in the\naffirmative. When the ill-starred Sardinian expedition reached Toulon,\nthe blame of failure was laid by the Jacobins on Paoli's shoulders.\n\nSalicetti, who was now a real power among the leaders at Paris, felt\nthat he must hasten to his department in order to forestall events, if\npossible, and keep together the remnants of sympathy with France; he\nwas appointed one of a commission to enforce in the island the decrees\nof the Convention. The commission was well received and the feeling\nagainst France was being rapidly allayed when, most unexpectedly,\nfatal news arrived from Paris. In the preceding November Lucien\nBuonaparte had made the acquaintance in Ajaccio of Huguet de\nSemonville, who was on his way to Constantinople as a special envoy of\nthe provisory council then in charge of the Paris administration. In\nall probability he was sent to test Paoli's attitude. Versatile and\ninsinuating, he displayed great activity among the islanders. On one\noccasion he addressed the radical club of Ajaccio--but though\neloquent, he was no linguist, and his French rhetoric would have\nfallen flat but for the fervid zeal of Lucien, who at the close stood\nin his place and rendered the ambassador's speech in Italian to an\nenthralled audience. This event among others showed the younger\nbrother's mettle; the intimacy thus inaugurated ripened quickly and\nendured for long. The ambassador was recalled to the mainland on\nFebruary second, 1793, and took his new-found friend with him as\nsecretary or useful man. Both were firm Jacobins, and the master\nhaving failed in making any impression on Paoli during his Corsican\nsojourn, the man, as the facts stand, took a mean revenge by\ndenouncing the lieutenant-general as a traitor before a political\nmeeting in Toulon. Lucien's friends have thought the words unstudied\nand unpremeditated, uttered in the heat of unripe oratory. This may\nbe, but he expressed no repentance and the responsibility rests upon\nhis memory. As a result of the denunciation an address calumniating\nthe Corsican leader in the most excited terms was sent by the Toulon\nJacobins to the deputy of the department in Paris. Of all this\nNapoleon knew nothing: he and Lucien were slightly alienated because\nthe latter thought his brother but a lukewarm revolutionary. The news\nof the defection of Dumouriez had just arrived at the capital, public\nopinion was inflamed, and on April second Paoli, who seemed likely to\nbe a second Dumouriez, was summoned to appear before the Convention.\nFor a moment he became again the most popular man in Corsica. He had\nalways retained many warm personal friends even among the radicals;\nthe royalists were now forever alienated from a government which had\nkilled their king; the church could no longer expect protection when\nimpious men were in power. These three elements united immediately\nwith the Paolists to protest against the arbitrary act of the\nConvention. Even in that land of confusion there was a degree of chaos\nhitherto unequaled.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nA Jacobin Hegira.\n\n     The Waning of Corsican Patriotism -- Rise of French\n     Radicalism -- Alliance with Salicetti -- Another Scheme for\n     Leadership -- Failure to Seize the Citadel of Ajaccio --\n     Second Plan -- Paoli's Attitude Toward the Convention --\n     Buonaparte Finally Discredited in Corsica -- Paoli Turns to\n     England -- Plans of the Buonaparte Family -- Their Arrival\n     in Toulon -- Napoleon's Character -- His Corsican Career --\n     Lessons of His Failures -- His Ability, Situation, and\n     Experience.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1793.]\n\nBuonoparte was for an instant among the most zealous of Paoli's\nsupporters, and, taking up his ever-ready pen, he wrote two\nimpassioned papers whose respective tenors it is not easy to\nreconcile: one an appeal to the Convention in Paoli's behalf, the\nother a demand addressed to the municipality of Ajaccio that the\npeople should renew their oath of allegiance to France. The\nexplanation is somewhat recondite, perhaps, but not discreditable.\nSalicetti, as chairman of a committee of the convention on Corsican\naffairs, had conferred with Paoli on April thirteenth. The result was\nso satisfactory that on the sixteenth the latter was urged to attend a\nsecond meeting at Bastia in the interest of Corsican reconciliation\nand internal peace. Meantime Lucien's performance at Marseilles had\nfired the train which led to the Convention's action against Paoli,\nand on the seventeenth the order for his arrest reached Salicetti, who\nwas of course charged with its execution. For this he was not\nprepared, nor was Buonaparte. The essential of Corsican annexation to\nFrance was order. The Corsican folk flocked to protect Paoli in\nCorte, and the local government declared for him. There was inchoate\nrebellion and within a few days the districts of Calvi and Bastia were\nsquarely arrayed with Salicetti against Bonifacio and Ajaccio, which\nsupported Paoli and Pozzo di Borgo. The Buonapartes were convinced\nthat the decree of the Convention was precipitate, and pleaded for its\nrecall. At the same time they saw no hope for peace in Corsica, except\nthrough incorporation with France. But compromise proved impossible.\nThere was a truce when Paoli on April twenty-sixth wrote to the\nConvention regretting that he could not obey their summons on account\nof infirmities, and declaring his loyalty to France. In consequence\nthe Convention withdrew its decree and sent a new commission of which\nSalicetti was not a member. This was in May, on the eve of the\nGirondin overthrow. The measures of reconciliation proved unavailing,\nbecause the Jacobins of Marseilles, learning that Paoli was Girondist\nin sentiment, stopped the commission, and forbade their proceeding to\nCorsica.\n\nMeantime Captain Buonaparte's French regiment had already been some\nfive months in active service. If his passion had been only for\nmilitary glory, that was to be found nowhere so certainly as in its\nranks, where he should have been. But his passion for political renown\nwas clearly far stronger. Where could it be so easily gratified as in\nCorsica under the present conditions? The personality of the young\nadventurer had for a long time been curiously double: but while he had\nsuccessfully retained the position of a French officer in France, his\nidentity as a Corsican patriot had been nearly obliterated in Corsica\nby his constant quarrels and repeated failures. Having become a French\nradical, he had been forced into a certain antagonism to Paoli and\nhad thereby jeopardized both his fortunes and his career as far as\nthey were dependent on Corsican support. But with Paoli under the ban\nof the Convention, and suspected of connivance with English schemes,\nthere might be a revulsion of feeling and a chance to make French\ninfluence paramount once more in the island under the leadership of\nthe Buonapartes and their friends. For the moment Napoleon preserved\nthe outward semblance of the Corsican patriot, but he seems to have\nbeen weary at heart of the thankless role and entirely ready to\nexchange it for another. Whatever may have been his plan or the\nprinciples of his conduct, it appears as if the decisive step now to\nbe taken had no relation to either plan or principles, but that it was\nforced upon him by a chance development of events which he could not\nhave foreseen, and which he was utterly unable to control.\n\nIt is unknown whether Salicetti or he made the first advances in\ncoming to an understanding for mutual support, or when that\nunderstanding was reached, but it existed as early as January, 1793, a\nfact conclusively shown by a letter of the former dated early in that\nmonth. It was April fifth when Salicetti reached Corsica; the news of\nPaoli's denunciation by the Convention arrived, as has been said, on\nthe seventeenth. Seeing how nicely adjusted the scales of local\npolitics were, the deputy was eager to secure favor from Paris, and\nwrote on the sixteenth an account of how warmly his commission had\nbeen received. Next day the blow of Paoli's condemnation fell, and it\nbecame plain that compromise was no longer possible. When even the\nBuonapartes were supporting Paoli, the reconciliation of the island\nwith France was clearly impracticable. Salicetti did not hesitate, but\nas between Paoli and Corsica with no career on the one side, and the\npossibilities of a great career under France on the other, quickly\nchose the latter. The same considerations weighed with Buonaparte; he\nfollowed his patron, and as a reward was appointed by the French\ncommission inspector-general of artillery for Corsica.\n\nSalicetti had granted what Paoli would not: Buonaparte was free to\nstrike his blow for Corsican leadership. With swift and decisive\nmeasures the last scene in his Corsican adventures was arranged.\nSeveral great guns which had been saved from a war-ship wrecked in the\nharbor were lying on the shore unmounted. The inspector-general\nhypocritically declared that they were a temptation to insurgents and\na menace to the public peace; they should be stored in the citadel.\nHis plan was to seize the moment when the heavy pieces were passing\nthe drawbridge, and at the head of his followers to take possession of\nthe stronghold he had so long coveted, and so often failed to capture.\nIf he could hold it for the Convention, a career in Corsica would be\nat last assured.\n\nBut again he was doomed to disappointment. The former garrison had\nbeen composed of French soldiers. On the failure of the Sardinian\nexpedition most of these had been landed at Toulon, where they still\nwere. The men in the citadel of Ajaccio were therefore in the main\nislanders, although some French infantry and the French gunners were\nstill there; the new commander was a Paolist who refused to be\nhoodwinked, and would not act without an authorization from his\ngeneral-in-chief. The value of the seizure depended on its promptness.\nIn order to secure a sufficient number of faithful followers,\nBuonaparte started on foot for Bastia to consult the commission.\nLearning that he was already a suspect at Corte and in danger of\narrest, he turned on his steps only to be confronted at Bocognano by a\nband of Peraldi's followers. Two shepherds from his own estate found\na place of concealment for him in a house belonging to their friends,\nand he passed a day in hiding, escaping after nightfall to Ucciani,\nwhence he returned to Ajaccio in safety.[33] Thwarted in one notion,\nBuonaparte then proposed to the followers he already had two\nalternatives: to erect a barricade behind which the guns could be\nmounted and trained on the citadel, or, easier still, to carry one of\nthe pieces to some spot before the main entrance and then batter in\nthe gate. Neither scheme was considered feasible, and it was\ndetermined to secure by bribes, if possible, the cooeperation of a\nportion of the garrison. The attempt failed through the integrity of a\nsingle man, and is interesting only as having been Napoleon's first\nlesson in an art which was thenceforward an unfailing resource. Rumors\nof these proceedings soon reached the friends of Paoli, and Buonaparte\nwas summoned to report immediately at Corte. Such was the intensity of\npopular bitterness against him in Ajaccio for his desertion of Paoli\nthat after a series of narrow escapes from arrest he was compelled to\nflee in disguise and by water to Bastia, which he reached on May\ntenth, 1793. Thwarted in their efforts to seize Napoleon, the hostile\nparty vented its rage on the rest of the family, hunting the mother\nand children from their town house, which was pillaged and burned,\nfirst to Milleli, then through jungle and over hilltops to the lonely\ntower of Capitello near the sea.\n\n              [Footnote 33: Both these men were generously remembered\n              in the secret codicils of Napoleon's will.]\n\nA desire for revenge on his Corsican persecutors would now give an\nadditional stimulus to Buonaparte, and still another device to secure\nthe passionately desired citadel of Ajaccio was proposed by him to the\ncommissioners of the Convention, and adopted by them. The remnants of\na Swiss regiment stationed near by were to be marched into the city,\nas if for embarkment; several French war vessels from the harbor of\nSt. Florent, including one frigate, with troops, munitions, and\nartillery on board, were to appear unexpectedly before the city, land\ntheir men and guns, and then, with the help of the Switzers and such\nof the citizens as espoused the French cause, were to overawe the town\nand seize the citadel. Corsican affairs had now reached a crisis, for\nthis was a virtual declaration of war. Paoli so understood it, and\nmeasures of mutual defiance were at once taken by both sides. The\nFrench commissioners formally deposed the officials who sympathized\nwith Paoli; they, in turn, took steps to increase the garrison of\nAjaccio, and to strengthen the popular sentiment in their favor.\n\nOn receipt of the news that he had been summoned to Paris and that\nhostile commissioners had been sent to take his place, Paoli had\nimmediately forwarded, by the hands of two friendly representatives,\nthe temperate letter in which he had declared his loyalty to France.\nIn it he had offered to resign and leave Corsica. His messengers were\nseized and temporarily detained, but in the end they reached Paris,\nand were kindly received. On May twenty-ninth they appeared on the\nfloor of the Convention, and won their cause. On June fifth the former\ndecree was revoked, and two days later a new and friendly commission\nof two members started for Corsica. But at Marseilles they fell into\nthe hands of the Jacobin mob, and were arrested. Ignorant of these\nfavorable events, and the untoward circumstances by which their effect\nwas thwarted, the disheartened statesman had written and forwarded on\nMay fourteenth a second letter, of the same tenor as the first. This\nmeasure likewise had failed of effect, for the messenger had been\nstopped at Bastia, now the focus of Salicetti's influence, and the\nletter had never reached its destination.\n\nIt was probably in this interval that Paoli finally adopted, as a last\ndesperate resort, the hitherto hazy idea of putting the island under\nEnglish protection, in order to maintain himself in the mission to\nwhich he felt that Providence had called him. The actual departure of\nNapoleon's expedition from St. Florent gave the final impulse. That\nevent so inflamed the passions of the conservative party in Ajaccio\nthat the Buonaparte family could no longer think of returning within a\nreasonable time to their home. Some desperate resolution must be\ntaken, though it should involve leaving their small estates to be\nravaged, their slender resources to be destroyed, and abandoning their\npartizans to proscription and imprisonment. They finally found a\ntemporary asylum with a relative in Calvi. The attacking flotilla had\nbeen detained nearly a week by a storm, and reached Ajaccio on May\ntwenty-ninth, in the very height of these turmoils. It was too late\nfor any possibility of success. The few French troops on shore were\ncowed, and dared not show themselves when a party landed from the\nships. On the contrary, Napoleon and his volunteers were received with\na fire of musketry, and, after spending two anxious days in an\noutlying tower which they had seized and held, were glad to reembark\nand sail away. Their leader, after still another narrow escape from\nseizure, rejoined his family at Calvi. The Jacobin commission held a\nmeeting, and determined to send Salicetti to justify their course at\nParis. He carried with him a wordy paper written by Buonaparte in his\nworst style and spelling, setting forth the military and political\nsituation in Corsica, and containing a bitter tirade against Paoli,\nwhich remains to lend some color to the charge that the writer had\nbeen, since his leader's return from exile, a spy and an informer,\ninfluenced by no high principle of patriotism, but only by a base\nambition to supplant the aged president, and then to adopt whichever\nplan would best further his own interest: ready either to establish a\nvirtual autonomy in his fatherland, or to deliver it entirely into the\nhands of France.[34]\n\n              [Footnote 34: For this paper, see Napoleon inconnu, II,\n              462. Jung: Bonaparte et son temps, II, 266 and 498.\n              There appear to have been an official portion intended\n              to be filed, and a free, carelessly written running\n              commentary on men and things. The passage quoted is\n              taken from the latter.]\n\nIn this painful document Buonaparte sets forth in fiery phrase the\nearly enthusiasm of republicans for the return of Paoli, and their\ndisillusionment when he surrounded himself with venal men like Pozzo\ndi Borgo, with relatives like his nephew Leonetti, with his vile\ncreatures in general. The misfortunes of the Sardinian expedition, the\ndisgraceful disorders of the island, the failure of the commissioners\nto secure Ajaccio, are all alike attributed to Paoli. \"Can perfidy\nlike this invade the human heart?... What fatal ambition overmasters a\ngraybeard of sixty-eight?... On his face are goodness and gentleness,\nin his heart hate and vengeance; he has an oily sensibility in his\neyes, and gall in his soul, but neither character nor strength.\" These\nwere the sentiments proper to a radical of the times, and they found\nacceptance among the leaders of that class in Paris. More moderate men\ndid what they could to avert the impending breach, but in vain.\nCorsica was far, communication slow, and the misunderstanding which\noccurred was consequently unavoidable. It was not until July first\nthat Paoli received news of the pacificatory decrees passed by the\nConvention more than a month before, and then it was too late; groping\nin the dark, and unable to get news, he had formed his judgment from\nwhat was going on in Corsica, and had therefore committed himself to a\nchange of policy. To him, as to most thinking men, the entire\nstructure of France, social, financial, and political, seemed rotten.\nCivil war had broken out in Vendee; in Brittany the wildest excesses\npassed unpunished; the great cities of Marseilles, Toulon, and Lyons\nwere in a state of anarchy; the revolutionary tribunal had been\nestablished in Paris; the Committee of Public Safety had usurped the\nsupreme power; the France to which he had intrusted the fortunes of\nCorsica was no more. Already an agent was in communication with the\nEnglish diplomats in Italy. On July tenth Salicetti arrived in Paris;\non the seventeenth Paoli was declared a traitor and an outlaw, and his\nfriends were indicted for trial. But the English fleet was already in\nthe Mediterranean, and although the British protectorate over Corsica\nwas not established until the following year, in the interval the\nFrench and their few remaining sympathizers on the island were able at\nbest to hold only the three towns of Bastia, St. Florent, and Calvi.\n\nAfter the last fiasco before the citadel of Ajaccio, the situation of\nthe Buonapartes was momentarily desperate. Lucien says in his memoirs\nthat shortly before his brother had spoken longingly of India, of the\nEnglish empire as destined to spread with every year, and of the\ncareer which its expansion opened to good officers of artillery, who\nwere scarce among the British--scarce enough everywhere, he thought.\n\"If I ever choose that career,\" said he, \"I hope you will hear of me.\nIn a few years I shall return thence a rich nabob, and bring fine\ndowries for our three sisters.\" But the scheme was deferred and then\nabandoned. Salicetti had arranged for his own return to Paris, where\nhe would be safe. Napoleon felt that flight was the only resort for\nhim and his. Accordingly, on June eleventh, three days earlier than\nhis patron, he and Joseph, accompanied by Fesch, embarked with their\nmother and the rest of the family to join Lucien, who had remained at\nToulon, where they arrived on the thirteenth. The Jacobins of that\ncity had received Lucien, as a sympathetic Corsican, with honor.\nDoubtless his family, homeless and destitute for their devotion to the\nrepublic, would find encouragement and help until some favorable turn\nin affairs should restore their country to France, and reinstate them\nnot only in their old possessions, but in such new dignities as would\nfitly reward their long and painful devotion. Such, at least, appears\nto have been Napoleon's general idea. He was provided with a legal\ncertificate that his family was one of importance and the richest in\nthe department. The Convention had promised compensation to those who\nhad suffered losses.\n\nAs had been hoped, on their arrival the Buonapartes were treated with\nevery mark of distinction, and ample provision was made for their\ncomfort. By act of the Convention, women and old men in such\ncircumstances received seventy-five livres a month, infants forty-five\nlivres. Lads received simply a present of twenty-five livres. With the\npreliminary payment of one hundred and fifty livres, which they\npromptly received, the Buonapartes were better off than they had been\nat home. Lucien had appropriated Napoleon's certificate of birth in\norder to appear older than he was, and, having now developed into a\nfluent demagogue, was soon earning a small salary in the commissary\ndepartment of the army. Fesch also found a comfortable berth in the\nsame department. Joseph calmly displayed Napoleon's commission in the\nNational Guard as his own, and received a higher place with a better\nsalary. The sovereignty of the Convention was everywhere acknowledged,\ntheir revolutionary courts were established far and wide, and their\nlegations, clothed with dictatorial power, were acknowledged in every\ncamp of the land as supreme, superior even to the commanders-in-chief.\nIt was not exactly a time for further military irregularities, and\nNapoleon, armed with a certificate from Salicetti that his presence in\nCorsica for the past six months had been necessary, betook himself to\nthe army headquarters at Nice, where a detachment of his regiment was\nnow stationed. When he arrived, no awkward questions were asked by the\nauthorities. The town had but recently been captured, men were needed\nto hold it, and the Corsican refugee was promptly appointed captain of\nthe shore battery. To casual observers he appeared perfectly content\nin this subordinate position. He still cherished the hope, it seems,\nthat he might find some opportunity to lead a successful expedition\nagainst the little citadel of Ajaccio. Such a scheme, at all events,\noccupied him intermittently for nearly two years, or until it was\nbanished forever by visions of a European control far transcending the\nlimits of his island home.\n\nNot that the outcast Buonaparte was any longer exclusively a Corsican.\nIt is impossible to conceive of a lot more pitiful or a fate more\nobdurate than his so far had been. There was little hereditary\nmorality in his nature, and none had been inculcated by training; he\nhad nothing of what is called vital piety, nor even sincere\nsuperstition. A butt and an outcast at a French school under the old\nregime, he had imbibed a bitter hatred for the land indelibly\nassociated with such haughty privileges for the rich and such\ncontemptuous disdain for the poor. He had not even the consolation of\nhaving received an education. His nature revolted at the religious\nformalism of priestcraft; his mind turned in disgust from the\nscholastic husks of its superficial knowledge. What he had learned\ncame from inborn capacity, from desultory reading, and from the\nuntutored imaginings of his garden at Brienne, his cave at Ajaccio, or\nhis barrack chambers. What more plausible than that he should first\nturn to the land of his birth with some hope of happiness, usefulness,\nor even glory! What more mortifying than the revelation that in\nmanhood he was too French for Corsica, as in boyhood he had been too\nCorsican for France!\n\nThe story of his sojourns and adventures in Corsica has no\nfascination; it is neither heroic nor satanic, but belongs to the dull\nand mediocre realism which makes up so much of commonplace life. It is\ndifficult to find even a thread of continuity in it: there may be one\nas to purpose; there is none as to either conduct or theory. There is\nthe passionate admiration of a southern nature for a hero as\nrepresented by the ideal Paoli. There is the equally southern quality\nof quick but transient hatred. The love of dramatic effect is shown at\nevery turn, in the perfervid style of his writings, in the mock\ndignity of an edict issued from the grotto at Milleli, in the empty\nhonors of a lieutenant-colonel without a real command, in the paltry\nstyle of an artillery inspector with no artillery but a few dismantled\nguns.\n\nBut the most prominent characteristic of the young man was his\nshiftiness, in both the good and bad senses of the word. He would\nperish with mortification rather than fail in devising some expedient\nto meet every emergency; he felt no hesitation in changing his point\nof view as experience destroyed an ideal or an unforeseen chance was\nto be seized and improved. Moreover, repeated failure did not\ndishearten him. Detesting garrison life, he neglected its duties, and\nendured punishment, but he secured regular promotion; defeated again\nand again before the citadel of Ajaccio, each time he returned\nundismayed to make a fresh trial under new auspices or in a new way.\n\nHe was no spendthrift, but he had no scruples about money. He was\nproud in the headship of his family, and reckless as to how he should\nsupport them, or should secure their promotion. Solitary in his\nboyhood, he had become in his youth a companion and leader; but his\ntrue friendships were not with his social equals, whom he despised,\nbut with the lowly, whom he understood. Finally, here was a citizen of\nthe world, a man without a country; his birthright was gone, for\nCorsica repelled him; France he hated, for she had never adopted him.\nHe was almost without a profession, for he had neglected that of a\nsoldier, and had failed both as an author and as a politician. He was\napparently, too, without a single guiding principle; the world had\nbeen a harsh stepmother, at whose knee he had neither learned the\ntruth nor experienced kindness. He appears consistent in nothing but\nin making the best of events as they occurred. So far he was a man\nneither much better nor much worse than the world into which he was\nborn. He was quite as unscrupulous as those about him, but he was far\ngreater than they in perspicacity, adroitness, adaptability, and\npersistence. During the period before his expulsion from Corsica these\nqualities of leadership were scarcely recognizable, but they existed.\nAs yet, to all outward appearance, the little captain of artillery was\nthe same slim, ill-proportioned, and rather insignificant youth; but\nat twenty-three he had had the experience of a much greater age.\nConscious of his powers, he had dreamed many day-dreams, and had\nacquired a habit of boastful conversation in the family circle; but,\nfully cognizant of the dangers incident to his place, and the\nunsettled conditions about him, he was cautious and reserved in the\noutside world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\"The Supper of Beaucaire\".\n\n     Revolutionary Madness -- Uprising of the Girondists --\n     Convention Forces Before Avignon -- Bonaparte's First\n     Success in Arms -- Its Effect upon His Career -- His\n     Political Pamphlet -- The Genius it Displays -- Accepted and\n     Published by Authority -- Seizure of Toulon by the Allies.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1793.]\n\nIt was a tempestuous time in Provence when on June thirteenth the\nBuonapartes arrived at Toulon. Their movements during the first few\nmonths cannot be determined; we only know that, after a very short\nresidence there, the family fled to Marseilles.[35] Much, too, is\nobscure in regard even to Napoleon, soldier as he was. It seems as if\nthis period of their history had been wilfully confused to conceal how\nintimate were the connections of the entire family with the Jacobins.\nBut the obscurity may also be due to the character of the times.\nFleeing before the storms of Corsican revolution, they were caught in\nthe whirlwind of French anarchy. The Girondists, after involving the\ncountry in a desperate foreign warfare, had shown themselves\nincompetent to carry it on. In Paris, therefore, they had to give way\nbefore the Jacobins, who, by the exercise of a reckless despotism,\nwere able to display an unparalleled energy in its prosecution.\nAgainst their tyranny the moderate republicans and the royalists\noutside of Paris now made common cause, and civil war broke out in\nmany places, including Vendee, the Rhone valley, and the southeast of\nFrance. Montesquieu declares that honor is the distinguishing\ncharacteristic of aristocracy: the emigrant aristocrats had been the\nfirst in France to throw honor and patriotism to the winds; many of\ntheir class who remained went further, displaying in Vendee and\nelsewhere a satanic vindictiveness. This shameful policy  the\nentire civil war, and the bitterness in attack and retaliation that\nwas shown in Marseilles, Lyons, Toulon, and elsewhere would have\ndisgraced savages in a prehistoric age.\n\n              [Footnote 35: The memoirs of Joseph and Lucien,\n              supported by Coston and the anonymous local historian of\n              Marseilles, all unite in declaring that the Buonaparte\n              family landed there; on the other hand, Louis, in the\n              Documents historiques sur la Hollande, I, 34, asserts\n              categorically in detail that they took up their abode in\n              La Valette, a suburb of Toulon, where they had landed.]\n\nThe westward <DW72>s of the Alps were occupied by a French army under\nthe command of Kellermann, designated by the name of its situation;\nfarther south and east lay the Army of Italy, under Brunet. Both these\narmies were expected to draw their supplies from the fertile country\nbehind them, and to cooeperate against the troops of Savoy and Austria,\nwhich had occupied the passes of lower Piedmont, and blocked the way\ninto Lombardy. By this time the law for compulsory enlistment had been\nenacted, but the general excitement and topsy-turvy management\nincident to such rapid changes in government and society, having\ncaused the failure of the Sardinian expedition, had also prevented\nrecruiting or equipment in either of these two divisions of the army.\nThe outbreak of open hostilities in all the lands immediately to the\nwestward momentarily paralyzed their operations; and when, shortly\nafterward, the Girondists overpowered the Jacobins in Marseilles, the\ndefection of that city made it difficult for the so-called regulars,\nthe soldiers of the Convention, even to obtain subsistence and hold\nthe territory they already occupied.\n\nThe next move of the insurgent Girondists of Marseilles was in the\ndirection of Paris, and by the first week of July they had reached\nAvignon on their way to join forces with their equally successful\nfriends at Lyons. With characteristic zeal, the Convention had created\nan army to meet them. The new force was put under the command of\nCarteaux, a civilian, but a man of energy. According to directions\nreceived from Paris, he quickly advanced to cut the enemy in two by\noccupying the strategic point of Valence. This move was successfully\nmade, Lyons was left to fight its own battle, and by the middle of\nJuly the general of the Convention was encamped before the walls of\nAvignon.\n\nNapoleon Buonaparte had hastened to Nice, where five companies of his\nregiment were stationed, and rejoining the French army, never faltered\nagain in his allegiance to the tricolor. Jean Duteil, brother of the\nyoung man's former patron, was in the Savoy capital, high in command.\nHe promptly set the young artillerist at the work of completing the\nshore batteries. On July third and eighth, respectively, the new\ncaptain made written reports to the secretary for war at Paris, and to\nthe director of artillery in the arsenal of Toulon. Both these papers\nare succinct and well written. Almost immediately Buonaparte was\nintrusted with a mission, probably confidential, since its exact\nnature is unknown, and set out for Avignon. He reached his destination\nalmost in the moment when Carteaux began the investment of the city.\nIt was about July sixteenth when he entered the republican camp,\nhaving arrived by devious ways, and after narrow escapes from the\nenemy's hands. This time he was absent from his post on duty. The\nworks and guns at Nice being inadequate and almost worthless, he was\nprobably sent to secure supplies from the stores of Avignon when it\nshould be conquered. Such were the straits of the needy republican\ngeneral that he immediately appointed his visitor to the command of a\nstrong body of flying artillery. In the first attack on the town\nCarteaux received a check. But the insurgents were raw volunteers and\nseem to have felt more and more dismayed by the menacing attitude of\nthe surrounding population: on the twenty-fifth, in the very hour of\nvictory, they began their retreat.[36] The road to Marseilles was thus\nclear, and the commander unwisely opened his lines to occupy the\nevacuated towns on his front. Carteaux entered Avignon on the\ntwenty-sixth; on the twenty-seventh he collected his force and\ndeparted, reaching Tarascon on the twenty-eighth, and on the\ntwenty-ninth Beaucaire. Buonaparte, whose battery had done excellent\nservice, advanced for some distance with the main army, but was\nordered back to protect the rear by reorganizing and reconstructing\nthe artillery park which had been dismantled in the assault on\nAvignon.\n\n              [Footnote 36: These are the most probable reasons for\n              the retreat. Several local chroniclers, Soullier, Audri,\n              and Joudou, writing all three about 1844, declare each\n              and all that Buonaparte with his battery followed the\n              right bank of the Rhone as far as the Rocher de Justice\n              where he mounted his guns and opened fire on the walls\n              of the city. His fire was so accurate that he destroyed\n              one cannon and killed several gunners. The besieged\n              garrison of federalists were thrown into panic and\n              decamped. Neither the contemporary authorities nor\n              Napoleon himself ever mentioned any such remarkable\n              circumstances. In fact, a passage of the \"Souper de\n              Beaucaire\" attributes the retreat to the inability of\n              any except veteran troops to withstand a siege. Finally,\n              Buonaparte would surely have been promoted for such an\n              exploit. Dommartin, a comrade, was thus rewarded for a\n              much smaller service.]\n\nThis first successful feat of arms made a profound impression on\nBuonaparte's mind, and led to the decision which settled his career.\nHis spirits were still low, for he was suffering from a return of his\nold malarial trouble. Moreover, his family seems already to have been\ndriven from Toulon by the uprising of the hostile party: in any case\nthey were now dependent on charity; the Corsican revolt against the\nConvention was virtually successful, and it was said that in the\nisland the name of Buonaparte was considered as little less execrable\nthan that of Buttafuoco. What must he do to get a decisive share in\nthe surging, rolling tumult about him? The visionary boy was transformed\ninto the practical man. Frenchmen were fighting and winning glory\neverywhere, and among the men who were reaping laurels were some whom\nhe had known and even despised at Brienne--Sergeant Pichegru, for\ninstance. Ideas which he had momentarily entertained,--enlistment in\nthe Russian army,[37] service with England, a career in the Indies,\nthe return of the nabob,--all such visions were set aside forever, and\nan application was sent for a transfer from the Army of Italy to that\nof the Rhine. The suppression of the southern revolt would soon be\naccomplished, and inactivity ensue; but on the frontier of the north\nthere was a warfare worthy of his powers, in which, if he could only\nattract the attention of the authorities, long service, rapid\nadvancement, and lasting glory might all be secured.\n\n              [Footnote 37: The Archive Russe for 1866 states that in\n              1788 Napoleon Buonaparte applied for an engagement to\n              Zaborowski, Potemkin's lieutenant, who was then with a\n              Russian fleet in the Mediterranean. The statement may be\n              true, and probably is, but there is no corroborative\n              evidence to sustain it.]\n\nBut what must be the first step to secure notoriety here and now? How\ncould that end be gained? The old instinct of authorship returned\nirresistibly, and in the long intervals of easy duty at Avignon,\nwhere, as is most probable, he remained to complete the task assigned\nto him, Buonaparte wrote the \"Supper of Beaucaire,\" his first literary\nwork of real ability. As if by magic his style is utterly changed,\nbeing now concise, correct, and lucid. The reader would be tempted to\nthink it had enjoyed a thorough revision from some capable hand. But\nthis is improbable when we note that it is the permanent style of the\nfuture. Moreover, the opinions expressed are quite as thoroughly\ntransformed, and display not only a clear political judgment, but an\nalmost startling military insight. The setting of this notable repast\nis possibly, though by no means certainly, based on an actual\nexperience, and is as follows: Five wayfarers--a native of Nimes, a\nmanufacturer from Montpellier, two merchants of Marseilles, and a\nsoldier from Avignon--find themselves accidentally thrown together as\ntable companions at an inn of Beaucaire, a little city round about\nwhich the civil war is raging. The conversation at supper turns on the\nevents occurring in the neighborhood. The soldier explains the\ncircumstances connected with the recent capture of Avignon,\nattributing the flight of the insurgents to the inability of any\nexcept veteran troops to endure the uncertainties of a siege. One of\nthe travelers from Marseilles thinks the success but temporary, and\nrecapitulates the resources of the moderates. The soldier retorts in a\nlong refutation of that opinion. As a politician he shows how the\ninsurgents have placed themselves in a false position by adopting\nextreme measures and alienating republican sympathy, being cautious\nand diplomatic in not censuring their persons nor their principles; on\nthe other side there is a marked effort to emphasize the professional\nattitude; as a military man he explains the strategic weakness of\ntheir position, and the futility of their operations, uttering many\nsententious phrases: \"Self-conceit is the worst adviser\"; \"Good\nfour-and eight-pound cannon are as effective for field work as pieces\nof larger caliber, and are in many respects preferable to them\"; \"It\nis an axiom of military science that the army which remains behind\nits intrenchments is beaten: experience and theory agree on this\npoint.\"\n\nThe conclusion of the conversation is a triumphant demonstration that\nthe cause of the insurgents is already lost, an argument convicting\nthem of really desiring not moderation, but a counter-revolution in\ntheir own interest, and of displaying a willingness to imitate the\nVendeans, and call in foreign aid if necessary. In one remarkable\npassage the soldier grants that the Girondists may have been outlawed,\nimprisoned, and calumniated by the Mountain in its own selfish\ninterest, but adds that the former \"were lost without a civil war by\nmeans of which they could lay down the law to their enemies. It was\nfor them your war was really useful. Had they merited their early\nreputation, they would have thrown down their arms before the\nconstitution and sacrificed their own interests to the public welfare.\nIt is easier to cite Decius than to imitate him. To-day they have\nshown themselves guilty of the worst possible crimes; have, by their\nbehavior, justified their proscription. The blood they have caused to\nflow has effaced the true services they had rendered.\" The Montpellier\nmanufacturer is of opinion that, whether this be true or no, the\nConvention now represents the nation, and to refuse obedience to it is\nrebellion and counter-revolution. History knows no plainer statement\nthan this of the \"de facto, de jure\" principle, the conviction that\n\"might makes right.\"\n\nAt last, then, the leader had shown himself in seizing the salient\nelements of a complicated situation, and the man of affairs had found\na style in which to express his clear-cut ideas. When the tide turns\nit rises without interruption. Buonaparte's pamphlet was scarcely\nwritten before its value was discerned; for at that moment arrived\none of those legations now representing the sovereignty of the\nConvention in every field of operations. This one was a most\ninfluential committee of three--Escudier, Ricord, and the younger\nbrother of Robespierre. Accompanying them was a commission charged to\nrenew the commissary stores in Corsica for the few troops still\nholding out in that island. Salicetti was at its head; the other\nmember was Gasparin. Buonaparte, we may infer, found easy access to\nthe favor of his compatriot Salicetti, and \"The Supper of Beaucaire\"\nwas heard by the plenipotentiaries with attention. Its merit was\nimmediately recognized, as is said, both by Gasparin and by the\nyounger Robespierre; in a few days the pamphlet was published at the\nexpense of the state.[38] Of Buonaparte's life between July\ntwenty-ninth and September twelfth, 1793, there are the most\nconflicting accounts. Some say he was at Marseilles, others deny it.\nHis brother Joseph thought he was occupied in collecting munitions and\nsupplies for the Army of Italy. His earliest biographer declares that\nhe traveled by way of Lyons and Auxonne to Paris, returning by the\nsame route to Avignon, and thence journeying to Ollioules near Toulon.\nFrom the army headquarters before that city Salicetti wrote on\nSeptember twenty-sixth that while Buonaparte was passing on his way to\nrejoin the Army of Italy, the authorities in charge of the siege\nchanged his destination and put him in command of the heavy artillery\nto replace Dommartin, incapacitated for service by a wound. It has\nbeen hinted by both the suspicious and the credulous writers on the\nperiod that the young man was employed on some secret mission. This\nmight be expected from those who attribute demonic qualities to the\nchild of destiny from earliest infancy, but there is no slightest\nevidence to sustain the claim. Quite possibly the lad relapsed into\nthe queer restless ways of earlier life. It is evident he was thwarted\nin his hope of transfer to the Army of the Rhine. Unwilling as he was\nto serve in Italy, he finally turned his lagging footsteps thither.\nPerhaps, as high authorities declare, it was at Marseilles that his\ncompatriot Cervoni persuaded him to go as far at least as Toulon,\nthough Salicetti and Buonaparte himself declared later that they met\nand arranged the matter at Nice.\n\n              [Footnote 38: The very first impression appears to have\n              been a reprint from the Courier d'Avignon: it was a\n              cheap pamphlet of sixteen pages in the same type and on\n              the paper as that used by the journal. The second\n              impression was in twenty pages, printed by the public\n              printer as a tract for the times, to be distributed\n              throughout the near and remote neighborhood.]\n\nIn this interval, while Buonaparte remained, according to the best\nauthority, within reach of Avignon, securing artillery supplies and\nwriting a political pamphlet in support of the Jacobins, Carteaux had,\non August twenty-fifth, 1793, taken Marseilles. The capture was\ncelebrated by one of the bloodiest orgies of that horrible year. The\nGirondists of Toulon saw in the fate of those at Marseilles the lot\napportioned to themselves. If the high contracting powers now banded\nagainst France had shown a sincere desire to quell Jacobin bestiality,\nthey could on the first formation of the coalition easily have seized\nParis. Instead, Austria and Prussia had shown the most selfish apathy\nin that respect, bargaining with each other and with Russia for their\nrespective shares of Poland, the booty they were about to seize. The\nintensity of the Jacobin movement did not rouse them until the\nmajority of the French people, vaguely grasping the elements of\npermanent value in the Revolution, and stung by foreign interference,\nrallied around the only standard which was firmly upheld,--that of the\nConvention,--and enabled that body within an incredibly short space\nof time to put forth tremendous energy. Then England, terrified into\npanic, drove Pitt to take effective measures, and displayed her\nresources in raising subsidies for her Continental allies, in goading\nthe German powers to activity, in scouring every sea with her fleets.\nOne of these was cruising off the French coast in the Mediterranean,\nand it was easy for the Girondists of Toulon to induce its commander\nto seize not only their splendid arsenals, but the fleet in their\nharbor as well--the only effective one, in fact, which at that time\nthe French possessed. Without delay or hesitation, Hood, the English\nadmiral, grasped the easy prize, and before long war-ships of the\nSpaniards, Neapolitans, and Sardinians were gathered to share in the\ndefense of the town against the Convention forces. Soon the Girondist\nfugitives from Marseilles arrived, and were received with kindness.\nThe place was provisioned, the gates were shut, and every preparation\nfor desperate resistance was completed. The fate of the republic was\nat stake. The crisis was acute. No wonder that in view of his\nwonderful career, Napoleon long after, and his friends in accord,\ndeclared that in the hour appeared the man. There, said the inspired\nmemorialist of St. Helena, history found him, never to leave him;\nthere began his immortality. Though this language is truer ideally\nthan in sober reality, yet the Emperor had a certain justification for\nhis claim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nToulon.\n\n     The Jacobin Power Threatened -- Buonaparte's Fate -- His\n     Appointment at Toulon -- His Ability as an Artillerist --\n     His Name Mentioned with Distinction -- His Plan of\n     Operations -- The Fall of Toulon -- Buonaparte a General of\n     Brigade -- Behavior of the Jacobin Victors -- A Corsican\n     Plot -- Horrors of the French Revolution -- Influence of\n     Toulon on Buonaparte's Career.[39]\n\n              [Footnote 39: The authorities for this important epoch\n              are, primarily, Jung: Bonaparte et son temps; Masson:\n              Napoleon inconnu; but above all, Chuquet: La jeunesse de\n              Napoleon, Vol. III, Toulon. The Memoires of Barras are\n              utterly worthless, the references in Las Cases, Marmont,\n              and elsewhere have value, but must be controlled. The\n              archives of the war department have been thoroughly\n              examined by several investigators, the author among the\n              number. The results have been printed in many volumes to\n              which the above-mentioned authors refer, and many of the\n              original papers are printed in whole or in part by\n              them.]\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1793.]\n\nCoupled as it was with other discouraging circumstances, the \"treason\nof Toulon\" struck a staggering blow at the Convention. The siege of\nLyons was still in progress; the Piedmontese were entering Savoy, or\nthe department of Mont Blanc, as it had been designated after its\nrecent capture by France; the great city of Bordeaux was ominously\nsilent and inactive; the royalists of Vendee were temporarily\nvictorious; there was unrest in Normandy, and further violence in\nBrittany; the towns of Mainz, Valenciennes, and Conde had been\nevacuated, and Dunkirk was besieged by the Duke of York. The loss of\nToulon would put a climax to such disasters, destroy the credit of the\nrepublic abroad and at home, perhaps bring back the Bourbons. Carnot\nhad in the meantime come to the assistance of the Committee of Safety.\nGreat as a military organizer and influential as a politician, he had\nalready awakened the whole land to a still higher fervor, and had\nconsolidated public sentiment in favor of his plans. In Dubois de\nCrance he had an able lieutenant. Fourteen armies were soon to move\nand fight, directed by a single mind; discipline was about to be\neffectively strengthened because it was to be the discipline of the\npeople by itself; the envoys of the Convention were to go to and fro,\nsuccessfully laboring for common action and common enthusiasm in the\nexecutive, in both the fighting services, and in the nation. But as\nyet none of these miracles had been wrought, and, with Toulon lost,\nthey might be forever impossible.\n\nSuch was the setting of the stage in the great national theater of\nFrance when Napoleon Buonaparte entered on the scene. The records of\nhis boyhood and youth by his own hand afford the proof of what he was\nat twenty-four. It has required no searching analysis to discern the\nman, nor trace the influences of his education. Except for short and\nunimportant periods, the story is complete and accurate. It is,\nmoreover, absolutely unsophisticated. What does it show? A well-born\nCorsican child, of a family with some fortune, glad to use every\nresource of a disordered time for securing education and money,\npatriotic at heart but willing to profit from France, or indeed from\nRussia, England, the Orient; wherever material advantage was to be\nfound. This boy was both idealist and realist, each in the high degree\ncorresponding to his great abilities. He shone neither as a scholar\nnor as an officer, being obdurate to all training,--but by independent\nexertions and desultory reading of a high class he formed an ideal of\nsociety in which there prevailed equality of station and purse, purity\nof life and manners, religion without clericalism, free speech and\nhonorable administration of just laws. His native land untrammeled by\nFrench control would realize this ideal, he had fondly hoped: but the\nRevolution emancipated it completely, entirely; and what occurred? A\nreversion to every vicious practice of medievalism, he himself being\nsucked into the vortex and degraded into a common adventurer.\nDisenchanted and bitter, he then turned to France. Abandoning his\ndouble role, his interest in Corsica was thenceforth sentimental; his\nfine faculties when focused on the realities of a great world suddenly\nexhibit themselves in keen observation, fair conclusions, a more than\nacademic interest, and a skill in the conduct of life hitherto\nobscured by unfavorable conditions. Already he had found play for all\nhis powers both with gun and pen. He was not only eager but ready to\ndeploy them in a higher service.\n\nThe city of Toulon was now formally and nominally invested--that is,\naccording to the then accepted general rules for such operations, but\nwith no regard to those peculiarities of its site which only master\nminds could mark and use to the best advantage. The large double bay\nis protected from the southwest by a broad peninsula joined to the\nmainland by a very narrow isthmus, and thus opens southeastward to the\nMediterranean. The great fortified city, then regarded as one of the\nstrongest places in the world, lies far within on the eastern shore of\nthe inner harbor. Excellent authorities considered it impregnable. It\nis protected on the landward side by an amphitheater of high hills,\nwhich leave to the right and left a narrow strip of rolling country\nbetween their lower <DW72>s and the sea. On the east Lapoype commanded\nthe left wing of the besieging revolutionary force. The westward pass\nis commanded by Ollioules, which Carteaux had selected for his\nheadquarters. On August twenty-ninth his vanguard seized the place,\nbut they were almost immediately attacked and driven out by the allied\narmies, chiefly English troops brought in from Gibraltar. On September\nseventh the place was retaken. The two wings were in touch and to\nlandward the communications of the town were completely cut off. In\nthe assault only a single French officer fell seriously wounded, but\nthat one was a captain of artillery. Salicetti and his colleagues had\nreceived from the minister of war a charge to look out for the citizen\nBuonaparte who wanted service on the Rhine. This and their own\nattachment determined them in the pregnant step they now took. The\nstill unattached captain of artillery, Napoleon Buonaparte, was\nappointed to the vacant place. As far as history is concerned, this is\na very important fact; it is really a matter of slight import whether\nCervoni or Salicetti gave the impulse. At the same time his mother\nreceived a grant of money, and while favors were going, there were\nenough needy Buonapartes to receive them. Salicetti and Gasparin,\nbeing the legates of the Convention, were all-powerful. The latter\ntook a great fancy to Salicetti's friend and there was no opposition\nwhen the former exercised his power. Fesch and Lucien were both\nprovided with places, being made storekeepers in the commissary\ndepartment. Barras, who was the recruiting-officer of the Convention\nat Toulon, claims to have been the first to recognize Buonaparte's\nability. He declares that the young Corsican was daily at his table,\nand that it was he himself who irregularly but efficiently secured the\nappointment of his new friend to active duty. But he also asserts what\nwe know to be untrue, that Buonaparte was still lieutenant when they\nfirst met, and that he created him captain. It is likely, in view of\ntheir subsequent intimacy at Paris, that they were also intimate at\nToulon; the rest of Barras's story is a fabrication.\n\nBut although the investment of Toulon was complete, it was weak. On\nSeptember eighteenth the total force of the assailants was ten\nthousand men. From time to time reinforcements came in and the various\nseasoned battalions exhibited on occasion great gallantry and courage.\nBut the munitions and arms were never sufficient, and under civilian\nofficers both regulars and recruits were impatient of severe\ndiscipline. The artillery in particular was scarcely more than\nnominal. There were a few field-pieces, two large and efficient guns\nonly, and two mortars. By a mistake of the war department the general\nofficer detailed to organize the artillery did not receive his orders\nin time and remained on his station in the eastern Pyrenees until\nafter the place fell. Manifestly some one was required to grasp the\nsituation and supply a crying deficiency. It was with no trembling\nhand that Buonaparte laid hold of his task. For an efficient artillery\nservice artillery officers were essential, and there were almost none.\nIn the ebb and flow of popular enthusiasm many republicans who had\nfallen back before the storms of factional excesses were now willing\nto come forward, and Napoleon, not publicly committed to the Jacobins,\nwas able to win many capable assistants from among men of his class.\nHis nervous restlessness found an outlet in erecting buttresses,\nmounting guns, and invigorating the whole service until a zealous\nactivity of the most promising kind was displayed by officers and men\nalike. By September twenty-ninth fourteen guns were mounted and four\nmortars, the essential material was gathered, and by sheer\nself-assertion Buonaparte was in complete charge. The only check\nwas in the ignorant meddling of Carteaux, who, though energetic and\nzealous, though born and bred in camp, being the son of a soldier,\nwas, after all, not a soldier, but a very fair artist (painter). For\nhis battle-pieces and portraits of military celebrities he had\nreceived large prices, and was as vain of his artistic as of his\nmilitary talent, though both were mediocre. Strange characters rose to\nthe top in those troublous times: the painter's opponent at Avignon,\nthe leader of the insurgents, had been a tailor; his successor was one\nLapoype, a physician. Buonaparte's ready pen stood him again in good\nstead, and he sent up a memorial to the ministry, explaining the\nsituation, and asking for the appointment of an artillery general with\nfull powers. The commissioners transmitted the paper to Paris, and\nappointed the memorialist to the higher rank of acting commander.\n\n[Illustration: In the collection of the Duc de Trevise. Josephine.\nFrom a pastel by Pierre Prud'hon.]\n\nThough the commanding general could not well yield to his subordinate,\nhe did, most ungraciously, to the Convention legates. Between the\nseventeenth and twentieth of September effective batteries under\nBuonaparte's command forced the enemy's frigates to withdraw from the\nneighborhood of La Seyne on the inner bay. The shot were red hot, the\nfire concentrated, and the guns served with cool efficiency. Next day\nthe village was occupied and with only four hundred men General\nDelaborde marched to seize the Eguillette, the key to the siege, as\nBuonaparte reiterated and reiterated. He was ingloriously routed; the\nBritish landed reinforcements and erected strong fortifications over\nnight. They styled the place Fort Mulgrave. It was speedily flanked by\nthree redoubts. To Buonaparte this contemptuous defiance was\ninsufferable: he spoke and Salicetti wrote of the siege as destitute\nboth of brains and means. Thereupon the Paris legates began to\nrepresent Carteaux as an incapable and demand his recall. Buonaparte\nransacked the surrounding towns and countryside for cannon and secured\na number; he established forges at Ollioules to keep his apparatus in\norder, and entirely reorganized his personnel. With fair efficiency\nand substantial quantity of guns and shot, he found himself without\nsufficient powder and wrote imperiously to his superiors, enforcing\nsuccessfully his demand. Meantime he made himself conspicuous by\npersonal daring and exposure. The days and nights were arduous because\nof the enemy's activity. In successive sorties on October first,\neighth, and fourteenth the British garrison of Fort Mulgrave gained\nboth ground and prestige by successive victories. It was hard for the\nFrench to repress their impatience, but they were not ready yet for a\ngeneral move: not a single arm of the service was sufficiently strong\nand the army was becoming demoralized by inactivity. The feud between\ngeneral and legates grew bitter and the demands of the latter for\nmaterial were disregarded alike at Paris and by Doppet, who had just\ncaptured Lyons, but would part with none of his guns or ammunition or\nmen for use at Toulon. Lapoype and Carteaux quarreled bitterly, and\nthere was such confusion that Buonaparte ended by squarely disobeying\nhis superior and taking many minor movements into his own hand; he was\nso cocksure that artillery alone would end the siege that the general\ndubbed him Captain Cannon. Finally the wrangling of all concerned\ncried to heaven, and on October twenty-third Carteaux was transferred\nto the Army of Italy with headquarters at Nice. He left for his new\npost on November seventh, and five days later his successor appeared.\nIn the interim the nominal commander was Lapoype, really Salicetti\nprompted by Buonaparte.\n\nThus at length the artist was removed from command, and a physician\nwas appointed in his stead. The doctor was an ardent patriot who had\ndistinguished himself at the siege of Lyons, which had fallen on\nOctober ninth. But on arriving at Toulon the citizen soldier was awed\nby the magnitude of his new work. On November fifteenth the French\npickets saw a Spaniard maltreating a French prisoner on the outworks\nof Fort Mulgrave. There was an impulsive and spontaneous rush of the\nbesiegers to avenge the insult. General O'Hara landed from the\n_Victory_ with reinforcements for the garrison. Doppet was\npanic-stricken by the fire and ordered a retreat. Captain Buonaparte\nwith an oath expressed his displeasure. The soldiers cried in angry\nspite: \"Are we always to be commanded by painters and doctors?\"\nIndeed, the newcomer had hardly taken command, leaving matters at\nloose ends as they were: in a short time he was transferred at his own\nsuggestion to an easier station in the Pyrenees, it being understood\nthat Dugommier, a professional soldier, would be finally appointed\ncommander-in-chief, and that Duteil, the brother of Buonaparte's old\nfriend and commander, was to be made general of artillery. He was a\nman advanced in years, unable even to mount a horse: but he was\ndevoted to the young captain, trusted his powers, and left him in\nvirtual command. Abundant supplies arrived at the same time from\nLyons. On November twentieth the new officers took charge, two days\nlater a general reconnaissance was made, and within a short time the\ninvestment was completed. On the thirtieth there was a formidable\nsally from the town directed against Buonaparte's batteries. In the\nforce were two thousand three hundred and fifty men: about four\nhundred British, three hundred Sardinians, two hundred and fifty\nFrench, and seven hundred each of Neapolitans and Spanish. They were\ncommanded by General Dundas. Their earliest movements were successful\nand the commander-in-chief of the besieged came out to see the\nvictory. But the tide turned, the French revolutionists rallied, and\nthe sortie was repulsed. The event was made doubly important by the\nchance capture of General O'Hara, the English commandant. Such a\ncapture is rare,--Buonaparte was profoundly impressed by the fact. He\nobtained permission to visit the English general in captivity, but was\ncoldly received. To the question: \"What do you require?\" came the curt\nreply: \"To be left alone and owe nothing to pity.\" This striking\nthough uncourtly reply delighted Buonaparte. The success was duly\nreported to Paris. In the \"Moniteur\" of December seventh the name of\nBuona Parte is mentioned for the first time, and as among the most\ndistinguished in the action.\n\nThe councils of war before Dugommier's arrival had been numerous and\nturbulent, although the solitary plan of operations suggested by the\ncommander and his aides would have been adequate only for capturing an\ninland town, and probably not even for that. From the beginning and\nwith fierce iteration Buonaparte had explained to his colleagues the\nspecial features of their task, but all in vain. He reasoned that\nToulon depended for its resisting power on the Allies and their\nfleets, and must be reduced from the side next the sea. The English\nthemselves understood this when they seized and fortified the redoubt\nof Fort Mulgrave, known also by the French as Little Gibraltar, on the\ntongue of land separating, to the westward, the inner from the outer\nbay. That post on the promontory styled the Eguillette by the natives\nmust be taken. From the very moment of his arrival this simple but\nclever conception had been urged on the council of war by Buonaparte.\nBut Carteaux could not and would not see its importance: it was not\nuntil a skilled commander took charge that Buonaparte's insight was\njustified and his plan adopted. At the same time it was determined\nthat operations should also be directed against two other strong\noutposts, one to the north, the other to the northeast, of the town.\nThere was to be a genuine effort to capture Mt. Faron on the north and\na demonstration merely against the third point. But the concentration\nof force was to be against the Eguillette.\n\nFinally, on December seventeenth, after careful preparation, a\nconcerted attack was made at all three points. Officers and men were\ndaring and efficient everywhere. Buonaparte, assuming responsibility\nfor the batteries, was ubiquitous and reckless. The movement on which\nhe had set his heart was successful in every portion; the enemy was\nnot only driven within the interior works, but by the fall of Little\nGibraltar his communication with the sea was endangered. The whole\npeninsula, the fort itself, the point and the neighboring heights were\ncaptured. Victor, Muiron, Buonaparte, and Dugommier led the storming\ncolumns. The Allies were utterly demoralized by the fierce and bloody\nstruggle. Since, therefore, the supporting fleets could no longer\nremain in a situation so precarious, the besieged at once made ready\nfor departure, embarking with precipitate haste the troops and many of\nthe inhabitants. The Spaniards fired two frigates loaded with powder\nand the explosion of the magazines shook the city and its suburbs like\nan earthquake. In that moment the young Sidney Smith landed from the\nBritish ships and laid the trains which kindled an awful\nconflagration. The captured French fleet lying at anchor, the\nmagazines and shops of the arsenal, all its enclosures burst into\nflames, and one explosion followed another in an awe-inspiring\nvolcanic eruption. The besiegers were stupefied as they gazed, and\nstopped their ears. In a few hours the city was completely evacuated,\nand the foreign war vessels sailed away from the offing. The news of\nthis decisive victory was despatched without a moment's delay to the\nConvention. The names of Salicetti, Robespierre, Ricord, Freron, and\nBarras are mentioned in Dugommier's letters as those of men who had\nwon distinction in various posts; that of Buonaparte does not occur.\n\nThere was either jealousy of his merits, which are declared by his\nenemies to have been unduly vaunted, or else his share had been more\ninsignificant than is generally supposed. He related at St. Helena\nthat during the operations before Toulon he had had three horses\nkilled under him, and showed Las Cases a great scar on his thigh which\nhe said had been received in a bayonet charge at Toulon. \"Men wondered\nat the fortune which kept me invulnerable; I always concealed my\ndangers in mystery.\" The hypothesis of his insignificance appears\nunlikely when we examine the memoirs written by his contemporaries,\nand consider the precise traditions of a later generation; it becomes\nuntenable in view of what happened on the next day, when the\ncommissioners nominated him for the office of general of brigade, a\nrank which in the exchange of prisoners with the English was reckoned\nas equal to that of lieutenant-general. In a report written on the\nnineteenth to the minister of war, Duteil speaks in the highest terms\nof Buonaparte. \"A great deal of science, as much intelligence, and too\nmuch bravery; such is a faint sketch of the virtues of this rare\nofficer. It rests with you, minister, to retain them for the glory of\nthe republic.\"\n\nOn December twenty-fourth the Convention received the news of victory.\nIt was really their reprieve, for news of disaster would have cut\nshort their career. Jubilant over a prompt success, their joy was\nsavage and infernal. With the eagerness of vampires they at once sent\ntwo commissioners to wipe the name of Toulon from the map, and its\ninhabitants from the earth. Fouche, later chief of police and Duke of\nOtranto under Napoleon, went down from Lyons to see the sport, and\nwrote to his friend the arch-murderer Collot d'Herbois that they were\ncelebrating the victory in but one way. \"This night we send two\nhundred and thirteen rebels into hell-fire.\" The fact is, no one ever\nknew how many hundreds or thousands of the Toulon Girondists were\nswept together and destroyed by the fire of cannon and musketry.\nFreron, one of the commissioners, desired to leave not a single rebel\nalive. Dugommier would listen to no such proposition for a holocaust.\nMarmont declares that Buonaparte and his artillerymen pleaded for\nmercy, but in vain.\n\nRunning like a thread through all these events was a little\ncounterplot. The Corsicans at Toulon were persons of importance, and\nhad shown their mettle. Salicetti, Buonaparte, Arena, and Cervoni were\nnow men of mark; the two latter had, like Buonaparte, been promoted,\nthough to much lower rank. As Salicetti declared in a letter written\non December twenty-eighth, they were scheming to secure vessels and\narm them for an expedition to Corsica. But for the time their efforts\ncame to naught; and thenceforward Salicetti seemed to lose all\ninterest in Corsican affairs, becoming more and more involved in the\never madder rush of events in France.\n\nThis was not strange, for even a common politician could not remain\ninsensible to the course or the consequences of the malignant anarchy\nnow raging throughout France. The massacres at Lyons, Marseilles, and\nToulon were the reply to the horrors of like or worse nature\nperpetrated in Vendee by the royalists. Danton having used the Paris\nsections to overawe the Girondist majority of the Convention, Marat\ngathered his riotous band of sansculottes, and hounded the discredited\nremnant of the party to death, flight, or arrest. His bloody career\nwas ended only by Charlotte Corday's dagger. Passions were thus\ninflamed until even Danton's conduct appeared calm, moderate, and\ninefficient when compared with the reckless bloodthirstiness of\nHebert, now leader of the Exageres. The latter prevailed, the Vendeans\nwere defeated, and Citizen Carrier of Nantes in three months took\nfifteen thousand human lives by his fiendishly ingenious systems of\ndrowning and shooting. In short, France was chaos, and the Salicettis\nof the time might hope for anything, or fear everything, in the throes\nof her disorder. Not so a man like Buonaparte. His instinct led him to\nstand in readiness at the parting of the ways. Others might choose and\npress forward; he gave no sign of being moved by current events, but\nstood with his eye still fixed, though now in a backward gaze, on\nCorsica, ready, if interest or self-preservation required it, for\nanother effort to seize and hold it as his own. It was self-esteem,\nnot Corsican patriotism, his French interest perhaps, which now\nprompted him. Determined and revengeful, he was again, through the\nconfusion of affairs at Paris, to secure means for his enterprise, and\nthis time on a scale proportionate to the difficulty. The influence of\nToulon upon Buonaparte's fortunes was incalculable. Throughout life he\nspoke of the town, of the siege and his share therein, of the\nsubsequent events and of the men whose acquaintance he made there,\nwith lively and emphatic interest. To all associated with the capture\nhe was in after years generous to a fault, except a few enemies like\nAuna whom he treated with harshness. In particular it must not be\nforgotten that among many men of minor importance he there began his\nrelations with some of his greatest generals and marshals: Desaix,\nMarmont, Junot, Muiron, and Chauvet. The experience launched him on\nhis grand career; the intimacies he formed proved a strong support\nwhen he forced himself to the front. Moreover, his respect for England\nwas heightened. It was not in violation of a pledge to hold the place\nfor the Bourbon pretender, but by right of sheer ability that they\ntook precedence of the Allies in command. They were haughty and\ndictatorial because their associates were uncertain and divided. When\nthe Comte de Provence was suggested as a colleague they refused to\nadmit him because he was detested by the best men of his own party. In\nthe garrison of nearly fifteen thousand not a third were British.\nBuonaparte and others charged them with perfidy in a desire to hold\nthe great fort for themselves, but the charge was untrue and he did\nnot disdain them, but rather admired and imitated their policy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nA Jacobin General.\n\n     Transformation in Buonaparte's Character -- Confirmed as a\n     French General -- Conduct of His Brothers -- Napoleon's\n     Caution -- His Report on Marseilles -- The New French Army\n     -- Buonaparte the Jacobin Leader -- Hostilities with Austria\n     and Sardinia -- Enthusiasm of the French Troops --\n     Buonaparte in Society -- His Plan for an Italian Campaign.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1793-94.]\n\nHitherto prudence had not been characteristic of Buonaparte: his\nescapades and disobedience had savored rather of recklessness. Like\nscores of others in his class, he had fully exploited the looseness of\nroyal and early republican administration; his madcap and hotspur\nversatility distinguished him from his comrades not in the kind but in\nthe degree of his bold effrontery. The whole outlook having changed\nsince his final flight to France, his conduct now began to reveal a\ndefinite plan--to be marked by punctilious obedience, sometimes even\nby an almost puerile caution. His family was homeless and penniless;\ntheir only hope for a livelihood was in cooeperation with the Jacobins,\nwho appeared to be growing more influential every hour. Through the\npowerful friends that Napoleon had made among the representatives of\nthe Convention, men like the younger Robespierre, Freron, and Barras,\nmuch had already been gained. If his nomination to the office of\ngeneral of brigade were confirmed, as it was almost certain to be, the\nrest would follow, since, with his innate capacity for adapting\nhimself to circumstances, he had during the last few weeks\nsuccessfully cultivated his power of pleasing, captivating the hearts\nof Marmont, Junot, and many others.\n\nWith such strong chances in his favor, it appeared to Buonaparte that\nno stumbling-block of technicality should be thrown in the path of his\npromotion. Accordingly, in the record of his life sent up to Paris, he\nputs his entrance into the service over a year earlier than it\nactually occurred, omits as unessential details some of the places in\nwhich he had lived and some of the companies in which he had served,\ndeclares that he had commanded a battalion at the capture of\nMagdalena, and, finally, denies categorically that he was ever noble.\nTo this paper, which minimizes nearly to the vanishing-point all\nmention of Corsica, and emphasizes his services as a Frenchman by its\ninsidious omissions, the over-driven officials in Paris took no\nexception; and on February sixth, 1794, he was confirmed, receiving an\nassignment for service in the new and regenerated Army of Italy, which\nhad replaced as if by magic the ragged, shoeless, ill-equipped, and\nhalf-starved remnants of troops in and about Nice that in the previous\nyear had been dignified by the same title. This gambler had not drawn\nthe first prize in the lottery, but what he had secured was enough to\njustify his course, and confirm his confidence in fate. Eight years\nand three months nominally in the service, out of which in reality he\nhad been absent four years and ten months either on furlough or\nwithout one, and already a general! Neither blind luck, nor the\nrevolutionary epoch, nor the superlative ability of the man, but a\ncompound of all these, had brought this marvel to pass. It did not\nintoxicate, but still further sobered, the beneficiary. This effect\nwas partly due to an experience which demonstrated that strong as are\nthe chains of habit, they are more easily broken than those which his\nassociates forge about a man.\n\nIn the interval between nomination and confirmation the young\naspirant, through the fault of his friends, was involved in a most\nserious risk. Salicetti, and the Buonaparte brothers, Joseph, Lucien,\nand Louis, went wild with exultation over the fall of Toulon, and\nbegan by reckless assumptions and untruthful representations to reap\nan abundant harvest of spoils. Joseph, by the use of his brother's\nCorsican commission, had posed as a lieutenant-colonel; he was now\nmade a commissary-general of the first class. Louis, without regard to\nhis extreme youth, was promoted to be adjutant-major of artillery--a\ndignity which was short-lived, for he was soon after ordered to the\nschool at Chalons as a cadet, but which served, like the greater\nsuccess of Joseph, to tide over a crisis. Lucien retained his post as\nkeeper of the commissary stores in St. Maximin, where he was the\nleading Jacobin, styling himself Lucius Brutus, and rejoicing in the\nsobriquet of \"the little Robespierre.\"\n\nThe positions of Lucien and Louis were fantastic even for\nrevolutionary times. Napoleon was fully aware of the danger, and was\ncorrespondingly circumspect. It was possibly at his own suggestion\nthat he was appointed, on December twenty-sixth, 1793, inspector of\nthe shore fortifications, and ordered to proceed immediately on an\ninspection of the Mediterranean coast as far as Mentone. The\nexpedition removed him from all temptation to an unfortunate display\nof exultation or anxiety, and gave him a new chance to display his\npowers. He performed his task with the thoroughness of an expert; but\nin so doing, his zeal played him a sorry trick, eclipsing the caution\nof the revolutionist by the eagerness of the sagacious general. In his\nreport to the minister of war he comprehensively discussed both the\nfortification of the coast and the strengthening of the navy, which\nwere alike indispensable to the wonderful scheme of operations in\nItaly which he appears to have been already revolving in his mind. The\nArmy of Italy, and in fact all southeastern France, depended at the\nmoment for sustenance on the commerce of Genoa, professedly a neutral\nstate and friendly to the French republic. This essential trade could\nbe protected only by making interference from the English and the\nSpaniards impossible, or at least difficult.\n\nArrived at Marseilles, and with these ideas occupying his whole mind,\nBuonaparte regarded the situation as serious. The British and Spanish\nfleets swept the seas, and were virtually blockading all the\nMediterranean ports of France. At Toulon, as has been told, they\nactually entered, and departed only after losing control of the\npromontory which forms the harbor. There is a similar conformation of\nthe ground at the entrance to the port of Marseilles, but Buonaparte\nfound that the fortress which occupied the commanding promontory had\nbeen dismantled. With the instinct of a strategist and with no other\nthought than that of his duties as inspector, he sat down, and on\nJanuary fourth, 1794, wrote a most impolitic recommendation that the\nfortification should be restored in such a way as to \"command the\ntown.\" These words almost certainly referred both to the possible\nrenewal by the conquered French royalists and other malcontents of\ntheir efforts to secure Marseilles, and to a conceivable effort on the\npart of the Allies to seize the harbor. Now it happened that the\nliberals of the town had regarded this very stronghold as their\nBastille, and it had been dismantled by them in emulation of their\nbrethren of Paris. The language and motive of the report were\ntherefore capable of misinterpretation. A storm at once arose among\nthe Marseilles Jacobins against both Buonaparte and his superior,\nGeneral Lapoype; they were both denounced to the Convention, and in\ndue time, about the end of February, were both summoned before the bar\nof that body. In the mean time Buonaparte's nomination as general of\nbrigade had been confirmed, his commission arriving at Marseilles on\nFebruary sixteenth. It availed nothing toward restoring him to\npopularity; on the contrary, the masses grew more suspicious and more\nmenacing. He therefore returned to the protection of Salicetti and\nRobespierre, then at Toulon, whence by their advice he despatched to\nParis by special messenger a poor-spirited exculpatory letter,\nadmitting that the only use of restoring the fort would be to \"command\nthe town,\" that is, control it by military power in case of\nrevolution. Having by this language pusillanimously acknowledged a\nfault which he had not committed, the writer, by the advice of\nSalicetti and Robespierre, refused to obey the formal summons of the\nConvention when it came. Those powerful protectors made vigorous\nrepresentations to their friends in Paris, and Buonaparte was saved.\nBoth they and he might well rely on the distinguished service rendered\nby the culprit at Toulon; his military achievement might well outweigh\na slight political delinquency. On April first, 1794, he assumed the\nduties of his new command, reporting himself at Nice. Lapoype went to\nParis, appeared at the bar of the Convention, and was triumphantly\nacquitted. Naturally, therefore, no indictment could lie against the\ninferior, and Buonaparte's name was not even mentioned.\n\nA single circumstance changed the French Revolution from a sectarian\ndogma into a national movement. By the exertions and plans of Carnot\nthe effective force of the French army had been raised in less than\ntwo years from one hundred and twelve thousand to the astonishing\nfigure of over seven hundred and thirty thousand. The discipline was\nnow rigid, and the machine was perfectly adapted to the workman's\nhand, although for lack of money the equipment was still sadly\ndefective. In the Army of Italy were nearly sixty-seven thousand men,\na number which included all the garrisons and reserves of the coast\ntowns and of Corsica. Its organization, like that of the other\nportions of the military power, had been simplified, and so\nstrengthened. There were a commander-in-chief, a chief of staff, three\ngenerals of division, of whom Massena was one, and thirteen generals\nof brigade, of whom one, Buonaparte, was the commander and inspector\nof artillery. The former was now thirty-four years old. His sire was a\nwine-dealer of a very humble sort, probably of Jewish blood, and the\nboy, Italian in origin and feeling, had almost no education.\nThroughout his wonderful career he was coarse, sullen, and greedy;\nnevertheless, as a soldier he was an inspired genius, ranked by many\nas the peer of Napoleon. Having served France for several years as an\nItalian mercenary, he resigned in 1789, settled in his native town of\nNice, and married; but the stir of arms was irresistible and three\nyears later he volunteered under the tricolor. His comrades at once\nelected him an officer, and in about a year he was head of a\nbattalion, or colonel in our style. In the reorganization he was\npromoted to be a division general because of sheer merit. For sixteen\nyears he had an unbroken record of success and won from Napoleon the\ncaressing title: \"Dear Child of Victory.\"\n\nThe younger Robespierre, with Ricord and Salicetti, were the\n\"representatives of the people.\" The first of these was, to outward\nappearance, the leading spirit of the whole organism, and to his\nsupport Buonaparte was now thoroughly committed. The young artillery\ncommander was considered by all at Nice to be a pronounced\n\"Montagnard,\" that is, an extreme Jacobin. Augustin Robespierre had\nquickly learned to see and hear with the eyes and ears of his Corsican\nfriend, whose fidelity seemed assured by hatred of Paoli and by a\ndesire to recover the family estates in his native island. Many are\npleased to discuss the question of Buonaparte's attitude toward the\nJacobin terrorists. The dilemma they propose is that he was either a\nconvinced and sincere terrorist or that he fawned on the terrorists\nfrom interested motives. This last appears to have been the opinion of\nAugustin Robespierre, the former that of his sister Marie, for the\ntime an intimate friend of the Buonaparte sisters. Both at least have\nleft these opinions on record in letters and memoirs. There is no need\nto impale ourselves on either horn, if we consider the youth as he\nwas, feeling no responsibility whatever for the conditions into which\nhe was thrown, taking the world as he found it and using its\nopportunities while they lasted. For the time and in that place there\nwere terrorists: he made no confession of faith, avoided all snares,\nand served his adopted country as she was in fact with little\nreference to political shibboleths. He so served her then and\nhenceforth that until he lost both his poise and his indispensable\npower, she laid herself at his feet and adored him. Whatever the ties\nwhich bound them at first, the ascendancy of Buonaparte over the young\nRobespierre was thorough in the end. His were the suggestions and the\nenterprises, the political conceptions, the military plans, the\ndevices to obtain ways and means. It was probably his advice which was\ndeterminative in the scheme of operations finally adopted. With an\nastute and fertile brain, with a feverish energy and an unbounded\nambition, Buonaparte must attack every problem or be wretched. Here\nwas a most interesting one, complicated by geographical, political,\nnaval, and military elements. That he seized it, considered it, and\nfound some solution is inherently probable. The conclusion too has all\nthe marks of his genius. Yet the glory of success was justly\nMassena's. A select third of the troops were chosen and divided into\nthree divisions to assume the offensive, under Massena's direction,\nagainst the almost impregnable posts of the Austrians and Sardinians\nin the upper Apennines. The rest were held in garrison partly as a\nreserve, partly to overawe the newly annexed department of which Nice\nwas the capital.\n\nGenoa now stood in a peculiar relation to France. Her oligarchy,\nthough called a republic, was in spirit the antipodes of French\ndemocracy. Her trade was essential to France, but English influence\npredominated in her councils and English force worked its will in her\ndomains. In October, 1793, a French supply-ship had been seized by an\nEnglish squadron in the very harbor. Soon afterward, by way of\nrejoinder to this act of violence, the French minister at Genoa was\nofficially informed from Paris that as it appeared no longer possible\nfor a French army to reach Lombardy by the direct route through the\nApennines, it might be necessary to advance along the coast through\nGenoese territory. This announcement was no threat, but serious\nearnest; the plan had been carefully considered and was before long to\nbe put into execution. It was merely as a feint that in April, 1794,\nhostilities were formally opened against Sardinia and Austria. Massena\nseized Ventimiglia on the sixth. Advancing by Oneglia and Ormea, in\nthe valley of the Stura, he turned the position of the allied\nAustrians and Sardinians, thus compelling them to evacuate their\nstrongholds one by one, until on May seventh the pass of Tenda,\nleading direct into Lombardy, was abandoned by them.\n\nThe result of this movement was to infuse new enthusiasm into the\narmy, while at the same time it set free, for offensive warfare, large\nnumbers of the garrison troops in places now no longer in danger.\nMassena wrote in terms of exultation of the devotion and endurance\nwhich his troops had shown in the sacred name of liberty. \"They know\nhow to conquer and never complain. Marching barefoot, and often\nwithout rations, they abuse no one, but sing the loved notes of '_Ca\nira_'--'T will go, 't will go! We'll make the creatures that surround\nthe despot at Turin dance the Carmagnole!\" Victor Amadeus, King of\nSardinia, was an excellent specimen of the benevolent despot; it was\nhe whom they meant. Augustin Robespierre wrote to his brother\nMaximilien, in Paris, that they had found the country before them\ndeserted: forty thousand souls had fled from the single valley of\nOneglia, having been terrified by the accounts of French savagery to\nwomen and children, and of their impiety in devastating the churches\nand religious establishments.\n\nWhether the phenomenal success of this short campaign, which lasted\nbut a month, was expected or not, nothing was done to improve it, and\nthe advancing battalions suddenly stopped, as if to make the\nimpression that they could go farther only by way of Genoese\nterritory. Buonaparte would certainly have shared in the campaign had\nit been a serious attack; but, except to bring captured stores from\nOneglia, he did nothing, devoting the months of May and June to the\ncompletion of his shore defenses, and living at Nice with his mother\nand her family. That famous and coquettish town was now the center of\na gay republican society in which Napoleon and his pretty sisters were\nimportant persons. They were the constant companions of young\nRobespierre and Ricord. The former, amazed by the activity of his\nfriend's brain, the scope of his plans, and the terrible energy which\nmarked his preparations, wrote of Napoleon that he was a man of\n\"transcendent merit.\" Marmont, speaking of Napoleon's charm at this\ntime, says: \"There was so much future in his mind.... He had acquired\nan ascendancy over the representatives which it is impossible to\ndescribe.\" He also declares, and Salicetti, too, repeatedly\nasseverated, that Buonaparte was the \"man, the plan-maker\" of the\nRobespierres.\n\nThe impression which Salicetti and Marmont expressed was doubtless due\nto the conclusions of a council of war held on May twentieth by the\nleaders of the two armies--of the Alps and of Italy--to concert a plan\nof cooeperation. Naturally each group of generals desired the foremost\nplace for the army it represented. Buonaparte overrode all objections,\nand compelled the acceptance of a scheme entirely his own, which with\nsome additions and by careful elaboration ultimately developed into\nthe famous plan of campaign in Italy. These circumstances are\nnoteworthy. Again and again it has been charged that this grand scheme\nwas bodily stolen from the papers of his great predecessors, one in\nparticular, of whom more must be said in the sequel. Napoleon was a\nstudent and an omnivorous reader, he knew what others had done and\nwritten; but the achievement which launched him on his career was due\nto the use of his own senses, to his own assimilation and adaptation\nof other men's experiences and theories, which had everything to\ncommend them except that perfection of detail and energy of command\nwhich led to actual victory. But affairs in Genoa were becoming so\nmenacing that for the moment they demanded the exclusive attention of\nthe French authorities. Austrian troops had disregarded her neutrality\nand trespassed on her territory; the land was full of French\ndeserters, and England, recalling her successes in the same line\nduring the American Revolution, had established a press in the city\nfor printing counterfeit French money, which was sent by secret\nmercantile communications to Marseilles, and there was put into\ncirculation. It was consequently soon determined to amplify greatly\nthe plan of campaign, and likewise to send a mission to Genoa.\nBuonaparte was himself appointed the envoy, and thus became the pivot\nof both movements--that against Piedmont and that against Genoa.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nVicissitudes in War and Diplomacy.\n\n     Signs of Maturity -- The Mission to Genoa -- Course of the\n     French Republic -- The \"Terror\" -- Thermidor -- Buonaparte a\n     Scapegoat -- His Prescience -- Adventures of His Brothers --\n     Napoleon's Defense of His French Patriotism -- Bloodshedding\n     for Amusement -- New Expedition Against Corsica --\n     Buonaparte's Advice for Its Conduct.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1794.]\n\nBuonaparte's plan for combining operations against both Genoa and\nSardinia was at first hazy. In his earliest efforts to expand and\nclarify it, he wrote a rambling document, still in existence, which\ndraws a contrast between the opposite policies to be adopted with\nreference to Italy and Spain. In it he also calls attention to the\nscarcity of officers suitable for concerted action in a great\nenterprise, and a remark concerning the course to be pursued in this\nparticular case contains the germ of his whole military system.\n\"Combine your forces in a war, as in a siege, on one point. The breach\nonce made, equilibrium is destroyed, everything else is useless, and\nthe place is taken. Do not conceal, but concentrate, your attack.\" In\nthe matter of politics he sees Germany as the main prop of opposition\nto democracy; Spain is to be dealt with on the defensive, Italy on the\noffensive. But, contrary to what he actually did in the following\nyear, he advises against proceeding too far into Piedmont, lest the\nadversary should gain the advantage of position. This paper\nRobespierre the younger had in his pocket when he left for Paris,\nsummoned to aid his brother in difficulties which were now pressing\nfast upon him.\n\nRicord was left behind to direct, at least nominally, the movements\nboth of the armies and of the embassy to Genoa. Buonaparte continued\nto be the real power. Military operations having been suspended to\nawait the result of diplomacy, his instructions from Ricord were drawn\nso as to be loose and merely formal. On July eleventh he started from\nNice, reaching his destination three days later. During the week of\nhis stay--for he left again on the twenty-first--the envoy made his\nrepresentations, and laid down his ultimatum that the republic of\nGenoa should preserve absolute neutrality, neither permitting troops\nto pass over its territories, nor lending aid in the construction of\nmilitary roads, as she was charged with doing secretly. His success in\noverawing the oligarchy was complete, and a written promise of\ncompliance to these demands was made by the Doge. Buonaparte arrived\nagain in Nice on the twenty-eighth. We may imagine that as he traveled\nthe romantic road between the mountains and the sea, the rising\ngeneral and diplomat indulged in many rosy dreams, probably feeling\nalready on his shoulders the insignia of a commander-in-chief. But he\nwas returning to disgrace, if not to destruction. A week after his\narrival came the stupefying news that the hour-glass had once again\nbeen reversed, that on the very day of his own exultant return to\nNice, Robespierre's head had fallen, that the Mountain was shattered,\nand that the land was again staggering to gain its balance after\nanother political earthquake.\n\nThe shock had been awful, but it was directly traceable to the\naccumulated disorders of Jacobin rule. A rude and vigorous but eerie\norder of things had been inaugurated on November twenty-fourth, 1793,\nby the so-called republic. There was first the new calendar, in which\nthe year I began on September twenty-second, 1792, the day on which\nthe republic had been proclaimed. In it were the twelve thirty-day\nmonths, with their names of vintage, fog, and frost; of snow, rain,\nand wind; of bud, flower, and meadow; of seed, heat, and harvest: the\nwhole terminated most unpoetically by the five or six supplementary\ndays named sansculot-tides,--sansculottes meaning without\nknee-breeches, a garment confined to the upper classes; that is, with\nlong trousers like the common people,--and these days were so named\nbecause they were to be a holiday for the long-trousered populace\nwhich was to use the new reckoning. There was next the new, strange,\nand unhallowed spectacle, seen in history for the first time, the\nrealization of a nightmare--a whole people finally turned into an\narmy, and at war with nearly all the world. The reforming Girondists\nhad created the situation, and the Jacobins, with grim humor, were\nunflinchingly facing the logical consequences of such audacity. Carnot\nhad given the watchword of attack in mass and with superior numbers;\nthe times gave the frenzied courage of sentimental exaltation. Before\nthe end of 1793 the foreign enemies of France, though not conquered,\nhad been checked on the frontier; the outbreak of civil war in Vendee\nhad been temporarily suppressed; both Lyons and Toulon had been\nretaken.\n\nRobespierre, St. Just, Couthon, and Billaud-Varennes were theorists\nafter the manner of Rousseau. Their new gospel of social regeneration\nembraced democracy, civic virtue, moral institutions, and public\nfestivals. These were their shibboleths and catch-words. Incidentally\nthey extolled paternalism in government, general conscription,\ncompulsory military service, and, on the very eve of the greatest\nindustrial revival known to history, a return to agricultural society!\nThe sanction of all this was not moral suasion: essential to the\nsystem was Spartan simplicity and severity, compulsion was the means\nto their utopia.[40] The Jacobins were nothing if not thorough; and\nhere was another new and awful thing--the \"Terror\"--which had broken\nloose with its foul furies of party against party through all the\nland. It seemed at last as if it were exhausting itself, though for a\ntime it had grown in intensity as it spread in extent. It had created\nthree factions in the Mountain. Early in 1794 there remained but a\nlittle handful of avowed and still eager terrorists in the\nConvention--Hebert and his friends. These were the atheists who had\nabolished religion and the past, bowing down before the fetish which\nthey dubbed Reason. They were seized and put to death on March\ntwenty-fourth. There then remained the cliques of Danton and\nRobespierre; the former claiming the name of moderates, and telling\nmen to be calm, the latter with no principle but devotion to a person\nwho claimed to be the regenerator of society. These hero-worshipers\nwere for a time victorious. Danton, like Hebert, was foully murdered,\nand Robespierre remained alone, virtually dictator. But his theatrical\nconduct in decreeing by law the existence of a Supreme Being and the\nimmortality of the soul, and in organizing tawdry festivals to supply\nthe place of worship, utterly embittered against him both atheists and\npious people. In disappointed rage at his failure, he laid aside the\ncharacters of prophet and mild saint to give vent to his natural\nwickedness and to become a devil.\n\n              [Footnote 40: In Buchez et Roux, Histoire Parlementaire,\n              XXXI, pp. 268-290, 415-427; XXXII, pp. 335-381 _et\n              seq._, and in OEuvres de St. Just, pp. 360-420, will be\n              found a few examples of their views in their own words.]\n\nDuring the long days of June and July there raged again a carnival of\nblood, known to history as the \"Great Terror.\" In less than seven\nweeks upward of twelve hundred victims were immolated. The unbridled\nlicense of the guillotine broadened as it ran. First the aristocrats\nhad fallen, then royalty, then their sympathizers, then the hated\nrich, then the merely well-to-do, and lastly anybody not cringing to\nexisting power. The reaction against Robespierre was one of universal\nfear. Its inception was the work of Tallien, Fouche, Barras, Carrier,\nFreron, and the like, men of vile character, who knew that if\nRobespierre could maintain his pose of the \"Incorruptible\" their doom\nwas sealed. In this sense Robespierre was what Napoleon called him at\nSt. Helena, \"the scapegoat of the Revolution.\" The uprising of these\naccomplices was, however, the opportunity long desired by the better\nelements in Parisian society, and the two antipodal classes made\ncommon cause. Dictator as Robespierre wished to be, he was formed of\nother stuff, for when the reckoning came his brutal violence was\ncowed. On July twenty-seventh (the ninth of Thermidor), the Convention\nturned on him in rebellion, extreme radicals and moderate\nconservatives combining for the effort. Terrible scenes were enacted.\nThe sections of Paris were divided, some for the Convention, some for\nRobespierre. The artillerymen who were ordered by the latter to batter\ndown the part of the Tuileries where his enemies were sitting\nhesitated and disobeyed; at once all resistance to the decrees of the\nConvention died out. The dictator would have been his own executioner,\nbut his faltering terrors stopped him midway in his half-committed\nsuicide. He and his brother, with their friends, were seized, and\nbeheaded on the morrow. With the downfall of Robespierre went the last\nvestige of social or political authority; for the Convention was no\nlonger trusted by the nation--the only organized power with popular\nsupport which was left was the army.\n\nThis was the news which, traveling southward, finally reached Toulon,\nMarseilles, and Nice, cities where Robespierre's stanchest adherents\nwere flaunting their newly gained importance. No wonder if the brains\nof common men reeled. The recent so-called parties had disappeared for\nthe moment like wraiths. The victorious group in the Convention, now\nknown as the Thermidorians, was compounded of elements from them both,\nand claimed to represent the whole of France as the wretched factions\nwho had so long controlled the government had never done. Where now\nshould those who had been active supporters of the late administration\nturn for refuge? The Corsicans who had escaped from the island at the\nsame time with Salicetti and the Buonapartes were nearly all with the\nArmy of Italy. Employment had been given to them, but, having failed\nto keep Corsica for France, they were not in favor. It had already\nbeen remarked in the Committee of Public Safety that their patriotism\nwas less manifest than their disposition to enrich themselves. This\ntoo was the opinion of many among their own countrymen, especially of\ntheir own partisans shut up in Bastia or Calvi and deserted.\nSalicetti, ever ready for emergencies, was not disconcerted by this\none; and with adroit baseness turned informer, denouncing as a\nsuspicious schemer his former protege and lieutenant, of whose budding\ngreatness he was now well aware. He was apparently both jealous and\nalarmed. Possibly, however, the whole procedure was a ruse; in the\ncritical juncture the apparent traitor was by this conduct able\nefficiently to succor and save his compatriot.\n\nBuonaparte's mission to Genoa had been openly political; secretly it\nwas also a military reconnaissance, and his confidential instructions,\nvirtually dictated by himself, had unfortunately leaked out. They had\ndirected him to examine the fortifications in and about both Savona\nand Genoa, to investigate the state of the Genoese artillery, to\ninform himself as to the behavior of the French envoy to the republic,\nto learn as much as possible of the intentions of the oligarchy--in\nshort, to gather all information useful for the conduct of a war \"the\nresult of which it is impossible to foresee.\" Buonaparte, knowing now\nthat he had trodden dangerous ground in his unauthorized and secret\ndealings with the younger Robespierre, and probably foreseeing the\ncoming storm, began to shorten sail immediately upon reaching Nice.\nEither he was prescient and felt the new influences in the air, or\nelse a letter now in the war office at Paris, and purporting to have\nbeen written on August seventh to Tilly, the French agent at Genoa, is\nan antedated fabrication written later for Salicetti's use.[41]\nSpeaking, in this paper, of Robespierre the younger, he said: \"I was a\nlittle touched by the catastrophe, for I loved him and thought him\nspotless. But were it my own father, I would stab him to the heart if\nhe aspired to become a tyrant.\" If the letter be genuine, as is\nprobable, the writer was very far-sighted. He knew that its contents\nwould speedily reach Paris in the despatches of Tilly, so that it was\nvirtually a public renunciation of Jacobinism at the earliest possible\ndate, an anchor to windward in the approaching tempest. But\nmomentarily the trick was of no avail; he was first superseded in his\ncommand, then arrested on August tenth, and, fortunately for himself,\nimprisoned two days later in Fort Carre, near Antibes, instead of\nbeing sent direct to Paris as some of his friends were. This temporary\nshelter from the devastating blast he owed to Salicetti, who would, no\ndoubt, without hesitation have destroyed a friend for his own safety,\nbut was willing enough to spare him if not driven to extremity.\n\n              [Footnote 41: Jung: Bonaparte et son temps, II, 455.]\n\nAs the true state of things in Corsica began to be known in France,\nthere was a general disposition to blame and punish the influential\nmen who had brought things to such a desperate pass and made the loss\nof the island probable, if not certain. Salicetti, Multedo, and the\nrest quickly unloaded the whole blame on Buonaparte's shoulders, so\nthat he had many enemies in Paris. Thus by apparent harshness to one\nwhom he still considered a subordinate, the real culprit escaped\nsuspicion. Assured of immunity from punishment himself, Salicetti was\ncontent with his rival's humiliation, and felt no real rancor toward\nthe family. This is clear from his treatment of Louis Buonaparte, who\nhad fallen from place and favor along with his brother, but was by\nSalicetti's influence soon afterward made an officer of the home guard\nat Nice. Joseph had rendered himself conspicuous in the very height of\nthe storm by a brilliant marriage; but neither he nor Fesch was\narrested, and both managed to pull through with whole skins. The noisy\nLucien was also married, but to a girl who, though respectable, was\npoor; and in consequence he was thoroughly frightened at the thought\nof losing his means of support. But though menaced with arrest, he was\nsufficiently insignificant to escape for the time.\n\nNapoleon was kept in captivity but thirteen days. Salicetti apparently\nfound it easier than he had supposed to exculpate himself from the\ncharge either of participating in Robespierre's conspiracy or of\nhaving brought about the Corsican insurrection. More than this, he\nfound himself firm in the good graces of the Thermidorians, among whom\nhis old friends Barras and Freron were held in high esteem. It would\ntherefore be a simple thing to liberate General Buonaparte, if only a\nproper expression of opinion could be secured from him. The clever\nprisoner had it ready before it was needed. To the faithful Junot he\nwrote a kindly note declining to be rescued by a body of friends\norganized to storm the prison or scale its walls.[42] Such a course\nwould have compromised him further. But to the \"representatives of the\npeople\" he wrote in language which finally committed him for life. He\nexplained that in a revolutionary epoch there are but two classes of\nmen, patriots and suspects. It could easily be seen to which class a\nman belonged who had fought both intestine and foreign foes. \"I have\nsacrificed residence in my department, I have abandoned all my goods,\nI have lost all for the republic. Since then I have served at Toulon\nwith some distinction, and I have deserved a share with the Army of\nItaly in the laurels it earned at the taking of Saorgio, Oneglia, and\nTanaro. On the discovery of Robespierre's conspiracy, my conduct was\nthat of a man accustomed to regard nothing but principle.\" The letter\nconcludes with a passionate appeal to each one of the controlling\nofficials separately and by name, that is, to both Salicetti and\nAlbitte, for justice and restoration. \"An hour later, if the wicked\nwant my life, I will gladly give it to them, I care so little for it,\nI weary so often of it! Yes; the idea that it may be still useful to\nmy country is all that makes me bear the burden with courage.\" The\nword for country which he employed, _patrie_, could only be\ninterpreted as referring to France.\n\n              [Footnote 42: Correspondance de Napoleon, I, No. 35.]\n\nSalicetti in person went through the form of examining the papers\noffered in proof of Buonaparte's statements; found them, as a matter\nof course, satisfactory; and the commissioners restored the suppliant\nto partial liberty, but not to his post. He was to remain at army\nheadquarters, and the still terrible Committee of Safety was to\nreceive regular reports of his doings. This, too, was but a\nsubterfuge; on August twentieth he was restored to his rank. A few\nweeks later commissioners from the Thermidorians arrived, with orders\nthat for the present all offensive operations in Italy were to be\nsuspended in order to put the strength of the district into a maritime\nexpedition against Rome and ultimately against Corsica, which was now\nin the hands of England. Buonaparte immediately sought, and by\nSalicetti's favor obtained, the important charge of equipping and\ninspecting the artillery destined for the enterprise. He no doubt\nhoped to make the venture tell in his personal interest against the\nEnglish party now triumphant in his home. This was the middle of\nSeptember. Before beginning to prepare for the Corsican expedition,\nthe army made a final demonstration to secure its lines. It was during\nthe preparatory days of this short campaign that a dreadful incident\noccurred. Buonaparte had long since learned the power of women, and\nhad been ardently attentive in turn both to Mme. Robespierre and to\nMme. Ricord. \"It was a great advantage to please them,\" he said; \"for\nin a lawless time a representative of the people is a real power.\"\nMme. Turreau, wife of one of the new commissioners, was now the\nascendant star in his attentions. One day, while walking arm in arm\nwith her near the top of the Tenda pass, Buonaparte took a sudden\nfreak to show her what war was like, and ordered the advance-guard to\ncharge the Austrian pickets. The attack was not only useless, but it\nendangered the safety of the army; yet it was made according to\ncommand, and human blood was shed. The story was told by Napoleon\nhimself, at the close of his life, in a tone of repentance, but with\nevident relish.[43]\n\n              [Footnote 43: Las Cases: Memorial de Sainte-Helene, I,\n              141.]\n\nBuonaparte was present at the ensuing victories, but only as a\nwell-informed spectator and adviser, for he was yet in nominal\ndisgrace. Within five days the enemies' lines were driven back so as\nto leave open the two most important roads into Italy--that by the\nvalley of the Bormida to Alessandria, and that by the shore to Genoa.\nThe difficult pass of Tenda fell entirely into French hands. The\nEnglish could not disembark their troops to strengthen the Allies. The\ncommerce of Genoa with Marseilles was reestablished by land. \"We have\ncelebrated the fifth sansculottide of the year II (September\ntwenty-first, 1794) in a manner worthy of the republic and the\nNational Convention,\" wrote the commissioners to their colleagues in\nParis. On the twenty-fourth, General Buonaparte was released by them\nfrom attendance at headquarters, thus becoming once again a free man\nand his own master. He proceeded immediately to Toulon in order to\nprepare for the Corsican expedition. Once more the power of a great\nnation was, he hoped, to be directed against the land of his birth,\nand he was an important agent in the plan.\n\nTo regain, if possible, some of his lost influence in the island,\nBuonaparte had already renewed communication with former acquaintances\nin Ajaccio. In a letter written immediately after his release in\nSeptember, 1794, to the Corsican deputy Multedo, he informed his\ncorrespondent that his birthplace was the weakest spot on the island,\nand open to attack. The information was correct. Paoli had made an\neffort to strengthen it, but without success. \"To drive the English,\"\nsaid the writer of the letter, \"from a position which makes them\nmasters of the Mediterranean, ... to emancipate a large number of good\npatriots still to be found in that department, and to restore to their\nfiresides the good republicans who have deserved the care of their\ncountry by the generous manner in which they have suffered for\nit,--this, my friend, is the expedition which should occupy the\nattention of the government.\" His fortune was in a sense dependent on\nsuccess: the important position of artillery inspector could not be\nheld by an absentee and it was soon filled by the appointment of a\nrival compatriot, Casabianca. In the event of failure Buonaparte would\nbe destitute. Perhaps the old vista of becoming a Corsican hero opened\nup once again to a sore and disappointed man, but it is not probable:\nthe horizon of his life had expanded too far to be again contracted,\nand the present task was probably considered but as a bridge to cross\nonce more the waters of bitterness. On success or failure hung his\nfate. Two fellow-adventurers were Junot and Marmont. The former was\nthe child of plain French burghers, twenty-three years old, a daring,\nswaggering youth, indifferent to danger, already an intimate of\nNapoleon's, having been his secretary at Toulon. His chequered destiny\nwas interwoven with that of his friend and he came to high position.\nBut though faithful to the end, he was always erratic and troublesome;\nand in an attack of morbid chagrin he came to a violent end in 1813.\nThe other comrade was but a boy of twenty, the son of an officer who,\nthough of the lower nobility, was a convinced revolutionary. The boys\nhad met several years earlier at Dijon and again as young men at\nToulon, where the friendship was knitted which grew closer and closer\nfor twenty years. At Wagram, Marmont became a marshal. Already he had\nacquired habits of luxurious ease and the doubtful fortunes of his\nEmperor exasperated him into critical impatience. He so magnified his\nown importance that at last he deserted. The labored memoirs he wrote\nare the apology for his life and for his treachery. Though without\ngreat genius, he was an able man and an industrious recorder of\nvaluable impressions. Not one of the three accomplished anything\nduring the Corsican expedition; their common humiliation probably\ncommended both of his junior comrades to Buonaparte's tenderness, and\nthereafter both enjoyed much of his confidence, especially Marmont, in\nwhom it was utterly misplaced.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe End of Apprenticeship.\n\n     The English Conquest of Corsica -- Effects in Italy -- The\n     Buonapartes at Toulon -- Napoleon Thwarted Again --\n     Departure for Paris -- His Character Determined -- His\n     Capacities -- Reaction From the \"Terror\" -- Resolutions of\n     the Convention -- Parties in France -- Their Lack of\n     Experience -- A New Constitution -- Different Views of Its\n     Value.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1795.]\n\nThe turmoils of civil war in France had now left Corsica to her own\npursuits for many months. Her internal affairs had gone from bad to\nworse, and Paoli, unable to control his fierce and wilful people, had\nfound himself helpless. Compelled to seek the support of some strong\nforeign power, he had instinctively turned to England, and the English\nfleet, driven from Toulon, was finally free to help him. On February\nseventeenth, 1794, it entered the fine harbor of St. Florent, and\ncaptured the town without an effort. Establishing a depot which thus\nseparated the two remaining centers of French influence, Calvi and\nBastia, the English admiral next laid siege to the latter. The place\nmade a gallant defense, holding out for over three months, until on\nMay twenty-second Captain Horatio Nelson, who had virtually controlled\noperations for eighty-eight days continuously,--nearly the entire\ntime,--directed the guns of the _Agamemnon_ with such destructive\nforce against the little city that when the land forces from St.\nFlorent appeared it was weakened beyond the power of resistance and\nsurrendered.[44] The terms made by its captors were the easiest known\nto modern warfare, the conquered being granted all the honors of war.\nAs a direct and immediate result, the Corsican estates met, and\ndeclared the island a constitutional monarchy under the protection of\nEngland. Sir Gilbert Elliot was appointed viceroy, and Paoli was\nrecalled by George III to England. On August tenth fell Calvi, the\nlast French stronghold in the country, hitherto considered impregnable\nby the Corsicans.\n\n              [Footnote 44: For a full account of these important\n              operations see Mahan: Life of Nelson, I, 123 _et seq._]\n\nThe presence of England so close to Italian shores immediately\nproduced throughout Lombardy and Tuscany a reaction of feeling in\nfavor of the French Revolution and its advanced ideas. The Committee\nof Safety meant to take advantage of this sentiment and reduce the\nItalian powers to the observance of strict neutrality at least, if\nnothing more. They hoped to make a demonstration at Leghorn and punish\nRome for an insult to the republic still unavenged--the death of the\nFrench minister, in 1793, at the hands of a mob; perhaps they might\nalso drive the British from Corsica. This explained the arrival of the\ncommissioners at Nice with the order to cease operations against\nSardinia and Austria, for the purpose of striking at English influence\nin Italy, and possibly in Corsica.\n\nEverything but one was soon in readiness. To meet the English fleet,\nthe shipwrights at Toulon must prepare a powerful squadron. They did\nnot complete their gigantic task until February nineteenth, 1795. We\ncan imagine the intense activity of any man of great power, determined\nto reconquer a lost position: what Buonaparte's fire and zeal must\nhave been we can scarcely conceive; even his fiercest detractors bear\nwitness to the activity of those months. When the order to embark was\ngiven, his organization and material were both as nearly perfect as\npossible. His mother had brought the younger children to a charming\nhouse near by, where she entertained the influential women of the\nneighborhood; and thither her busy son often withdrew for the\npleasures of a society which he was now beginning thoroughly to enjoy.\nThanks to the social diplomacy of this most ingenious family,\neverything went well for a time, even with Lucien; and Louis, now\nsixteen, was made a lieutenant of artillery. At the last moment came\nwhat seemed the climax of Napoleon's good fortune, the assurance that\nthe destination of the fleet would be Corsica. Peace was made with\nTuscany. Rome could not be reached without a decisive engagement with\nthe English; therefore the first object of the expedition would be to\nengage the British squadron which was cruising about Corsica. Victory\nwould of course mean entrance into Corsican harbors.\n\nOn March eleventh the new fleet set sail. In its very first encounter\nwith the English on March thirteenth the fleet successfully\nmanoeuvered and just saved a fine eighty-gun ship, the _Ca Ira_, from\ncapture by Nelson. Next day there was a partial fleet action which\nended in a disaster, and two fine ships were captured, the _Ca Ira_\nand the _Censeur_; the others fled to Hyeres, where the troops were\ndisembarked from their transports, and sent back to their posts.[45]\nNaval operations were not resumed for three months. Once more\nBuonaparte was the victim of uncontrollable circumstance. Destitute of\nemployment, stripped even of the little credit gained in the last\nhalf-year,[46] he stood for the seventh time on the threshold of the\nworld, a suppliant at the door. In some respects he was worse equipped\nfor success than at the beginning, for he now had a record to\nexpunge. To an outsider the spring of 1795 must have appeared the most\ncritical period of his life.[47] He himself knew better; in fact, this\nill-fated expedition was probably soon forgotten altogether. In his\nSt. Helena reminiscences, at least, he never recalled it: at that time\nhe was not fond of mentioning his failures, little or great, being\nchiefly concerned to hand himself down to history as a man of lofty\npurposes and unsullied motives. Besides, he was never in the slightest\ndegree responsible for the terrible waste of millions in this\nill-starred maritime enterprise; all his own plans had been for the\nconduct of the war by land.\n\n              [Footnote 45: Marmont: Memoires, I, 77-78.]\n\n              [Footnote 46: Inspection report in Jung, II, 477. \"Too\n              much ambition and intrigue for his advancement.\"]\n\n              [Footnote 47: He was far down the list, one hundred and\n              thirty-ninth in the line of promotion.]\n\nThe Corsican administration had always had in it at least one French\nrepresentative. Between the latest of these, Lacombe Saint-Michel, now\na member of the Committee of Safety, and the Salicetti party no love\nwas ever lost. It was a general feeling that the refugee Corsicans on\nthe Mediterranean shore were too near their home. They were always\ncharged with unscrupulous planning to fill their own pockets. Now,\nsomehow or other, inexplicably perhaps, but nevertheless certainly, a\ncostly expedition had been sent to Corsica under the impulse of these\nvery men, and it had failed. The unlucky adventurers had scarcely set\ntheir feet on shore before Lacombe secured Buonaparte's appointment to\nthe Army of the West, where he would be far from old influences, with\norders to proceed immediately to his post. The papers reached\nMarseilles, whither the Buonapartes had already betaken themselves,\nduring the month of April. On May second,[48] accompanied by Louis,\nJunot, and Marmont, the broken general set out for Paris, where he\narrived with his companions eight days later, and rented shabby\nlodgings in the Fosses-Montmartre, now Aboukir street. The style of\nthe house was Liberty Hotel.\n\n              [Footnote 48: Possibly the twelfth. See Jung, III, I.]\n\nAt this point Buonaparte's apprentice years may be said to have ended:\nhe was virtually the man he remained to the end. A Corsican by origin,\nhe retained the national sensibility and an enormous power of\nendurance both physical and intellectual, together with the dogged\npersistence found in the medieval Corsicans. He was devoted with\nprimitive virtue to his family and his people, but was willing to\nsacrifice the latter, at least, to his ambition. His moral sense,\nhaving never been developed by education, and, worse than that, having\nbeen befogged by the extreme sensibility of Rousseau and by the chaos\nof the times which that prophet had brought to pass, was practically\nlacking. Neither the hostility of his father to religion, nor his own\nexperiences with the Jesuits, could, however, entirely eradicate a\nsuperstition which passed in his mind for faith. Sometimes he was a\nscoffer, as many with weak convictions are; but in general he\npreserved a formal and outward respect for the Church. He was,\nhowever, a stanch opponent of Roman centralization and papal\npretensions. His theoretical education had been narrow and one-sided;\nbut his reading and his authorship, in spite of their superficial and\ndesultory character, had given him certain large and fairly definite\nconceptions of history and politics. But his practical education! What\na polishing and sharpening he had had against the revolving world\nmoving many times faster then than in most ages! He was an adept in\nthe art of civil war, for he had been not merely an interested\nobserver, but an active participant in it during five years in two\ncountries. Long the victim of wiles more secret than his own, he had\nfinally grown most wily in diplomacy; an ambitious politician, his\npulpy principles were republican in their character so far as they had\nany tissue or firmness.\n\nHis acquisitions in the science of war were substantial and definite.\nNeither a martinet himself nor in any way tolerant of routine,\nignorant in fact of many hateful details, among others of obedience,\nhe yet rose far above tradition or practice in his conception of\nstrategy. He was perceptibly superior to the world about him in almost\nevery aptitude, and particularly so in power of combination, in\noriginality, and in far-sightedness. He could neither write nor spell\ncorrectly, but he was skilled in all practical applications of\nmathematics: town and country, mountains and plains, seas and rivers,\nwere all quantities in his equations. Untrustworthy himself, he strove\nto arouse trust, faith, and devotion in those about him; and\nconcealing successfully his own purpose, he read the hearts of others\nlike an open book. Of pure-minded affection for either men or women he\nhad so far shown only a little, and had experienced in return even\nless; but he had studied the arts of gallantry, and understood the\nleverage of social forces. To these capacities, some embryonic, some\nperfectly formed, add the fact that he was now a cosmopolitan, and\nthere will be outline, relief, and color to his character. \"I am in\nthat frame of mind,\" he said of himself about this time, \"in which men\nare when on the eve of battle, with a persistent conviction that since\ndeath is imminent in the end, to be uneasy is folly. Everything makes\nme brave death and destiny; and if this goes on, I shall in the end,\nmy friend, no longer turn when a carriage passes. My reason is\nsometimes astonished at all this; but it is the effect produced on me\nby the moral spectacle of this land [_ce pays-ci_, not _patrie_], and\nby the habit of running risks.\" This is the power and the temper of a\nman of whom an intimate and confidential friend predicted that he\nwould never stop short until he had mounted either the throne or the\nscaffold.\n\nThe overthrow of Robespierre was the result of an alliance between\nwhat have been called the radicals and the conservatives in the\nConvention. Both were Jacobins, for the Girondists had been\ndiscredited, and put out of doors. It was not, however, the\nConvention, but Paris, which took command of the resulting movement.\nThe social structure of France has been so strong, and the nation so\nhomogeneous, that political convulsions have had much less influence\nthere than elsewhere. But the \"Terror\" had struck at the heart of\nnearly every family of consequence in the capital, and the people were\nutterly weary of horrors. The wave of reaction began when the would-be\ndictator fell. A wholesome longing for safety, with its attendant\npleasures, overpowered society, and light-heartedness returned.\nUnderneath this temper lay but partly concealed a grim determination\nnot to be thwarted, which awed the Convention. Slowly, yet surely, the\nJacobins lost their power. As once the whole land had been mastered by\nthe idea of \"federation,\" and as a later patriotic impulse had given\nas a watchword \"the nation,\" so now another refrain was in every\nmouth--\"humanity.\" The very songs of previous stages, the \"Ca ira\" and\nthe \"Carmagnole,\" were displaced by new and milder ones. With Paris in\nthis mood, it was clear that the proscribed might return, and the\nConvention, for its intemperate severity, must abdicate.\n\nThis, of course, meant a new political experiment; but being, as they\nwere, sanguine admirers of Rousseau, the French felt no apprehension\nat the prospect. The constitution of the third republic in France has\nbeen considered a happy chance by many. Far from being perfectly\nadapted to the needs of the nation, the fine qualities it possesses\nare the outcome, not of chance, nor of theory, but of a century's\nexperience. It should be remembered that France in the eighteenth\ncentury had had no experience whatever of constitutional government,\nand the spirit of the age was all for theory in politics. Accordingly\nthe democratic monarchy of 1791 had failed because, its framework\nhaving been built of empty visions, its constitution was entirely in\nthe air. The same fate had now overtaken the Girondist experiment of\n1792 and the Jacobin usurpation of the following year, which was\nostensibly sanctioned by the popular adoption of a new constitution.\nWith perfect confidence in Rousseau's idea that government is based on\na social contract between individuals, the nation had sworn its\nadhesion to two constitutions successively, and had ratified the act\neach time by appropriate solemnities. Already the bubble of such a\nconception had been punctured. Was it strange that the Convention\ndetermined to repeat the same old experiment? Not at all. They knew\nnothing better than the old idea, and never doubted that the fault\nlay, not in the system, but in its details; they believed they could\nimprove on the work of their predecessors by the change and\nmodification of particulars. Aware, therefore, that their own day had\npassed, they determined, before dissolving, to construct a new and\nimproved form of government. The work was confided to a committee of\neleven, most of whom were Girondists recalled for the purpose in order\nto hoodwink the public. They now separated the executive and judiciary\nfrom each other and from the legislature, divided the latter into two\nbranches, so as to cool the heat of popular sentiment before it was\nexpressed in statutes, and, avoiding the pitfall dug for itself by\nthe National Assembly, made members of the Convention eligible for\nelection under the new system.\n\nIf the monarchy could have been restored at the same time, these\nfeatures of the new charter would have reproduced in France some\nelements of the British constitution, and its adoption would probably\nhave pacified the dynastic rulers of Europe. But the restoration of\nmonarchy in any form was as yet impossible. The Bourbons had utterly\ndiscredited royalty, and the late glorious successes had been won\npartly by the lavish use in the enemy's camp of money raised and\ngranted by radical democrats, partly by the prowess of enthusiastic\nrepublicans. The compact, efficient organization of the national army\nwas the work of the Jacobins, and while the Mountain was discredited\nin Paris, it was not so in the provinces; moreover, the army which was\non foot and in the field was in the main a Jacobin army. Royalty was\nso hated by most Frenchmen that the sad plight of the child dauphin,\ndying by inches in the Temple, awakened no compassion, and its next\nlineal representative was that hated thing, a voluntary exile; the\nnobility, who might have furnished the material for a French House of\nLords, were traitors to their country, actually bearing arms in the\nlevies of her foes. The national feeling was a passion; Louis XVI had\nbeen popular enough until he had outraged it first by ordering the\nChurch to remain obedient to Rome, and then by appealing to foreign\npowers for protection. The emigrant nobles had stumbled over one\nanother in their haste to manifest their contempt for nationality by\nthrowing themselves into the arms of their own class in foreign lands.\n\nMoreover, another work of the Revolution could not be undone. The\nlands of both the emigrants and the Church had either been seized and\ndivided among the adherents of the new order, or else appropriated to\nstate uses. Restitution was out of the question, for the power of the\nnew owners was sufficient to destroy any one who should propose to\ntake away their possessions. This is a fact particularly to be\nemphasized, because, making all allowances, the subsequent history of\nFrance has been determined by the alliance of a landed peasantry with\nthe petty burghers of the cities and towns. What both have always\ndesired is a strong hand in government which assures their property\nrights. Whenever any of the successive forms and methods has failed\nits fate was doomed. In this temper of the masses, in the flight of\nthe ruling class, in the distemper of the radical democracy, a\nconstitutional monarchy was unthinkable. A presidential government on\nthe model of that devised and used by the United States was equally\nimpossible, because the French appear already to have had a\npremonition or an instinct that a ripe experience of liberty was\nessential to the working of such an institution. The student of the\nrevolutionary times will become aware how powerful the feeling already\nwas among the French that a single strong executive, elected by the\nmasses, would speedily turn into a tyrant. They have now a nominal\npresident; but his election is indirect, his office is representative,\nnot political, and his duties are like an impersonal, colorless\nreflection of those performed by the English crown. The\nconstitution-makers simply could not fall back on an experience of\nsuccessful free government which did not exist. Absolute monarchy had\nmade gradual change impossible, for oppression dies only in\nconvulsions. Experience was in front, not behind, and must be gained\nthrough suffering.\n\nIt was therefore a grim necessity which led the Thermidorians of the\nConvention to try another political nostrum. What should it be? There\nhad always been a profound sense in France of her historic continuity\nwith Rome. Her system of jurisprudence, her speech, her church, her\nvery land, were Roman. Recalling this, the constitution-framers also\nrecollected that these had been the gifts of imperial and Christian\nRome. It was a curious but characteristic whim which consequently\nsuggested to the enemies of ecclesiasticism the revival of Roman forms\ndating from the heathen commonwealth. This it was which led them to\ncommit the administration of government in both external and internal\nrelations to a divided executive. There, however, the resemblance to\nRome ended, for instead of two consuls there were to be five\ndirectors. These were to sit as a committee, to appoint their own\nministerial agents, together with all officers and officials of the\narmy, and to fill the few positions in the administrative departments\nwhich were not elective, except those in the treasury, which was a\nseparate, independent administration. All executive powers except\nthose of the treasury were likewise to be in their hands. They were to\nhave no veto, and their treaties of peace must be ratified by the\nlegislature; but they could declare war without consulting any one.\nThe judiciary was to be elected directly by the people, and the judges\nwere to hold office for about a year. The legislature was to be\nseparated into a senate with two hundred and fifty members, called the\nCouncil of Ancients, which had the veto power, and an assembly called\nthe Council of Juniors, or, more popularly, from its number, the Five\nHundred, which had the initiative in legislation. The members of the\nformer must be at least forty years old and married; every aspirant\nfor a seat in the latter must be twenty-five and of good character.\nBoth these bodies were alike to be elected by universal suffrage\nworking indirectly through secondary electors, and limited by\neducational and property qualifications. There were many wholesome\nchecks and balances. This constitution is known as that of I\nVendemiaire, An IV, or September twenty-second, 1795. It became\noperative on October twenty-sixth.\n\nThe scheme was formed, as was intended, under Girondist influence, and\nwas acceptable to the nation as a whole. In spite of many defects, it\nmight after a little experience have been amended so as to work, if\nthe people had been united and hearty in its support. But they were\nnot. The Thermidorians, who were still Jacobins at heart, ordered that\nat least two-thirds of the men elected to sit in the new houses should\nhave been members of the Convention, on the plea that they alone had\nsufficient experience of affairs to carry on the public business, at\nleast for the present. Perhaps this was intended as some offset to the\nenforced closing of the Jacobin Club on November twelfth, 1794, due to\nmenaces by the higher classes of Parisian society, known to history as\n\"the gilded youth.\" On the other hand, the royalists saw in the new\nconstitution an instrument ready to their hand, should public opinion,\nin its search for means to restore quiet and order, be carried still\nfurther away from the Revolution than the movement of Thermidor had\nswept it. Their conduct justified the measures of the Jacobins.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nThe Antechamber to Success.\n\n     Punishment of the Terrorists -- Dangers of the Thermidorians\n     -- Successes of Republican Arms -- Some Republican Generals\n     -- Military Prodigies -- The Treaty of Basel -- Vendean\n     Disorders Repressed -- A \"White Terror\" -- Royalist Activity\n     -- Friction Under the New Constitution -- Arrival of\n     Buonaparte in Paris -- Paris Society -- Its Power -- The\n     People Angry -- Resurgence of Jacobinism -- Buonaparte's\n     Dejection -- His Relations with Mme. Permon -- His\n     Magnanimity.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1795.]\n\nFrom time to time after the events of Thermidor the more active agents\nof the Terror were sentenced to transportation, and the less guilty\nwere imprisoned. On May seventh, 1795, three days before Buonaparte's\narrival in Paris, Fouquier-Tinville, and fifteen other wretches who\nhad been but tools, the executioners of the revolutionary tribunal,\nwere put to death. The National Guard had been reorganized, and\nPichegru was recalled from the north to take command of the united\nforces in Paris under a committee of the Convention with Barras at its\nhead.\n\nThis was intended to overawe those citizens of Paris who were hostile\nto the Jacobins. They saw the trap set for them, and were angry.\nDuring the years of internal disorder and foreign warfare just passed\nthe economic conditions of the land had grown worse and worse, until,\nin the winter of 1794-95, the laboring classes of Paris were again on\nthe verge of starvation. As usual, they attributed their sufferings to\nthe government, and there were bread riots. Twice in the spring of\n1795--on April first and May twentieth--the unemployed and hungry rose\nto overthrow the Convention, but they were easily put down by the\nsoldiers on both occasions. The whole populace, as represented by the\nsections or wards of Paris, resented this use of armed force, and grew\nuneasy. The Thermidorians further angered it by introducing a new\nmetropolitan administration, which greatly diminished the powers and\ninfluence of the sections, without, however, destroying their\norganization. The people of the capital, therefore, were ready for\nmischief. The storming of the Tuileries on August tenth, 1792, had\nbeen the work of the Paris mob. Why could they not in turn, another\nmob, reactionary and to a degree even royalist, overthrow the tyranny\nof the Jacobins as they themselves had overthrown the double-faced\nadministration of the King?\n\nA crisis might easily have been precipitated before Buonaparte's\narrival in Paris, but it was delayed by events outside the city. The\nyear 1794 had been a brilliant season for the republican arms and for\nrepublican diplomacy. We have seen how the Piedmontese were forced\nbeyond the maritime Alps; the languid and worthless troops of Spain\nwere expelled from the Pyrenean strongholds and forced southward; in\nsome places, beyond the Ebro. Pichegru, with the Army of the North,\nhad driven the invaders from French soil and had conquered the\nAustrian Netherlands. Jourdan, with the Army of the Sambre and Meuse,\nhad defeated the Austrians at Fleurus in a battle decided by the\nbravery of Marceau, thus confirming the conquest. Other generals were\nlikewise rising to eminence. Hoche had in 1793 beaten the Austrians\nunder Wurmser at Weissenburg, and driven them from Alsace. He had now\nfurther heightened his fame by his successes against the insurgents\nof the west. Saint-Cyr, Bernadotte, and Kleber, with many others of\nBuonaparte's contemporaries, had also risen to distinction in minor\nengagements.\n\nOf peasant birth, Pichegru was nevertheless appointed by\necclesiastical influence as a scholar at Brienne. In the dearth of\ngenerals he was selected for promotion by Saint-Just as was Hoche at\nthe time when Carnot discovered Jourdan. Having assisted Hoche in the\nconquest of Alsace when a division general and only thirty-two years\nold, he began the next year, in 1794, to deploy his extraordinary\npowers, and with Moreau as second in command he swept the English and\nAustrians out of the Netherlands. Both these generals were sensitive\nand jealous men; after brilliant careers under the republic they\nturned royalists and came to unhappy ends. Moreau was two years the\njunior. He was the son of a Breton lawyer and rose to notice both as a\nlocal politician, and as a volunteer captain in the Breton struggles\nfor independence with which he had no sympathy. As a great soldier he\nranks with Hoche after Napoleon in the revolutionary time. Hoche was\nyounger still, having been born in 1768. In 1784 he enlisted as a\ncommon soldier and rose from the ranks by sheer ability. He died at\nthe age of thirty, but as a politician and strategist he was already\nfamous. Kleber was an Alsatian who had been educated in the military\nschool at Munich and was already forty-one years old. Having enlisted\nunder the Revolution as a volunteer, he so distinguished himself on\nthe Rhine that he was swiftly promoted; but, thwarted in his ambition\nto have an independent command, he lost his ardor and did not again\ndistinguish himself until he secured service under Napoleon in Egypt.\nThere he exhibited such capacity that he was regarded as one of\nBonaparte's rivals. He was assassinated by an Oriental in Cairo.\nBernadotte was four years the senior of Bonaparte, the son of a lawyer\nin Paris. He too enlisted in the ranks, as a royal marine, and rose by\nhis own merits. He was a rude radical whose military ability was\nparalleled by his skill in diplomacy. His swift promotion was obtained\nin the Rhenish campaigns. Gouvion Saint-Cyr was also born in 1764 at\nToul. He was a marquis but an ardent reformer, and a born soldier. He\nbegan as a volunteer captain on the staff of Custine, and rising like\nthe others mentioned became an excellent general, though his chances\nfor distinction were few. Jourdan was likewise a nobleman, born at\nLimoges to the rank of count in 1762. His long career was solid rather\nthan brilliant, though he gained great distinction in the northern\ncampaigns and ended as a marshal, the military adviser of Joseph\nBonaparte in Naples and Madrid.\n\nThe record of military energy put forth by the liberated nation under\nJacobin rule stands, as Fox declared in the House of Commons,\nabsolutely unique. Twenty-seven victories, eight in pitched battle;\none hundred and twenty fights; ninety thousand prisoners; one hundred\nand sixteen towns and important places captured; two hundred and\nthirty forts or redoubts taken; three thousand eight hundred pieces of\nordnance, seventy thousand muskets, one thousand tons of powder, and\nninety standards fallen into French hands--such is the incredible\ntale. Moreover, the army had been purged with as little mercy as a\nmercantile corporation shows to incompetent employees. It is often\nclaimed that the armies of republican France and of Napoleon were,\nafter all, the armies of the Bourbons. Not so. The conscription law,\nthough very imperfect in itself, was supplemented by the general\nenthusiasm; a nation was now in the ranks instead of hirelings; the\nreorganization had remodeled the whole structure, and between January\nfirst, 1792, and January twentieth, 1795, one hundred and ten division\ncommanders, two hundred and sixty-three generals of brigade, and one\nhundred and thirty-eight adjutant-generals either resigned, were\nsuspended from duty, or dismissed from the service. The republic had\nnew leaders and new men in its armies.\n\nThe nation had apparently determined that the natural boundary of\nFrance and of its own revolutionary system was the Rhine. Nice and\nSavoy would round out their territory to the south. This much the new\ngovernment, it was understood, would conquer, administer, and keep;\nthe Revolution in other lands, impelled but not guided by French\ninfluence, must manage its own affairs. This was, of course, an\nentirely new diplomatic situation. Under its pressure Holland, by the\naid of Pichegru's army, became the Batavian Republic, and ceded Dutch\nFlanders to France; while Prussia abandoned the coalition, and in the\ntreaty of Basel, signed on April fifth, 1795, agreed to the neutrality\nof all north Germany. In return for the possessions of the\necclesiastical princes in central Germany, which were eventually to be\nsecularized, she yielded to France undisputed possession of the left\nbank of the Rhine. Spain, Portugal, and the little states both of\nsouth Germany and of Italy were all alike weary of the contest, the\nmore so as they were honeycombed with liberal ideas. They were already\npreparing to desert England and Austria, the great powers which still\nstood firm. With the exception of Portugal, they acceded within a few\nweeks to the terms made at Basel. Rome, as the instigator of the\nunyielding ecclesiastics of Vendee, was, of course, on the side of\nGreat Britain and the Empire.\n\nAt home the military success of the republic was for a little while\nequally marked. Before the close of 1794 the Breton peasants who,\nunder the name of Chouans, had become lawless highwaymen were entirely\ncrushed; and the English expedition sent to Quiberon in the following\nyear to revive the disorders was a complete, almost ridiculous\nfailure. The insurrection of Vendee had dragged stubbornly on, but it\nwas stamped out in June, 1795, by the execution of over seven hundred\nof the emigrants who had returned on English vessels to fan the\nroyalist blaze which was kindling again.\n\n[Illustration: In the collection of Mr. Edmond Taigny.\nMarie-Josephine-Rose Tascher de La Pagerie, Called Josephine,\nEmpress of the French.\n\nFrom the design by Jean-Baptiste Isabey (pencil drawing retouched\nin water-color) made in 1798.]\n\nThe royalists, having created the panic of five years previous, were\nnot to be outdone even by the Terror. Charette, the Vendean leader,\nretaliated by a holocaust of two thousand republican prisoners whom he\nhad taken. After the events of Thermidor the Convention had thrown\nopen the prison doors, put an end to bloodshed, and proclaimed an\namnesty. The evident power of the Parisian burghers, the form given by\nthe Girondists to the new constitution, the longing of all for peace\nand for a return of comfort and prosperity, still further emboldened\nthe royalists, and enabled them to produce a wide-spread revulsion of\nfeeling. They rose in many parts of the south, instituting what is\nknown from the colors they wore as the \"White Terror,\" and pitilessly\nmurdering, in the desperation of timid revenge, their unsuspecting and\nunready neighbors of republican opinions. The scenes enacted were more\nterrible, the human butchery was more bloody, than any known during\nthe darkest days of the revolutionary movement in Paris. This might\nwell be considered the preliminary trial to the Great White Terror of\n1815, in which the frenzy and fanaticism of royalists and Roman\nCatholics surpassed the most frantic efforts of radicals in lawless\nbloodshed. Imperialists, free-thinkers, and Protestants were the\nvictims.\n\nThe Jacobins, therefore, in view of so dangerous a situation, and not\nwithout some reason, had determined that they themselves should\nadminister the new constitution. They were in the most desperate\nstraits because the Paris populace now held them directly responsible\nfor the existing scarcity of food, a scarcity amounting to famine.\nFrom time to time for months the mob invaded the hall of the\nConvention, craving bread with angry, hungry clamor. The members\nmingled with the disorderly throng on the floor and temporarily\nsoothed them by empty promises. But each inroad of disorder was worse\nthan the preceding until the Mountain was not only without support\nfrom the rabble, but an object of loathing and contempt to them and\ntheir half-starved leaders. Hence their only chance for power was in\nsome new rearrangement under which they would not be so prominent in\naffairs. The royalists at the same time saw in the provisions of the\nnew charter a means to accomplish their own ends; and relying upon the\nattitude of the capital, in which mob and burghers alike were angry,\ndetermined simultaneously to strike a blow for mastery, and to\nsupplant the Jacobins. Evidence of their activity appeared both in\nmilitary and political circles. Throughout the summer of 1795 there\nwas an unaccountable languor in the army. It was believed that\nPichegru had purposely palsied his own and Jourdan's abilities, and\nthe needless armistice he made with Austria went far to confirm the\nidea. It was afterward proved that several members of the Convention\nhad been in communication with royalists. Among their agents was a\npersonage of some importance--a certain Aubry--who, having returned\nafter the events of Thermidor, never disavowed his real sentiments as\na royalist; and being later made chairman of the army committee, was\nin that position when Buonaparte's career was temporarily checked by\ndegradation from the artillery to the infantry. For this absurd reason\nhe was long but unjustly thought also to have caused the original\ntransfer to the west.\n\nThe Convention was aware of all that was taking place, but was also\nhelpless to correct the trouble. Having abolished the powerful and\nterrible Committee of Safety, which had conducted its operations with\nsuch success as attends remorseless vigor, it was found necessary on\nAugust ninth to reconstruct something similar to meet the new crisis.\nAt the same time the spirit of the hour was propitiated by forming\nsixteen other committees to control the action of the central one.\nSuch a dispersion of executive power was a virtual paralysis of\naction, but it was to be only temporary, they would soon centralize\ntheir strength in an efficient way. The constitution was adopted only\na fortnight later, on August twenty-second. Immediately the sections\nof Paris began to display irritation at the limitations set to their\nchoice of new representatives. They had many sympathizers in the\nprovinces, and the extreme reactionaries from the Revolution were\njubilant. Fortunately for France, Carnot was temporarily retained to\ncontrol the department of war. He was not removed until the following\nMarch.\n\nWhen General Buonaparte reached Paris, and went to dwell in the mean\nand shabby lodgings which his lean purse compelled him to choose, he\nfound the city strangely metamorphosed. Animated by a settled purpose\nnot to accept the position assigned to him in the Army of the West,\nand, if necessary, to defy his military superiors, his humor put him\nout of all sympathy with the prevalent gaiety. Bitter experience had\ntaught him that in civil war the consequences of victory and defeat\nare alike inglorious. In the fickleness of public opinion the\navenging hero of to-day may easily become the reprobated outcast of\nto-morrow. What reputation he had gained at Toulon was already\ndissipated in part; the rest might easily be squandered entirely in\nVendee. He felt and said that he could wait. But how about his daily\nbread?\n\nThe drawing-rooms of Paris had opened like magic before the \"sesame\"\nof Thermidor and the prospects of settled order under the Directory.\nThere were visiting, dining, and dancing; dressing, flirtation, and\nintrigue; walking, driving, and riding--all the avocations of a people\nsoured with the cruel and bloody past, and reasserting its native\npassion for pleasure and refinement. All classes indulged in the\nwildest speculation, securities public and corporate were the sport of\nthe exchange, the gambling spirit absorbed the energies of both sexes\nin desperate games of skill and chance. The theaters, which had never\nclosed their doors even during the worst periods of terror, were\nthronged from pit to gallery by a populace that reveled in excitement.\nThe morality of the hour was no better than the old; for there was a\nstrange mixture of elements in this new society. The men in power were\nof every class--a few of the old aristocracy, many of the wealthy\nburghers, a certain proportion of the colonial nabobs from the West\nIndies and elsewhere, adventurers of every stripe, a few even of the\ncity populace, and some country common folk. The purchase and sale of\nthe confiscated lands, the national domain which furnished a slender\nsecurity for the national debt and depreciated bonds, had enriched\nthousands of the vulgar sort. The newly rich lost their balance and\ntheir stolidity, becoming as giddy and frivolous and aggressive as the\nworst. The ingredients of this queer hodgepodge had yet to learn one\nanother's language and nature; the niceties of speech, gesture, and\nmien which once had a well-understood significance in the higher\ncircles of government and society were all to be readjusted in\naccordance with the ideas of the motley crowd and given new\nconventional currency. In such a disorderly transition vice does not\nrequire the mask of hypocrisy, virtue is helpless because unorganized,\nand something like riot characterizes conduct. The sound and rugged\ngoodness of many newcomers, the habitual respectability of the\nveterans, were for the moment alike inactive because not yet kneaded\ninto the lump they had to leaven.\n\nThere was, nevertheless, a marvelous exhibition of social power in\nthis heterogeneous mass; nothing of course proportionate in extent to\nwhat had been brought forth for national defense, but still, of almost\nif not entirely equal significance. Throughout the revolutionary epoch\nthere had been much discussion concerning reforms in education. It was\nin 1794 that Monge finally succeeded in founding the great Polytechnic\nSchool, an institution which clearly corresponded to a national\ncharacteristic, since from that day it has strengthened the natural\nbias of the French toward applied science, and tempted them to the\nundue and unfortunate neglect of many important humanizing\ndisciplines. The Conservatory of Music and the Institute were\npermanently reorganized soon after. The great collections of the\nMuseum of Arts and Crafts (Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers) were\nbegun, and permanent lecture courses were founded in connection with\nthe National Library, the Botanical Garden, the Medical School, and\nother learned institutions. Almost immediately a philosophical\nliterature began to appear; pictures were painted, and the theaters\nreopened with new and tolerable pieces written for the day and place.\nIn the very midst of war, moreover, an attempt was made to emancipate\nthe press. The effort was ill advised, and the results were so\ndeplorable for the conduct of affairs that the newspapers were in the\nevent more firmly muzzled than ever.\n\nWhen Buonaparte had made his living arrangements, and began to look\nabout, he must have been stupefied by the hatred for the Convention so\ngenerally and openly manifested on every side. The provinces had\nlooked upon the Revolution as accomplished. Paris was evidently in\nsuch ill humor with the body which represented it that the republic\nwas to all appearance virtually undone. \"Reelect two thirds of the\nConvention members to the new legislature!\" said the angry demagogues\nof the Paris sections. \"Never! Those men who, by their own confession,\nhave for three years in all these horrors been the cowardly tools of a\nsentiment they could not restrain, but are now self-styled and\nreformed moderates! Impossible!\" Whether bribed by foreign gold, and\nworking under the influence of royalists, or by reason of the famine,\nor through the determination of the well-to-do to have a radical\nchange, or from all these influences combined, the sections were\ngradually organizing for resistance, and it was soon clear that the\nNational Guard was in sympathy with them. The Convention was equally\nalert, and began to arm for the conflict. They already had several\nhundred artillerymen and five thousand regulars who were imbued with\nthe national rather that the local spirit; they now began to enlist a\nspecial guard of fifteen hundred from the desperate men who had been\nthe trusty followers of Hebert and Robespierre. The fighting spirit of\nthe Convention was unquenchable. Having lodged the \"two thirds\" in the\ncoming government, they virtually declared war on all enemies internal\nand external. By their decree of October twenty-fourth, 1792, they had\nannounced that the natural limits of France were their goal. Having\nvirtually obtained them, they were now determined to defend them. This\nwas the legacy of the Convention to the Directory, a legacy which\nindefinitely prolonged the Revolution and nullified the new polity\nfrom the outset.\n\nFor a month or more Buonaparte was a mere onlooker, or at most an\ninterested examiner of events, weighing and speculating in obscurity\nmuch as he had done three years before. The war department listened to\nand granted his earnest request that he might remain in Paris until\nthere should be completed a general reassignment of officers, which\nhad been determined upon, and, as his good fortune would have it, was\nalready in progress. As the first weeks passed, news arrived from the\nsouth of a reaction in favor of the Jacobins. It became clearer every\nday that the Convention had moral support beyond the ramparts of\nParis, and within the city it was possible to maintain something in\nthe nature of a Jacobin salon. Many of that faith who were disaffected\nwith the new conditions in Paris--the Corsicans in particular--were\nwelcomed at the home of Mme. Permon by herself and her beautiful\ndaughter, afterward Mme. Junot and Duchess of Abrantes. Salicetti had\nchosen the other child, a son now grown, as his private secretary, and\nwas of course a special favorite in the house. The first manifestation\nof reviving Jacobin confidence was shown in the attack made on May\ntwentieth upon the Convention by hungry rioters who shouted for the\nconstitution of 1793. The result was disastrous to the radicals\nbecause the tumult was quelled by the courage and presence of mind\nshown by Boissy d'Anglas, a calm and determined moderate. Commissioned\nto act alone in provisioning Paris, he bravely accepted his\nresponsibility and mounted the president's chair in the midst of the\ntumult to defend himself. The mob brandished in his face the bloody\nhead of Feraud, a fellow-member of his whom they had just murdered.\nThe speaker uncovered his head in respect, and his undaunted mien\ncowed the leaders, who slunk away, followed by the rabble. The\nconsequence was a total annihilation of the Mountain on May\ntwenty-second. The Convention committees were disbanded, their\nartillerymen were temporarily dismissed, and the constitution of 1793\nwas abolished.\n\nThe friendly home of Mme. Permon was almost the only resort of\nBuonaparte, who, though disillusioned, was still a Jacobin. Something\nlike desperation appeared in his manner; the lack of proper food\nemaciated his frame, while uncertainty as to the future left its mark\non his wan face and in his restless eyes. It was not astonishing, for\nhis personal and family affairs were apparently hopeless. His\nbrothers, like himself, had now been deprived of profitable\nemployment; they, with him, might possibly and even probably soon be\nnumbered among the suspects; destitute of a powerful patron, and with\nhis family once more in actual want, Napoleon was scarcely fit in\neither garb or humor for the society even of his friends. His hostess\ndescribed him as having \"sharp, angular features; small hands, long\nand thin; his hair long and disheveled; without gloves; wearing badly\nmade, badly polished shoes; having always a sickly appearance, which\nwas the result of his lean and yellow complexion, brightened only by\ntwo eyes glistening with shrewdness and firmness.\" Bourrienne, who had\nnow returned from diplomatic service, was not edified by the\nappearance or temper of his acquaintance, who, he says, \"was ill clad\nand slovenly, his character cold, often inscrutable. His smile was\nhollow and often out of place. He had moments of fierce gaiety which\nmade you uneasy, and indisposed to love him.\"\n\nNo wonder the man was ill at ease. His worst fears were realized when\nthe influence of the Mountain was wiped out,--Carnot, the organizer of\nvictory, as he had been styled, being the only one of all the old\nleaders to escape. Salicetti was too prominent a partizan to be\noverlooked by the angry burghers. For a time he was concealed by Mme.\nPermon in her Paris home. He escaped the vengeance of his enemies in\nthe disguise of her lackey, flying with her when she left for the\nsouth to seek refuge for herself and children. Even the rank and file\namong the members of the Mountain either fled or were arrested. That\nBuonaparte was unmolested appears to prove how cleverly he had\nconcealed his connection with them. The story that in these days he\nproposed for the hand of Mme. Permon, though without any corroborative\nevidence, has an air of probability, partly in the consideration of a\ndespair which might lead him to seek any support, even that of a wife\nas old as his mother, partly from the existence of a letter to the\nlady which, though enigmatical, displays an interesting mixture of\nwounded pride and real or pretended jealousy. The epistle is dated\nJune eighteenth, 1795. He felt that she would think him duped, he\nexplains, if he did not inform her that although she had not seen fit\nto give her confidence to him, he had all along known that she had\nSalicetti in hiding. Then follows an address to that countryman,\nevidently intended to clear the writer from all taint of Jacobinism,\nand couched in these terms: \"I could have denounced thee, but did not,\nalthough it would have been but a just revenge so to do. Which has\nchosen the truer part? Go, seek in peace an asylum where thou canst\nreturn to better thoughts of thy country. My lips shall never utter\nthy name. Repent, and above all, appreciate my motives. This I\ndeserve, for they are noble and generous.\" In these words to the\npolitical refugee he employs the familiar republican \"thou\"; in the\nperoration, addressed, like the introduction, to the lady herself, he\nrecurs to the polite and distant \"you.\" \"Mme. Permon, my good wishes\ngo with you as with your child. You are two feeble creatures with no\ndefense. May Providence and the prayers of a friend be with you. Above\nall, be prudent and never remain in the large cities. Adieu. Accept my\nfriendly greetings.\"[49]\n\n              [Footnote 49: Correspondance, I, No. 40.]\n\nThe meaning of this missive is recondite; perhaps it is this: Mme.\nPermon, I loved you, and could have ruined the rival who is your\nprotege with a clear conscience, for he once did me foul wrong, as he\nwill acknowledge. But farewell. I bear you no grudge. Or else it may\nannounce another change in the political weather by the veering of the\ncock. As a good citizen, despising the horrors of the past, I could\nhave denounced you, Salicetti. I did not, for I recalled old times and\nyour helplessness, and wished to heap coals of fire on your head, that\nyou might see the error of your way. The latter interpretation finds\nsupport in the complete renunciation of Jacobinism which the writer\nmade soon afterward, and in his subsequent labored explanation that in\nthe \"Supper of Beaucaire\" he had not identified himself with the\nJacobin soldier (so far an exact statement of fact), but had wished\nonly by a dispassionate presentation of facts to show the hopeless\ncase of Marseilles, and to prevent useless bloodshed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nBonaparte the General of the Convention[50].\n\n              [Footnote 50: For this chapter the Memoires du roi\n              Joseph, I, and Boehtlingk: Napoleon Bonaparte, etc., I,\n              are valuable references, in addition to those already\n              given. The memoirs of Barras are particularly misleading\n              except for comparison. For social conditions, cf.\n              Goncourt, Histoire de la Societe Francaise sous le\n              Directoire, and in particular Adolph Schmidt: Tableaux\n              de la Revolution Francaise; Pariser Zustaende waehrend der\n              Revolutionszeit.]\n\n     Disappointments -- Another Furlough -- Connection with\n     Barras -- Official Society in Paris -- Buonaparte as a Beau\n     -- Condition of His Family -- A Political General -- An\n     Opening in Turkey -- Opportunities in Europe -- Social\n     Advancement -- Official Degradation -- Schemes for\n     Restoration -- Plans of the Royalists -- The Hostility of\n     Paris to the Convention -- Buonaparte, General of the\n     Convention Troops -- His Strategy.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1795.]\n\nThe overhauling of the army list with the subsequent reassignment of\nofficers turned out ill for Buonaparte. Aubry, the head of the\ncommittee, appears to have been utterly indifferent to him, displaying\nno ill will, and certainly no active good will, toward the sometime\nJacobin, whose name, moreover, was last on the list of artillery\nofficers in the order of seniority. According to the regulations, when\none arm of the service was overmanned, the superfluous officers were\nto be transferred to another. This was now the case with the\nartillery, and Buonaparte, as a supernumerary, was on June thirteenth\nagain ordered to the west, but this time only as a mere infantry\ngeneral of brigade. He appears to have felt throughout life more\nvindictiveness toward Aubry, the man whom he believed to have been\nthe author of this particular misfortune, than toward any other\nperson with whom he ever came in contact. In this rigid scrutiny of\nthe army list, exaggerated pretensions of service and untruthful\ntestimonials were no longer accepted. For this reason Joseph also had\nalready lost his position, and was about to settle with his family in\nGenoa, while Louis was actually sent back to school, being ordered to\nChalons. Poor Lucien, overwhelmed in the general ruin of the radicals,\nand with a wife and child dependent on him, was in despair. The other\nmembers of the family were temporarily destitute, but self-helpful.\n\nIn this there was nothing new; but, for all that, the monotony of the\nsituation must have been disheartening. Napoleon's resolution was soon\ntaken. He was either really ill from privation and disappointment, or\nsoon became so. Armed with a medical certificate, he applied for and\nreceived a furlough. This step having been taken, the next, according\nto the unchanged and familiar instincts of the man, was to apply under\nthe law for mileage to pay his expenses on the journey which he had\ntaken as far as Paris in pursuance of the order given him on March\ntwenty-ninth to proceed to his post in the west. Again, following the\nprecedents of his life, he calculated mileage not from Marseilles,\nwhence he had really started, but from Nice, thus largely increasing\nthe amount which he asked for, and in due time received. During his\nleave several projects occupied his busy brain. The most important\nwere a speculation in the sequestered lands of the emigrants and\nmonasteries, and the writing of two monographs--one a history of\nevents from the ninth of Fructidor, year II (August twenty-sixth,\n1794), to the beginning of year IV (September twenty-third, 1795), the\nother a memoir on the Army of Italy. The first notion was doubtless\ndue to the frenzy for speculation, more and more rife, which was now\ncomparable only to that which prevailed in France at the time of Law's\nMississippi scheme or in England during the South Sea Bubble. It\naffords an insight into financial conditions to know that a gold piece\nof twenty francs was worth seven hundred and fifty in paper. A project\nfor purchasing a certain property as a good investment for his wife's\ndowry was submitted to Joseph, but it failed by the sudden repeal of\nthe law under which such purchases were made. The two themes were both\nfinished, and another, \"A Study in Politics: being an Inquiry into the\nCauses of Troubles and Discords,\" was sketched, but never completed.\nThe memoir on the Army of Italy was virtually the scheme for offensive\nwarfare which he laid before the younger Robespierre; it was now\nrevised, and sent to the highest military power--the new central\ncommittee appointed as a substitute for the Committee of Safety. These\noccupations were all very well, but the furlough was rapidly expiring,\nand nothing had turned up. Most opportunely, the invalid had a\nrelapse, and was able to secure an extension of leave until August\nfourth, the date on which a third of the committee on the reassignment\nof officers would retire, among them the hated Aubry.\n\nSpeaking at St. Helena of these days, he said: \"I lived in the Paris\nstreets without employment. I had no social habits, going only into\nthe set at the house of Barras, where I was well received.... I was\nthere because there was nothing to be had elsewhere. I attached myself\nto Barras because I knew no one else. Robespierre was dead; Barras was\nplaying a role: I had to attach myself to somebody and something.\" It\nwill not be forgotten that Barras and Freron had been Dantonists when\nthey were at the siege of Toulon with Buonaparte. After the events of\nThermidor they had forsworn Jacobinism altogether, and were at present\nin alliance with the moderate elements of Paris society. Barras's\nrooms in the Luxembourg were the center of all that was gay and\ndazzling in that corrupt and careless world. They were, as a matter of\ncourse, the resort of the most beautiful and brilliant women,\ninfluential, but not over-scrupulous. Mme. Tallien, who has been\ncalled \"the goddess of Thermidor,\" was the queen of the coterie;\nscarcely less beautiful and gracious were the widow Beauharnais and\nMme. Recamier. Barras had been a noble; the instincts of his class\nmade him a delightful host.\n\nWhat Napoleon saw and experienced he wrote to the faithful Joseph. The\nletters are a truthful transcript of his emotions, the key-note of\nwhich is admiration for the Paris women. \"Carriages and the gay world\nreappear, or rather no more recall as after a long dream that they\nhave ever ceased to glitter. Readings, lecture courses in history,\nbotany, astronomy, etc., follow one another. Everything is here\ncollected to amuse and render life agreeable; you are taken out of\nyour thoughts; how can you have the blues in this intensity of purpose\nand whirling turmoil? The women are everywhere, at the play, on the\npromenades, in the libraries. In the scholar's study you find very\ncharming persons. Here only of all places in the world they deserve to\nhold the helm: the men are mad about them, think only of them, and\nlive only by means of their influence. A woman needs six months in\nParis to know what is her due and what is her sphere.\"[51] As yet he\nhad not met Mme. Beauharnais. The whole tone of the correspondence is\ncheerful, and indicates that Buonaparte's efforts for a new alliance\nhad been successful, that his fortunes were looking up, and that the\ngiddy world contained something of uncommon interest. As his fortunes\nimproved, he grew more hopeful, and appeared more in society. On\noccasion he even ventured upon little gallantries. Presented to Mme.\nTallien, he was frequently seen at her receptions. He was at first shy\nand reserved, but time and custom put him more at his ease. One\nevening, as little groups were gradually formed for the interchange of\njest and repartee, he seemed to lose his timidity altogether, and,\nassuming the mien of a fortune-teller, caught his hostess's hand, and\npoured out a long rigmarole of nonsense which much amused the rest of\nthe circle.\n\n              [Footnote 51: Napoleon to Joseph, July, 1795; in Du\n              Casse: Les rois freres de Napoleon, 8, and in Jung, III,\n              41.]\n\nThese months had also improved the situation of the family. His mother\nand younger sisters were somehow more comfortable in their Marseilles\nhome. Strange doings were afterward charged against them, but it is\nprobable that these stories are without other foundation than spite.\nNapoleon had received a considerable sum for mileage, nearly\ntwenty-seven hundred francs, and, good son as he always was, it is\nlikely that he shared the money with his family. Both Elisa and the\nlittle Pauline now had suitors. Fesch, described by Lucien as \"ever\nfresh, not like a rose, but like a good radish,\" was comfortably\nwaiting at Aix in the house of old acquaintances for a chance to\nreturn to Corsica. Joseph's arrangements for moving to Genoa were\nnearly complete, and Louis was comfortably settled at school in\nChalons. \"Brutus\" Lucien was the only luckless wight of the number:\nhis fears had been realized, and, having been denounced as a Jacobin,\nhe was now lying terror-stricken in the prison of Aix, and all about\nhim men of his stripe were being executed.\n\nOn August fifth the members of the new Committee of Safety finally\nentered on their duties. Almost the first document presented at the\nmeeting was Buonaparte's demand for restoration to his rank in the\nartillery. It rings with indignation, and abounds with loose\nstatements about his past services, boldly claiming the honors of the\nlast short but successful Italian campaign. The paper was referred to\nthe proper authorities, and, a fortnight later, its writer received\nperemptory orders to join his corps in the west. What could be more\namusingly characteristic of this persistent man than to read, in a\nletter to Joseph under date of the following day, August twentieth: \"I\nam attached at this moment to the topographical bureau of the\nCommittee of Safety for the direction of the armies in Carnot's place.\nIf I wish, I can be sent to Turkey by the government as general of\nartillery, with a good salary and a splendid title, to organize the\nartillery of the Grand Turk.\" Then follow plans for Joseph's\nappointment to the consular service, for a meeting at Leghorn, and for\na further land speculation. At the close are these remarks, which not\nonly exhibit great acuteness of observation, but are noteworthy as\ndisplaying a permanent quality of the man, that of always having an\nalternative in readiness: \"It is quiet, but storms are gathering,\nperhaps; the primaries are going to meet in a few days. I shall take\nwith me five or six officers.... The commission and decree of the\nCommittee of Safety, which employs me in the duty of directing the\narmies and plans of campaign, being most flattering to me, I fear they\nwill no longer allow me to go to Turkey. We shall see. I may have on\nhand a campaign to-day.... Write always as if I were going to Turkey.\"\n\nThis was all half true. By dint of soliciting Barras and Doulcet de\nPontecoulant, another well-wisher, both men of influence, and by\nimportuning Freron, then at the height of his power, but soon to\ndisplay a ruinous incapacity, Buonaparte had actually been made a\nmember of the commission of four which directed the armies, and Dutot\nhad been sent in his stead to the west. Moreover, there was likewise a\nchance for realizing those dreams of achieving glory in the Orient\nwhich had haunted him from childhood. At this moment there was a\nserious tension in the politics of eastern Europe, and the French saw\nan opportunity to strike Austria on the other side by an alliance with\nTurkey. The latter country was of course entirely unprepared for war,\nand asked for the appointment of a French commission to reconstruct\nits gun-foundries and to improve its artillery service. Buonaparte,\nhaving learned the fact, had immediately prepared two memorials, one\non the Turkish artillery, and another on the means of strengthening\nTurkish power against the encroachments of European monarchies. These\nhe sent up with an application that he should be appointed head of the\ncommission, inclosing also laudatory certificates of his uncommon\nability from Doulcet and from Debry, a newly made friend.\n\nBut the vista of an Eastern career temporarily vanished. The new\nconstitution, adopted, as already stated, on August twenty-second,\ncould not become operative until after the elections. On August\nthirty-first Buonaparte's plan for the conduct of the coming Italian\ncampaign was read by the Convention committee, found satisfactory, and\nadopted. It remains in many respects the greatest of all Napoleon's\nmilitary papers, its only fault being that no genius inferior to his\nown could carry it out. At intervals some strategic authority revives\nthe charge that this plan was bodily appropriated from the writings of\nMaillebois, the French general who led his army to disaster in Italy\nduring 1746. There is sufficient evidence that Buonaparte read\nMaillebois, and any reader may see the resemblances of the two plans.\nBut the differences, at first sight insignificant, are as vital as the\ndifferences of character in the two men. Like the many other charges\nof plagiarism brought against Napoleon by pedants, this one overlooks\nthe difference between mediocrity and genius in the use of materials.\nIt is not at all likely that the superiors of Buonaparte were ignorant\nof the best books concerning the invasion of Italy or of their almost\ncontemporary history. They brought no charges of plagiarism for the\nexcellent reason that there is none, and they were impressed by the\nsuggestions of their general. It is even possible that Buonaparte\nformed his plan before reading Maillebois. Volney declared he had\nheard it read and commentated by its author shortly after his return\nfrom Genoa and Nice.[52] The great scholar was already as profoundly\nimpressed as a year later Carnot, and now the war commission. A few\ndays later the writer and author of the plan became aware of the\nimpression he had made: it seemed clear that he had a reality in hand\nworth every possibility in the Orient. He therefore wrote to Joseph\nthat he was going to remain in Paris, explaining, as if incidentally,\nthat he could thus be on the lookout for any desirable vacancy in the\nconsular service, and secure it, if possible, for him.\n\n              [Footnote 52: Chaptal: Mes souvenirs sur Napoleon, p.\n              198.]\n\nDreams of another kind had supplanted in his mind all visions of\nOriental splendor; for in subsequent letters to the same\ncorrespondent, written almost daily, he unfolds a series of rather\nstartling schemes, which among other things include a marriage, a town\nhouse, and a country residence, with a cabriolet and three horses. How\nall this was to come about we cannot entirely discover. The marriage\nplan is clearly stated. Joseph had wedded one of the daughters of a\ncomparatively wealthy merchant. He was requested to sound his\nbrother-in-law concerning the other, the famous Desiree Clary, who\nafterward became Mme. Bernadotte. Two of the horses were to be\nsupplied by the government in place of a pair which he might be\nsupposed to have possessed at Nice in accordance with the rank he then\nheld, and to have sold, according to orders, when sent on the maritime\nexpedition to Corsica. Where the third horse and the money for the\nhouses were to come from is inscrutable; but, as a matter of fact,\nNapoleon had already left his shabby lodgings for better ones in\nMichodiere street, and was actually negotiating for the purchase of a\nhandsome detached residence near that of Bourrienne, whose fortunes\nhad also been retrieved. The country-seat which the speculator had in\nview, and for which he intended to bid as high as a million and a half\nof francs, was knocked down to another purchaser for three millions\nor, as the price of gold then was, about forty thousand dollars! So\ngreat a personage as he now was must, of course, have a secretary, and\nthe faithful Junot had been appointed to the office.\n\nThe application for the horses turned out a serious matter, and\nbrought the adventurer once more to the verge of ruin. The story he\ntold was not plain, the records did not substantiate it, the\nhard-headed officials of the war department evidently did not believe\na syllable of his representations,--which, in fact, were\nuntruthful,--and, the central committee having again lost a third of\nits members by rotation, among them Doulcet, there was no one now in\nit to plead Buonaparte's cause. Accordingly there was no little talk\nabout the matter in very influential circles, and almost\nsimultaneously was issued the report concerning his formal request\nfor restoration, which had been delayed by the routine prescribed in\nsuch cases, and was only now completed. It was not only adverse in\nitself, but contained a confidential inclosure animadverting severely\non the irregularities of the petitioner's conduct, and in particular\non his stubborn refusal to obey orders and join the Army of the West.\nThus it happened that on September fifteenth the name of Buonaparte\nwas officially struck from the list of general officers on duty, \"in\nview of his refusal to proceed to the post assigned him.\" It really\nappeared as if the name of Napoleon might almost have been substituted\nfor that of Tantalus in the fable. But it was the irony of fate that\non this very day the subcommittee on foreign affairs submitted to the\nfull meeting a proposition to send the man who was now a disgraced\nculprit in great state and with a full suite to take service at\nConstantinople in the army of the Grand Turk!\n\nNo one had ever understood better than Buonaparte the possibilities of\npolitical influence in a military career. Not only could he bend the\nbow of Achilles, but he always had ready an extra string. Thus far in\nhis ten years of service he had been promoted only once according to\nroutine; the other steps of the height which he had reached had been\nsecured either by some startling exhibition of ability or by influence\nor chicane. He had been first Corsican and then French, first a\npolitician and then a soldier. Such a veteran was not to be dismayed\neven by the most stunning blow; had he not even now three powerful\nprotectors--Barras, Tallien, and Freron? He turned his back,\ntherefore, with ready adaptability on the unsympathetic officials of\nthe army, the mere soldiers with cool heads and merciless judgment.\nThe evident short cut to restoration was to carry through the project\nof employment at Constantinople; it had been formally recommended,\nand to secure its adoption he renewed his importunate solicitations.\nHis rank he still held; he might hope to regain position by some\nbrilliant stroke such as he could execute only without the restraint\nof orders and on his own initiative. His hopes grew, or seemed to, as\nhis suit was not rejected, and he wrote to Joseph on September\ntwenty-sixth that the matter of his departure was urgent; adding,\nhowever: \"But at this moment there are some ebullitions and incendiary\nsymptoms.\" He was right in both surmises. The Committee of Safety was\nformally considering the proposition for his transfer to the Sultan's\nservice, while simultaneously affairs both in Paris and on the\nfrontiers alike were \"boiling.\"\n\nMeantime the royalists and clericals had not been idle. They had\nlearned nothing from the events of the Revolution, and did not even\ndimly understand their own position. Their own allies repudiated both\ntheir sentiments and their actions in the very moments when they\nbelieved themselves to be honorably fighting for self-preservation.\nEnglish statesmen like Granville and Harcourt now thought and said\nthat it was impossible to impose on France a form of government\ndistasteful to her people; but the British regent and the French\npretender, who, on the death of his unfortunate nephew, the dauphin,\nhad been recognized by the powers as Louis XVIII, were stubbornly\nunited under the old Bourbon motto, \"All or nothing.\" The change in\nthe Convention, in Paris society, even in the country itself, which\nwas about to desert its extreme Jacobinism and to adopt the new\nconstitution by an overwhelming vote--all this deceived them, and they\ndetermined to strike for everything they had lost. Preparations, it is\nnow believed, were all ready for an inroad from the Rhine frontier,\nfor Pichegru to raise the white flag and to advance with his troops on\nParis, and for a simultaneous rising of the royalists in every French\ndistrict. On October fourth an English fleet had appeared on the\nnorthern shore of France, having on board the Count of Artois and a\nlarge body of emigrants, accompanied by a powerful force of English,\ncomposed in part of regulars, in part of volunteers. This completed\nthe preliminary measures.\n\nWith the first great conflict in the struggle, avowed royalism had\nonly an indirect connection. By this time the Paris sections were\nthoroughly reorganized, having purged themselves of the extreme\ndemocratic elements from the suburbs. They were well drilled, well\narmed, and enthusiastic for resistance to the decree of the Convention\nrequiring the compulsory reelection of the \"two thirds\" from its\nexisting membership. The National Guard was not less embittered\nagainst that measure. There were three experienced officers then in\nParis who were capable of leading an insurrection, and could be relied\non to oppose the Convention. These were Danican, Duhoux d'Hauterive,\nand Laffont, all royalists at heart; the last was an emigrant, and\navowed it. The Convention had also by this time completed its\nenlistment, and had taken other measures of defense; but it was\nwithout a trustworthy person to command its forces, for among the\nfourteen generals of the republic then present in Paris, only two were\ncertainly loyal to the Convention, and both these were men of very\nindifferent character and officers of no capacity.\n\nThe Convention forces were technically a part of the army known as\nthat of the interior, of which Menou was the commander. The new\nconstitution having been formally proclaimed on September\ntwenty-third, the signs of open rebellion in Paris became too clear to\nbe longer disregarded, and on that night a mass meeting of the\nvarious sections was held in the Odeon theater in order to prepare\nplans for open resistance. That of Lepelletier, in the heart of Paris,\ncomprising the wealthiest and most influential of the mercantile\nclass, afterward assembled in its hall and issued a call to rebellion.\nThese were no contemptible foes: on the memorable tenth of August,\ntheirs had been the battalion of the National Guard which died with\nthe Swiss in defense of the Tuileries. Menou, in obedience to the\ncommand of the Convention to disarm the insurgent sections, confronted\nthem for a moment. But the work was not to his taste. After a short\nparley, during which he feebly recommended them to disperse and behave\nlike good citizens, he withdrew his forces to their barracks, and left\nthe armed and angry sections masters of the situation. Prompt and\nenergetic measures were more necessary than ever. For some days\nalready the Convention leaders had been discussing their plans. Carnot\nand Tallien finally agreed with Barras that the man most likely to do\nthoroughly the active work was Buonaparte. But, apparently, they dared\nnot altogether trust him, for Barras himself was appointed\ncommander-in-chief. His \"little Corsican officer, who will not stand\non ceremony,\" as he called him, was to be nominally lieutenant. On\nOctober fourth Buonaparte was summoned to a conference. The messengers\nsought him at his lodgings and in all his haunts, but could not find\nhim. It was nine in the evening when he appeared at headquarters in\nthe Place du Carrousel. This delay gave Barras a chance to insinuate\nthat his ardent republican friend, who all the previous week had been\neagerly soliciting employment, was untrustworthy in the crisis, and\nhad been negotiating with the sectionaries. Buonaparte reported\nhimself as having come from the section of Lepelletier, but as having\nbeen reconnoitering the enemy. After a rather tart conversation,\nBarras appointed him aide-de-camp, the position for which he had been\ndestined from the first. Whatever was the general's understanding of\nthe situation, that of the aide was clear--that he was to be his own\nmaster.[53]\n\n              [Footnote 53: My account of this momentous crisis in\n              Buonaparte's life was written after a careful study of\n              all the authorities and accounts as far as known. The\n              reader will find in the monograph, Zivy: Le treize\n              Vendemiaire, many reprints of documents and certain\n              conclusions drawn from them. The result is good as far\n              as it goes, but, like all history written from public\n              papers solely, it is incomplete. Buonaparte was only one\n              of seven generals appointed to serve under Barras. It\n              seems likewise true that his exploits did not bring him\n              into general notice, for Mallet du Pan speaks of him as\n              a \"Corsican terrorist\" and Remusat records her mother's\n              amazement that a man so little known should have made so\n              good a marriage. But, on the other hand, Thiebault\n              declares that Buonaparte's activities impressed every\n              one, Barras's labored effort is suspicious, and then, as\n              at Toulon, there are the results. Some people in power\n              gave him credit, for they bestowed on him an\n              extraordinary reward. Then, too, why should we utterly\n              discard Buonaparte's own evidence, which corroborates,\n              at least as far as the text goes, the evidence drawn\n              from other sources?]\n\nNot a moment was lost, and throughout the night most vigorous and\nincessant preparation was made. Buonaparte was as much himself in the\nstreets of Paris as in those of Ajaccio, except that his energy was\nproportionately more feverish, as the defense of the Tuileries and the\nriding-school attached to it, in which the Convention sat, was a\ngrander task than the never-accomplished capture of the Corsican\ncitadel. The avenues and streets of a city somewhat resemble the main\nand tributary valleys of a mountain-range, and the task of campaigning\nin Paris was less unlike that of manoeuvering in the narrow gorges of\nthe Apennines than might be supposed; at least Buonaparte's strategy\nwas nearly identical for both. All his measures were masterly. The\nfoe, scattered as yet throughout Paris on both sides of the river,\nwas first cut in two by seizing and fortifying the bridges across the\nSeine; then every avenue of approach was likewise guarded, while\nflanking artillery was set in the narrow streets to command the main\narteries. Thanks to Barras's suggestion, the dashing, reckless,\ninsubordinate Murat, who first appears at the age of twenty-seven on\nthe great stage in these events, had under Buonaparte's orders brought\nin the cannon from the camp of Sablons. These in the charge of a ready\nartillerist were invaluable, as the event proved. Finally a reserve,\nready for use on either side of the river, was established in what is\nnow the Place de la Concorde, with an open line of retreat toward St.\nCloud behind it. Every order was issued in Barras's name, and Barras,\nin his memoirs, claims all the honors of the day. He declares that his\naide was afoot, while he was the man on horseback, ubiquitous and\nmasterful. He does not even admit that Buonaparte bestrode a\ncab-horse, as even the vanquished were ready to acknowledge. The\nsections, of course, knew nothing of the new commander or of\nBuonaparte, and recalled only Menou's pusillanimity. Without cannon\nand without a plan, they determined to drive out the Convention at\nonce, and to overwhelm its forces by superior numbers. The quays of\nthe left bank were therefore occupied by a large body of the National\nGuard, ready to rush in from behind when the main attack, made from\nthe north through the labyrinth of streets and blind alleys then\ndesignated by the name of St. Honore, and by the short, wide passage\nof l'Echelle, should draw the Convention forces away in that direction\nto resist it. A kind of rendezvous had been appointed at the church of\nSt. Roch, which was to be used as a depot of supplies and a retreat.\nNumerous sectionaries were, in fact, posted there as auxiliaries at\nthe crucial instant.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nThe Day of the Paris Sections.\n\n     The Warfare of St. Roch and the Pont Royal -- Order Restored\n     -- Meaning of the Conflict -- Political Dangers --\n     Buonaparte's Dilemma -- His True Attitude -- Sudden Wealth\n     -- The Directory and Their General -- Buonaparte in Love --\n     His Corsican Temperament -- His Matrimonial Adventures.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1795.]\n\nIn this general position the opposing forces confronted each other on\nthe morning of October fifth, the thirteenth of Vendemiaire. In point\nof numbers the odds were tremendous, for the Convention forces\nnumbered only about four thousand regulars and a thousand volunteers,\nwhile the sections' force comprised about twenty-eight thousand\nNational Guards. But the former were disciplined, they had cannon, and\nthey were desperately able; and there was no distracted, vacillating\nleadership. What the legend attributes to Napoleon Buonaparte as his\ncommentary on the conduct of King Louis at the Tuileries was to be the\nConvention's ideal now. The \"man on horseback\" and the hot fire of\ncannon were to carry the day. Both sides seemed loath to begin. But at\nhalf-past four in the afternoon it was clear that the decisive moment\nhad come. As if by instinct, but in reality at Danican's signal, the\nforces of the sections from the northern portion of the capital began\nto pour through the narrow main street of St. Honore, behind the\nriding-school, toward the chief entrance of the Tuileries. They no\ndoubt felt safer in the rear of the Convention hall, with the high\nwalls of houses all about, than they would have done in the open\nspaces which they would have had to cross in order to attack it from\nthe front. Just before their compacted mass reached the church of St.\nRoch, it was brought to a halt. Suddenly becoming aware that in the\nside streets on the right were yawning the muzzles of hostile cannon,\nthe excited citizens lost their heads, and began to discharge their\nmuskets. Then with a swift, sudden blast, the street was cleared by a\nterrible discharge of the canister and grape-shot with which the\nfield-pieces of Barras and Buonaparte were loaded. The action\ncontinued about an hour, for the people and the National Guard rallied\nagain and again, each time to be mowed down by a like awful discharge.\nAt last they could be rallied no longer, and retreated to the church,\nwhich they held. On the left bank a similar melee ended in a similar\nway. Three times Laffont gathered his forces and hurled them at the\nPont Royal; three times they were swept back by the cross-fire of\nartillery. The scene then changed like the vanishing of a mirage.\nAwe-stricken messengers appeared, hurrying everywhere with the\nprostrating news from both sides of the river, and the entire Parisian\nforce withdrew to shelter. Before nightfall the triumph of the\nConvention was complete. The dramatic effect of this achievement was\nheightened by the appearance on horseback here, there, and everywhere,\nduring the short hour of battle, of an awe-inspiring leader; both\nbefore and after, he was unseen. In spite of Barras's claims, there\ncan be no doubt that this dramatic personage was Buonaparte. If not,\nfor what was he so signally rewarded in the immediate sequel? Barras\nwas no artillerist, and this was the appearance of an expert giving\nmasterly lessons in artillery practice to an astonished world, which\nlittle dreamed what he was yet to demonstrate as to the worth of his\nchosen arm on wider battle-fields. For the moment it suited\nBuonaparte to appear merely as an agent. In his reports of the affair\nhis own name is kept in the background. It is evident that from first\nto last he intended to produce the impression that, though acting with\nJacobins, he does so because they for the time represent the truth: he\nis not for that reason to be identified with them.\n\nThus by the \"whiff of grape-shot\" what the wizard historian of the\ntime \"specifically called the French Revolution\" was not \"blown into\nspace\" at all. Though there was no renewal of the reign of terror, yet\nthe Jacobins retained their power and the Convention lived on under\nthe name of the Directory. It continued to live on in its own stupid\nanarchical way until the \"man on horseback\" of the thirteenth\nVendemiaire had established himself as the first among French generals\nand the Jacobins had rendered the whole heart of France sick. While\nthe events of October twenty-fifth were a bloody triumph for the\nConvention, only a few conspicuous leaders of the rebels were\nexecuted, among them Laffont; and harsh measures were enacted in\nrelation to the political status of returned emigrants. But in the\nmain an unexpected mercy controlled the Convention's policy. They\nclosed the halls in which the people of the mutinous wards had met,\nand once more reorganized the National Guard. Order was restored\nwithout an effort. Beyond the walls of Paris the effect of the news\nwas magical. Artois, afterward Charles X, though he had landed three\ndays before on Ile Dieu, now reembarked, and sailed back to England,\nwhile the other royalist leaders prudently held their followers in\ncheck and their measures in abeyance. The new constitution was in a\nshort time offered to the nation, and accepted by an overwhelming\nmajority; the members of the Convention were assured of their\nascendancy in the new legislature; and before long the rebellion in\nVendee and Brittany was so far crushed as to release eighty thousand\ntroops for service abroad. For the leaders of its forces the\nConvention made a most liberal provision: the division commanders of\nthe thirteenth of Vendemiaire were all promoted. Buonaparte was made\nsecond in command of the Army of the Interior: in other words, was\nconfirmed in an office which, though informally, he had both created\nand rendered illustrious. As Barras almost immediately resigned, this\nwas equivalent to very high promotion.\n\nThis memorable \"day of the sections,\" as it is often called, was an\nunhallowed day for France and French liberty. It was the first\nappearance of the army since the Revolution as a support to political\nauthority; it was the beginning of a process which made the\ncommander-in-chief of the army the dictator of France. All purely\npolitical powers were gradually to vanish in order to make way for a\nmilitary state. The temporary tyranny of the Convention rested on a\nmeasure, at least, of popular consent; but in the very midst of its\npreparations to perpetuate a purely civil and political\nadministration, the violence of the sections had compelled it to\nconfide the new institutions to the keeping of soldiers. The idealism\nof the new constitution was manifest from the beginning. Every chance\nwhich the Directory had for success was dependent, not on the inherent\nworth of the system or its adaptability to present conditions, but on\nthe support of interested men in power; among these the commanders of\nthe army were not the least influential. After the suppression of the\nsections, the old Convention continued to sit under the style of the\nPrimary Assembly, and was occupied in selecting those of its members\nwho were to be returned to the legislature under the new constitution.\nThere being no provision for any interim government, the exercise of\nreal power was suspended; the elections were a mere sham; the\nmagistracy was a house swept and garnished, ready for the first comer\nto occupy it.\n\nAs the army and not the people had made the coming administration\npossible, the executive power would from the first be the creature of\nthe army; and since under the constitutional provisions there was no\nlegal means of compromise between the Directory and the legislature in\ncase of conflict, so that the stronger would necessarily crush the\nweaker, the armed power supporting the directors must therefore\ntriumph in the end, and the man who controlled that must become the\nmaster of the Directory and the ruler of the country. Moreover, a\npeople can be free only when the first and unquestioning devotion of\nevery citizen is not to a party, but to his country and its\nconstitution, his party allegiance being entirely secondary. This was\nfar from being the case in France: the nation was divided into\nirreconcilable camps, not of constitutional parties, but of violent\npartizans; many even of the moderate republicans now openly expressed\na desire for some kind of monarchy. Outwardly the constitution was the\nfreest so far devised. It contained, however, three fatal blunders\nwhich rendered it the best possible tool for a tyrant: it could not be\nchanged for a long period; there was no arbiter but force between a\nwarring legislative and executive; the executive was now supported by\nthe army.\n\nIt is impossible to prove that Buonaparte understood all this at the\ntime. When at St. Helena he spoke as if he did; but unfortunately his\nlater writings, however valuable from the psychological, are worthless\nfrom the historical, standpoint. They abound in misrepresentations\nwhich are in part due to lapse of time and weakness of memory, in\npart to wilful intention. Wishing the Robespierre-Salicetti episode of\nhis life to be forgotten, he strives in his memoirs to create the\nimpression that the Convention had ordered him to take charge of the\nartillery at Toulon, when in fact he was in Marseilles as a mere\npasser-by on his journey to Nice, and in Toulon as a temporary adjunct\nto the army of Carteaux, having been made an active participant partly\nthrough accident, partly by the good will of personal friends. In the\nsame way he also devised a fable about the \"day of the sections,\" in\norder that he might not appear to have been scheming for himself in\nthe councils of the Convention, and that Barras's share in his\nelevation might be consigned to oblivion. This story of Napoleon's has\ncome down in three stages of its development, by as many different\ntranscribers, who heard it at different times. The final one, as given\nby Las Cases, was corrected by Napoleon's own hand.[54] It runs as\nfollows: On the night of October third he was at the theater, but\nhearing that Menou had virtually retreated before the wards, and was\nto be arrested, he left and went to the meeting of the Convention,\nwhere, as he stood among the spectators, he heard his own name\nmentioned as Menou's successor. For half an hour he deliberated what\nhe should do if chosen. If defeated, he would be execrated by all\ncoming generations, while victory would be almost odious. How could he\ndeliberately become the scapegoat of so many crimes to which he had\nbeen an utter stranger? Why go as an avowed Jacobin and in a few hours\nswell the list of names uttered with horror? \"On the other hand, if\nthe Convention be crushed, what becomes of the great truths of our\nRevolution? Our many victories, our blood so often shed, are all\nnothing but shameful deeds. The foreigner we have so thoroughly\nconquered triumphs and overwhelms us with his contempt; an incapable\nrace, an overbearing and unnatural following, reappear triumphant,\nthrow up our crime to us, wreak their vengeance, and govern us like\nhelots by the hand of a stranger. Thus the defeat of the Convention\nwould crown the brow of the foreigner, and seal the disgrace and\nslavery of our native land.\" Such thoughts, his youth, trust in his\nown power and in his destiny, turned the balance.\n\n              [Footnote 54: Memorial de Sainte Helene, II, 246.]\n\nStatements made under such circumstances are not proof; but there is\nthis much probability of truth in them, that if we imagine the old\nBuonaparte in disgrace as of old, following as of old the promptings\nof his curiosity, indifferent as of old to the success of either\nprinciple, and by instinct a soldier as of old,--if we recall him in\nthis character, and remember that he is no longer a youthful Corsican\npatriot, but a mature cosmopolitan consumed with personal\nambition,--we may surely conclude that he was perfectly impartial as\nto the parties involved, leaned toward the support of the principles\nof the Revolution as he understood them, and saw in the complications\nof the hour a probable opening for his ambition. At any rate, his\nconduct after October fourth seems to uphold this view. He was a\nchanged man, ardent, hopeful, and irrepressible, as he had ever been\nwhen lucky; but now, besides, daring, overbearing, and self-confident\nto a degree which those characteristic qualities had never reached\nbefore.\n\nHis first care was to place on a footing of efficiency the Army of the\nInterior, scattered in many departments, undisciplined and\ndisorganized; the next, to cow into submission all the low elements in\nParis, still hungry and fierce, by reorganizing the National Guard,\nand forming a picked troop for the special protection of the\nlegislature; the next, to show himself as the powerful friend of\nevery one in disgrace, as a man of the world without rancor or\nexaggerated partizanship. At the same time he plunged into\nspeculation, and sent sums incredibly large to various members of his\nfamily, a single remittance of four hundred thousand francs being\nmentioned in his letters. Lucien was restored to the arms of his\nlow-born but faithful and beloved wife, and sent to join his mother\nand sisters in Marseilles; Louis was brought from Chalons, and made a\nlieutenant; Jerome was put at school in Paris; and to Joseph a\nconsular post was assured. Putting aside all bashfulness, General\nBuonaparte became a full-fledged society man and a beau. No social\nrank was now strange to him; the remnants of the old aristocracy, the\nwealthy citizens of Paris, the returning Girondists, many of whom had\nbecome pronounced royalists, the new deputies, the officers who in\nsome turn of the wheel had, like himself, lost their positions, but\nwere now, through his favor, reinstated--all these he strove to court,\nflatter, and make his own.\n\nSuch activity, of course, could not pass unnoticed. The new government\nhad been constituted without disturbance, the Directory chosen, and\nthe legislature installed. Of the five directors--Barras, Rewbell,\nCarnot, Letourneaux de la Manche, and Larevelliere-Lepeaux,--all had\nvoted for the death of Louis XVI, and were so-called regicides; but,\nwhile varying widely in character and ability, they were all,\nexcepting Barras, true to their convictions. They scarcely understood\nhow strong the revulsion of popular feeling had been, and, utterly\nignoring the impossibility of harmonious action among themselves,\nhoped to exercise their power with such moderation as to win all\nclasses to the new constitution. They were extremely disturbed by the\ncourse of the general commanding their army in seeking intimacy with\nmen of all opinions, but were unwilling to interpret it aright. Under\nthe Convention, the Army of the Interior had been a tool, its\ncommander a mere puppet; now the executive was confronted by an\nindependence which threatened a reversal of roles. This situation was\nthe more disquieting because Buonaparte was a capable and not\nunwilling police officer. Among many other invaluable services to the\ngovernment, he closed in person the great club of the Pantheon, which\nwas the rallying-point of the disaffected.[55] Throughout another\nwinter of famine there was not a single dangerous outbreak. At the\nsame time there were frequent manifestations of jealousy in lower\ncircles, especially among those who knew the origin and career of\ntheir young master.\n\n              [Footnote 55: This important exploit has been\n              questioned. But see the American edition of Martin's\n              History of France, II, 16. Baboeuf reopened at the\n              Pantheon the club which had been closed at the Eveche by\n              the Convention and reorganized a secret society in\n              connection with it. This Pantheon club was shut by\n              Napoleon in person on February 26, 1796. See likewise\n              the Memorial, II, 257, 258.]\n\nToward the close of the year the bearing and behavior of the general\nbecame constrained, reserved, and awkward. Various reasons were\nassigned for this demeanor. Many thought it was due to a consciousness\nof social deficiency, and his detractors still declare that Paris life\nwas too fierce for even his self-assurance, pointing to the change in\nhis handwriting and grammar, to his alternate silence and loquacity,\nas proof of mental uneasiness; to his sullen musings and coarse\nthreats as a theatrical affectation to hide wounded pride; and to his\ncoming marriage as a desperate shift to secure a social dignity\nproportionate to the career he saw opening before him in politics and\nwar. In a common man not subjected to a microscopic examination, such\nconduct would be attributed to his being in love; the wedding would\nordinarily be regarded as the natural and beautiful consequence of a\ngreat passion.\n\nMen have not forgotten that Buonaparte once denounced love as a\nhurtful passion from which God should protect his creatures; and they\nhave, for this, among other reasons, pronounced him incapable of\ndisinterested affection. But it is also true that he likewise\ndenounced Buttafuoco for having, among other crimes committed by him,\n\"married to extend his influence\"; and we are forced to ask which of\nthe two sentiments is genuine and characteristic. Probably both and\nneither, according to the mood of the man. Outward caprice is, in\ngreat natures, often the mask of inward perseverance, especially among\nthe unprincipled who suit their language to their present purpose, in\nfine disdain of commonplace consistency. The primitive Corsican was\nboth rude and gentle, easily moved to tears at one time, insensate at\nanother; selfish at one moment, lavish at another; and yet he had a\nconsistent character. Although disliking in later life to be called a\nCorsican, Napoleon was nevertheless typical of his race: he could\ndespise love, yet render himself its willing slave; he was fierce and\ndictatorial, yet, as the present object of his passion said, \"tenderer\nand weaker than anybody dreamed.\"[56]\n\n              [Footnote 56: The best references for the history of\n              Josephine de Beauharnais are Masson: Josephine de\n              Beauharnais, 1763-1796, and Josephine, imperatrice et\n              reine; Hall: Napoleon's letters to Josephine; Levy:\n              Napoleon intime; together with the memoirs of Joseph,\n              Bourrienne, Ducrest, Dufort de Cheverney, and Remusat.]\n\nAnd thus it was in the matter of his courtship: there were elements in\nit of romantic, abandoned passion, but likewise of shrewd, calculating\nselfishness. In his callow youth his relations to the other sex had\nbeen either childish, morbid, or immoral. During his earliest manhood\nhe had appeared like one who desired the training rather than the\nsubstance of gallantry. As a Jacobin he sought such support as he\ncould find in the good will of the women related to men in power; as\na French patriot he put forth strenuous efforts to secure an\ninfluential alliance through matrimony. He appears to have addressed\nMme. Permon, whose fortune, despite her advanced age, would have been\na great relief to his destitution. Refused by her, he was in a\ndisordered and desperate emotional state until military and political\nsuccess gave him sufficient self-confidence to try once more. With his\nfeet firmly planted on the ladder of ambition, he was not indifferent\nto securing social props for a further rise, but was nevertheless in\nsuch a tumult of feeling as to make him particularly receptive to real\npassion. He had made advances for the hand of the rich and beautiful\nDesiree Clary;[57] the first evidence in his correspondence of a\nserious intention to marry her is contained in the letter of June\neighteenth, 1795, to Joseph; and for a few weeks afterward he wrote at\nintervals with some impatience, as if she were coy. In explanation it\nis claimed that Napoleon, visiting her long before at the request of\nJoseph, who was then enamoured of her, had himself become interested,\nand persuading his brother to marry her sister, had entered into an\nunderstanding with her which was equivalent to a betrothal. Time and\ndistance had cooled his ardor. He now virtually threw her over for\nMme. Beauharnais, who dazzled and infatuated him. This claim is\nprobably founded on fact, but there is no evidence sufficient to\nsustain a charge of positive bad faith on the part of Napoleon.\nNeither he nor Mlle. Clary appears to have been ardent when Joseph as\nintermediary began, according to French custom, to arrange the\npreliminaries of marriage; and when General Buonaparte fell madly in\nlove with Mme. Beauharnais the matter was dropped.\n\n              [Footnote 57: See Hochschild: Desiree, reine de Suede.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nA Marriage of Inclination and Interest[58].\n\n              [Footnote 58: The authorities for this chapter are as\n              for the last.]\n\n     The Taschers and Beauharnais -- Execution of Alexandre\n     Beauharnais -- Adventures of His Widow -- Meeting of\n     Napoleon and Josephine -- The Latter's Uncertainties -- Her\n     Character and Station -- Passion and Convenience -- The\n     Bride's Dowry -- Buonaparte's Philosophy of Life -- The\n     Ladder to Glory.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nIn 1779, while the boys at Brienne were still tormenting the little\nuntamed Corsican nobleman, and driving him to his garden fortalice to\nseek lonely refuge from their taunts in company with his Plutarch,\nthere had arrived in Paris from Martinique a successful planter of\nthat island, a French gentleman of good family, M. Tascher de la\nPagerie, bringing back to that city for the second time his daughter\nJosephine. She was then a girl of sixteen, without either beauty or\neducation, but thoroughly matured, and with a quick Creole\nintelligence and a graceful litheness of figure which made her a most\nattractive woman. She had spent the years of her life from ten to\nfourteen in the convent of Port Royal. Having passed the interval in\nher native isle, she was about to contract a marriage which her\nrelatives in France had arranged. Her betrothed was the younger son of\na family friend, the Marquis de Beauharnais. The bride landed on\nOctober twentieth, and the ceremony took place on December thirteenth.\nThe young vicomte brought his wife home to a suitable establishment in\nthe capital. Two children were born to them--Eugene and Hortense; but\nbefore the birth of the latter the husband quarreled with his wife,\nfor reasons that have never been known. The court granted a\nseparation, with alimony, to Mme. de Beauharnais, who some years later\nwithdrew to her father's home in Martinique. Her husband sailed to\nAmerica with the forces of Bouille, and remained there until the\noutbreak of the Revolution, when he returned, and was elected a deputy\nto the States-General.\n\nBecoming an ardent republican, he was several times president of the\nNational Assembly, and his house was an important center of influence.\nIn 1790 M. Tascher died, and his daughter, with her children, returned\nto France. It was probably at her husband's instance, for she at once\njoined him at his country-seat, where they continued to live, as\n\"brother and sister,\" until Citizen Beauharnais was made commander of\nthe Army of the Rhine. As the days of the Terror approached, every man\nof noble blood was more and more in danger. At last Beauharnais's turn\ncame; he too was denounced to the Commune, and imprisoned. Before long\nhis wife was behind the same bars. Their children were in the care of\nan aunt, Mme. Egle, who had been, and was again to be, a woman of\ndistinction in the social world, but had temporarily sought the\nprotection of an old acquaintance, a former abbe, who had become a\nmember of the Commune. The gallant young general was not one of the\nfour acquitted out of the batch of forty-nine among whom he was\nfinally summoned to the bar of the revolutionary tribunal. He died on\nJune twenty-third, 1794, true to his convictions, acknowledging in his\nfarewell letter to his wife a fraternal affection for her, and\ncommitting solemnly to her charge his own good name, which she was to\nrestore by proving his devotion to France. The children were to be her\nconsolation; they were to wipe out the disgrace of his punishment by\nthe practice of virtue and--civism!\n\nDuring her sojourn in prison Mme. Beauharnais had made a most useful\nfriend. This was a fellow-sufferer of similar character, but far\ngreater gifts, whose maiden name was Cabarrus, who was later Mme. de\nFontenay, who was afterward divorced and, having married Tallien, the\nConvention deputy at Bordeaux, became renowned as his wife, and who,\ndivorced a second and married a third time, died as the Princesse de\nChimay. The ninth of Thermidor saved them both from the guillotine. In\nthe days immediately subsequent they had abundant opportunity to\ndisplay their light but clever natures. Mme. Beauharnais, as well as\nher friend, unfolded her wings like a butterfly as she escaped from\nthe bars of her cell. Being a Creole, and having matured early, her\nphysical charms were already fading. Her spirit, too, had reached and\npassed its zenith; for in her letters of that time she describes\nherself as listless. Nevertheless, in those very letters there is some\nsprightliness, and considerable ability of a certain kind. A few weeks\nafter her liberation, having apprenticed Eugene and Hortense to an\nupholsterer and a dressmaker respectively,[59] she was on terms of\nintimacy with Barras so close as to be considered suspicious, while\nher daily intercourse was with those who had brought her husband to a\nterrible end. In a luxurious and licentious society, she was a\nsuccessful intriguer in matters both of politics and of pleasure;\nversed in the arts of coquetry and dress, she became for the needy and\nambitious a successful intermediary with those in power. Preferring,\nas she rather ostentatiously asserted, to be guided by another's will,\nshe gave little thought to her children, or to the sad legacy of her\nhusband's good name. She emulated, outwardly at least, the\nunprincipled worldliness of those about her, although her friends\nbelieved her kind-hearted and virtuous. Whatever her true nature was,\nshe had influence among the foremost men of that gay set which was\nimitating the court circles of old, and an influence which had become\nnot altogether agreeable to the immoral Provencal noble who\nentertained and supported the giddy coterie. Perhaps the extravagance\nof the languid Creole was as trying to Barras as it became afterward\nto her second husband.\n\n              [Footnote 59: See Pulitzer: Une idylle sous Napoleon I.]\n\nThe meeting of Napoleon and Josephine was an event of the first\nimportance.[60] His own account twice relates that a beautiful and\ntearful boy presented himself, soon after the disarmament of the\nsections, to the commander of the city, and asked for the sword of his\nfather. The request was granted, and next day the boy's mother, Mme.\nBeauharnais, came to thank the general for his kindly act of\nrestitution. Captivated by her grace, Buonaparte was thenceforward her\nslave. A cold critic must remember that in the first place there was\nno disarmament of anybody after the events of October fifth, the only\naction of the Convention which might even be construed into hostility\nbeing a decree making emigrants ineligible for election to the\nlegislature under the new constitution; that in the second place this\nstory attributes to destiny what was really due to the friendship of\nBarras, a fact which his beneficiary would have liked to forget or\nconceal; and finally, that the beneficiary left another account in\nwhich he confessed that he had first met his wife at Barras's house,\nthis being confirmed by Lucien in his memoirs. Of the passion there is\nno doubt; it was a composite emotion, made up in part of sentiment, in\npart of self-interest. Those who are born to rude and simple\nconditions in life are often dazzled by the charmed etiquette and\nmysterious forms of artificial society. Napoleon never affected to\nhave been born to the manner, nor did he ever pretend to have adopted\nits exacting self-control, for he could not; although after the winter\nof 1795 he frequently displayed a weak and exaggerated regard for\nsocial conventions. It was not that he had need to assume a false and\nsuperficial polish, or that he particularly cared to show his equality\nwith those accustomed to polite society; but that he probably\nconceived the splendid display and significant formality of that\nancient nobility which had so cruelly snubbed him from the outset as\nbeing, nevertheless, the best conceivable prop to a throne.\n\n              [Footnote 60: Memorial, II, 258; III, 402.]\n\nLucien looked on with interest, and thought that during the whole\nwinter his brother was rather courted than a suitor. In his memoirs he\nnaively wonders what Napoleon would have done in Asia,--either in the\nIndian service of England, or against her in that of Russia, for in\nhis early youth he had also thought of that,--in fact, what he would\nhave done at all, without the protection of women, in which he so\nfirmly believed, if he had not, after the manner of Mohammed, found a\nKadijah at least ten years older than himself, by whose favor he was\nset at the opening of a great career. There are hints, too, in various\ncontemporary documents and in the circumstances themselves that Barras\nwas an adroit match-maker. In a letter attributed to Josephine, but\nwithout address, a bright light seems to be thrown on the facts. She\nasks a female friend for advice on the question of the match. After a\njocular introduction of her suitor as anxious to become a father to\nthe children of Alexandre de Beauharnais and the husband of his widow,\nshe gives a sportive but merciless dissection of her own character,\nand declares that while she does not love Buonaparte, she feels no\nrepugnance. But can she meet his wishes or fulfil his desires? \"I\nadmire the general's courage; the extent of his information about all\nmanner of things, concerning which he talks equally well; the\nquickness of his intelligence, which makes him catch the thought of\nanother even before it is expressed: but I confess I am afraid of the\npower he seems anxious to wield over all about him. His piercing\nscrutiny has in it something strange and inexplicable, that awes even\nour directors; think, then, how it frightens a woman.\"[61] The writer\nis also terrified by the very ardor of her suitor's passion. Past her\nfirst youth, how can she hope to keep for herself that \"violent\ntenderness\" which is almost a frenzy? Would he not soon cease to love\nher, and regret the marriage? If so, her only resource would be\ntears--a sorry one, indeed, but still the only one. \"Barras declares\nthat if I marry the general, he will secure for him the chief command\nof the Army of Italy. Yesterday Buonaparte, speaking of this favor,\nwhich, although not yet granted, already has set his colleagues in\narms to murmuring, said: 'Do they think I need protection to succeed?\nSome day they will be only too happy if I give them mine. My sword is\nat my side, and with it I shall go far.' What do you think of this\nassurance of success? Is it not a proof of confidence arising from\nexcessive self-esteem? A general of brigade protecting the heads of\nthe government! I don't know; but sometimes this ridiculous\nself-reliance leads me to the point of believing everything possible\nwhich this strange man would have me do; and with his imagination, who\ncan reckon what he would undertake?\" This letter, though often quoted,\nis so remarkable that, as some think, it may be a later invention. If\nwritten later, it was probably the invention of Josephine herself.[62]\n\n              [Footnote 61: Given in Aubenas: Histoire de\n              l'imperatrice Josephine, I, 293. This writer is frankly\n              not an historian but an apologist.]\n\n              [Footnote 62: Coston: Premieres annees de Napoleon\n              Bonaparte.]\n\nThe divinity who could awaken such ardor in a Napoleon was in reality\nsix years older than her suitor, and Lucien proves by his exaggeration\nof four years that she certainly looked more than her real age. She\nhad no fortune, though by the subterfuges of which a clever woman\ncould make use she led Buonaparte to think her in affluent\ncircumstances. She had no social station; for her drawing-room, though\nfrequented by men of ancient name and exalted position, was not graced\nby the presence of their wives. The very house she occupied had a\ndoubtful reputation, having been a gift to the wife of Talma the actor\nfrom one of her lovers, and being a loan to Mme. Beauharnais from\nBarras. She had thin brown hair, a complexion neither fresh nor faded,\nexpressive eyes, a small retrousse nose, a pretty mouth, and a voice\nthat charmed all listeners. She was rather undersized, but her figure\nwas so perfectly proportioned as to give the impression of height and\nsuppleness. Its charms were scarcely concealed by the clothing she\nwore, made as it was in the suggestive fashion of the day, with no\nsupport to the form but a belt, and as scanty about her shoulders as\nit was about her shapely feet. It appears to have been her elegance\nand her manners, as well as her sensuality, which overpowered\nBuonaparte; for he described her as having \"the calm and dignified\ndemeanor which belongs to the old regime.\"\n\nWhat motives may have combined to overcome her scruples we cannot\ntell; perhaps a love of adventure, probably an awakened ambition for a\nsuccess in other domains than the one which advancing years would soon\ncompel her to abandon. She knew that Buonaparte had no fortune\nwhatever, but she also knew, on the highest authority, that both favor\nand fortune would by her assistance soon be his. At all events, his\nsuit made swift advance, and by the end of January, 1796, he was\nsecure of his prize. His love-letters, to judge from one which has\nbeen preserved, were as fiery as the despatches with which he soon\nbegan to electrify his soldiers and all France. \"I awaken full of\nthee,\" he wrote; \"thy portrait and yester eve's intoxicating charm\nhave left my senses no repose. Sweet and matchless Josephine, how\nstrange your influence upon my heart! Are you angry, do I see you sad,\nare you uneasy, ... my soul is moved with grief, and there is no rest\nfor your friend; but is there then more when, yielding to an\novermastering desire, I draw from your lips, your heart, a flame which\nconsumes me? Ah, this very night, I knew your portrait was not you!\nThou leavest at noon; three hours more, and I shall see thee again.\nMeantime, _mio dolce amor_, a thousand kisses; but give me none, for\nthey set me all afire.\" What genuine and reckless passion! The \"thou\"\nand \"you\" maybe strangely jumbled; the grammar may be mixed and bad;\nthe language may even be somewhat indelicate, as it sounds in other\npassages than those given: but the meaning would be strong enough\nincense for the most exacting woman.\n\nOn February ninth, 1796, their banns were proclaimed; on March second\nthe bridegroom received his bride's dowry in his own appointment, on\nCarnot's motion, not on that of Barras, as chief of the Army of Italy,\nstill under the name of Buonaparte;[63] on the seventh he was handed\nhis commission; on the ninth the marriage ceremony was performed by\nthe civil magistrate; and on the eleventh the husband started for his\npost. In the marriage certificate at Paris the groom gives his age as\ntwenty-eight, but in reality he was not yet twenty-seven; the bride,\nwho was thirty-three, gives hers as not quite twenty-nine. Her name is\nspelled Detascher, his Bonaparte. A new birth, a new baptism, a new\ncareer, a new start in a new sphere, Corsica forgotten, Jacobinism\nrenounced, General and Mme. Bonaparte made their bow to the world. The\nceremony attracted no public attention, and was most unceremonious, no\nmember of the family from either side being present. Madame Mere, in\nfact, was very angry, and foretold that with such a difference in age\nthe union would be barren.\n\n              [Footnote 63: Carnot thoroughly understood and\n              appreciated the genius shown in Buonaparte's plan for an\n              Italian campaign, and converted the Directorate to his\n              opinion. They sent a copy to Scherer, then in command at\n              Nice, and he returned it in a temper, declaring that the\n              man who made such a plan had better come and work it.\n              The Directory took him at his word.]\n\nThere was one weird omen which, read aright, distinguishes the\notherwise commonplace occurrence. In the wedding-ring were two\nwords--\"To destiny.\" The words were ominous, for they were indicative\nof a policy long since formed and never afterward concealed, being a\npretense to deceive Josephine as well as the rest of the world: the\ngiver was about to assume a new role,--that of the \"man of\ndestiny,\"--to work for a time on the imagination and superstition of\nhis age. Sometimes he forgot his part, and displayed the shrewd,\ncalculating, hard-working man behind the mask, who was less a fatalist\nthan a personified fate, less a child of fortune than its maker.\n\"Great events,\" he wrote a very short time later from Italy, \"ever\ndepend but upon a single hair. The adroit man profits by everything,\nneglects nothing which can increase his chances; the less adroit, by\nsometimes disregarding a single chance, fails in everything.\" Here is\nthe whole philosophy of Bonaparte's life. He may have been sincere at\ntimes in the other profession; if so, it was because he could find no\nother expression for what in his nature corresponded to romance in\nothers.\n\nThe general and his adjutant reached Marseilles in due season.\nAssociated with them were Marmont, Junot, Murat, Berthier, and Duroc.\nThe two last named had as yet accomplished little: Berthier was\nforty-three, Duroc only twenty-three. Both were destined to close\nintimacy with Napoleon and to a career of high renown. The good news\nof Napoleon's successes having long preceded them, the home of the\nBonapartes had become the resort of many among the best and most\nambitious men in the southern land. Elisa was now twenty, and though\nmuch sought after, was showing a marked preference for Pasquale\nBacciocchi, the poor young Corsican whom she afterward married.\nPauline was sixteen, a great beauty, and deep in a serious flirtation\nwith Freron, who, not having been elected to the Five Hundred, had\nbeen appointed to a lucrative but uninfluential office in the great\nprovincial town--that of commissioner for the department. Caroline,\nthe youngest sister, was blossoming with greater promise even than\nPauline. Napoleon stopped a few days under his mother's roof to\nregulate these matrimonial proceedings as he thought most\nadvantageous. On March twenty-second he reached the headquarters of\nthe Army of Italy. The command was assumed with simple and appropriate\nceremonial. The short despatch to the Directory announcing this\nmomentous event was signed \"Bonaparte.\" The Corsican nobleman di\nBuonaparte was now entirely transformed into the French general\nBonaparte. The process had been long and difficult: loyal Corsican;\nmercenary cosmopolitan, ready as an expert artillery officer for\nservice in any land or under any banner; lastly, Frenchman, liberal,\nand revolutionary. So far he had been consistent in each character;\nfor years to come he remained stationary as a sincere French patriot,\nalways of course with an eye to the main chance. As events unfolded,\nthe transformation began again; and the \"adroit\" man, taking advantage\nof every chance, became once more a cosmopolitan--this time not as a\nsoldier, but as a statesman; not as a servant, but as the _imperator\nuniversalis_, too large for a single land, determined to reunite once\nmore all Western Christendom, and, like the great German Charles a\nthousand years before, make the imperial limits conterminous with\nthose of orthodox Christianity. The power of this empire was, however,\nto rest on a Latin, not on a Teuton; not on Germany, but on France.\nIts splendor was not to be embodied in Aachen nor in the Eternal City,\nbut in Paris; and its destiny was not to bring in a Christian\nmillennium for the glory of God, but a scientific equilibrium of\nsocial states to the glory of Napoleon's dynasty, permanent because\nuniversally beneficent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nEurope and the Directory[64].\n\n              [Footnote 64: For this and the succeeding chapters we\n              have the memoirs of Thibaudeau, Marmont, Doulcet de\n              Pontecoulant, Hyde de Neuville, and the duchess of\n              Abrantes--Madame Junot. Among the histories, the most\n              important are those of Blanc, Taine, Sybel, Sorel, and\n              Mortimer-Ternaux. Special studies: C. Rousset, Les\n              Volontaires de 1791-1794. Chassin: Pacifications de\n              l'Ouest and Dictature de Hoche. Mallet du Pan:\n              Correspondance avec la cour de Vienne. Also the\n              Correspondence of Sandoz. Many original papers are\n              printed in Hueffer: Oesterreich und Preussen; Bailleu:\n              Preussen und Frankreich, 1795-1797; and in the Amtliche\n              Sammlung von Akten aus der Zeit der Helvetischen\n              Republik.]\n\n     The First Coalition -- England and Austria -- The Armies of\n     the Republic -- The Treasury of the Republic -- Necessary\n     Zeal -- The Directory -- Its Members -- The Abbe Sieyes --\n     Carnot as a Model Citizen -- His Capacity as a Military\n     Organizer -- His Personal Character -- His Policy -- France\n     at the Opening of 1796 -- Plans of the Directory -- Their\n     Inheritance.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nThe great European coalition against France which had been formed in\n1792 had in it little centripetal force. In 1795 Prussia, Spain, and\nTuscany withdrew for reasons already indicated in another connection,\nand made their peace on terms as advantageous as they could secure.\nHolland was conquered by France in the winter of 1794-95, and to this\nday the illustrated school-books recall to every child of the French\nRepublic the half-fabulous tale of how a Dutch fleet was captured by\nFrench hussars. The severity of the cold was long remembered as\nphenomenal, and the frozen harbors rendered naval resistance\nimpossible, while cavalry manoeuvered with safety on the thick ice.\nThe Batavian Republic, as the Dutch commonwealth was now called, was\nreally an appanage of France.\n\nBut England and Austria, though deserted by their strongest allies,\nwere still redoubtable enemies. The policy of the former had been to\ncommand the seas and destroy the commerce of France on the one hand,\non the other to foment disturbance in the country itself by\nsubsidizing the royalists. In both plans she had been successful: her\nfleets were ubiquitous, the Chouan and Vendean uprisings were\nperennial, and the emigrant aristocrats menaced every frontier.\nAustria, on the other hand, had once been soundly thrashed. Since\nFrederick the Great had wrested Silesia from her, and thereby set\nProtestant Prussia among the great powers, she had felt that the\nbalance of power was disturbed, and had sought everywhere for some\nterritorial acquisition to restore her importance. The present\nemperor, Francis II, and his adroit minister, Thugut, were equally\nstubborn in their determination to draw something worth while from the\nseething caldron before the fires of war were extinguished. They\nthought of Bavaria, of Poland, of Turkey, and of Italy; in the last\ncountry especially it seemed as if the term of life had been reached\nfor Venice, and that at her impending demise her fair domains on the\nmainland would amply replace Silesia. Russia saw her own advantage in\nthe weakening either of Turkey or of the central European powers, and\nbecame the silent ally of Austria in this policy.\n\nThe great armies of the French republic had been created by Carnot,\nwith the aid of his able lieutenant, Dubois de Crance; they were\norganized and directed by the unassisted genius of the former. Being\nthe first national armies which Europe had known, they were animated\nas no others had been by that form of patriotism which rests not\nmerely on animal instinct, but on a principle. They had fought with\njoyous alacrity for the assertion, confirmation, and extension of the\nrights of man. For the two years from Valmy to Fleurus (1792-94) they\nhad waged a holy war. But victory modified their quality and their\nattitude. The French people were too often disenchanted by their\ncivilian rulers; the army supplanted the constitution after 1796.\nConscious of its strength, and of itself as the armed nation, yet the\nofficers and men drew closer and closer for reciprocal advantage, not\nmerely political but material. The civil government must have money,\nthe army alone could command money, and on all the military\norganization took a full commission. Already some of the officers were\nreveling in wealth and splendor, more desired to follow the example,\nthe rank and file longed for at least a decent equipment and some\npocket money. As yet the curse of pillage was not synonymous with\nconquest, as yet the free and generous ardor of youth and military\ntradition exerted its force, as yet self-sacrifice to the extreme of\nendurance was a virtue, as yet the canker of lust and debauchery had\nnot ruined the life of the camp. Emancipated from the bonds of\nformality and mere contractual relation to superiors, manhood asserted\nitself in troublesome questionings as to the motives and plans of\nofficers, discussion of what was done and what was to be done, above\nall in searching criticism of government and its schemes. These were\nso continuously misleading and disingenuous that the lawyer\npoliticaster who played such a role at Paris seemed despicable to the\nsoldiery, and \"rogue of a lawyer\" was almost synonymous to the\nmilitary mind with place-holder and civil ruler. In the march of\nevents the patriotism of the army had brought into prominence\nRousseau's conception of natural boundaries. There was but one opinion\nin the entire nation concerning its frontiers, to wit: that Nice,\nSavoy, and the western bank of the Rhine were all by nature a part of\nFrance. As to what was beyond, opinion had been divided, some feeling\nthat they should continue fighting in order to impose their own system\nwherever possible, while others, as has previously been explained,\nwere either indifferent, or else maintained that the nation should\nfight only for its natural frontier. To the support of the latter\nsentiment came the general longing for peace which was gradually\noverpowering the whole country.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of W. C. Crane. Engraved by\nG. Fiesinger.\n\nBuonaparte.\n\nDrawn by S. Guerin. Deposited in the National Library on the\n29th Vendemiaire of the year 7 of the French Republic.]\n\nNo people ever made such sacrifices for liberty as the French had\nmade. Through years of famine they had starved with grim\ndetermination, and the leanness of their race was a byword for more\nthan a generation. They had been for over a century the victims of a\nsystem abhorrent to both their intelligence and their character--a\nsystem of absolutism which had subsisted on foreign wars and on\nsuccessful appeals to the national vainglory. Now at last they were to\nall appearance exhausted, their treasury was bankrupt, their paper\nmoney was worthless, their agriculture and industries were paralyzed,\ntheir foreign commerce was ruined; but they cherished the delusion\nthat their liberties were secure. Their soldiers were badly fed, badly\narmed, and badly clothed; but they were freemen under such discipline\nas is possible only among freemen. Why should not their success in the\narts of peace be as great as in the glorious and successful wars they\nhad carried on? There was, therefore, both in the country and in the\ngovernment, as in the army, a considerable and ever growing party\nwhich demanded a general peace, but only with the \"natural\" frontier,\nand a small one which felt peace to be imperative even if the nation\nshould be confined within its old boundaries.\n\nBut such a reasonable and moderate policy was impossible on two\naccounts. In consequence of the thirteenth of Vendemiaire, the radical\nparty still survived and controlled the machinery of government; and,\nin spite of the seeming supremacy of moderate ideas, the royalists\nwere still irreconcilable. In particular there was the religious\nquestion, which in itself comprehended a political, social, and\neconomic revolution which men like those who sat in the Directory\nrefused to understand because they chose to treat it on the basis of\npure theory.[65] The great western district of France was Roman,\nroyalist, and agricultural. There was a unity in their life and faith\nso complete that any disturbance of the equilibrium produced frenzy\nand chaos, an embattled strife for life itself. It was a discovery to\nHoche, that to pacify the Vendee brute force was quite insufficient.\nThe peasantry were beggared and savage but undismayed. While he used\nforce with nobles, strangers, and madmen, his conquest was in the main\nmoral because he restored to the people their fields and their church,\ntheir institutions somewhat modified and improved, but still their old\ninstitutions. No man less gigantic in moral stature would have dared\nthus to defy the petty atheistic fanaticism of the Directory. France\nhad secured enlightened legislation which was not enforced, religious\nliberty which could not be practised because of ill will in the\ngovernment, civil liberty which was a mere sham because of internal\nviolence, political liberty which was a chimera before hostile\nforeigners. Hence it seemed to the administration that one evil must\ncure another. Intestine disturbances, they naively believed, could be\nkept under some measure of control only by an aggressive foreign\npolicy which should deceive the insurgent elements as to the resources\nof the government. Thus far, by hook or by crook, the armies, so far\nas they had been clothed and paid and fed at all, had been fed and\npaid and clothed by the administration at Paris. If the armies should\nstill march and fight, the nation would be impressed by the strength\nof the Directory.\n\n              [Footnote 65: See the author's French Revolution and\n              Religious Reform.]\n\nThe Directory was by no means a homogeneous body. It is doubtful\nwhether Barras was a sincere republican, or sincere in anything except\nin his effort to keep himself afloat on the tide of the times. It has\nbeen believed by many that he hoped for the restoration of monarchy\nthrough disgust of the nation with such intolerable disorders as they\nwould soon associate with the name of republic. His friendship for\nGeneral Bonaparte was a mixed quantity; for while he undoubtedly\nwished to secure for the state in any future crisis the support of so\nable a man, he had at the same time used him as a sort of social\nscapegoat. His own strength lay in several facts: he had been Danton's\nfollower; he had been an officer, and was appointed for that reason\ncommanding general against the Paris sections; he had been shrewd\nenough to choose Bonaparte as his agent so that he enjoyed the\nprestige of Bonaparte's success; and in the new society of the capital\nhe was magnificent, extravagant, and licentious, the only\nrepresentative in the Directory of the newly aroused passion for life\nand pleasure, his colleagues being severe, unostentatious, and\neconomical democrats.\n\nBarras's main support in the government was Rewbell, a vigorous\nAlsatian and a bluff democrat, enthusiastic for the Revolution and its\nextension. He was no Frenchman himself, but a German at heart, and\nthought that the German lands--Holland, Switzerland, Germany\nitself--should be brought into the great movement. Like Barras, who\nneeded disorder for his Orleanist schemes and for the supply of his\nlavish purse, Rewbell despised the new constitution; but for a\ndifferent reason. To him it appeared a flimsy, theoretical document,\nso subdividing the exercise of power as to destroy it altogether. His\nrole was in the world of finance, and he was always suspected, though\nunjustly, of unholy alliances with army contractors and stock\nmanipulators. Larevelliere was another doctrinaire, but, in comparison\nwith Rewbell, a bigot. He had been a Girondist, a good citizen, and\nactive in the formation of the new constitution; but he lacked\npractical common sense, and hated the Church with as much narrow\nbitterness as the most rancorous modern agnostic,--seeking, however,\nnot merely its destruction, but, like Robespierre, to substitute for\nit a cult of reason and humanity. The fourth member of the Directory,\nLetourneur, was a plain soldier, an officer in the engineers. With\nabundant common sense and a hard head, he, too, was a sincere\nrepublican; but he was a tolerant one, a moderate, kindly man like his\nfriend Carnot, with whom, as time passed by and there was gradually\ndeveloped an irreconcilable split in the Directory, he always voted in\na minority of two against the other three.\n\nAt first the notorious Abbe Sieyes had been chosen a member of the\nexecutive. He was both deep and dark, like Bonaparte, to whom he later\nrendered valuable services. His ever famous pamphlet, which in 1789\ntriumphantly proved that the Third Estate was neither more nor less\nthan the French nation, had made many think him a radical. As years\npassed on he became the oracle of his time, and as such acquired an\nenormous influence even in the days of the Terror, which he was\nhelpless to avert, and which he viewed with horror and disgust.\nWhatever may have been his original ideas, he appears to have been for\nsome time after the thirteenth of Vendemiaire an Orleanist, the head\nof a party which desired no longer a strict hereditary and absolute\nmonarchy, but thought that in the son of Philippe Egalite they had a\nuseful prince to preside over a constitutional kingdom. Perhaps for\nthis reason, perhaps for the one he gave, which was that the new\nconstitution was not yet the right one, he flatly refused the place in\nthe Directory which was offered to him.\n\nIt was as a substitute for this dangerous visionary that Carnot was\nmade a director. He was now in his forty-third year, and at the height\nof his powers. In him was embodied all that was moderate and sound,\nconsequently all that was enduring, in the French Revolution; he was a\nthorough scholar, and his treatise on the metaphysics of the calculus\nforms an important chapter in the history of mathematical physics. As\nan officer in the engineers he had attained the highest distinction,\nwhile as minister of war he had shown himself an organizer and\nstrategist of the first order. But his highest aim was to be a model\nFrench citizen. In his family relations as son, husband, and father,\nhe was held by his neighbors to be a pattern; in his public life he\nstrove with equal sincerity of purpose to illustrate the highest\nideals of the eighteenth century. Such was the ardor of his\nrepublicanism that no man nor party in France was so repugnant but\nthat he would use either one or both, if necessary, for his country's\nwelfare, although he was like Chatham in his lofty scorn for parties.\nTo him as a patriot, therefore, France, as against the outer world,\nwas first, no matter what her government might be; but the France he\nyearned for was a land regenerated by the gospel of humanity, awakened\nto the highest activity by the equality of all before the law, refined\nby that self-abnegation of every man which makes all men brothers, and\ndestroys the menace of the law.\n\nAnd yet he was no dreamer. While a member of the National Assembly he\nhad displayed such practical common sense in his chosen field of\nmilitary science, that in 1793 the Committee of Safety intrusted to\nhim the control of the war. The standard of rank and command was no\nlonger birth nor seniority nor influence, but merit. The wild and\nignorant hordes of men which the conscription law had brought into the\nfield were something hitherto unknown in Europe. It was Carnot who\norganized, clothed, fed, and drilled them. It was he who devised the\nnew tactics and evolved the new and comprehensive plans which made his\nnational armies the power they became. It was in Carnot's\nadministration that the young generals first came to the fore. It was\nby his favor that almost every man of that galaxy of modern warriors\nwho so long dazzled Europe by their feats of arms first appeared as a\ncandidate for advancement. Moreau, Macdonald, Jourdan, Bernadotte,\nKleber, Mortier, Ney, Pichegru, Desaix, Berthier, Augereau, and\nBonaparte himself,--each one of these was the product of Carnot's\nsystem. He was the creator of the armies which for a time made all\nEurope tributary to France.\n\nThroughout an epoch which laid bare the meanness of most natures, his\ncharacter was unsmirched. He began life under the ancient regime by\nwriting and publishing a eulogy on Vauban, who had been disgraced for\nhis plain speaking to Louis XIV. When called to a share in the\ngovernment he was the advocate of a strong nationality, of a just\nadministration within, and of a fearless front to the world. While\nminister of war he on one occasion actually left his post and hastened\nto Maubeuge, where defeat was threatening Jourdan, devised and put\ninto operation a new plan, led in person the victorious assault, and\nthen returned to Paris to inspire the country and the army with news\nof the victory; all this he did as if it were commonplace duty,\nwithout advertising himself by parade or ceremony. Even Robespierre\nhad trembled before his biting irony and yet dared not, as he wished,\ninclude him among his victims. After the events of Thermidor, when it\nwas proposed to execute all those who had authorized the bloody deeds\nof the Terror, excepting Carnot, he prevented the sweeping measure by\nstanding in his place to say that he too had acted with the rest, had\nheld like them the conviction that the country could not otherwise be\nsaved, and that therefore he must share their fate.\n\nIn the milder light of the new constitution the dark blot on his\nrecord thus frankly confessed grew less repulsive as the continued\ndignity and sincerity of his nature asserted themselves in a tolerance\nwhich he believed to be as needful now as ruthless severity once had\nbeen. For a year the glory of French arms had been eclipsed: his\ndominant idea was first to restore their splendor, then to make peace\nwith honor and give the new life of his country an opportunity for\nexpansion in a mild and firm administration of the new laws. If he had\nbeen dictator in the crisis, no doubt his plan, arduous as was the\ntask, might have been realized; but, with Letourneur in a minority of\ntwo, against an unprincipled adventurer leading two bigots, it was\nimpossible to secure the executive unity necessary for success.\n\nAt the opening of the year 1796, therefore, the situation of France\nwas quite as distracting as ever, and the foundation of her\ninstitutions more than ever unstable. There was hopeless division in\nthe executive, and no cooerdination under the constitution between it\nand the other branches of the government, while the legislature did\nnot represent the people. The treasury was empty, famine was as\nwide-spread as ever, administration virtually non-existent. The army,\nchecked for the moment, moped unsuccessful, dispirited, and unpaid.\nHunger knows little discipline, and with temporary loss of discipline\nthe morals of the troops had been undermined. To save the constitution\npublic opinion must be diverted from internal affairs, and\nconciliated. To that end the German emperor must be forced to yield\nthe Rhine frontier, and money must be found at least for the most\npressing necessities of the army and of the government. If the\nrepublic could secure for France her natural borders, and command a\npeace by land, it might hope for eventual success in the conflict with\nEngland. To this end its territorial conquests must be partitioned\ninto three classes: those within the \"natural limits,\" and already\nnamed, for incorporation; those to be erected into buffer states to\nfend off from the tender republic absolutism and all its horrors; and\nfinally such districts as might be valuable for exchange in order to\nthe eventual consolidation of the first two classes. Of the second\ntype, the Directory considered as most important the Germanic\nConfederation. There was the example of Catherine's dealing with\nPoland by which to proceed. As that had been partitioned, so should\nGermany. From its lands should be created four electorates, one to\nindemnify the House of Orange for Holland, one for Wuertemberg; the\nothers according to circumstances would be confided to friendly hands.\n\nThe means to the end were these. Russia must be reduced to inactivity\nby exciting against her through bribes and promises all her foes to\nthe eastward. Prussia must be cajoled into cooeperation by pressure on\nKing George of Hanover, even to the extinction of his kingdom, and by\nthe hope of a consolidated territory with the possibility of securing\nthe Imperial dignity. Austria was to be partly compelled, partly\nbribed, into a continental coalition against Great Britain by\nadjustment of her possessions both north and south of the Alps. Into a\ngeneral alliance against Great Britain, Spain must be dragged by\nworking on the fears of the queen's paramour Godoy, prime minister and\ncontroller of Spanish destinies. This done, Great Britain, according\nto the time-honored, well-worn device of France, royal or radical,\nshould be invaded and brought to her knees. The plan was as old as\nPhilippe le Bel, and had appeared thereafter once and again at\nintervals either as a _bona fide_ policy or a device to stir the\nFrench heart and secure money from the public purse for the public\ndefense. For this purpose of the Directory the ruined maritime power\nof the republic must be restored, new ships built and old ones\nrefitted; in the meantime, as did Richelieu or Mazarin, rebellion\nagainst the British government must be roused and supported among\nmalcontents everywhere within the borders of Great Britain, especially\nin Ireland. Such was the stupid plan of the Directory: two well-worn\nexpedients, both discredited as often as tried. To the territorial\nreadjustment of Europe, Prussia, though momentarily checked, was\nalready pivotal; but the first efforts of French diplomacy at Berlin\nresulted in a flat refusal to go farther than the peace already made,\nor entertain the chimerical proposals now made. Turning then to\nAustria, the Directory concluded the armistice of February first,\n1796, but at Vienna the offer of Munich and two thirds of Bavaria, of\nan outlet to the Adriatic and of an alliance against Russia for the\nrestoration of Poland--of course without Galicia, which Austria should\nretain--was treated only as significant of what French temerity dared\npropose, and when heard was scornfully disdained. The program for\nItaly was retained substantially as laid down in 1793: the\ndestruction of the papal power, the overthrow of all existing\ngovernments, the plunder of their rich treasures, the annihilation of\nfeudal and ecclesiastical institutions, and the regeneration of its\npeoples on democratic lines. Neither the revolutionary elements of the\npeninsula nor the jealous princes could be brought to terms by the\nactive and ubiquitous French agents, even in Genoa, though there was\njust sufficient dallying everywhere between Venice and Naples to keep\nalive hope and exasperate the unsuccessful negotiators. The European\nworld was worried and harassed by uncertainties, by dark plots, by\nmutual distrust. It was unready for war, but war was the only solvent\nof intolerable troubles. England, Austria, Russia, and France under\nthe Directory must fight or perish.\n\nIt must not be forgotten that this was the monarchical, secular, and\nimmemorial policy of France as the disturber of European peace;\ncontinued by the republic, it was rendered more pernicious and\nexasperating to the upholders of the balance of power. Not only was\nthe republic more energetic and less scrupulous than the monarchy, her\nrivals were in a very low estate indeed. Great Britain had stripped\nFrance and Holland of their colonies, but these new possessions and\nthe ocean highway must be protected at enormous expense. The Commons\nrefused to authorize a new loan, and the nation was exhausted to such\na degree that Pitt and the King, shrinking from the opprobrious\nattacks of the London populace, and noting with anguish the renewal of\nbloody disorder in Ireland, made a feint of peace negotiations through\nthe agent they employed in Switzerland to foment royalist\ndemonstrations against France wherever possible. Wickham asked on\nMarch eighth, 1796, on what terms the Directory would make an\nhonorable peace, and in less than three weeks received a rebuff which\ndeclared that France would under no circumstances make restitution of\nits continental conquests. In a sense it was Russia's Polish policy\nwhich kept Prussia and Austria so occupied with the partition that the\nnascent republic of France was not strangled in its cradle by the\ncontiguous powers. Provided she had the lion's share of Poland,\nCatherine was indifferent to the success of Jacobinism. But she soon\nsaw the danger of a general conflagration and, applying Voltaire's\nepithet for ecclesiasticism to the republic, cried all abroad: Crush\nthe Infamous! Conscious of her old age, distrusting all the possible\nsuccessors to her throne: Paul the paranoiac, Constantine the coarse\nlibertine, and the super-elegant Alexander, she refused a coalition\nwith England and turned her activities eastward against the Cossacks\nand into Persia; but she consented to be the intermediary between\nAustria and Great Britain. Austria wanted the Netherlands, but only if\nshe could secure with them a fortified girdle wherewith to protect and\nhold them. She likewise desired the Milanese and the Legations in\nItaly, as well as Venetia. As the price of continued war on France,\nthese lands and a subsidy of three million pounds were the terms\nexacted from Great Britain. With no army at his disposal and his naval\nresources strained to the utmost, George III agreed to pay a hundred\nand fifty thousand pounds per month until parliament would make the\nlarger grant. Thugut, the Austrian minister, accepted. Cobenzl, the\nAustrian ambassador at St. Petersburg, arranged affairs with Catherine\nconcerning Bavaria, the French royalists under Conde bribed Pichegru\ninto a promise of yielding the fortresses of the north to their\noccupation, the Austrian army on the Rhine was strengthened. In retort\nJourdan was stationed on the lower and Moreau on the upper Rhine,\neach with eighty thousand men, Bonaparte was despatched to Italy, and\nHoche made ready a motley crew of outlaws and Vendeans wherewith to\nenter Ireland, join Wolfe Tone and his United Irishmen, and thus let\nloose the elements of civil war in that unhappy island. Europe at\nlarge expected the brunt of the struggle north of the Alps in central\nGermany: the initiated knew better.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nBonaparte on a Great Stage[66].\n\n              [Footnote 66: The state of Europe may be studied in the\n              Correspondence of Mallet du Pan and in the Archives\n              Woronzoff; in Vivenot: Thugut and Clerfayt; Daudet: Les\n              Bourbons et la Russie; La Conspiration de Pichegru;\n              Sorel: L'Europe et la Revolution Francaise; Lecky:\n              England in the XVIII century; Stanhope's Life of Pitt;\n              the memoirs of Prince Adam Czartoryski; also the\n              diplomatic papers of Thugut, Clerfayt, Hermann, and\n              Sandoz.]\n\n     Bonaparte and the Army of Italy -- The System of Pillage --\n     The General as a Despot -- The Republican Armies and French\n     Politics -- Italy as the Focal Point -- Condition of Italy\n     -- Bonaparte's Sagacity -- His Plan of Action -- His Army\n     and Generals -- Strength of the Army of Italy -- The\n     Napoleonic Maxims of Warfare -- Advance of Military Science\n     -- Bonaparte's Achievements -- His Financial Policy --\n     Effects of His Success.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nThe struggle which was imminent was for nothing less than a new lease\nof national life for France. It dawned on many minds that in such a\ncombat changes of a revolutionary nature--as regarded not merely the\nprovisioning and management of armies, as regarded not merely the\ngrand strategy to be adopted and carried out by France, but as\nregarded the very structure and relations of other European\nnations--would be justifiable. But to be justifiable they must be\nadequate; and to be adequate they must be unexpected and thorough.\nWhat should they be? The OEdipus who solves this riddle for France is\nthe man of the hour. He was found in Bonaparte. What mean these\nringing words from the headquarters at Nice, which, on March\ntwenty-seventh, 1796, fell on the ears of a hungry, eager soldiery and\na startled world? \"Soldiers, you are naked, badly fed. The government\nowes you much; it can give you nothing. Your long-suffering, the\ncourage you show among these crags, are splendid, but they bring you\nno glory; not a ray is reflected upon you. I wish to lead you into the\nmost fertile plains of the world. Rich provinces, great towns, will be\nin your power; there you will find honor, glory, and riches. Soldiers\nof Italy, can you be found lacking in honor, courage, or constancy?\"\n\nSuch language has but one meaning. By a previous understanding with\nthe Directory, the French army was to be paid, the French treasury to\nbe replenished, at the expense of the lands which were the seat of\nwar. Corsicans in the French service had long been suspected of\nsometimes serving their own interests to the detriment of their\nadopted country. Bonaparte was no exception, and occasionally he felt\nit necessary to justify himself. For example, he had carefully\nexplained that his marriage bound him to the republic by still another\ntie. Yet it appears that his promotion, his engagement with the\ndirectors, and his devotion to the republic were all concerned\nprimarily with personal ambition, though secondarily and incidentally\nwith the perpetuation of a government professedly based on the\nRevolution. From the outset of Napoleon's independent career,\nsomething of the future dictator appears. This implied promise that\npillage, plunder, and rapine should henceforth go unpunished in order\nthat his soldiers might line their pockets is the indication of a\nsettled policy which was more definitely expressed in each successive\nproclamation as it issued from his pen. It was repeated whenever new\nenergy was to be inspired into faltering columns, whenever some\nunparalleled effort in a dark design was to be demanded from the rank\nand file of the army, until at last a point-blank promise was made\nthat every man should return to France with money enough in his pocket\nto become a landowner.\n\nThere was magic in the new spell, the charm never ceased to work; with\nthat first call from Nice began the transformation of the French army,\nfighting now no longer for principle, but for glory, victory, and\nbooty. Its leader, if successful, would be in no sense a\nconstitutional general, but a despotic conqueror. Outwardly gracious,\nand with no irritating condescension; considerate wherever mercy would\nstrengthen his reputation; fully aware of the influence a dramatic\nsituation or a pregnant aphorism has upon the common mind, and using\nboth with mastery; appealing as a climax to the powerful motive of\ngreed in every heart, Bonaparte was soon to be not alone the general\nof consummate genius, not alone the organizing lawgiver of conquered\nlands and peoples, but, what was essential to his whole career, the\nidol of an army which was not, as of old, the servant of a great\nnation, but, as the new era had transformed it, the nation itself.\n\nThe peculiar relation of Bonaparte to Italy, to Corsica, and to the\nConvention had made him, as early as 1794, while yet but chief of\nartillery, the real director of the Army of Italy. He had no personal\nshare in the victorious campaign of that year, but its victories, as\nhe justly claimed, were due to his plans. During the unsuccessful\nCorsican expedition of the following winter, for which he was but\nindirectly responsible, the Austro-Sardinians in Piedmont had taken\nadvantage of its absorbing so many French troops to undo all that had\nso far been accomplished. During the summer of 1795 Spain and Prussia\nhad made peace with France. In consequence all northern Europe had\nbeen declared neutral, and the field of operations on the Rhine had\nbeen confined to the central zone of Germany, while at the same time\nthe French soldiers who had formed the Army of the Pyrenees had been\ntransferred to the Maritime Alps. In 1796, therefore, the great\nquestion was whether the Army of the Rhine or that of Italy was to be\nthe chief weapon of offense against Austria.\n\nDivided interests and warped convictions quickly created two opinions\nin the French nation, each of which was held with intensity and\nbitterness by its supporters. So far the Army of the Rhine was much\nthe stronger, and the Emperor had concentrated his strength to oppose\nit. But the wisest heads saw that Austria might be flanked by way of\nItaly. The gate to Lombardy was guarded by the sturdy little army of\nVictor Amadeus, assisted by a small Austrian force. If the house of\nSavoy, which was said to wear at its girdle the keys of the Alps,\ncould be conquered and brought to make a separate peace, the Austrian\narmy could be overwhelmed, and a highway to Vienna opened first\nthrough the plains of Lombardy, then by the Austrian Tyrol, or else by\nthe Venetian Alps. Strangely enough, the plainest and most forcible\nexposition of this plan was made by an emigrant in London, a certain\nDutheil, for the benefit of England and Austria. But the Allies were\ndeaf to his warnings, while in the mean time Bonaparte enforced the\nsame idea upon the French authorities, and secured their acceptance of\nit. Both he and they were the more inclined to the scheme because once\nalready it had been successfully initiated; because the general,\nhaving studied Italy and its people, thoroughly understood what\ncontributions might be levied on them; because the Army of the Rhine\nwas radically republican and knew its own strength; because therefore\nthe personal ambitions of Bonaparte, and in fact the very existence of\nthe Directory, alike depended on success elsewhere than in central\nEurope.\n\nHaving been for centuries the battle-field of rival dynasties, Italy,\nthough a geographical unit with natural frontiers more marked than\nthose of any other land, and with inhabitants fairly homogeneous in\nbirth, speech, and institutions, was neither a nation nor a family of\nkindred nations, but a congeries of heterogeneous states. Some of\nthese, like Venice and Genoa, boasted the proud title of republics;\nthey were in reality narrow, commercial, even piratical oligarchies,\ndestitute of any vigorous political life. The Pope, like other petty\nrulers, was but a temporal prince, despotic, and not even enlightened,\nas was the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Naples and the Milanese both groaned\nunder the yoke of foreign rulers, and the only passable government in\nthe length and breadth of the land was that of the house of Savoy in\nPiedmont and Sardinia, lands where the revolutionary spirit of liberty\nwas most extended and active. The petty courts, like those of Parma\nand Modena, were nests of intrigue and corruption. There was, of\ncourse, in every place that saving remnant of high-minded men which is\nalways providentially left as a seed; but the people as a whole were\nignorant and enervated. The accumulations of ages, gained by an\nextensive and lucrative commerce, or by the tilling of a generous\nsoil, had not been altogether dissipated by misrule, and there was\neven yet rich store of money in many of the venerable and still\nsplendid cities. Nowhere in the ancient seats of the Roman\ncommonwealth, whose memory was now the cherished fashion in France,\ncould anything more than a reflection of French revolutionary\nprinciples be discerned; the rights of man and republican doctrine\nwere attractive subjects of debate in many cities throughout the\npeninsula, but there was little of that fierce devotion to their\nrealization so prevalent beyond the Alps.\n\nThe sagacity of Bonaparte saw his account in these conditions. Being\na professed republican, he could announce himself as the regenerator\nof society, and the liberator of a people. If, as has been supposed,\nhe already dreamed of a throne, where could one be so easily founded\nwith the certainty of its endurance? As a conqueror he would have a\ndivided, helpless, and wealthy people at his feet. If the old flame of\nCorsican ambition were not yet extinguished, he felt perhaps that he\ncould wreak the vengeance of a defeated and angry people upon Genoa,\ntheir oppressor for ages.\n\nHis preparations began as early as the autumn of 1795, when, with\nCarnot's assistance, the united Pyrenean and Italian armies were\ndirected to the old task of opening the roads through the mountains\nand by the sea-shore into Lombardy and central Italy. They won the\nbattle of Loano, which secured the Maritime Alps once more; but a long\nwinter amid these inclement peaks had left the army wretched and\ndestitute of every necessity. It had been difficult throughout that\nwinter to maintain even the Army of the Interior in the heart of\nFrance; the only chance for that of Italy was movement. The completed\nplan of action was forwarded from Paris in January. But, as has been\ntold, Scherer, the commanding general, and his staff were outraged,\nrefusing to consider its suggestions, either those for supplying their\nnecessities in Lombardy, or those for the daring and venturesome\noperations necessary to reach that goal.\n\nBonaparte, who could invent such schemes, alone could realize them;\nand the task was intrusted to him. For the next ten weeks no sort of\npreparation was neglected. The nearly empty chest of the Directory was\nswept clean; from that source the new commander received forty-seven\nthousand five hundred francs in cash, and drafts for twenty thousand\nmore; forced loans for considerable sums were made in Toulon and\nMarseilles; and Salicetti levied contributions of grain and forage in\nGenoa according to the plan which had been preconcerted between him\nand the general in their Jacobin days. The army which Bonaparte\nfinally set in motion was therefore a fine engine of war. Its\nimmediate necessities relieved, the veterans warmed to their work, and\nthat notable promise of booty worked them to the pitch of genuine\nenthusiasm. The young commander, moreover, was as circumspect as a man\nof the first ability alone could be when about to make the venture of\nhis life and play for the stake of a world. His generals of division\nwere themselves men of mark--personages no less than Massena,\nAugereau, Laharpe, and Serurier. Of Massena some account has already\nbeen given. Augereau was Bonaparte's senior by thirteen years, of\nhumble and obscure origin, who had sought his fortunes as a\nfencing-master in the Bourbon service at Naples, and having later\nenlisted in the French forces sent to Spain in 1792, rose by his\nability to be general of brigade, then division commander in the Army\nof Italy. He was rude in manner and plebeian in feeling, jealous of\nBonaparte, but brave and capable. In the sequel he played an important\npart and rose to eminence, though he distrusted both the Emperor and\nthe empire and flinched before great crises. Neither Laharpe nor\nSerurier was distinguished beyond the sphere of their profession, but\nin that they were loyal and admirable. Laharpe was a member of the\nfamous Swiss family banished from home for devotion to liberty. Under\nLuckner in Germany he had earned and kept the sobriquet of \"the\nbrave\"; until he was mortally wounded in a night attack, while\ncrossing the Po after Millesimo, he continued his brilliant career,\nand would have gone far had he been spared. Serurier was a veteran of\nthe Seven Years' War and of Portugal, already fifty-four years old.\nAble and trustworthy, he was loaded with favors by Napoleon and\nsurvived until 1819. It might have been very easy to exasperate such\nmen. But what the commander-in-chief had to do was done with such\nsmoothness and skill that even they could find no ground for carping;\nand though at first cold and reticent, before long they yielded to the\ninfluences which filled with excitement the very air they breathed.\n\nAt this moment, besides the National Guard, France had an army, and in\nsome sense a navy: of both the effective fighting force numbered\nupward of half a million. Divided nominally into nine armies, instead\nof fourteen as first planned, there were in reality but seven; of\nthese, four were of minor importance: a small, skeleton Army of the\nInterior, a force in the west under Hoche twice as large and with\nranks better filled, a fairly strong army in the north under\nMacdonald, and a similar one in the Alps under Kellermann, with\nBerthier and Vaubois as lieutenants, which soon became a part of\nBonaparte's force. These were, if possible, to preserve internal order\nand to watch England, while three great active organizations were to\ncombine for the overthrow of Austria. On the Rhine were two of the\nactive armies--one near Duesseldorf under Jourdan, another near\nStrasburg under Moreau. Macdonald was of Scottish Jacobite descent, a\nFrench royalist converted to republicanism by his marriage. He was now\nthirty-one years old. Trained in the regiment of Dillon, he alone of\nits officers remained true to democratic principles on the outbreak of\nthe Revolution. He was made a colonel for his bravery at Jemmapes, and\nfor his loyalty when Dumouriez went over to the Austrians he was\npromoted to be general of brigade. For his services under Pichegru in\nHolland he had been further rewarded by promotion, and after the peace\nof Campo Formio was transferred from the Rhine to Italy. He was\nthroughout a loyal friend of Bonaparte and received the highest\nhonors. Kellermann was a Bavarian, and when associated with Bonaparte\na veteran, sixty-one years old. He had seen service in the Seven\nYears' War and again in Poland during 1771. An ardent republican, he\nhad served with distinction from the beginning of the revolutionary\nwars: though twice charged with incapacity, he was triumphantly\nacquitted. He linked his fortunes to those of Bonaparte without\njealousy and reaped abundant laurels. Of Berthier and the other great\ngenerals we have already spoken. Vaubois reached no distinction. At\nthe portals of Italy was Bonaparte, with a third army, soon to be the\nmost active of all. At the outset he had, all told, about forty-five\nthousand men; but the campaign which he conducted had before its close\nassumed such dimensions that in spite of its losses the Army of Italy\ncontained nearly double that number of men ready for the field,\nbesides the garrison troops and invalids. The figures on the records\nof the war department were invariably much greater; but an enormous\npercentage, sometimes as high as a third, was always in the hospitals,\nwhile often as many as twenty thousand were left behind to hold\nvarious fortresses. Bonaparte, for evident reasons, uniformly\nrepresented his effective force as smaller than it was, and stunned\nthe ears of the Directory with ever reiterated demands for\nreinforcement. A dispassionate estimate would fix the number of his\ntroops in the field at any one time during these operations as not\nlower than thirty-five thousand nor much higher than eighty thousand.\n\nAnother element of the utmost importance entered into the coming\ncampaign. The old vicious system by which a vigilant democracy had\njealously prescribed to its generals every step to be taken was swept\naway by Bonaparte, who as Robespierre's \"man\" had been thoroughly\nfamiliar with its workings from the other end. He was now\ncommander-in-chief, and he insisted on the absolute unity of command\nas essential to the economy of time. This being granted, his equipment\nwas complete. It will be remembered that in 1794 he had explained to\nhis patrons how warfare in the field was like a siege: by directing\nall one's force to a single point a breach might be made, and the\nequilibrium of opposition destroyed. To this conception of\nconcentration for attack he had, in concert with the Directory, added\nanother, that of expansion in a given territory for sustenance. He had\nstill a third, that war must be made as intense and awful as possible\nin order to make it short, and thus to diminish its horrors. Trite and\nsimple as these aphorisms now appear, they were all original and\nabsolutely new, at least in the quick, fierce application of them made\nby Bonaparte. The traditions of chivalry, the incessant warfare of two\ncenturies and a half, the humane conceptions of the Church, the regard\nfor human life, the difficulty of communications, the scarcity of\nmunitions and arms,--all these and other elements had combined to make\nwar under mediocre generals a stately ceremonial, and to diminish the\nnumber of actual battles, which took place, when they did, only after\ncareful preparation, as an unpleasant necessity, by a sort of common\nagreement, and with the ceremony of a duel.\n\nTurenne, Marlborough, and Frederick, all men of cold-blooded\ntemperament, had been the greatest generals of their respective ages,\nand were successful much in proportion to their lack of sentiment and\ndisregard of conventionalities. Their notions and their conduct\ndisplayed the same instincts as those of Bonaparte, and their minds\nwere enlarged by a study of great campaigns like that which had fed\nhis inchoate genius and had made possible his consummate achievement.\nHe had much the same apparatus for warfare as they. The men of Europe\nhad not materially changed in stature, weight, education, or morals\nsince the closing years of the Thirty Years' War. The roads were\nsomewhat better, the conformation of mountains, hills, and valleys was\nbetter known, and like his great predecessors, though unlike his\ncontemporaries, Bonaparte knew the use of a map; but in the main\nlittle was changed in the conditions for moving and manoeuvering\ntroops. News traveled slowly, the semaphore telegraph was but slowly\ncoming into use, and the fastest couriers rode from Nice to Paris or\nfrom Paris to Berlin in seven days. Firearms of every description were\nlittle improved: Prussia actually claimed that she had been forced to\nnegotiate for peace because France controlled the production of\ngun-flints. The forging of cannon was finer, and the artillery arm was\non the whole more efficient. In France there had been considerable\nchange for the better in the manual and in tactics; the rest of Europe\nfollowed the old and more formal ways. Outside the republic, ceremony\nstill held sway in court and camp; youthful energy was stifled in\nroutine; and the generals opposed to Bonaparte were for the most part\nmen advanced in years, wedded to tradition, and incapable of quickly\nadapting their ideas to meet advances and attacks based on conceptions\nradically different from their own. It was at times a positive misery\nto the new conqueror that his opponents were such inefficient fossils.\nYoung and at the same time capable; using the natural advantages of\nhis territory to support the bravery of his troops; with a mind which\nwas not only accurate and decisive, but comprehensive in its\nobservations; unhampered by control or by principle; opposed to\ngenerals who could not think of a boy of twenty-six as their equal;\nwith the best army and the finest theater of war in Europe; finally,\nwith a genius independently developed, and with conceptions of his\nprofession which summarized the experience of his greatest\npredecessors, Bonaparte performed feats that seemed miraculous even\nwhen compared with those of Hoche, Jourdan, or Moreau, which had\nalready so astounded the world.\n\nWithin eleven days the Austrians and Sardinians were separated, the\nlatter having been defeated and forced to sign an armistice. After a\nrest of two days, a fortnight saw him victorious in Lombardy, and\nentering Milan as a conqueror. Two weeks elapsed, and again he set\nforth to reduce to his sway in less than a month the most of central\nItaly. Against an enemy now desperate and at bay his operations fell\ninto four divisions, each resulting in an advance--the first, of nine\ndays, against Wurmser and Quasdanowich; the second, of sixteen days,\nagainst Wurmser; the third, of twelve days, against Alvinczy; and the\nfourth, of thirty days, until he captured Mantua and opened the\nmountain passes to his army. Within fifteen days after beginning\nhostilities against the Pope, he forced him to sign the treaty of\nTolentino; and within thirty-six days of their setting foot on the\nroad from Mantua to Vienna, the French were at Leoben, distant only\nninety miles from the Austrian capital, and dictating terms to the\nEmpire. In the year between March twenty-seventh, 1796, and April\nseventh, 1797, Bonaparte humbled the most haughty dynasty in Europe,\ntoppled the central European state system, and initiated the process\nwhich has given a predominance apparently final to Prussia, then\nconsidered but as a parvenu.\n\nIt is impossible to estimate the enormous sums of money which he\nexacted for the conduct of a war that he chose to say was carried on\nto emancipate Italy. The soldiers of his army were well clad, well\nfed, and well equipped from the day of their entry into Milan; the\narrears of their pay were not only settled, but they were given\nlicense to prey on the country until a point was reached which seemed\nto jeopardize success, when common pillage was promptly stopped by the\nseverest examples. The treasury of the Directory was not filled as\nwere those of the conquering officers, but it was no longer empty. In\nshort, France reached the apex of her revolutionary greatness; and as\nshe was now the foremost power on the Continent, the shaky monarchies\nin neighboring lands were forced to consider again questions which in\n1795 they had hoped were settled. As Bonaparte foresaw, the destinies\nof Europe had indeed hung on the fate of Italy.\n\nEurope had grown accustomed to military surprises in the few preceding\nyears. The armies of the French republic, fired by devotion to their\nprinciples and their nation, had accomplished marvels. But nothing in\nthe least foreshadowing this had been wrought even by them. Then, as\nnow, curiosity was inflamed, and the most careful study was expended\nin analyzing the process by which such miracles had been performed.\nThe investigators and their readers were so overpowered by the\nspectacle and its results that they were prevented by a sort of\nawe-stricken credulity from recognizing the truth; and even yet the\nnotion of a supernatural influence fighting on Bonaparte's side has\nnot entirely disappeared. But the facts as we know them reveal\ncleverness dealing with incapacity, energy such as had not yet been\nseen fighting with languor, an embodied principle of great vitality\nwarring with a lifeless, vanishing system. The consequences were\nstartling, but logical; the details sound like a romance from the land\nof Eblis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe Conquest of Piedmont and the Milanese[67].\n\n              [Footnote 67: The latest important authorities on this\n              campaign and its results are, in addition to those\n              already given, Sargent: Napoleon Bonaparte's First\n              Campaign. Sorel: Bonaparte et Hoche en 1797. Bonaparte\n              et le Directoire, Vol. V of his large work. Colin:\n              Etudes sur la Campagne de 1796 en Italie. Fabry:\n              Histoire de l'armee d'Italie, 1796-1797. Bouvier:\n              Bonaparte en Italie, 1796. Graham's Despatches, edited\n              by Rose, in English Historical Review, Vol. XIV.\n              Tivaroni: Storia del risorgimento italiano. The Dropmore\n              Papers. Of primary value are Napoleon's \"Correspondance,\"\n              official edition, and the unofficial edited by Beauvais.\n              Hueffer: Ungedruckte Briefe Napoleon's in the Archiv fuer\n              Oest. Geschichte, Vol. XLIX. Of value are also the\n              memoirs of Marmont, Massena, and Desgenettes, of\n              Landrieux in Revue du Cercle Militaire, 1887. Yorck von\n              Wartenberg: Napoleon als Feldherr, almost supersedes the\n              older authority of Clausewitz, Jomini, Ruestow, and\n              Lossau. There are also Malachowski: Entwickelung der\n              leitenden Gedanken zur ersten Campagne Bonaparte's, and\n              Delbrueck: Unterschied der Strategie Friederich's des\n              Grossen und Napoleon's.]\n\n     The Armies of Austria and Sardinia -- Montenotte and\n     Millesimo -- Mondovi and Cherasco -- Consequences of the\n     Campaign -- The Plains of Lombardy -- The Crossing of the Po\n     -- Advance Toward Milan -- Lodi -- Retreat of the Austrians\n     -- Moral Effects of Lodi.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nVictor Amadeus of Sardinia was not unaccustomed to the loss of\nterritory in the north, because from immemorial times his house had\nrelinquished picturesque but unfruitful lands beyond the Alps to gain\nfertile fields below them. It was a hard blow, to be sure, that Savoy,\nwhich gave name to his family, and Nice, with its beautiful and\ncommanding site, should have been lost to his crown. But so far, in\nevery general European convulsion, some substantial morsels had fallen\nto the lot of his predecessors, who had looked on Italy \"as an\nartichoke to be eaten leaf by leaf\"; and it was probable that a slice\nof Lombardy would be his own prize at the next pacification. He had\nspent his reign in strengthening his army, and as the foremost\nmilitary power in Italy his young and vigorous people, with the help\nof Austria, were defending the passes into their territory. The road\nfrom their capital to Savona on the sea wound by Ceva and Millesimo\nover the main ridge of the Apennines, at the summit of which it was\njoined by the highway through Dego and Cairo leading southwestward\nfrom Milan through Alessandria. The Piedmontese, under Colli, were\nguarding the approach to their own capital; the Austrians, under\nBeaulieu, that to Milan. Collectively their numbers were somewhat\ngreater than those of the French; but the two armies were separated.\n\nBeaulieu began operations on April tenth by ordering an attack on the\nFrench division of Laharpe, which had been thrown forward to Voltri.\nThe Austrians under Argenteau were to fall on its rear from\nMontenotte, a village to the north of Savona, with the idea of driving\nthat wing of Bonaparte's army back along the shore road, on which it\nwas hoped they would fall under the fire of Nelson's guns. Laharpe,\nhowever, retreated to Savona in perfect safety, for the English fleet\nwas not near. Thereupon Bonaparte, suddenly revealing the new\nformation of his army in the north and south line, assumed the\noffensive. Argenteau, having been held temporarily in check by the\ndesperate resistance of a handful of French soldiers under Colonel\nRampon, was surprised and overwhelmed at Montenotte on the twelfth by\na force much larger than his own. Next day Massena and Augereau drove\nback toward Dego an Austrian division which had reached Millesimo on\nits way to join Colli; and on the fifteenth, at that place, Bonaparte\nhimself destroyed the remnant of Argenteau's corps. On the sixteenth\nBeaulieu abandoned the mountains to make a stand at Acqui in the\nplain. Thus the whole Austrian force was not only driven back, but was\nentirely separated from the Piedmontese.\n\nBonaparte had a foolish plan in his pocket, which had been furnished\nby the Directory in a temporary reversion to official tradition,\nordering him to advance into Lombardy, leaving behind the hostile\nPiedmontese on his left, and the uncertain Genoese on his right. He\ndisregarded it, apparently without hesitation, and throwing his force\nnorthwestward toward Ceva, where the Piedmontese were posted,\nterrified them into a retreat. They were overtaken, however, at\nMondovi on April twenty-second, and utterly routed, losing not only\ntheir best troops, but their field-pieces and baggage-train. Three\ndays later Bonaparte pushed onward and occupied Cherasco, which was\ndistant from Turin, the Piedmontese capital, but twenty-five miles by\na short, easy, and now open road. On the twenty-seventh the\nSardinians, isolated in a mountain amphitheater, and with no prospect\nof relief from their discomfited ally, made overtures for an armistice\npreliminary to peace. These were readily accepted by Bonaparte; and\nalthough he had no authorization from the government to perform such\nfunctions, he was defiantly careless of instructions in this as in\nevery subsequent step he took. The negotiation was conducted with\ncourtesy and firmness, on the basis of military honor, much to the\nsurprise of the Piedmontese, who had expected to deal with a savage\nJacobin. There was not even a word in Bonaparte's talk which recalled\nthe republican severity; as has been noted, the word virtue did not\npass his lips, his language was that of chivalry. He stipulated in\nkindly phrase for the surrender of Coni and Tortona, the famous \"keys\nof the Alps,\" with other strongholds of minor importance, demanding\nalso the right to cross and recross Piedmontese territory at will. The\npaper was completed and signed on the twenty-eighth. The troublesome\nquestion of civil authority to make a treaty was evaded by calling the\narrangement a military convention. It was none the less binding by\nreason of its name. Indeed the idea was steadily expanded into a new\npolicy, for just as pillage and rapine were ruthlessly repressed by\nthe victorious commander, all agreements were made temporarily on a\nmilitary basis, including those for indemnities. Salicetti was the\ncommissioner of the Directory and there was no friction between him\nand Bonaparte. Both profited by a partnership in which opportunities\nfor personal ventures were frequent, while the military chest was well\nsupplied and remittances to Paris were kept just large enough to save\nthe face and quiet the clamors of the Directory. Victor Amadeus being\ncheckmated, Bonaparte was free to deal with Beaulieu.\n\n[Illustration: Northern Italy. Illustrating the Campaigns of 1796 and\n1797.]\n\nThis short campaign was in some respects insignificant, especially\nwhen compared as to numbers and results with what was to follow. But\nthe names of Montenotte, Millesimo, Dego, Mondovi, and Cherasco were\never dear to Bonaparte, and stand in a high place on his greatest\nmonument. The King of Sardinia was the father-in-law of Louis XVIII,\nand his court had been a nest of plotting French emigrants. When his\nagents reached Paris they were received with coarse resentment by the\nDirectory and bullied into an alliance, though they had been\ninstructed to make only a peace. Their sovereign was humiliated to the\nlimit of possibility. The loss of his fortress robbed him of his\npower. By the terms of the treaty he was to banish the French\nroyalists from his lands. Stripped thus of both force and prestige,\nhe did not long survive the disgrace, and died, leaving to Charles\nEmmanuel, his son, no real dominion but that over the island of\nSardinia. The contrast between the ferocious bluster of the Directory\nand the generous simplicity of a great conqueror was not lost on the\nItalians nor on the moderate French. For them as for Bonaparte, a\nmilitary and political aspirant in his first independence, everything,\nabsolutely everything, was at stake in those earliest engagements; on\nthe event hung not merely his career, but their release. In pleasant\nsuccession the spring days passed like a transformation scene. Success\nwas in the air, not the success of accident, but the resultant of\nforethought and careful combination. The generals, infected by their\nleader's spirit, vied with each other in daring and gallantry. For\nhappy desperation Rampon's famous stand remains unsurpassed in the\nannals of war.\n\nFrom the heights of Ceva the leader of conquering and now devoted\nsoldiers could show to them and their equally enthusiastic officers\nthe gateway into the fertile and well-watered land whither he had\npromised to lead them, the historic fields of Lombardy. Nothing\ncomparable to that inexhaustible storehouse of nature can be found in\nFrance, generous as is her soil. Walled in on the north and west by\nthe majestic masses of the Alps, and to the south by the smaller but\nstill mighty bastions of the Apennines, these plains owe to the\nmountains not only their fertility and prosperity, but their very\nexistence. Numberless rills which rise amid the icy summits of the\ngreat chain, or the lower peaks of the minor one, combine into ever\ngrowing streams of pleasant waters which finally unite in the sluggish\nbut impressive Po. Melting snows and torrential rains fill these\nwatercourses with the rich detritus of the hills which renews from\nyear to year the soil it originally created. A genial climate and a\ngrateful soil return to the industrious inhabitants an ample reward\nfor their labors. In the fiercest heats of summer the passing\ntraveler, if he pauses, will hear the soft sounds of slow-running\nwaters in the irrigation sluices which on every side supply any lack\nof rain. Wheat, barley, and rice, maize, fruit, and wine, are but a\nfew of the staples. Great farmsteads, with barns whose mighty lofts\nand groaning mows attest the importance of Lombard agriculture, are\ngrouped into the hamlets which abound at the shortest intervals. And\nto the vision of one who sees them first from a mountain-top through\nthe dim haze of a sunny day, towns and cities seem strewn as if they\nwere grain from the hand of a sower. The measure of bewilderment is\nfull when memory recalls that this garden of Italy has been the prize\nfor which from remotest antiquity the nations of Europe have fought,\nand that the record of the ages is indelibly written in the walls and\nornaments of the myriad structures--theaters, palaces, and\nchurches--which lie so quietly below. Surely the dullest sansculotte\nin Bonaparte's army must have been aroused to new sensations by the\nsight. What rosy visions took shape in the mind of their leader we can\nonly imagine.\n\nPiedmont having submitted, the promised descent into these rich plains\nwas not an instant deferred. \"Hannibal,\" said the commanding general\nto his staff, \"took the Alps by storm. We have turned their flank.\" He\npaused only to announce his feats to the Directory in modest phrase,\nand to recommend for preferment those who, like Lannes and Lanusse,\nhad earned distinction. The former was just Bonaparte's age but\ndestitute of solid education, owing to the poverty of his parents. He\nenlisted in 1792 and in 1795 was already a colonel, owing to his\nextraordinary inborn courage and capacity. Through the hatred of a\nConvention legate he was degraded from his rank after the peace of\nBasel and entered Bonaparte's army as a volunteer. Thereafter his\npromotion was fast and regular until he became the general's close\nfriend and steadfast supporter. Lanusse was only twenty-four but had\nbeen chief of battalion for four years, and now entered upon a\nbrilliant though short career which ended by his death in 1801 at\nAboukir. The advance of Bonaparte's army began on May thirtieth.\nNeither Genoa, Tuscany, nor Venice was to be given time for arming;\nBeaulieu must be met while his men were still dispirited, and before\nthe arrival of reinforcements: for a great army of thirty thousand men\nwas immediately to be despatched under Wurmser to maintain the power\nof Austria in Italy. Beaulieu was a typical Austrian general,\nseventy-one years old, but still hale, a stickler for precedent, and\nlooking to experience as his only guide. Relying on the principles of\nstrategy as he had learned them, he had taken up what he considered a\nstrong position for the defense of Milan, his line stretching\nnortheasterly beyond the Ticino from Valenza, the spot where rumors,\ndiligently spread by Bonaparte, declared that the French would attempt\nto force a passage. Confirmed in his own judgment by those reports,\nthe old and wary Austrian commander stood brave and expectant, while\nthe young and daring adventurer opposed to him marched swiftly by on\nthe right bank fifty miles onward to Piacenza. There he made his\ncrossing on May seventh in common ferry-boats and by a pontoon bridge.\nNo resistance was made by the few Austrian cavalry who had been sent\nout merely to reconnoiter the line. The enemy were outwitted and\nvirtually outflanked, being now in the greatest danger. Beaulieu had\nbarely time to break camp and march in hot haste northeasterly to\nLodi, where, behind the swift current of the Adda, he made a final\nstand for the defense of Milan, the seat of Austrian government. In\nfact, his movements were so hurried that the advance-guards of both\narmies met by accident at Fombio on May eighth, where a sharp\nengagement resulted in a victory for the French. Laharpe, who had\nshown his usual courage in this fight, was killed a few hours later,\nthrough a mistake of his own soldiers, in a night melee with the\npickets of a second Austrian corps. On the ninth the dukes of Parma\nand of Piacenza both made their submission in treaties dictated by the\nFrench commander, and simultaneously the reigning archduke quitted\nMilan. Next day the pursuing army was at Lodi.\n\nBonaparte wrote to the Directory that he had expected the passage of\nthe Po would prove the most bold and difficult manoeuver of the\ncampaign. But it was no sooner accomplished than he again showed a\nperfect mastery of his art by so manoeuvering as to avoid an\nengagement while the great river was still immediately in his rear. He\nwas then summoned to meet a third emergency of equal consequence. The\nAdda is fordable in some places at certain times, but not easily; and\nat Lodi a wooden bridge about two hundred yards in length then\noccupied the site of the later solid structure of masonry and iron.\nThe approach to this bridge Beaulieu had seized and fortified.\nNorthwestward was Milan; to the east lay the almost impregnable\nfortress of Mantua. Beaten at Lodi, the Austrians might still retreat,\nand make a stand under the walls of either town with some hope of\nvictory: it was Bonaparte's intention so to disorganize his enemy's\narmy that neither would be possible. Accordingly on May tenth the\nFrench forces were concentrated for the advance. They started\nimmediately and marched so swiftly that they overtook the Austrian\nrear-guard before it could withdraw behind the old Gothic walls of the\ntown, and close the gates. Driving them onward, the French fought as\nthey marched. A decisive conflict cleared the streets; and after a\nstubborn resistance the brave defenders retreated over the bridge to\nthe eastern bank of what was now their last rampart, the river. With\ncool and desperate courage, Sebottendorf, whose Austrians numbered\nless than ten thousand men, then brought into action his artillery,\nand swept the wooden roadway.\n\nIn a short time the bridge would no doubt have been in flames; it was\nuncertain whether the shifting and gravelly bottom of the stream above\nor below would either yield a ford or permit a crossing by any other\nmeans. Under Bonaparte's personal supervision, and therefore with\nmiraculous speed, the French batteries were placed and began an\nanswering thunder. In an access of personal zeal, the commander even\nthrew himself for an instant into the whirling hail of shot and\nbullets, in order the better to aim two guns which in the hurry had\nbeen misdirected. Under this terrible fire and counterfire it was\nimpossible for the Austrians to apply a torch to any portion of the\nstructure. Behind the French guns were three thousand grenadiers\nwaiting for a signal. Soon the crisis came. A troop of Bonaparte's\ncavalry had found the nearest ford a few hundred yards above the\nbridge, and were seen, amid the smoke, struggling to cross, though\nwithout avail, and turn the right flank of the Austrian infantry,\nwhich had been posted a safe distance behind the artillery on the\nopposite shore. Quick as thought, in the very nick of opportunity, the\ngeneral issued his command, and the grenadiers dashed for the bridge.\nEye-witnesses declared that the fire of the Austrian artillery was now\nredoubled, while from houses on the opposite side soldiers hitherto\nconcealed poured volley after volley of musket-balls upon the\nadvancing column. For one single fateful moment it faltered. Berthier\nand Massena, with others equally devoted, rushed to its head, and\nrallied the lines. In a few moments the deed was accomplished, the\nbridge was won, the batteries were silenced, and the enemy was in full\nretreat.\n\nScattered, stunned, and terrified, the disheartened Austrians felt\nthat no human power could prevail against such a foe. Beaulieu could\nmake no further stand behind the Adda; but, retreating beyond the\nOglio to the Mincio, a parallel tributary of the Po, he violated\nVenetian neutrality by seizing Peschiera, where that stream flows out\nof Lake Garda, and spread his line behind the river from the Venetian\ntown on the north as far as Mantua, the farthest southern outpost of\nAustria, thus thwarting one, and that not the least important, of\nBonaparte's plans. As to the Italians, they seemed bereft of sense,\nand for the most part yielded dumbly to what was required. There were\noccasional outbursts of enthusiasm by Italian Jacobins, and in the\nconfusion of warfare they wreaked a sneaking vengeance on their\nconservative compatriots by extortion and terrorizing. The population\nwas confused between the woe of actual loss and the joy of\nemancipation from old tyrannies. Suspicious and adroit, yet slow and\nself-indulgent, the common folk concluded that the grievous burden of\nthe hour would be lightened by magnanimity and held a waiting\nattitude.\n\nThe moral effect of the action at Lodi was incalculable. Bonaparte's\nreputation as a strategist had already been established, but his\npersonal courage had never been tested. The actual battle-field is\nsomething quite different from the great theater of war, and men\nwondered whether he had the same mastery of the former as of the\nlatter. Hitherto he had been untried either as to his tactics or his\nintrepidity. In both respects Lodi elevated him literally to the\nstars. No doubt the risk he took was awful, and the loss of life\nterrible. Critics, too, have pointed out safer ways which they believe\nwould have led to the same result; be that as it may, in no other way\ncould the same dramatic effect have been produced. France went wild\nwith joy. The peoples of Italy bowed before the prodigy which thus\nboth paralyzed and fascinated them all. Austria was dispirited, and\nher armies were awe-stricken. When, five days later, on May fifteenth,\namid silent but friendly throngs of wondering men, Bonaparte entered\nMilan, not as the conqueror but as the liberator of Lombardy, at the\nhead of his veteran columns, there was already about his brows a mild\neffulgence of supernatural light, which presaged to the growing band\nof his followers the full glory in which he was later to shine on the\nimagination of millions. It was after Lodi that his adoring soldiers\ngave him the name of \"Little Corporal,\" by which they ever after knew\nhim. He himself confessed that after Lodi some conception of his high\ndestiny arose in his mind for the first time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nAn Insubordinate Conqueror and Diplomatist.\n\n     Bonaparte's Assertion of Independence -- Helplessness of the\n     Directory -- Threats and Proclamations -- The General and\n     His Officers -- Bonaparte's Comprehensive Genius -- The\n     Devotion of France -- Uneasiness in Italy -- The Position of\n     the Austrians -- Bonaparte's Strategy -- His Conception of\n     the Problem in Italy -- Justification of His Foresight --\n     Modena, Parma, and the Papacy -- The French Radicals and the\n     Pope -- Bonaparte's Policy -- His Ambition.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nWhen the news of the successes in Piedmont reached Paris, public\nfestivals were decreed and celebrated; but the democratic spirit of\nthe directors could brook neither the contemptuous disregard of their\nplan which Bonaparte had shown, nor his arrogant assumption of\ndiplomatic plenipotence. Knowing how thoroughly their doctrine had\npermeated Piedmont, they had intended to make it a republic. It was\nexasperating, therefore, that through Bonaparte's meddling they found\nthemselves still compelled to carry on negotiations with a monarchy.\nThe treaty with the King of Sardinia was ungraciously dictated and\nsigned by them on May fifteenth, but previous to the act they\ndetermined to clip the wings of their dangerous falcon. This they\nthought to accomplish by assigning Kellermann to share with Bonaparte\nthe command of the victorious army, and by confirming Salicetti as\ntheir diplomatic plenipotentiary to accompany it. The news reached the\nconqueror at Lodi on the eve of his triumphant entry into Milan. \"As\nthings now are,\" he promptly replied to the Directory, \"you must have\na general who possesses your entire confidence. If I must refer every\nstep to government commissioners, if they have the right to change my\nmovements, to withdraw or send troops, expect nothing good hereafter.\"\nTo Carnot he wrote at the same time: \"I believe one bad general to be\nworth two good ones.... War is like government, a matter of tact.... I\ndo not wish to be hampered. I have begun with some glory; I wish to\ncontinue worthy of you.\" Aware probably that his own republican virtue\ncould not long withstand the temptations opening before him, he began\nthe latter missive, as if to excuse himself and anticipate possible\naccusations: \"I swear I have nothing in view but the country. You will\nalways find me on the straight road. I owe to the republic the\nsacrifice of all my own notions. If people seek to set me wrong in\nyour esteem, my answer is in my heart and in my conscience.\" It is of\ncourse needless to add that the Directory yielded, not only as to the\nunity of command, but also in the fatal and vital matter of intrusting\nall diplomatic negotiations to his hands.\n\nIn taking this last step the executive virtually surrendered its\nidentity. Such, however, was the exultation of the Parisian populace\nand of the soldiery, that the degradation or even the forced\nresignation of the conquering dictator would have at once assured the\nfall of the directors. They could not even protest when, soon after,\nthere came from Bonaparte a despatch announcing that the articles of\n\"the glorious peace which you have concluded with the King of\nSardinia\" had reached \"us,\" and significantly adding in a later\nparagraph that the troops were content, having received half their pay\nin coin. Voices in Paris declared that for such language the writer\nshould be shot. Perhaps those who put the worst interpretation on the\napparently harmless words were correct in their instinct. In reality\nthe Directory had been wholly dependent on the army since the previous\nOctober; and while such an offensive insinuation of the fact would be,\nif intentional, most unpalatable, yet those who had profited by the\nfact dared not resent a remote reference to it.\n\nThe farce was continued for some time longer, Bonaparte playing his\npart with singular ability. He sent to Kellermann, in Savoy, without\nthe form of transmitting it through government channels, a subsidy of\none million two hundred thousand francs. As long as he was unhampered,\nhis despatches to Paris were soldierly and straightforward, although\nafter the passage of the Po they began to be somewhat bombastic, and\nto abound in his old-fashioned, curious, and sometimes incorrect\nclassical or literary allusions. But if he were crossed in the least,\nif reinforcements did not arrive, or if there were any sign of\nindependence in Paris, they became petulant, talking of ill-health,\nthreatening resignation, and requesting that numbers of men be sent\nout to replace him in the multiform functions which in his single\nperson he was performing. Of course these tirades often failed of\nimmediate effect, but at least no effort was made to put an effective\ncheck on the writer's career. Read a century later in a cold and\ncritical light, Bonaparte's proclamations of the same period seem\nstilted, jerky, and theatrical. In them, however, there may still be\nfound a sort of interstitial sentimentality, and in an age of romantic\ndevotion to ideals the quality of vague suggestiveness passed for\ngenuine coin. Whatever else was lacking in those compositions, they\nhad the one supreme merit of accomplishing their end, for they roused\nthe French soldiers to frenzied enthusiasm.\n\nIn fact, if the Directory stood on the army, the army belonged\nhenceforth to Bonaparte. On the very day that Milan was entered,\nMarmont heard from his leader's lips the memorable words, \"Fortune is\na woman; the more she does for me, the more I shall exact from her....\nIn our day no one has conceived anything great; it falls to me to give\nthe example.\" This is the language that soldiers like to hear from\ntheir leader, and it was no doubt repeated throughout the army. \"From\nthis moment,\" wrote the same chronicler, a few months later, \"the\nchief part of the pay and salaries was in coin. This led to a great\nchange in the situation of the officers, and to a certain extent in\ntheir habits.\" Bonaparte was incorruptible. Salicetti announced one\nday that the brother of the Duke of Modena was waiting outside with\nfour chests containing a million of francs in gold, and urged the\ngeneral, as a friend and compatriot, to accept them. \"Thank you,\" was\nthe calm and significant answer, \"I shall not put myself in the hands\nof the Duke of Modena for such a sum.\" But similar propositions were\nmade by the commander-in-chief to his subordinates, and they with less\nprudence fell into the trap, taking all they could lay hands upon and\nthus becoming the bond-slaves of their virtuous leader. There were\nstories at the time that some of the generals, not daring to send\ntheir ill-gotten money to France, and having no opportunity for\ninvesting it elsewhere, actually carried hundreds of thousands of\nfrancs in their baggage. This prostitution of his subordinates was\npart of a system. Twenty million francs was approximately the sum\ntotal of all contributions announced to the Directory, and in their\ndestitution it seemed enormous. They also accepted with pleasure a\nhundred of the finest horses in Lombardy to replace, as Bonaparte\nwrote on sending his present, the ordinary ones which drew their\ncarriages. Was this paltry four million dollars the whole of what was\nderived from the sequestrations of princely domains and the\nsecularization of ecclesiastical estates? By no means. The army chest,\nof which none knew the contents but Bonaparte, was as inexhaustible as\nthe widow's cruse. At the opening of the campaign in Piedmont, empty\nwagons had been ostentatiously displayed as representing the military\nfunds at the commander's disposal: these same vehicles now groaned\nunder a weight of treasure, and were kept in a safe obscurity. Well\nmight he say, as he did in June to Miot, that the commissioners of the\nDirectory would soon leave and not be replaced, since they counted for\nnothing in his policy.\n\nWith the entry into Milan, therefore, begins a new epoch in the\nremarkable development we are seeking to outline. The military genius\nof him who had been the Corsican patriot and the Jacobin republican\nhad finally asserted dominion over all his other qualities. In the\ninconsistency of human nature, those former characters now and then\nshowed themselves as still existent, but they were henceforth\nsubordinate. The conquered Milanese was by a magical touch provided\nwith a provisional government, ready, after the tardy assent of the\nDirectory, to be changed into the Transpadane Republic and put under\nFrench protection. Every detail of administration, every official and\nhis functions, came under Bonaparte's direction. He knew the land and\nits resources, the people and their capacities, the mutual relations\nof the surrounding states, and the idiosyncrasies of their rulers.\nSuch laborious analysis as his despatches display, such grasp both of\noutline and detail, such absence of confusion and clearness of vision,\nsuch lack of hesitance and such definition of plan, seem to prove that\neither a hero or a demon is again on earth. All the capacity this man\nhad hitherto shown, great as it was, sinks into insignificance when\ncompared with the Olympian powers he now displays, and will continue\nto display for years to come. His sinews are iron, his nerves are\nsteel, his eyes need no sleep, and his brain no rest. What a captured\nHungarian veteran said of him at Lodi is as true of his political\nactivity as of his military restlessness: \"He knows nothing of the\nregular rules of war: he is sometimes on our front, sometimes on the\nflank, sometimes in the rear. There is no supporting such a gross\nviolation of rules.\" His senses and his reason were indeed untrammeled\nby human limitations; they worked on front, rear, and flank, often\nsimultaneously, and always without confusion.\n\nWas it astonishing that the French nation, just recovering from a\ndebauch of irreligion and anarchy, should begin insensibly to yield to\nthe charms of a wooer so seductive? For some time past the soldiers,\nas the Milan newspapers declared, had been a pack of tatterdemalions\never flying before the arms of his Majesty the Emperor; now they were\nvictors, led by a second Caesar or Alexander, clothed, fed, and paid at\nthe cost of the conquered. To ardent French republicans, and to the\npeoples of Italy, this phenomenal personage proclaimed that he had\ncome to break the chains of captives, while almost in the same hour he\nwrote to the Directory that he was levying twenty million francs on\nthe country, which, though exhausted by five years of war, was then\nthe richest in the civilized world. Nor was the self-esteem of France\nand the Parisian passion for adornment forgotten. There began a course\nof plunder, if not in a direction at least in a measure hitherto\nunknown to the modern world--the plunder of scientific specimens, of\nmanuscripts, of pictures, statues, and other works of art. It is\ndifficult to fix the responsibility for this policy, which by the\noverwhelming majority of learned and intelligent Frenchmen was\nconsidered right, morally and legally. Nothing so flattered the\nnational pride as the assemblage in Paris of art treasures from all\nnations, nothing so humiliated it as their dispersion at the behest of\nthe conquering Allies. In the previous year a few art works had been\ntaken from Holland and Belgium, and formal orders were given again and\nagain by the Directory for stripping the Pope's galleries; but there\nis a persistent belief, founded, no doubt, in an inherent probability,\nthat the whole comprehensive scheme of art spoliation had been\nsuggested in the first place by Bonaparte, and prearranged between\nhimself and the executive before his departure. At any rate, he asked\nand easily obtained from the government a commission of scholars and\nexperts to scour the Italian cities; and soon untold treasures of art,\nletters, and science began to pour into the galleries, cabinets, and\nlibraries of Paris. A few brave voices among the artists of the\ncapital protested against the desecration; the nation at large was\ntipsy with delight, and would not listen. Raphael, Leonardo, and\nMichelangelo, Correggio, Giorgione, and Paul Veronese, with all the\nlesser masters, were stowed in the holds of frigates and despatched by\nway of Toulon toward the new Rome; while Monge and Berthollet\nransacked the scientific collections of Milan and Parma for their\nrarest specimens. Science, in fact, was to flourish on the banks of\nthe Seine as never before or elsewhere; and the great investigators of\nItaly, forgetful of their native land, were to find a new citizenship\nin the world of knowledge at the capital of European liberties. Words\nlike these, addressed to the astronomer Oriani, indicate that on\nBonaparte's mind had dawned the notion of a universal federated state,\nto which national republics would be subordinate.\n\nNo scene in the history of warfare was more theatrical than the entry\nof the French into Milan. The pageant was arranged on the lines of a\nRoman triumph and the distances so calculated that Bonaparte was the\none impressive figure. With his lean face and sharp Greek profile, his\nlong, lank, unpowdered locks, his simple uniform, and awkward seat in\nthe saddle, he looked like a new human type, neither angel nor devil\nbut an inscrutable apparition from another sphere. To officers and men\nthe voluptuous city extended wide its arms, and the shabby soldiery\nwere incongruous figures where their entertainers were elegant and\nfastidious beyond what the guests had dreamed. With stern impartiality\nthe liberator repressed all excess in his army, but immediately the\nquestion of contributions, billeting, indemnity, and fiscal\norganization was taken up, settled, and the necessary measures\ninaugurated. The rich began to hide their possessions and the burghers\nto cry out. Ere long there was opposition, first sullen, then active,\nespecially in the suburban villages where the French were fiercely\nattacked. One of these, Binasco, was burned and sacked as an example\nto the rest and to the city. Order was restored and the inexorable\nprocess of seizures went on. Pavia bade defiance; the officials were\nthreatened with death, many leading citizens were taken as hostages,\nand the place was pillaged for three days. \"Such a lesson would set\nthe people of Italy right.\" They did not need a second example, it was\ntrue, but the price of \"liberation\" was fearful.\n\nItalian rebellion having been subdued, the French nation roused to\nenthusiasm, independent funds provided, and the Directory put in its\nplace, Bonaparte was free to unfold and consummate his further plans.\nBefore him was the territory of Venice, a state once vigorous and\nterrible, but now, as far as the country populations were concerned,\nan enfeebled and gentle ruler. With quick decision a French corps of\nobservation was sent to seize Brescia and watch the Tyrolean passes.\nIt was, of course, to the advantage of Austria that Venetian\nneutrality should not be violated, except by her own troops. But the\nFrench, having made a bold beginning of formal defiance, were quick to\ngo further. Beaulieu had not hesitated on false pretenses to seize\nPeschiera, another Venetian town, which, by its situation at the\noutlet of Lake Garda, was of the utmost strategic value. He now stood\nconfronting his pursuers on a strong line established, without\nreference to territorial boundaries, behind the whole course of the\nMincio. Such was the situation to the north and east of the French\narmy. Southeastward, on the swampy banks of the same river, near its\njunction with the Po, was Mantua. This city, which even under ordinary\ncircumstances was an almost impregnable fortress, had been\nstrengthened by an extraordinary garrison, while the surrounding\nlowlands were artificially inundated as a supreme measure of safety.\n\nBonaparte intended to hurl Beaulieu back, and seize the line of the\nAdige, far stronger than that of the Mincio for repelling an Austrian\ninvasion from the north. What to him was the neutrality of a weak\ngovernment, and what were the precepts of international law with no\nforce behind it but a moral one? Austria, according to treaty, had the\nright to move her troops over two great military roads within Venetian\njurisdiction, and her defeated armies had just used one of them for\nretreat. The victorious commander could scarcely be expected to pause\nin his pursuit for lack of a few lines of writing on a piece of\nstamped paper. Accordingly, by a simple feint, the Austrians were led\nto believe that his object was the seizure of Peschiera and the\npasses above Lake Garda; consequently, defying international law and\nviolating their treaties, they massed themselves at that place to meet\nhis attack. Then with a swift, forced march the French were\nconcentrated not on the enemy's strong right, but on his weak center\nat Borghetto. Bonaparte's cavalry, hitherto badly mounted and timid,\nbut now reorganized, were thrown forward for their easy task. Under\nMurat's command they dashed through, and, encouraged by their own\nbrilliant successes, were thenceforward famous for efficiency.\nBonaparte, with the main army, then hurried past Mantua as it lay\nbehind its bulwarks of swamp-fever, and the Austrian force was cut in\ntwo. The right wing fled to the mountains; the left was virtually in a\ntrap. Without any declaration of war against Venice, the French\nimmediately occupied Verona, and Legnago a few days later; Peschiera\nwas fortified, and Pizzighettone occupied as Brescia had been, while\ncontributions of every sort were levied more ruthlessly even than on\nthe Milanese. The mastery of these new positions isolated Mantua more\ncompletely than a formal investment would have done; but it was,\nnevertheless, considered wise to leave no loophole, and a few weeks\nlater an army of eight thousand Frenchmen sat down in force before its\ngates.\n\nIt was certain that within a short time a powerful Austrian force\nwould pour out from the Alpine passes to the north. Further advance\ninto Venetian lands would therefore be ruin for the French. There was\nnothing left but the slow hours of a siege, for Mantua had become the\ndecisive point. In the heats of summer this interval might well have\nbeen devoted to ease; but it was almost the busiest period of\nBonaparte's life. According to the Directory's rejected plan for a\ndivision of command in Italy, the mission assigned to Kellermann had\nbeen to organize republics in Piedmont and in the Milanese, and then\nto defend the Tyrolean passes against an Austrian advance from the\nnorth. Bonaparte was to have moved southward along the shore to\nrevolutionize Genoa, Tuscany, the Papal States, and Naples\nsuccessively. The whole idea having been scornfully rejected by\nBonaparte, the Directory had been forced by the brilliant successes of\ntheir general not merely to condone his disobedience, but actually to\napprove his policy. He now had the opportunity of justifying his\nforesight. Understanding, as the government did not, that Austria was\ntheir only redoubtable foe by land, the real bulwark of the whole\nItalian system, he had first shattered her power, at least for the\ntime. The prop having been removed, the structure was toppling, and\nduring this interval of waiting, it fell. His opportunity was made,\nhis resolution ripe.\n\nIn front, Venice was at his mercy; behind him, guerrilla bands of\nso-called Barbets, formed in Genoese territory and equipped by\ndisaffected fugitives, were threatening the lately conquered gateway\nfrom France where the Ligurian Alps and the Apennines meet.\nBonaparte's first step was to impose a new arrangement upon the\nsubmissive Piedmont, whereby, to make assurance doubly sure,\nAlessandria was added to the list of fortresses in French hands; then,\nas his second measure, Murat and Lannes appeared before Genoa at the\nhead of an armed force, with instructions first to seize and shoot the\nmany offenders who had taken refuge in her territory after the risings\nin Lombardy, and then to threaten the Senate with further retaliatory\nmeasures, and command the instant dismissal of the imperial Austrian\nplenipotentiary. From Paris came orders to drive the English fleet out\nof the harbor of Leghorn, where, in spite of the treaty between\nTuscany and France, there still were hostile arsenals and ships. It\nwas done. Naples did not wait to see her territories invaded, but sued\nfor mercy and was humbled, being forced to withdraw her navy from that\nof the coalition, and her cavalry from the Austrian army. For the\nmoment the city of Rome was left in peace. The strength of papal\ndominion lay in Bologna, and the other legations beyond the Apennines,\ncomprising many of the finest districts in Italy; and there a\nmaster-stroke was to be made.\n\nOn the throne of Modena was an Austrian archduke: his government was\nremorselessly shattered and virtually destroyed, the ransom being\nfixed at the ruinous sum of ten million francs with twenty of the best\npictures in the principality. But on that of Parma was a Spanish\nprince with whose house France had made one treaty and hoped to make a\nmuch better one. The duke, therefore, was graciously allowed to\npurchase an armistice by an enormous but yet possible contribution of\ntwo million francs in money, together with provisions and horses in\nquantity. The famous St. Jerome of Correggio was among the twenty\npaintings seized in Modena. The archduke repeatedly offered to ransom\nit for one million francs, the amount at which its value was\nestimated, but his request was not granted. Next came Bologna and its\nsurrounding territory. Such had been the tyranny of ecclesiastical\ncontrol that the subjects of the Pope in that most ancient and famous\nseat of learning welcomed the French with unfeigned joy; and the\nfairest portion of the Papal States passed by its own desire from\nunder the old yoke. The successor of St. Peter was glad to ransom his\ncapital by a payment nominally of twenty-one million francs. In\nreality he had to surrender far more; for his galleries, like those\nof Modena, were stripped of their gems, while the funds seized in\ngovernment offices, and levied in irregular ways, raised the total\nvalue forwarded to Paris to nearly double the nominal contribution.\nAll this, Bonaparte explained, was but a beginning, the idleness of\nsummer heats. \"This armistice,\" he wrote to Paris on June\ntwenty-first, 1796, \"being concluded with the dog-star rather than\nwith the papal army, my opinion is that you should be in no haste to\nmake peace, so that in September, if all goes well in Germany and\nnorthern Italy, we can take possession of Rome.\"\n\n[Illustration: Josephine, Empress of the French. From the painting by\nFrancois Gerard. In the Museum of Versailles.]\n\nIn fact, this ingenious man was really practising moderation, as both\nhe and the terrified Italians, considering their relative situations,\nunderstood it. Whatever had been the original arrangement with the\ndirectors, there was nothing they did not now expect and demand from\nItaly; they wrote requiring, in addition to all that had hitherto been\nmentioned, plunder of every kind from Leghorn; masts, cordage, and\nship supplies from Genoa; horses, provisions, and forage from Milan;\nand contributions of jewels and precious stones from the reigning\nprinces. As for the papal power, the French radicals would gladly have\ndestroyed it. They had not forgotten that Basseville, a diplomatic\nagent of the republic, had been killed in the streets of Rome, and\nthat no reparation had been made either by the punishment of the\nassassin or otherwise. The Pope, they declared, had been the real\nauthor of the terrible civil war fomented by the unyielding clergy,\nand waged with such fury in France. Moreover, the whole sentimental\nand philosophical movement of the century in France and elsewhere\nconsidered the ecclesiastical centralization and hierarchical tyranny\nof the papacy as a dangerous survival of absolutism.\n\nBut Bonaparte was wise in his generation. The contributions he levied\nthroughout Italy were terrible; but they were such as she could bear,\nand still recuperate for further service in the same direction. The\nliberalism of Italy was, moreover, not the radicalism of France; and a\nsubmissive papacy was of incalculably greater value both there and\nelsewhere in Europe than an irreconcilable and fugitive one. The Pope,\ntoo, though weakened and humiliated as a temporal prince, was spared\nfor further usefulness to his conqueror as a spiritual dignitary.\nBeyond all this was the enormous moral influence of a temperate and\napparently impersonal policy. Bonaparte, though personally and by\nnature a passionate and wilful man, felt bound, as the representative\nof a great movement, to exercise self-restraint, taking pains to live\nsimply, dress plainly, almost shabbily, and continuing by calm\ncalculation to refuse the enormous bribes which began and continued to\nbe offered to him personally by the rulers of Italy. His generals and\nthe fiscal agents of the nation were all in his power, because it was\nby his connivance that they had grown enormously rich, he himself\nremaining comparatively poor, and for his station almost destitute.\nThe army was his devoted servant; Italy and the world should see how\ndifferent was his moderation from the rapacity of the republic and its\ntools, vandals like the commissioners Gareau and Salicetti.\n\nSuch was the \"leisure\" of one who to all outward appearance was but a\nman, and a very ordinary one. In the medals struck to commemorate this\nfirst portion of the Italian campaign, he is still the same slim\nyouth, with lanky hair, that he was on his arrival in Paris the year\nprevious. It was observed, however, that the old indifferent manner\nwas somewhat emphasized, and consequently artificial; that the gaze\nwas at least as direct and the eye as penetrating as ever; and that\nthere was, half intentionally, half unconsciously, disseminated all\nabout an atmosphere of peremptory command--but that was all. The\nincarnation of ambition was long since complete; its attendant\nimperious manner was suffered to develop but slowly. In Bonaparte was\nperceptible, as Victor Hugo says, the shadowy outline of Napoleon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nBassano and Arcola.\n\n     The Austrian System -- The Austrian Strategy -- Castiglione\n     -- French Gains -- Bassano -- The French in the Tyrol -- The\n     French Defeated in Germany -- Bonaparte and Alvinczy --\n     Austrian Successes -- Caldiero -- First Battle of Arcola --\n     Second Battle of Arcola.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nMeantime the end of July had come. The Emperor Francis had decided. At\nthe risk of defeat on the Rhine he must retain his Italian possessions\nand prestige. He was still the Roman emperor, inheritor of an\nimmemorial dignity, overlord of the fairest lands in the peninsula.\nWurmser, considered by Austria her greatest general, had therefore\nbeen recalled to Vienna from the west, and sent at the head of\ntwenty-five thousand fresh troops to collect the columns of Beaulieu's\narmy, which was scattered in the Tyrol. This done, he was to assume\nthe chief command, and advance to the relief of Mantua. The first part\nof his task was successfully completed, and already, according to the\ndirection of the Aulic Council of the empire, and in pursuance of the\nsame hitherto universal but vicious system of cabinet campaigning\nwhich Bonaparte had just repudiated, he was moving down from the Alps\nin three columns with a total force of about forty-seven thousand men.\nThere were about fifteen thousand in the garrison of Mantua. Bonaparte\nwas much weaker, having only forty-two thousand, and of these some\neight thousand were occupied in the siege of that place. Wurmser was a\nmaster of the old school, working like an automaton under the hand of\nhis government, and commanding according to well-worn precept his\nwell-equipped battalions, every soldier of which was a recruit so\ncostly that destructive battles were made as infrequent as possible,\nbecause to fight many meant financial ruin. In consequence, like all\nthe best generals of his class, he made war as far as possible a\nseries of manoeuvers. Opposed to him was an emancipated genius with\nneither directors nor public council to hamper him. In the tradition\nof the Revolution, as in the mind of Frederick the Great, war was no\ngame, but a bloody decision, and the quicker the conclusion was tried\nthe better. The national conscription, under the hands of Dubois de\nCrance, had secured men in unlimited numbers at the least expense;\nwhile Carnot's organization had made possible the quick handling of\ntroops in large mass by simplifying the machinery. Bonaparte was about\nto show what could be done in the way of using the weapon which had\nbeen put into his hands.\n\nThe possession of Mantua was decisive of Italian destiny, for its\nholder could command a kind of overlordship in every little Italian\nstate. If Bonaparte should take and keep it, Austria would be\nvirtually banished from Italy, and her prestige destroyed. She must,\ntherefore, relieve it, or lose not only her power in the peninsula,\nbut her rank in Europe. To this end, and according to the established\nrules of strategy, the Austrians advanced from the mountains in three\ndivisions against the French line, which stretched from Brescia past\nPeschiera, at the head of the Mincio, and through Verona to Legnago on\nthe Adige. Two of these armies were to march respectively down the\neast and west banks of Lake Garda, and, flanking the inferior forces\nof the French on both sides, surround and capture them. The other\ndivision was on the Adige in front of Verona, ready to relieve\nMantua. Between that river and the lake rises the stately mass of\nMonte Baldo, abrupt on its eastern, more gentle on its western <DW72>.\nThis latter, as affording some space for manoeuvers, was really the\nkey to the passage. Such was the first onset of the Austrians down\nthis line that the French outposts at Lonato and Rivoli were driven\nin, and for a time it seemed as if there would be a general rout. But\nthe French stood firm, and checked any further advance. For a day\nBonaparte and Wurmser stood confronting each other. In the mean time,\nhowever, the left Austrian column was pouring down toward Verona,\nwhile the right, under Quasdanowich, had already captured Brescia,\nseized the highway to Milan, and cut off the French retreat. This move\nin Wurmser's plan was so far entirely successful, and for a moment it\nseemed as if the sequel would be equally so. The situation of his\nopponents was desperate.\n\nIn this crisis occurred the first of those curious scenes which recur\nat intervals in Bonaparte's life. Some, and those eye-witnesses, have\nattributed them to genuine panic. His first measure was to despatch\nflying adjutants, ten in number, to concentrate his scattered forces\nat the critical point, south of Lake Garda. His genius decided that\nvictory on the field was far more fruitful than the holding in check\nof a garrison. Accordingly he ordered Serurier to raise the siege of\nMantua, and his siege-guns to be spiked and withdrawn. The division\nthus rendered available he at once despatched for field operations\ntoward Brescia. But its numbers were so few as scarcely to relieve the\nsituation. Accordingly a council of war was summoned to decide whether\nthe army should stand and fight, or retreat for further concentration.\nThe commander-in-chief was apparently much excited, and according to\nAugereau's account advised the latter course. The enemy being between\nthe French and the Adda, no other line was open but that southward\nthrough the low country, over the Po; and to follow that implied\nsomething akin to a disorderly rout. Nevertheless, all the generals\nwere in favor of this suggestion except one, the fiery hotspur who\ntells the tale, who disdained the notion of retreat on any line, and\nflung out of the room in scorn. Bonaparte walked the floor until late\nin the small hours; finally he appeared to have accepted Augereau's\nadvice, and gave orders for battle. But the opening movements were\nbadly executed. Bonaparte seemed to feel that the omens were\nunfavorable, and again the generals were summoned. Augereau opened the\nmeeting with a theatrical and declamatory but earnest speech,\nencouraging his comrades and urging the expediency of a battle. This\ntime it was Bonaparte who fled, apparently in despair, leaving the\nchief command, and with it the responsibility, to the daring Augereau,\nby whose enthusiasm, as he no doubt saw, the other generals had been\naffected. The hazardous enterprise succeeded, and on the very plan\nalready adopted. Augereau gave the orders, and with swift\nconcentration every available man was hurled against the Austrian\ncolumn under Quasdanowich at Lonato. This much may be true; casting\naside Augereau's inconsistencies and braggadocio, it is possible but\nunlikely.\n\nThe result was an easy victory, the enemy was driven back to a safe\ndistance, and Brescia was evacuated on August fourth, the defeated\ncolumns retreating behind Lake Garda to join Wurmser on the other\nside. Like the regular return of the pendulum, the French moved back\nagain, and confronted the Austrian center that very night, but now\nwith every company in line and Bonaparte at their head. A portion of\nthe enemy, about twenty-five thousand in number, had reached Lonato,\nhastening to the support of Quasdanowich. Wurmser had lost a day\nbefore Mantua. A second time the hurrying French engaged their foe\nalmost on the same field. A second time they were easily victorious.\nIn fact, so terrible was this second defeat that the scattered bands\nof Austrians wandered aimlessly about in ignorance of their way. One\nof them, four thousand strong, reaching Lonato, found it almost\nabandoned by the French, Bonaparte and his staff with but twelve\nhundred men being left behind. A herald, blindfolded, as was then the\ncustom, was at once despatched to summon the French commander to\nsurrender to the superior Austrian force. The available remnant of the\nvictorious army quickly gathered, and the messenger was introduced in\nthe midst of them. As the bandage was taken from his eyes, dazzled by\nthe light falling on hundreds of brilliant uniforms, the imperious\nvoice of his great enemy was heard commanding him to return and say to\nhis leader that it was a personal insult to speak of surrender to the\nFrench army, and that it was he who must immediately yield himself and\nhis division. The bold scheme was successful, and to the ten thousand\npreviously killed, wounded, and captured by the conquerors four\nthousand prisoners were added. Next morning Wurmser advanced, and with\nhis right resting on Lake Garda offered battle. The decisive fight\noccurred in the center of his long, weak line at Castiglione, where\nsome fifteen thousand Austrians had happened to make a stand, without\norders and so without assurance of support. Again the French position\nwas so weak as apparently to throw Bonaparte into a panic, and again,\naccording to the memoirs of General Landrieux, Augereau's fire and\ndash prevailed to have the battle joined, while Bonaparte withdrew in\na sulky pet. Whatever the truth, the attack was made. Before evening\nthe sharp struggle was over. This affair of August fifth was always\nreferred to by Napoleon as the true battle of Castiglione. Two days\nlater Wurmser, who had fondly hoped that Mantua was his and the French\nin full retreat, brought up a straggling line of twenty-five thousand\nmen. These were easily routed by Bonaparte in a series of clever\nmanoeuvers on the seventh and without much bloodshed. That night saw\nthe utter rout of Wurmser and the Austrians in full retreat towards\nthe Tyrol. Had the great risk of these few days been determined\nagainst the French, who would have been to blame but the madcap\nAugereau? As things turned out, whose was the glory but Bonaparte's?\nThis panic, at least, appears to have been carefully calculated and\ncleverly feigned. A week later the French lines were again closed\nbefore Mantua, which, though not invested, was at least blockaded. The\nfortress had been revictualed and regarrisoned, while the besiegers\nhad been compelled to destroy their own train to prevent its capture\nby the enemy. But France was mistress of the Mincio and the Adige,\nwith a total loss of about ten thousand men; while Austria had lost\nabout twenty thousand, and was standing by a forlorn hope. Both armies\nwere exhausted, as yet the great stake was not won. If Austrian\nwarfare was utterly discredited, the irregular, disjointed, uncertain\nFrench warfare of the past week had not enhanced French glory.\n\nIn the shortest possible period new troops were under way both from\nVienna and from Paris. With those from the Austrian capital came\npositive instructions to Wurmser that in any case he should again\nadvance toward Mantua. In obedience to this command of the Emperor, a\ndivision of the army, twenty thousand strong, under Davidowich, was\nleft in the Austrian Tyrol at Roveredo, near Trent, to stop the\nadvance of the French, who, with their reinforcements, were pressing\nforward through the pass as if to join Moreau, who had successfully\nadvanced and would be in Munich. The main Austrian army, under\nWurmser, moved over into the valley of the Brenta, and pushed on\ntoward Mantua. If he should decide to turn westward against the\nFrench, the reserve could descend the valley of the Adige to his\nassistance. But Bonaparte did not intend either to pass by and leave\nopen the way southward, or to be shut up in the valleys of the Tyrol.\nWith a quick surge, Davidowich was first defeated at Roveredo, and\nthen driven far behind Trent into the higher valleys. The victor\ndelayed only to issue a proclamation giving autonomy to the Tyrolese,\nunder French protection; but the ungrateful peasantry preferred the\nautonomy they already enjoyed, and fortified their precipitous passes\nfor resistance. Turning quickly into the Brenta valley, Bonaparte, by\na forced march of two days, overtook Wurmser's advance-guard unawares\nat Primolano, and captured it; the next day, September eighth, Massena\ncut in two and completely defeated the main army at Bassano. Part of\nthose who escaped retreated into Friuli, toward Vienna. There was\nnothing left for the men under Wurmser's personal command but to throw\nthemselves, if possible, into Mantua. With these, some sixteen\nthousand men in all, the veteran general forced a way, by a series of\nmost brilliant movements, past the flank of the blockading French\nlines, where he made a gallant stand first at St. Georges and then at\nFavorita. But he was driven from both positions and forced to find a\nrefuge in the famous fortress.\n\nThe lightning-like rapidity of these operations completed the\ndemoralization of the Austrian troops. The fortified defiles and\ncliffs of the Tyrol fell before the French attacks as easily as their\nbreastworks in the plains. Wurmser had twenty-six thousand men in\nMantua; but from fear and fever half of them were in the hospitals.\n\nMeanwhile, disaster had overtaken the French arms in the North.\nJourdan had crossed the Rhine at Duesseldorf, as Moreau had at Kehl.\nThey had each about seventy-five thousand men, while the army of the\nAustrian archduke Charles had been reduced by Wurmser's departure for\nItaly to a number far less. According to the plan of the Directory,\nthese two French armies were to advance on parallel lines south of the\nneutral zone through Germany, and to join Bonaparte across the Tyrol\nfor the advance to Vienna. Moreau defeated the Austrians, and reached\nMunich without a check. Wuertemberg and Baden made peace with the\nFrench republic on its own terms, and Saxony, recalling its forces\nfrom the coalition, declared itself neutral, as Prussia had done. But\nJourdan, having seized Wuerzburg and won the battle of Altenkirchen,\nwas met on his way to Ratisbon and Neumarkt, and thoroughly beaten, by\nthe same young Archduke Charles, who had acquired experience and\nlearned wisdom in his defeat by Moreau. Both French armies were thus\nthrown back upon the Rhine, and there could be no further hope of\ncarrying out the original plan. In this way the attention of the world\nwas concentrated on the victorious Army of Italy and its young\ncommander, whose importance was further enhanced by the fulfilment of\nhis own prophecy that the fate of Europe hung on the decision of his\ncampaign in Italy.\n\nThis was not an empty boast. The stubborn determination of Francis to\nreconquer Italy had given new courage to the conservatives of central\nand southern Italy, who did not conceal their resolve nor their\npreparations to annihilate French power and influence within the\nborders of Modena, Rome, and Naples. Bonaparte was thus enabled to\ntake another momentous step in emancipating himself from the\nDirectory. So far he had asserted and confirmed his military and\ndiplomatic independence: he now boldly assumed political supremacy.\nThough at times he expressed a low opinion of the Italians, yet he\nrecognized their higher qualities. In Modena, Reggio, Bologna, and\nFerrara were thousands who understood the significance of the dawning\nepoch. To these he paid visits and to their leaders he gave, during\nthe short interval at his command, hearty approbation for their\nresistance to the reactionaries. Forestalling the Directory, he\ndeclared Modena and Reggio to be under French protection. This daring\nprocedure assured his ascendancy with all Italian liberals and\nrendered sure and certain the prosecution of his campaign to the\nbitter end. Bologna and Ferrara, having surrendered to French\nprotection on June twenty-third, were soon in open revolt against the\npapal influences which were reviving: and even in distant Naples the\nliberals took heart once more.\n\nThe glory of the imperial arms having been brilliantly vindicated in\nthe north, the government at Vienna naturally thought it not\nimpossible to relieve Mantua, and restore Austrian prestige in the\nsouth. Every effort was to be made. The Tyrolese sharp-shooters were\ncalled out, large numbers of raw recruits were gathered in Illyria and\nCroatia, while a few veterans were taken from the forces of the\nArchduke Charles. When these were collected, Quasdanowich found\nhimself in Friuli with upward of thirty-five thousand men, while\nDavidowich in the Tyrol had eighteen thousand. The chief command of\nboth armies was assigned to Alvinczy, an experienced but aged general,\none of the same stock as that to which Wurmser belonged. About\nOctober first, the two forces moved simultaneously, one down the\nAdige, the other down the Piave, to unite before Vicenza, and proceed\nto the relief of Mantua. For the fourth time Bonaparte was to fight\nthe same battle, on the same field, for the same object, with the same\ninferiority of numbers. His situation, however was a trifle better\nthan it had been, for several veteran battalions which were no longer\nneeded in Vendee had arrived from the Army of the West; his own\nsoldiers were also well equipped and enthusiastic. He wrote to the\nDirectory, on October first, that he had thirty thousand effectives;\nbut he probably had more, for it is scarcely possible that, as he\nsaid, eighteen thousand were in the hospitals. The populations around\nand behind him were, moreover, losing faith in Austria, and growing\nwell disposed toward France. Many of his garrisons were, therefore,\ncalled in; and deducting eight thousand men destined for the siege of\nMantua, he still had an army of nearly forty thousand men wherewith to\nmeet the Austrians. There was, of course, some disaffection among his\ngenerals. Augereau was vainglorious and bitter, Massena felt that he\nhad not received his due meed of praise for Bassano, and both had\nsympathizers even in the ranks. This was inevitable, considering\nBonaparte's policy and system, and somewhat interfered with the\nefficiency of his work.\n\nWhile the balance was thus on the whole in favor of the French, yet\nthis fourth division of the campaign opened with disaster to them. In\norder to prevent the union of his enemy's two armies, Bonaparte\nordered Vaubois, who had been left above Trent to guard the French\nconquests in the Tyrol, to attack Davidowich. The result was a rout,\nand Vaubois was compelled to abandon one strong position after\nanother,--first Trent, then Roveredo,--until finally he felt able to\nmake a stand on the right bank of the Adige at Rivoli, which commands\nthe southern <DW72>s of Monte Baldo. The other bank was in Austrian\nhands, and Davidowich could have debouched safely into the plain. This\nresult was largely due to the clever mountain warfare of the Tyrolese\nmilitia. Meantime Massena had moved from Bassano up the Piave to\nobserve Alvinczy. Augereau was at Verona. On November fourth, Alvinczy\nadvanced and occupied Bassano, compelling Massena to retreat before\nhis superior force. Bonaparte, determined not to permit a junction of\nthe two Austrian armies, moved with Augereau's division to reinforce\nMassena and drive Alvinczy back into the valley of the Piave. Augereau\nfought all day on the sixth at Bassano, Massena at Citadella. This\nfirst encounter was indecisive; but news of Vaubois's defeat having\narrived, the French thought it best to retreat on the following day.\nThere was not now a single obstacle to the union of the two Austrian\narmies; and on November ninth, Alvinczy started for Verona, where the\nFrench had halted on the eighth. It looked as if Bonaparte would be\nattacked on both flanks at once, and thus overwhelmed.\n\nVerona lies on both banks of the river Adige, which is spanned by\nseveral bridges; but the heart of the town is on the right. The\nremains of Vaubois's army having been rallied at Rivoli, some miles\nfurther up on that bank, Bonaparte made all possible use of the stream\nas a natural fortification, and concentrated the remainder of his\nforces on the same side. Alvinczy came up and occupied Caldiero,\nsituated on a gentle rise of the other shore to the south of east; but\nthe French division at Rivoli, which, by Bonaparte's drastic methods,\nhad been thoroughly shamed, and was now thirsty for revenge, held\nDavidowich in check. He had remained some distance farther back to the\nnorth, where it was expected he would cross and come down on the left\nbank. To prevent this a fierce onslaught was made against Alvinczy's\nposition on November twelfth, by Massena's corps. It was entirely\nunsuccessful, and the French were repulsed with the serious loss of\nthree thousand men. Bonaparte's position was now even more critical\nthan it had been at Castiglione; he had to contend with two new\nAustrian armies, one on each flank, and Wurmser with a third stood\nready to sally out of Mantua in his rear. If there should be even\npartial cooeperation between the Austrian leaders, he must retreat. But\nhe felt sure there would be no cooeperation whatsoever. From the force\nin Verona and that before Mantua twenty thousand men were gathered to\ndescend the course of the Adige into the swampy lands about Ronco,\nwhere a crossing was to be made and Alvinczy caught, if possible, at\nVillanova, on his left flank. This turning manoeuver, though highly\ndangerous, was fairly successful, and is considered by critics among\nthe finest in this or any other of Bonaparte's campaigns. Amid these\nswamps, ditches, and dikes the methodical Austrians, aiming to carry\nstrong positions by one fierce onset, were brought into the greatest\ndisadvantage before the new tactics of swift movement in open columns,\nwhich were difficult to assail. By a feint of retreat to the westward\nthe French army had left Verona without attracting attention, but by a\nswift countermarch it reached Ronco on the morning of November\nfifteenth, crossed in safety, and turned back to flank the Austrian\nposition.\n\nThe first stand of the enemy was made at Arcola, where a short, narrow\nbridge connects the high dikes which regulate the sluggish stream of\nthe little river Alpon, a tributary of the Adige on its left bank.\nThis bridge was defended by two battalions of Croatian recruits,\nwhose commander, Colonel Brigido, had placed a pair of field-pieces so\nas to enfilade it. The French had been advancing in three columns by\nas many causeways, the central one of which led to the bridge. The\nfirst attempt to cross was repulsed by the deadly fire which the\nCroats poured in from their sheltered position. Augereau, with his\npicked corps, fared no better in a second charge led by himself\nbearing the standard; and, in a third disastrous rush, Bonaparte, who\nhad caught up the standard and planted it on the bridge with his own\nhand, was himself swept back into a quagmire, where he would have\nperished but for a fourth return of the grenadiers, who drove back the\npursuing Austrians, and pulled their commander from the swamp. Fired\nby his undaunted courage, the gallant lines were formed once more. At\nthat moment another French corps passed over lower down by pontoons,\nand the Austrians becoming disorganized, in spite of the large\nreinforcements which had come up under Alvinczy, the last charge on\nthe bridge was successful. With the capture of Arcola the French\nturned their enemy's rear, and cut off not only his artillery, but his\nreserves in the valley of the Brenta. The advantage, however, was\ncompletely destroyed by the masterly retreat of Alvinczy from his\nposition at Caldiero, effected by other causeways and another bridge\nfurther north, which the French had not been able to secure in time.\n\nBonaparte quickly withdrew to Ronco, and recrossed the Adige to meet\nan attack which he supposed Davidowich, having possibly forced\nVaubois's position, would then certainly make. But that general was\nstill in his old place, and gave no signs of activity. This movement\nmisled Alvinczy, who, thinking the French had started from Mantua,\nreturned by way of Arcola to pursue them. Again the French commander\nled his forces across the Adige into the swampy lowlands. His enemy\nhad not forgotten the desperate fight at the bridge, and was timid;\nand besides, in his close formation, he was on such ground no match\nfor the open ranks of the French. Retiring without any real resistance\nas far as Arcola, the Austrians made their stand a second time in that\nred-walled burg. Bonaparte could not well afford another direct\nattack, with its attendant losses, and strove to turn the position by\nfording the Alpon where it flows into the Adige. He failed, and\nwithdrew once more to Ronco, the second day remaining indecisive. On\nthe morning of the seventeenth, however, with undiminished fertility\nof resource, a new plan was adopted and successfully carried out. One\nof the pontoons on the Adige sank, and a body of Austrians charged the\nsmall division stationed on the left bank to guard it, in the hope of\ndestroying the remainder of the bridge. They were repulsed and driven\nback toward the marshes with which they meant to cover their flank.\nThe garrisons of both Arcola and Porcil, a neighboring hamlet, were\nseriously weakened by the detention of this force. Two French\ndivisions were promptly despatched to make use of that advantage,\nwhile at the same time an ambuscade was laid among the pollard willows\nwhich lined the ditches beyond the retreating Austrians. At an\nopportune moment the ambuscade unmasked, and by a terrible fire drove\nthree thousand of the Croatian recruits into the marsh, where most of\nthem were drowned or shot. Advancing then beyond the Alpon by a bridge\nbuilt during the previous night, Bonaparte gave battle on the high\nground to an enemy whose numbers were now, as he calculated, reduced\nto a comparative equality with his own. The Austrians made a vigorous\nresistance; but such was their credulity as to anything their enemy\nmight do, that a simple stratagem of the French made them believe that\ntheir left was turned by a division, when in reality but twenty-five\nmen had been sent to ride around behind the swamps and blow their\nbugles. Being simultaneously attacked on the front of the same wing by\nAugereau, they drew off at last in good order toward Montebello.\nThence Alvinczy slowly retreated into the valley of the Brenta. The\nFrench returned to Verona. Davidowich, ignorant of all that had\noccurred, now finally dislodged Vaubois; but, finding before him\nMassena with his division where he had expected Alvinczy and a great\nAustrian army, he discreetly withdrew into the Tyrol. It was not until\nNovember twenty-third, long after the departure of both his\ncolleagues, that Wurmser made a brilliant but of course ineffectual\nsally from Mantua. The French were so exhausted, and the Austrians so\ndecimated and scattered, that by tacit consent hostilities were\nintermitted for nearly two months.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nBonaparte's Imperious Spirit.\n\n     Bonaparte's Transformation -- Military Genius -- Powers and\n     Principles -- Theory and Conduct -- Political Activity --\n     Purposes for Italy -- Private Correspondence -- Treatment of\n     the Italian Powers -- Antagonism to the Directory -- The\n     Task Before Him -- Masked Dictator.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1796.]\n\nDuring the two months between the middle of November, 1796, and the\nmiddle of January, 1797, there was a marked change in Bonaparte's\ncharacter and conduct. After Arcola he appeared as a man very\ndifferent from the novice he had been before Montenotte. Twice his\nfortunes had hung by a single hair, having been rescued by the\ndesperate bravery of Rampon and his soldiers at Monte Legino, and\nagain by Augereau's daring at Lonato; twice he had barely escaped\nbeing a prisoner, once at Valeggio, once at Lonato; twice his life had\nbeen spared in the heat of battle as if by a miracle, once at Lodi,\nonce again at Arcola. These facts had apparently left a deep\nimpression on his mind, for they were turned to the best account in\nmaking good a new step in social advancement. So far he had been as\nadventurous as the greatest daredevil among the subalterns, staking\nhis life in every new venture; hereafter he seemed to appreciate his\nown value, and to calculate not only the imperiling of his life, but\nthe intimacy of his conversation, with nice adaptation to some great\nresult. Gradually and informally a kind of body-guard was organized,\nwhich, as the idea grew familiar, was skilfully developed into a\npicked corps, the best officers and finest soldiers being made to feel\nhonored in its membership. The constant attendance of such men\nnecessarily secluded the general-in-chief from those colleagues who\nhad hitherto been familiar comrades. Something in the nature of formal\netiquette once established, it was easy to extend its rules and\nconfirm them. The generals were thus separated further and further\nfrom their superior, and before the new year they had insensibly\nadopted habits of address which displayed a high outward respect, and\nvirtually terminated all comradeship with one who had so recently been\nmerely the first among equals. Bonaparte's innate tendency to command\nwas under such circumstances hardened into a habit of imperious\ndictation. In view of what had been accomplished, it would have been\nimpossible, even for the most stubborn democrat, to check the process.\nNot one of Bonaparte's principles had failed to secure triumphant\nvindication.\n\nIn later years Napoleon himself believed, and subsequent criticism has\nconfirmed his opinion, that the Italian campaign, taken as a whole,\nwas his greatest. The revolution of any public system, social,\npolitical, or military, is always a gigantic task. It was nothing less\nthan this which Bonaparte had wrought, not in one, but in all three\nspheres, during the summer and autumn of 1796. The changes, like those\nof most revolutions, were changes of emphasis and degree in the\napplication of principles already divined. \"Divide and conquer\" was an\nold maxim; it was a novelty to see it applied in warfare and politics\nas Bonaparte applied it in Italy. It has been remarked that the\nessential difference between Napoleon and Frederick the Great was that\nthe latter had not ten thousand men a month to kill. The notion that\nwar should be short and terrible had, indeed, been clear to the great\nPrussian; Carnot and the times afforded the opportunity for its\nconclusive demonstration by the genius of the greater Corsican.\nConcentration of besiegers to breach the walls of a town was nothing\nnew; but the triumphant application of the same principle to an\nopposing line of troops, though well known to Julius Caesar, had been\nforgotten, and its revival was Napoleon's masterpiece. The martinets\nof the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had so exaggerated the\nformalities of war that the relation of armies to the fighting-ground\nhad been little studied and well-nigh forgotten; the use of the map\nand the compass, the study of reliefs and profiles in topography,\nproduced in Bonaparte's hands results that seemed to duller minds\nnothing short of miraculous. One of these was to oppose the old-school\nrigid formation of troops by any formation more or less open and\nirregular according to circumstances, but always the kind best suited\nto the character of the seat of war. The first two days at Arcola were\nthe triumphant vindication of this concept. Finally, there was a\nfascination for the French soldiers in the primitive savagery of their\ngeneral, which, though partly concealed, and somewhat held in by\ntraining, nevertheless was willing that the spoils of their conquest\nshould be devoted to making the victorious contestants opulent; which\nscorned the limitations of human powers in himself and them, and thus\naccomplished feats of strength and stratagem which gratified to\nsatiety that love for the uncommon, the ideal, and the great which is\ninherent in the spirit of their nation. In the successful combination\nand evolution of all these elements there was a grandeur which\nBonaparte and every soldier of his army appreciated at its full value.\n\nThe military side of Bonaparte's genius is ordinarily considered the\nstrongest. Judged by what is easily visible in the way of immediate\nconsequences and permanent results, this appears to be true; and yet\nit was only one of many sides. Next in importance, if not equal to it,\nwas his activity in politics and diplomacy. It is easy to call names,\nto stigmatize the peoples of Italy, all the nations even of western\nEurope, as corrupt and enervated, to laugh at their politics as\nantiquated, and to brand their rulers as incapable fools. An ordinary\nman can, by the assistance of the knowledge, education, and insight\nacquired by the experience of his race through an additional century,\nturn and show how commonplace was the person who toppled over such an\nold rotten structure. This is the method of Napoleon's detractors,\nexcept when, in addition, they first magnify his wickedness, and then\nfurther distort the proportion by viewing his fine powers through the\nother end of the glass. We all know how easy great things are when\nonce they have been accomplished, how simple the key to a mystery when\nonce it has been revealed. Morally considered, Bonaparte was a child\nof nature, born to a mean estate, buffeted by a cruel and remorseless\nsociety, driven in youth to every shift for self-preservation,\ncompelled to fight an unregenerate world with its own weapons. He had\nnot been changed in the flash of a gun. Elevation to reputation and\npower did not diminish the duplicity of his character; on the\ncontrary, it possibly intensified it. Certainly the fierce light which\nbegan to beat upon him brought it into greater prominence. Truth,\nhonor, unselfishness are theoretically the virtues of all philosophy;\npractically they are the virtues of Christian men in Christian\nsociety. Where should the scion of a Corsican stock, ignorant of moral\nor religious sentiment, thrown into the atmosphere and surroundings of\nthe French Revolution, learn to practise them?\n\nSuch considerations are indispensable in the observation of\nBonaparte's progress as a politician. His first settlement with the\nvarious peoples of central Italy was, as he had declared, only\nprovisional. The uncertain status created by it was momentarily not\nunwelcome to the Directory. Their policy was to destroy existing\ninstitutions, and leave order to evolve itself from the chaos as best\nit could. Doctrinaires as they were, they meant to destroy absolute\nmonarchy in Italy, as everywhere else, if possible, and then to stop,\nleaving the liberated peoples to their own devices. Some fondly\nbelieved that out of anarchy would arise, in accordance with \"the law\nof nature,\" a pure democracy; while others had the same faith that the\nresult would be constitutional monarchy. Moreover, things appear\nsimpler in the perspective of distance than they do near at hand. The\nsincerity of Bonaparte's republicanism was like the sincerity of his\nconduct--an affair of time and place, a consistency with conditions\nand not with abstractions. He knew the Italian mob, and faithfully\ndescribed it in his letters as dull, ignorant, and unreliable, without\npreparation or fitness for self-government. He was willing to\nestablish the forms of constitutional administration; but in spite of\nhearty support from many disciples of the Revolution, he found those\nforms likely, if not certain, to crumble under their own weight, and\nwas convinced that the real sovereignty must for years to come reside\nin a strong protectorate of some kind. It appeared to him a necessity\nof war that these peoples should relieve the destitution of the French\ntreasury and army, a necessity of circumstances that France should be\nrestored to vigor and health by laying tribute on their treasures of\nart and science, as on those of all the world, and a necessity of\npolitical science that artificial boundaries should be destroyed, as\nthey had been in France, to produce the homogeneity of condition\nessential to national or administrative unity.\n\nThe Italians themselves understood neither the policy of the French\nexecutive nor that of their conqueror. The transitional position in\nwhich the latter had left them produced great uneasiness. The\nterrified local authorities asked nothing better than to be left as\nthey were, with a view to profiting by the event, whatever it might\nbe. After every Austrian success there were numerous local revolts,\nwhich the French garrison commanders suppressed with severity.\nProvisional governments soon come to the end of their usefulness, and\nthe enemies of France began to take advantage of the disorder in order\nto undo what had been done. The English, for example, had seized Porto\nFerrajo in place of Leghorn; the Pope had gone further, and, in spite\nof the armistice, was assembling an army for the recovery of Bologna,\nFerrara, and his other lost legations. Thus it happened that in the\nintervals of the most laborious military operations, a political\nactivity, both comprehensive and feverish, kept pace in Bonaparte's\nmind with that which was needed to regulate his campaigning.\n\nAt the very outset there was developed an antagonism between the\nnotions of the Directory and Bonaparte's interests. The latter\nobserved all the forms of consulting his superiors, but acted without\nthe slightest reference to their instructions, often even before they\ncould receive his despatches. Both he and they knew the weakness of\nthe French government, and the inherent absurdity of the situation.\nThe story of French conquest in Italy might be told exactly as if the\ninvading general were acting solely on his own responsibility. In his\nproclamations to the Italians was one language; in his letters to the\nexecutive, another; in a few confidential family communications, still\nanother; in his own heart, the same old idea of using each day as it\ncame to advance his own fortunes. As far as he had any love of\ncountry, it was expended on France, and what we may call his\nprinciples were conceptions derived from the Revolution; but somehow\nthe best interests of France and the safety of revolutionary doctrine\nwere every day more involved in the pacification of Italy, in the\nhumiliation of Austria, and in the supremacy of the army. There was\nonly one man who could secure all three; could give consistency to the\nflaccid and visionary policy of the Directory; could repress the\nfrightful robberies of its civil agents in Italy; could with any show\nof reason humble Italy with one hand, and then with the other rouse\nher to wholesome energy; could enrich and glorify France while\ncrushing out, as no royal dynasty had ever been able to do, the\nhaughty rivalry of the Hapsburgs.\n\nThese purposes made Bonaparte the most gentle and conciliatory of men\nin some directions; in others they developed and hardened his\nimperiousness. His correspondence mirrors both his mildness and his\narbitrariness. His letters to the Directory abound in praise of his\nofficers and men, accompanied by demands for the promotion of those\nwho had performed distinguished services. Writing to General Clarke on\nNovember nineteenth, 1796, from Verona, he says, in words full of\npathos: \"Your nephew Elliot was killed on the battle-field of Arcola.\nThis youth had made himself familiar with arms; several times he had\nmarched at the head of columns; he would one day have been an\nestimable officer. He died with glory, in the face of the foe; he did\nnot suffer for a moment. What reasonable man would not envy such a\ndeath? Who is he that in the vicissitudes of life would not agree to\nleave in such a way a world so often worthy of contempt? What one of\nus has not a hundred times regretted that he could not thus be\nwithdrawn from the powerful effects of calumny, of envy, and of all\nthe hateful passions that seem almost entirely to control human\nconduct?\" Perhaps these few words to the widow of one of his late\nofficers are even finer: \"Muiron died at my side on the late\nbattle-field of Arcola. You have lost a husband that was dear to you;\nI, a friend to whom I have long been attached: but the country loses\nmore than us both in the death of an officer distinguished no less by\nhis talents than by his rare courage. If I can be of service in\nanything to you or his child, I pray you count altogether upon me.\"\nThat was all; but it was enough. With the ripening of character, and\nunder the responsibilities of life, an individual style had come at\nlast. It is martial and terse almost to affectation, defying\ntranslation, and perfectly reflecting the character of its writer.\n\nBut the hours when the general-in-chief was war-worn, weary, tender,\nand subject to human regrets like other men, were not those which he\nrevealed to the world. He was peremptory, and sometimes even peevish,\nwith the French executive after he had them in his hand; with Italy he\nassumed a parental role, meting out chastisement and reward as best\nsuited his purpose. A definite treaty of peace had been made with\nSardinia, and that power, though weak and maimed, was going its own\nway. The Transpadane Republic, which he had begun to organize as soon\nas he entered Milan, was carefully cherished and guided in its\nartificial existence; but the people, whether or not they were fit,\nhad no chance to exercise any real independence under the shadow of\nsuch a power. It was, moreover, not the power of France; for, by\nspecial order of Bonaparte, the civil agents of the Directory were\nsubordinated to the military commanders, ostensibly because the former\nwere so rapacious. Lombardy in this way became his very own. Rome had\nmade the armistice of Bologna merely to gain time, and in the hope of\neventual disaster to French arms. A pretext for the resumption of\nhostilities was easily found by her in a foolish command, issued from\nParis, that the Pope should at length recognize as regular those of\nthe clergy who had sworn allegiance to the successive constitutions\nadopted under the republic, and withdraw all his proclamations against\nthose who had observed their oaths and conformed. The Pontiff, relying\non the final success of Austria, had virtually broken off\nnegotiations. Bonaparte informed the French agent in Rome that he must\ndo anything to gain time, anything to deceive the \"old fox\"; in a\nfavorable moment he expected to pounce upon Rome, and avenge the\nnational honor. During the interval Naples also had become refractory;\nrefusing a tribute demanded by the Directory, she was not only\ncollecting soldiers, like the Pope, but actually had some regiments in\nmarching order. Venice, asserting her neutrality, was growing more and\nmore bitter at the constant violations of her territory. Mantua was\nstill a defiant fortress, and in this crisis nothing was left but to\nrevive French credit where the peoples were best disposed and their\nold rulers weakest.\n\nAccordingly, Bonaparte went through the form of consulting the\nDirectory as to a plan of procedure, and then, without waiting for an\nanswer from them, and without the consent of those most deeply\ninterested, broke the armistice with Modena on the pretext that five\nhundred thousand francs of ransom money were yet unpaid, and drove the\nduke from his throne. This duchy was the nucleus about which was to be\nconstituted the Cispadane Republic: in conjunction with its\ninhabitants, those of Reggio, Bologna, and Ferrara were invited to\nform a free government under that name. There had at least been a\npretext for erecting the Milanese into the Transpadane Republic--that\nof driving an invader from its soil. This time there was no pretext of\nthat kind, and the Directory opposed so bold an act regarding these\nlands, being uneasy about public opinion in regard to it. They hoped\nthe war would soon be ended, and were verging to the opinion that\ntheir armies must before long leave the Italians to their own devices.\nThe conduct of their general pointed, however, in the opposite\ndirection; he forced the native liberals of the district to take the\nnecessary steps toward organizing the new state so rapidly that the\nDirectory found itself compelled to yield. It is possible, but not\nlikely, that, as has been charged, Bonaparte really intended to bring\nabout what actually happened, the continued dependence on the French\nrepublic of a lot of artificial governments. The uninterrupted\nmeddling of France in the affairs of the Italians destroyed in the end\nall her influence, and made them hate her dominion, which masqueraded\nas liberalism, even more than they had hated the open but mild tyranny\nof those royal scions of foreign stocks recently dismissed from their\nthrones. During these months there is in Bonaparte's correspondence a\nsomewhat theatrical iteration of devotion to France and republican\nprinciples, but his first care was for his army and the success of his\ncampaign. He behaved as any general solicitous for the strength of his\npositions on foreign soil would have done, his ruses taking the form\nof constantly repeating the political shibboleths then used in France.\nSoon afterward Naples made her peace; an insurrection in Corsica\nagainst English rule enabled France to seize that island once more;\nand Genoa entered into a formal alliance with the Directory.\n\nHow important these circumstances were comparatively can only be\nunderstood by considering the fiascoes of the Directory elsewhere. No\nwonder they groveled before Bonaparte, while pocketing his millions\nand saving their face at home and abroad by reason of his victories,\nand his alone. They had two great schemes to annihilate British power:\none, to invade Ireland, close all the North Sea ports to British\ncommerce, and finally to descend on British shores with an\nirresistible host of the French democracy. Subsequent events of\nNapoleon's life must be judged in full view of the dead earnestness\nwith which the Directory cherished this plan. But it was versatile\nlikewise and had a second alternative, to foment rebellions in Persia,\nTurkey, and Egypt, overrun the latter country, and menace India. This\nsecond scheme influenced Bonaparte's career more deeply than the\nother, both were parts of traditional French policy and cherished by\nthe French public as the great lines for expanding French renown and\nFrench influence. Both must be reckoned with by any suitor of France.\nFor the Irish expedition Hoche was available; in his vain efforts for\nsuccess he undermined his health and in his untimely death removed one\npossible rival of Bonaparte. The directors had Holland, but they could\nnot win Prussia further than the stipulations made in 1795 at Basel,\nso their scheme of embargo rested in futile abeyance. They exhibited\nconsiderable activity in building a fleet, and the King of Spain, in\nspite of Godoy's opposition, accepted the title of a French admiral.\nBy the treaty of San Ildefonso an offensive alliance against Great\nBritain was concluded, her commerce to be excluded from Portugal;\nLouisiana and Florida going to France. All the clauses except this\nlast were nugatory because of Spanish weakness, but Bonaparte put in\nthe plea for compensation to the Spanish Bourbons by some grant of\nItalian territory to the house of Parma. As we have elsewhere\nindicated, their attack on Austria in central Europe was a failure,\nJourdan having been soundly beaten at Wuerzburg. There was no road open\nto Vienna except through Italy. Their negotiations with the papacy\nfailed utterly; only a victorious warrior could overcome its powerful\nscruples, which in the aggregate prevented the hearty adhesion of\nFrench Roman Catholics to the republican system. Of necessity their\nconceptions of Italian destiny must yield to his, which were widely\ndifferent from theirs.\n\nBefore such conditions other interests sink into atrophy;\nthenceforward, for example, there appears in Bonaparte's nature no\ntrace of the Corsican patriot. The one faint spark of remaining\ninterest seems to have been extinguished in an order that Pozzo di\nBorgo and his friends, if they had not escaped, should be brought to\njudgment. His other measures with reference to the once loved island\nwere as calculating and dispassionate as any he took concerning the\nmost indifferent principality of the mainland, and even extended to\nenunciating the principle that no Corsican should be employed in\nCorsica. It is a citizen not of Corsica, nor of France even, but of\nEurope, who on October second demands peace from the Emperor in a\nthreat that if it is not yielded on favorable terms, Triest and the\nAdriatic will be seized. At the same time the Directory received from\nhim another reminder of its position, which likewise indicates an\ninteresting development of his own policy. \"Diminish the number of\nyour enemies. The influence of Rome is incalculable; it was ill\nadvised to break with that power; it gives the advantage to her. If I\nhad been consulted, I would have delayed the negotiations with Rome as\nwith Genoa and Venice. Whenever your general in Italy is not the pivot\nof everything, you run great risks. This language will not be\nattributed to ambition; I have but too many honors, and my health is\nso broken that I believe I must ask you for a successor. I can no\nlonger mount a horse; I have nothing left but courage, which is not\nenough in a post like this.\" Before this masked dictator were two\ntasks as difficult in their way as any even he would ever undertake,\neach calling for the exercise of faculties antipodal in quality, but\nquite as fine as any in the human mind. Mantua was yet to be captured;\nRome and the Pope were to be handled so as to render the highest\nservice to himself, to France, and to Europe. In both these labors he\nmeant to be strengthened and yet unhampered. The habit of compliance\nwas now strong upon the Directory, and they continued to yield as\nbefore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nRivoli and the Capitulation of Mantua.\n\n     The Diplomatic Feint of Great Britain -- Clarke and the\n     Directory -- Catherine the Great and Paul I -- Austria's\n     Strategic Plan -- Renewal of Hostilities -- The Austrians at\n     Rivoli and Nogara -- Bonaparte's Night March to Rivoli --\n     Monte Baldo and the Berner Klause -- The Battle of Rivoli --\n     The Battle of La Favorita -- Feats of the French Army --\n     Bonaparte's Achievement -- The Fall of Mantua.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1797.]\n\nThe fifth division of the Italian campaign was the fourth attempt of\nAustria to retrieve her position in Italy, a position on which her\nrulers still believed that all her destinies hung. Her energy was now\nthe wilfulness of despair. Events in Europe were shaping themselves\nwithout regard to her advantage. The momentary humiliation of France\nin Jourdan's defeat, the deplorable condition of British finances as\nshown by the fall of the three per cents to fifty-three, the unsettled\nand dangerous state of Ireland, with the menace of Hoche's invasion\nimpending, these circumstances created in London a feeling that\nperhaps the time was propitious for negotiating with France, where too\nthere was considerable agitation for peace. Accordingly, in the autumn\nof 1796, Lord Malmesbury was sent to Paris under rigid cautionary\ninstructions. The envoy was cold and haughty; Delacroix, the French\nminister, was conceited and shallow. It soon appeared that what the\nagent had to offer was either so indefinite as to be meaningless, or\nso favorable to Great Britain as to be ridiculous in principle. The\nnegotiations were merely diplomatic fencing. To the Englishman the\npublic law of Europe was still that of the peace of Utrecht,\nespecially as to the Netherlands; to the Frenchman this was\npreposterous since the Low Countries were already in France by\nenactment and the rule of natural boundaries. About the middle of\nNovember, Malmesbury was informed that he must either speak to the\npoint or leave. Of course the point was Belgium; if France would\nabandon her claim to Antwerp she could have compensation in Germany.\nThere was some further futile talk about what both parties then as\nbefore, and thereafter to the end, considered the very nerve of their\ncontention. Malmesbury went home toward the close of December, and\nsoon after, Hoche's fleet was wrecked in the Channel. The result of\nthe British mission was to clarify the issues, to consolidate British\npatriotism once more, to reopen the war on a definite basis. Hoche was\nassigned to the Army of the Sambre and Meuse, declaring he would first\nthunder at the gates of Vienna and then return through Ireland to\nLondon and command the peace of the world.\n\nMeantime the Directory had noted the possibility of independent\nnegotiation with Austria. It did not intend, complaisant as it had\nbeen hitherto, to leave Bonaparte unhampered in so momentous a\ntransaction. On the contrary, it selected a pliable and obedient agent\nin the person of General Clarke, offspring of an Irish refugee family,\neither a mild republican or a constitutional monarchist according to\ncircumstances, a lover of peace and order, a conciliatory spirit. To\nhim was given the directors' confidential, elaborate, and elastic plan\nfor territorial compensations as a basis for peace, the outcome of\nwhich in any case would leave Prussia preponderant in Germany. Liberal\nand well disposed to the Revolution as they believed, she could then\nbe wooed into a firm alliance. In Italy, France was to maintain her\nnew authority and retain what she had conquered for her own good\npleasure. Bonaparte intended to do as he found necessary in both these\ncases. After Arcola, Thugut, the Austrian minister, expressed a sense\nof the deepest humiliation that a youth commanding volunteers and\nrapscallions should work his will with the fine troops and skilled\ngenerals of the empire. But, undaunted, he applied to Russia for\nsuccor. Catherine had dallied with Jacobinism in order to occupy both\nPrussia and Austria while she consolidated and confirmed her strength\nin Poland and the Orient. This she had accomplished and was now ready\nto bridle the wild steed she had herself unloosed. Intervening at the\nauspicious hour, she could deliver Italy, take control of central\nEurope, subjugate the north, and sway the universe.\n\nAccordingly she demanded from Pitt a subsidy of two and a half million\ndollars, and ordered Suvoroff with sixty thousand troops to the\nassistance of Austria. Just then, in September, 1796, Gustavus IV, of\nSweden, was at St. Petersburg for his betrothal with the Empress's\ngranddaughter Alexandra. He required as a matter of course that she\nshould adopt his faith. This was contemptuously refused and the\npreparations for the festival went forward to completion as if nothing\nhad occurred. At the appointed hour for the ceremonial, the groom did\nnot and would not appear. Consternation gave way to a sense of\noutrage, but the \"Kinglet,\" as the great courtiers styled him, stood\nfirm. The Empress was beside herself, her health gave way, and she\ndied in less than two months, on November seventeenth. The dangerous\nimbecile, her son Paul I, reigned in her stead. Weird figure that he\nwas, he at least renounced his mother's policy of conquest and\ncountermanded her orders to Suvoroff, recalling him and his army.\nAustria was at bay, but she was undaunted.\n\nOnce more Alvinczy, despairing of success, but obedient to his orders,\nmade ready to move down the Adige from Trent. Great zeal had been\nshown in Austria. The Vienna volunteer battalions abandoned the work\nof home protection for which they had enlisted, and, with a banner\nembroidered by the Empress's own hand, joined the active forces. The\nTyrolese, in defiance of the atrocious proclamation in which\nBonaparte, claiming to be their conqueror, had threatened death to any\none taking up arms against France, flocked again to the support of\ntheir Emperor. By a recurrence to the old fatal plan, Alvinczy was to\nattack the main French army; his colleague Provera was to follow the\nBrenta into the lower reaches of the Adige, where he could effect a\ncrossing, and relieve Mantua. He was likewise to deceive the enemy by\nmaking a parade of greater strength than he really had, and thus draw\naway Bonaparte's main army toward Legnago on the lower Adige. A\nmessenger was despatched to Wurmser with letters over the Emperor's\nown signature, ordering him, if Provera should fail, to desert Mantua,\nretreat into the Romagna, and under his own command unite the garrison\nand the papal troops. This order never reached its destination, for\nits bearer was intercepted, and was compelled by the use of an emetic\nto render up the despatches which he had swallowed.\n\nOn January seventh, 1797, Bonaparte gave orders to strengthen the\ncommunications along his line, massing two thousand men at Bologna in\norder to repress certain hostile demonstrations lately made in behalf\nof the Pope. On the following day an Austrian division which had been\nlying at Padua made a short attack on Augereau's division, and on the\nninth drove it into Porto Legnago, the extreme right of the French\nline. This could mean nothing else than a renewal of hostilities by\nAustria, although it was impossible to tell where the main attack\nwould be made. On the eleventh Bonaparte was at Bologna, concluding an\nadvantageous treaty with Tuscany; in order to be ready for any event,\nhe started the same evening, hastened across the Adige with his\ntroops, and pressed on to Verona.\n\nOn the twelfth, at six in the morning, the enemy attacked Massena's\nadvance-guard at St. Michel, a suburb of that city. They were repulsed\nwith loss. Early on the same day Joubert, who had been stationed with\na corps of observation farther up in the old and tried position at the\nfoot of Monte Baldo, became aware of hostile movements, and occupied\nRivoli. During the day the two Austrian columns tried to turn his\nposition by seizing his outpost at Corona, but they were repulsed. On\nthe thirteenth he became aware that the main body of the Austrians was\nbefore him, and that their intention was to surround him by the left.\nAccordingly he informed Bonaparte, abandoned Corona, and made ready to\nretreat from Rivoli. That evening Provera threw a pontoon bridge\nacross the Adige at Anghiari, below Legnago, and crossed with a\nportion of his army. Next day he started for Mantua, but was so\nharassed by Guieu and Augereau that the move was ineffectual, and he\ngot no farther than Nogara.\n\nThe heights of Rivoli command the movements of any force passing out\nof the Alps through the valley of the Adige. They are abrupt on all\nsides but one, where from the greatest elevation the chapel of St.\nMark overlooked a winding road, steep, but available for cavalry and\nartillery. Rising from the general level of the tableland, this\nhillock is in itself a kind of natural citadel. Late on the\nthirteenth, Joubert, in reply to the message he had sent, received\norders to fortify the plateau, and to hold it at all hazards; for\nBonaparte now divined that the main attack was to be made there in\norder to divert all opposition from Provera, and that if it were\nsuccessful the two Austrian armies would meet at Mantua. By ten that\nevening the reports brought in from Joubert and by scouts left this\nconclusion no longer doubtful. That very night, therefore, being in\nperfect readiness for either event, Bonaparte moved toward Rivoli with\na force numbering about twenty thousand. It was composed of every\navailable French soldier between Desenzano and Verona, including\nMassena's division.[68] By strenuous exertions they reached the\nheights of Rivoli about two in the morning of the fourteenth.\nAlvinczy, ignorant of what had happened, was waiting for daylight in\norder to carry out his original design of inclosing and capturing the\ncomparatively small force of Joubert and the strong place which it had\nbeen set to hold, a spot long since recognized by Northern peoples as\nthe key to the portal of Italy. Bonaparte, on his arrival, perceived\nin the moonlight five divisions encamped in a semicircle below; their\nbivouac fires made clear that they were separated from one another by\nconsiderable distances. He knew then that his instinct had been\ncorrect, that this was the main army, and that the decisive battle\nwould be fought next day. The following hours were spent in disposing\nhis forces to meet the attack in any form it might take. Not a man was\nwasted, but the region was occupied with pickets, outposts, and\nreserves so ingeniously stationed that the study of that field, and of\nBonaparte's disposition of his forces, has become a classic example\nin military science.\n\n              [Footnote 68: Somewhat under 40,000. Bonaparte guessed,\n              and his guess was very shrewd, that all told he was then\n              confronted by 45,000. The Austrians have never made the\n              facts clear, though their initial strength is set at\n              28,000. I have found no estimate of the reinforcements.\n              In any case they lost 10,000 here, the whole of\n              Provera's corps at La Favorita, and 18,000 were captured\n              at Mantua: their fighting force in Italy was\n              annihilated.]\n\nThe gorge by which the Adige breaks through the lowest foot-hills of\nthe Alps to enter the lowlands has been famous since dim antiquity.\nThe Romans considered it the entrance to Cimmeria; it was sung in\nGerman myths as the Berner Klause, the majestic gateway from their\ninclement clime into the land of the stranger, that warm, bright land\nfor the luxurious and orderly life of which their hearts were ever\nyearning. Around its precipices and isolated, frowning bastions song\nand fable had clustered, and the effect of mystery was enhanced by the\nawful grandeur of the scene. Overlooking all stands Monte Baldo,\nfrowning with its dark precipices on the cold summits of the German\nhighland, smiling with its sunny <DW72>s on the blue waters of Lake\nGarda and the fertile valley of the Po. In the change of strategy\nincident to the introduction of gunpowder the spot of greatest\nresistance was no longer in the gorge, but at its mouth, where Rivoli\non one side, and Ceraino on the other, command respectively the gentle\n<DW72>s which fall eastward and westward toward the plains. The Alps\nwere indeed looking down on the \"Little Corporal,\" who, having flanked\ntheir defenses at one end, was now about to force their center, and\nlater to pass by their eastward end into the hereditary dominions of\nthe German emperors on the Danube.\n\nAt early dawn began the conflict which was to settle the fate of\nMantua. The first fierce contest was between the Austrian left and the\nFrench right at St. Mark; but it quickly spread along the whole line\nas far as Caprino. For some time the Austrians had the advantage, and\nthe result was in suspense, since the French left, at Caprino, yielded\nfor an instant before the onslaught of the main Austrian army made in\naccordance with Alvinczy's first plan, and, as he supposed, upon an\ninferior force by one vastly superior in numbers. Berthier, who by his\ncalm courage was fast rising high in his commander's favor, came to\nthe rescue, and Massena, following with a judgment which has\ninseparably linked his name with that famous spot, finally restored\norder to the French ranks. Every successive charge of the Austrians\nwas repulsed with a violence which threw their right and center back\ntoward Monte Baldo in ever growing confusion. The battle waged for\nnearly three hours before Alvinczy understood that it was not\nJoubert's division, but Bonaparte's army, which was before him. A\nfifth Austrian column then pressed forward from the bank of the Adige\nto scale the height of Rivoli, and Joubert, whose left at St. Mark was\nhard beset, could not check the movement. For an instant he left the\nroad unprotected. The Austrians charged up the hill and seized the\ncommanding position; but simultaneously there rushed from the opposite\nside three French battalions, clambering up to retrieve the loss. The\nnervous activity of the latter brought them quickly to the top, where\nat once they were reinforced by a portion of the cavalry reserve, and\nthe storming columns were thrown back in disorder. At that instant\nappeared in Bonaparte's rear an Austrian corps which had been destined\nto take the French at Rivoli in their rear. Had it arrived sooner, the\nposition would, as the French declared, have been lost to them. As it\nwas, instead of making an attack, the Austrians had to await one.\nBonaparte directed a falling artillery fire against them, and threw\nthem back toward Lake Garda. He thus gained time to re-form his own\nranks and enabled Massena to hold in check still another of the\nAustrian columns, which was striving to outflank him on his left.\nThereupon the French reserve under Rey, coming in from the westward,\ncut the turning column entirely off, and compelled it to surrender.\nThe rest of Alvinczy's force being already in full retreat, this ended\nthe worst defeat and most complete rout which the Austrian arms had so\nfar sustained. Such was the utter demoralization of the flying and\ndisintegrated columns that a young French officer named Rene, who was\nin command of fifty men at a hamlet on Lake Garda, successfully\nimitated Bonaparte's ruse at Lonato, and displayed such an imposing\nconfidence to a flying troop of fifteen hundred Austrians that they\nsurrendered to what appeared to be a force superior to their own. Next\nmorning at dawn, Murat, who had marched all night to gain the point,\nappeared on the <DW72>s of Monte Baldo above Corona, and united with\nJoubert to drive the Austrians from their last foothold. The pursuit\nwas continued as far as Trent. Thirteen thousand prisoners were\ncaptured in those two days.\n\n[Illustration: Enlarged Plan of Lake of Garda and Adjacent Country.\nMap Illustrating the Campaign Preceding the Treaty of Campo-Formio\n1797.]\n\nWhile Murat was straining up the <DW72>s of Monte Baldo, Bonaparte,\ngiving no rest to the weary feet of Massena's division,--the same men\nwho two days before had marched by night from Verona,--was retracing\nhis steps on that well-worn road past the city of Catullus and the\nCapulets onward toward Mantua. Provera had crossed the Adige at\nAnghiari with ten thousand men. Twice he had been attacked: once in\nthe front by Guieu, once in the rear by Augereau. On both occasions\nhis losses had been severe, but, nevertheless, on the same morning\nwhich saw Alvinczy's flight into the Tyrol, he finally appeared with\nsix thousand men in the suburb of St. George, before Mantua. He\nsucceeded in communicating with Wurmser, but was held in check by the\nblockading French army throughout the day and night until Bonaparte\narrived with his reinforcements. Next morning there was a general\nengagement, Provera attacking in front, and Wurmser, by\npreconcerted arrangement, sallying out from behind at the head of a\nstrong force. The latter was thrown back into the town by Serurier,\nwho commanded the besiegers, but only after a fierce and deadly\nconflict on the causeway. This was the road from Mantua to a\ncountry-seat of its dukes known as \"La Favorita,\" and was chosen for\nthe sortie as having an independent citadel. Victor, with some of the\ntroops brought in from Rivoli, the \"terrible fifty-seventh\ndemi-brigade,\" as Bonaparte designated them, attacked Provera at the\nsame time, and threw his ranks into such disorder that he was glad to\nsurrender his entire force. This conflict of January sixteenth, before\nMantua, is known as the battle of La Favorita, from the stand made by\nSerurier on the road to that residence. Its results were six thousand\nprisoners, among them the Vienna volunteers with the Empress's banner,\nand many guns. In his fifty-fifth year this French soldier of fortune\nhad finally reached the climax of his career. Having fought in the\nSeven Years' War, in Portugal and in Corsica, the Revolution gave him\nhis opening. He assisted Scherer in the capture of the Maritime Alps,\nand fought with leonine power at Mondovi and these succeeding\nmovements. While his fortunes were linked with Bonaparte's they\nmounted higher and higher. As governor of Venice he was so upright and\nincorruptible as to win the sobriquet \"Virgin of Italy.\" The\ndiscouragement of defeat under Moreau in 1798 led him to retire into\ncivil life, where he was a stanch Bonapartist and faithful official to\nthe end of the Napoleonic epoch, when he rallied to the Bourbons.\n\nBonaparte estimated that so far in the Italian campaigns the army of\nthe republic had fought within four days two pitched battles, and had\nbesides been six times engaged; that they had taken, all told, nearly\ntwenty-five thousand prisoners, including a lieutenant-general, two\ngenerals, and fifteen colonels; had captured twenty standards, with\nsixty pieces of artillery, and had killed or wounded six thousand men.\n\nThis short campaign of Rivoli was the turning-point of the war, and\nmay be said to have shaped the history of Europe for twenty years.\nChroniclers dwell upon those few moments at St. Mark and the plateau\nof Rivoli, wondering what the result would have been if the Austrian\ncorps which came to turn the rear of Rivoli had arrived five minutes\nsooner. But an accurate and dispassionate criticism must decide that\nevery step in Bonaparte's success was won by careful forethought and\nby the most effective disposition of the forces at his command. So\nsure was he of success that even in the crises when Massena seemed to\nsave the day on the left, and when the Austrians seemed destined to\nwrest victory from defeat on the right, he was self-reliant and\ncheerful. The new system of field operations had a triumphant\nvindication at the hands of its author. The conquering general meted\nout unstinted praise to his invincible squadrons and their leaders,\nbut said nothing of himself, leaving the world to judge whether this\nwere man or demon who, still a youth, and within a public career of\nbut one season, had humiliated the proudest empire on the Continent,\nhad subdued Italy, and on her soil had erected states unknown before,\nwithout the consent of any great power, not excepting France. It is\nnot wonderful that this personage should sometimes have said of\nhimself, \"Say that my life began at Rivoli,\" as at other times he\ndated his military career from Toulon.\n\nWurmser's retreat to Mantua in September had been successful because\nof the strong cavalry force which accompanied it. He had been able to\nhold out for four months only by means of the flesh of their horses,\nfive thousand in number, which had been killed and salted to increase\nthe garrison stores. Even this resource was now exhausted, and after a\nfew days of delay the gallant old man sent a messenger with the usual\nconventional declarations as to his ability for further resistance, in\norder, of course, to secure the most favorable terms of surrender.\nThere is a fine anecdote in connection with the arrival of this\nmessenger at the French headquarters, which, though perhaps not\nliterally, is probably ideally, true. When the Austrian envoy entered\nSerurier's presence, another person wrapped in a cloak was sitting at\na table apparently engaged in writing. After the envoy had finished\nthe usual enumeration of the elements of strength still remaining to\nhis commander, the unknown man came forward, and, holding a written\nsheet in his hand, said: \"Here are my conditions. If Wurmser really\nhad provisions for twenty-five days, and spoke of surrender, he would\nnot deserve an honorable capitulation. But I respect the age, the\ngallantry, and the misfortunes of the marshal; and whether he opens\nhis gates to-morrow, or whether he waits fifteen days, a month, or\nthree months, he shall still have the same conditions; he may wait\nuntil his last morsel of bread has been eaten.\" The messenger was a\nclever man who afterward rendered his own name, that of Klenau,\nillustrious. He recognized Bonaparte, and, glancing at the terms,\nfound them so generous that he at once admitted the desperate straits\nof the garrison. This is substantially the account of Napoleon's\nmemoirs. In a contemporary despatch to the Directory there is nothing\nof it, for he never indulged in such details to them; but he does say\nin two other despatches what at first blush militates against its\nliteral truth. On February first, writing from Bologna, he declared\nthat he would withdraw his conditions unless Wurmser acceded before\nthe third: yet, in a letter of that very date, he indulges in a long\nand high-minded eulogium of the aged field-marshal, and declares his\nwish to show true French generosity to such a foe. The simple\nexplanation is that, having sent the terms, Bonaparte immediately\nwithdrew from Mantua to leave Serurier in command at the surrender, a\nglory he had so well deserved, and then returned to Bologna to begin\nhis final preparations against Rome. In the interval Wurmser made a\nproposition even more favorable to himself. Bonaparte petulantly\nrejected it, but with the return of his generous feeling he determined\nthat at least he would not withdraw his first offer. Captious critics\nare never content, and they even charge that when, on the tenth,\nWurmser and his garrison finally did march out, Bonaparte's absence\nwas a breach of courtesy. It requires no great ardor in his defense to\nassert, on the contrary, that in circumstances so unprecedented the\ndisparity of age between the respective representatives of the old and\nthe new military system would have made Bonaparte's presence another\ndrop in the bitter cup of the former. The magnanimity of the young\nconqueror in connection with the fall of Mantua was genuine, and\nhighly honorable to him. So at least thought Wurmser himself, who\nwrote a most kindly letter to Bonaparte, forewarning him that a plot\nhad been formed in Bologna to poison him with that noted, but never\nseen, compound so famous in Italian history--aqua tofana.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nHumiliation of the Papacy and of Venice[69].\n\n              [Footnote 69: The authorities for the following three\n              chapters are partly as before, but in particular the\n              following: Vivenot: Thugut, Clerfayt. Correspondance de\n              Thugut avec Colloredo. Hueffer: Oesterreich und Preussen,\n              etc.; Der Rastatter Congress. Von Sybel: Geschichte der\n              Revolutions Zeit. Bailleu: Preussen und Frankreich.\n              Sandoz-Rollin: Amtliche Sammlung von Akten aus der Zeit\n              der Helvetischen Republic. Sorel: Bonaparte et Hoche;\n              Bonaparte et le Directoire; also articles in the Revue\n              Historique, 1885. Sciout: Le Directoire, also article in\n              Revue des questions historiques, 1886. Boulay de la\n              Meurthe: Quelques lettres de Marie Caroline; Revue\n              d'histoire diplomatique, 1888. Barante: Histoire du\n              Directoire and Souvenirs. McClellan: The Oligarchy of\n              Venice. Bonnal: Chute d'une republique. Seche: Les\n              origines du Concordat. Dandolo: La caduta della\n              republica di Venetia. Romanin: Storia documentata di\n              Venezia. Sloane: The French Revolution and Religious\n              Reform. In general and further, the memoirs of Marmont,\n              Chaptal, Landrieux, Carnot, Larevelliere-Lepeaux\n              (probably not genuine), Mathieu Dumas, Thibaudeau, Miot\n              de Melito, and the correspondence of Mallet du Pan.]\n\n     Rome Threatened -- Pius VI Surrenders -- The Peace of\n     Tolentino -- Bonaparte and the Papacy -- Designs for the\n     Orient -- France Reassured -- The Policy of Austria -- The\n     Archduke Charles -- Bonaparte Hampered by the Directory --\n     His Treatment of Venice -- Condition of Venetia -- The\n     Commonwealth Warned.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1797.]\n\nBonaparte seems after Rivoli to have reached the conviction that a man\nwho had brought such glory to the arms of France was at least as firm\nin the affections of her people as was the Directory, which had no\nhold on them whatever, except in its claim to represent the\nRevolution. Clarke had reached Milan on November twenty-ninth, 1796.\nBonaparte read him like an open scroll, discovering instantly that\nthis graceful courtier had been commissioned to keep the little\ngeneral in his place as a subordinate, and use him to make peace at\nany price. Possessing the full confidence of Carnot and almost\ncertainly of the entire Directory, the easily won diplomat revealed to\nhis lean, long-haired, ill-clad, penetrating, and facile inquisitor\nthe precious contents of the governmental mind. The religious\nrevolution in France had utterly failed, riotous vice had spread\nconsternation even in infidel minds, there was in the return a mighty\nflood tide of orthodoxy; if the political revolution was to be saved\nat all, it was at the price of peace, and peace very quickly. The\nDirectory had had little right to its distinction as savior of the\nrepublic from the beginning, and even that was daily disputed by ever\nincreasing numbers: the most visible and dazzling representative of\nthe Revolution was now the Army of Italy. It was not for \"those\nrascally lawyers,\" as Bonaparte afterward called the directors, that\nhis great battle of Rivoli had been fought. With this fact in view,\nthe short ensuing campaign against Pius VI, and its consequences, are\neasily understood. It was true, as the French general proclaimed, that\nRome had kept the stipulations of the armistice neither in a pacific\nbehavior nor in the payment of her indemnity, and was fomenting\nresistance to the French arms throughout the peninsula. To the\nDirectory, which had desired the entire overthrow of the papacy,\nBonaparte proposed that with this in view, Rome should be handed over\nto Spain. Behind these pretexts he gathered at Bologna an indifferent\nforce of eleven thousand soldiers, composed, one half of his own men,\nthe other half of Italians fired with revolutionary zeal, and of\nPoles, a people who, since the recent dismemberment of their country,\nwere wooing France as a possible ally in its reconstruction. The main\ndivision marched against Ancona; a smaller one of two thousand men\ndirected its course through Tuscany into the valley of the Tiber.\n\nThe position of the Pope was utterly desperate. The Spaniards had once\nbeen masters of Italy; they were now the natural allies of France\nagainst Austria, and Bonaparte's leniency to Parma and Naples had\nstrengthened the bond. The reigning king at Naples, Ferdinand IV of\nthe Two Sicilies, was one of the Spanish Bourbons; but his very able\nand masterful wife was the daughter of Maria Theresa. His position was\ntherefore peculiar: if he had dared, he would have sent an army to the\nPope's support, for thus far his consort had shaped his policy in the\ninterest of Austria; but knowing full well that defeat would mean the\nlimitation of his domain to the island of Sicily, he preferred to\nremain neutral, and pick up what crumbs he could get from Bonaparte's\ntable. For this there were excellent reasons. The English fleet had\nbeen more or less unfortunate since the spring of 1796: Bonaparte's\nvictories, being supplemented by the activity of the French cruisers,\nhad made it difficult for it to remain in the Mediterranean; Corsica\nwas abandoned in September; and in October the squadron of Admiral\nMann was literally chased into the Atlantic by the Spaniards.\nFerdinand, therefore, could expect no help from the British. As to the\npapal mercenaries, they had long been the laughing-stock of Europe.\nThey did not now belie their character. Not a single serious\nengagement was fought; at Ancona and Loretto twelve hundred prisoners,\nwith a treasure valued at seven million francs, were taken without a\nblow; and on February nineteenth Bonaparte dictated the terms of peace\nat Tolentino.\n\nThe terms were not such as either the Pope or the Directory expected.\nFar from it. To be sure, there was, over and above the first ransom, a\nnew money indemnity of three million dollars, making, when added to\nwhat had been exacted in the previous summer, a total of more than\nseven. Further stipulations were the surrender of the legations of\nBologna and Ferrara, together with the Romagna; consent to the\nincorporation into France of Avignon and the Venaissin, the two papal\npossessions in the Rhone valley which had already been annexed; and\nthe temporary delivery of Ancona as a pledge for the fulfilment of\nthese engagements; further still, the dispersion of the papal army,\nwith satisfaction for the killing in a street row of Basseville, the\nFrench plenipotentiary. This, however, was far short of the\nannihilation of the papacy as a temporal power. More than that, the\nvital question of ecclesiastical authority was not mentioned except to\nguarantee it in the surrendered legations. To the Directory Bonaparte\nexplained that with such mutilations the Roman edifice would fall of\nits own weight; and yet he gave his powerful protection to the French\npriests who had refused the oaths to the civil constitution required\nby the republic, and who, having renounced their allegiance, had found\nan asylum in the Papal States. This latter step was taken in the role\nof humanitarian. In reality, this first open and radical departure\nfrom the policy of the Directory assured to Bonaparte the most\nunbounded personal popularity with faithful Roman Catholics\neverywhere, and was a step preliminary to his further alliance with\nthe papacy. The unthinking masses began to compare the captivity of\nthe Roman Church in France, which was the work of her government, with\nthe widely different fate of her faithful adherents at Rome under the\nhumane control of Bonaparte.\n\nMoreover, it was the French citizen collectors, and not the army, who\ncontinued to scour every town for art plunder. It was believed that\nItaly had finally given up \"all that was curious and valuable except\nsome few objects at Turin and Naples,\" including the famous\nwonder-working image of the Lady of Loretto. The words quoted were\nused by Bonaparte in a despatch to the Directory, which inclosed a\ncurious document of very different character. Such had been the\ngratitude of Pius for his preservation that he despatched a legate\nwith his apostolic blessing for the \"dear son\" who had snatched the\npapal power from the very jaws of destruction. \"Dear son\" was merely a\nformal phrase, and a gracious answer was returned from the French\nheadquarters. This equally formal letter of Bonaparte's was forwarded\nto Paris, where, as he knew would be the case, it was regarded as a\ngood joke by the Directory, who were supposed to consider their\ngeneral's diplomacy as altogether patriotic. But, as no doubt the\nwriter foresaw, it had an altogether different effect on the public.\nFrom that instant every pious Roman Catholic, not only in France, but\nthroughout Europe, whatever his attitude toward the Directory, was\neither an avowed ally of Bonaparte or at least willing to await events\nin a neutral spirit. As for the papacy, henceforward it was a tool in\nthe conqueror's hand: he was determined to use it as an indispensable\nbulwark for public decency and political stability. One of the\ncardinals gave the gracious preserver of his order a bust of Alexander\nthe Great: it was a common piece of flattery after the peace to say\nthat Bonaparte was, like Alexander, a Greek in stature, and, like\nCaesar, a Roman in power.\n\nWhile at Ancona, Bonaparte had a temporary relapse into his yearning\nfor Oriental power. He wrote describing the harbor as the only good\none on the Adriatic south of Venice, and explaining how invaluable it\nwas for the influence of France on Turkey, since it controlled\ncommunication with Constantinople, and Macedonia was but twenty-four\nhours distant. With this despatch he inclosed letters from the Czar to\nthe Grand Master of Malta which had been seized on the person of a\ncourier. It was by an easy association of ideas that not long\nafterward Bonaparte began to make suggestions for the seizure of Malta\nand for a descent into Egypt. These, as elsewhere explained, were old\nschemes of French foreign policy, and by no means original with him;\nbut having long been kept in the background, they were easily\nrecalled, the more so because in a short time both the new dictator\nand the Directory seemed to find in them a remedy for their strained\nrelations.\n\nWhen the news of Rivoli reached Paris on January twenty-fifth, 1797,\nthe city went into a delirium of joy. To Clarke were sent that very\nday instructions suggesting concessions to Austria for the sake of\npeace, but enjoining him to consult Bonaparte at every step! To the\nconqueror direct, only two days later, was recommended in explicit\nterms the overthrow of Romanism in religion, \"the most dangerous\nobstacle to the establishment of the French constitution.\" This was a\nnew tone and the general might assume that his treaty of Tolentino\nwould be ratified. Further, he was assured that whatever terms of\npeace he might dictate to Austria under the walls of Vienna, whether\ndistasteful to the Directory or not, were sure of being accepted by\nthe French nation.\n\nMeantime the foreign affairs of Austria had fallen into a most\nprecarious condition. Not only had the departure of the English fleet\nfrom the Mediterranean furthered Bonaparte's success in Italy, but\nRussia had given notice of an altered policy. If the modern state\nsystem of Europe had rested on any one doctrine more firmly than on\nanother, it was on the theory of territorial boundaries, and the\ninviolability of national existence. Yet, in defiance of all right and\nall international law, Prussia, Russia, and Austria had in 1772\nswooped down like vultures on Poland, and parted large portions of her\nstill living body among themselves. The operation was so much to their\nliking that it had been repeated in 1792, and completed in 1795. The\nlast division had been made with the understanding that, in return for\nthe lion's share which she received, Russia would give active\nassistance to Austria in her designs on northern Italy. Not content\nwith the Milanese and a protectorate over Modena, Francis had already\ncast his eyes on the Venetian mainland. But when on November\nseventeenth, 1796, the great Catherine had died, and her successor,\nPaul, had refused to be bound by his mother's engagements, all hope of\nfurther aid vanishing, the empire, defeated at Rivoli, was in more\ncruel straits than ever. Prussia was consolidating herself into a\ngreat power likely in the end to destroy Austrian influence in the\nGermanic Diet, which controlled the affairs of the empire. Both in\nItaly and in Germany her rival's fortunes were in the last degree of\njeopardy. Thugut might well exclaim that Catherine's death was the\nclimax of Austria's misfortunes.\n\nThe hour was dark indeed for Austria; and in the crisis Thugut, the\nable and courageous minister of the Emperor, made up his mind at last\nto throw, not some or the most, but all his master's military strength\ninto Italy. The youthful Archduke Charles, who had won great glory as\nthe conqueror of Jourdan, was accordingly summoned from Germany with\nthe strength of his army to break through the Tyrol, and prevent the\nFrench from taking the now open road to Vienna. This brother of the\nEmperor, though but twenty-five years old, was in his day second only\nto Bonaparte as a general. The splendid persistence with which Austria\nraised one great army after another to oppose France was worthy of her\ntraditions. Even when these armies were commanded by veterans of the\nold school, they were terrible: it seemed to the cabinet at Vienna\nthat if Charles were left to lead them in accordance with his own\ndesigns they would surely be victorious. Had he and his Army of the\nRhine been in Italy from the outset, they thought, the result might\nhave been different. Perhaps they were right; but his tardy arrival at\nthe eleventh hour was destined to avail nothing. The Aulic Council\nordered him into Friuli, a district of the Italian Alps on the borders\nof Venice, where another army--the sixth within a year--was to\nassemble for the protection of the Austrian frontier and await the\narrival of the veterans from Germany. This force, unlike the other\nfive, was composed of heterogeneous elements, and, until further\nstrengthened, inferior in numbers to the French, who had finally been\nreinforced by fifteen thousand men, under Bernadotte, from the Army of\nthe Sambre and Meuse.\n\nWhen Bonaparte started from Mantua for the Alps, his position was the\nstrongest he had so far secured. The Directory had until then shown\ntheir uneasy jealousy of him by refusing the reinforcements which he\nwas constantly demanding. It had become evident that the approaching\nelections would result in destroying their ascendancy in the Five\nHundred, and that more than ever they must depend for support on the\narmy. Accordingly they had swallowed their pride, and made Bonaparte\nstrong. This change in the policy of the government likewise affected\nthe south and east of France most favorably for his purposes. The\npersonal pique of the generals commanding in those districts had\nsubjected him to many inconveniences as to communications with Paris,\nas well as in the passage of troops, stores, and the like. They now\nrecognized that in the approaching political crisis the fate of the\nrepublic would hang on the army, and for that reason they must needs\nbe complaisant with its foremost figure, whose exploits had dimmed\neven those of Hoche in the Netherlands and western France. Italy was\naltogether subdued, and there was not a hostile power in the rear of\nthe great conqueror. Among many of the conquered his name was even\nbeloved: for the people of Milan his life and surroundings had the\nsame interest as if he were their own sovereign prince. In front,\nhowever, the case was different; for the position of the Archduke\nCharles left the territory of Venice directly between the hostile\narmies in such a way as apparently to force Bonaparte into adopting a\ndefinite policy for the treatment of that power.\n\nFor the moment, however, there was no declaration of his decision by\nthe French commander-in-chief; not even a formal proposal to treat\nwith the Venetian oligarchy, which, to all outward appearance, had\nremained as haughty as ever, as dark and inscrutable in its dealings,\nas doubtful in the matter of good faith. And yet a method in\nBonaparte's dealing with it was soon apparent, which, though unlike\nany he had used toward other Italian powers, was perfectly adapted to\nthe ends he had in view. He had already violated Venetian neutrality,\nand intended to disregard it entirely. As a foretaste of what that\nrepublic might expect, French soldiers were let loose to pillage her\ntowns until the inhabitants were so exasperated that they retaliated\nby killing a few of their spoilers. Then began a persistent and\nexasperating process of charges and complaints and admonitions, until\nthe origins of the respective offenses were forgotten in the\nintervening recriminations. Then, as a warning to all who sought to\nendanger the \"friendly relations\" between the countries, a troop of\nFrench soldiers would be thrown here into one town, there into\nanother. This process went on without an interval, and with merciless\nvigor, until the Venetian officials were literally distracted.\nRemonstrance was in vain: Bonaparte laughed at forms. Finally, when\nprotest had proved unavailing, the harried oligarchy began at last to\narm, and it was not long before forty thousand men, mostly Slavonic\nmercenaries, were enlisted under its banner. With his usual\nconciliatory blandness, Bonaparte next proposed to the senate a treaty\nof alliance, offensive and defensive.\n\nThis was not a mere diplomatic move. Certain considerations might well\nincline the oligarchy to accept the plan. There was no love lost\nbetween the towns of the Venetian mainland and the city itself; for\nthe aristocracy of the latter would write no names in its Golden Book\nexcept those of its own houses. The revolutionary movement had,\nmoreover, already so heightened the discontent which had spread\neastward from the Milanese, and was now prevalent in Brescia, Bergamo,\nand Peschiera, that these cities really favored Bonaparte, and longed\nto separate from Venice. Further than this, the Venetian senate had\nearly in January been informed by its agents in Paris of a rumor that\nat the conclusion of peace Austria would indemnify herself with\nVenetian territory for the loss of the Milanese. The disquiet of the\noutlying cities on the borders of Lombardy was due to a desire for\nunion with the Transpadane Republic. They little knew for what a\ndifferent fate Bonaparte destined them. He was really holding that\nportion of the mainland in which they were situated as an indemnity\nfor Austria. Venice was almost sure to lose them in any case, and he\nfelt that if she refused the French alliance he could then, with less\nshow of injustice, tender them and their territories to Francis, in\nexchange for Belgium. He offered, however, if the republic should\naccept his proposition, to assure the loyalty of its cities, provided\nonly the Venetians would inscribe the chief families of the mainland\nin the Golden Book.\n\nBut in spite of such a suggestive warning, the senate of the\ncommonwealth adhered to its policy of perfect neutrality. Bonaparte\nconsented to this decision, but ordered it to disarm, agreeing in that\nevent to control the liberals on the mainland, and to guarantee the\nVenetian territories, leaving behind troops enough both to secure\nthose ends and to guard his own communications. If these should be\ntampered with, he warned the senate that the knell of Venetian\nindependence would toll forthwith. No one can tell what would have\nbeen in store for the proud city if she had chosen the alternative,\nnot of neutrality, but of an alliance with France. Bonaparte always\nmade his plan in two ways, and it is probable that her ultimate fate\nwould have been identical in either case.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nThe Preliminaries of Peace--Leoben.\n\n     Austrian Plans for the Last Italian Campaign -- The Battle\n     on the Tagliamento -- Retreat of the Archduke Charles --\n     Bonaparte's Proclamation to the Carinthians -- Joubert\n     Withdraws from the Tyrol -- Bonaparte's \"Philosophical\"\n     Letter -- His Situation at Leoben -- The Negotiations for\n     Peace -- Character of the Treaty -- Bonaparte's Rude\n     Diplomacy -- French Successes on the Rhine -- Plots of the\n     Directory -- The Uprising of Venetia -- War with Venice.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1797.]\n\nThe Aulic Council at Vienna prepared for the Archduke Charles a\nmodification of the same old plan, only this time the approach was\ndown the Piave and the Tagliamento, rivers which rise among the\ngrotesque Dolomites and in the Carnic Alps. They flow south like the\nAdige and the Brenta, but their valleys are wider where they open into\nthe lowlands, and easier of access. The auxiliary force, under\nLusignan, was now to the westward on the Piave, while the main force,\nunder Charles, was waiting for reinforcements in the broad intervales\non the upper reaches of the Tagliamento, through which ran the direct\nroad to Vienna. This time the order of attack was exactly reversed,\nbecause Bonaparte, with his strengthened army of about seventy-five\nthousand men, resolved to take the offensive before the expected\nlevies from the Austrian army of the Rhine should reach the camp of\nhis foe. The campaign was not long, for there was no resistance from\nthe inhabitants, as there would have been in the German Alps, among\nthe Tyrolese, Bonaparte's embittered enemies; and the united force of\nAustria was far inferior to that of France. Joubert, with eighteen\nthousand men, was left to repress the Tyrol. Though only twenty-eight\nyears old, he had risen from a volunteer in the files through every\nrank and was now division general. He had gained renown on the Rhine\nand found the climax of his fame in this expedition, which he so\nbrilliantly conducted that at the close of the campaign he was chosen\nto carry the captured standards to Paris. He was acclaimed as a coming\nman. But thereafter his achievements were mediocre and he fell\nmortally wounded on August fifteenth, 1799, at the battle of Novi\nwhile rallying an army destined to defeat. Two small forces under\nKilmaine and Victor associated with Lannes were detailed to watch\nVenice and Rome respectively; but the general good order of Italy was\nintrusted to the native legions which Bonaparte had organized. Fate\nhad little more in store for Kilmaine, the gallant Irish cavalryman,\nwho was among the foremost generals of his army. Already a veteran\nforty-six years old, as veterans were then reckoned, he had fought in\nAmerica and on the Rhine and had filled the cup of his glory at\nPeschiera, Castiglione, and Mantua. He was yet to be governor of\nLombardy and end his career by mortal disease when in chief command of\nthe \"Army of England.\" Victor, wounded at Toulon, general of brigade\nin the Pyrenees, a subordinate officer to the unsuccessful Scherer in\nItaly, quickly rose under Bonaparte to be division general. Of lowly\nbirth, he had scarcely reached his thirty-fourth year when on this\noccasion he exhibited both military and diplomatic talent of a high\norder. Throughout the consulate and empire he held one important\noffice after another, so successfully that he commended himself even\nto the Bourbons, and died in 1841, full of years and honors. Lannes\nwas now twenty-eight. The child of poor parents, he began life as a\ndyer's apprentice, enlisted when twenty-three and was a colonel within\ntwo years, so astounding were his courage and natural gifts. Detailed\nto serve under Bonaparte, the two became bosom friends. A plain, blunt\nman, Lannes was as fierce as a war dog and as faithful. Throughout the\nfollowing years he followed Bonaparte in all his enterprises, and\nNapoleon on the Marchfeld, in 1809, wept bitterly when his faithful\nmonitor was shot to pieces.\n\nMassena advanced up the Piave against Lusignan, captured his\nrear-guard, and drove him away northward beyond Belluno, while the\nArchduke, thus separated from his right, withdrew to guard the road\ninto Carniola. Bonaparte, with his old celerity, reached the banks of\nthe Tagliamento opposite the Austrian position on March sixteenth,\nlong before he was expected. His troops had marched all night, but\nalmost immediately they made a feint as if to force a crossing in the\nface of their enemy. The Austrians on the left bank awaited the onset\nin perfect order, and in dispositions of cavalry, artillery, and\ninfantry admirably adapted to the ground. It seemed as if the first\nmeeting of the two young generals would fall out to the advantage of\nCharles. But he was neither as wily nor as indefatigable as his enemy.\nThe French drew back, apparently exhausted, and bivouacked as if for\nthe night. The Austrians, expecting nothing further that day, and\nstanding on the defensive, followed the example of their opponents.\nTwo hours elapsed, when suddenly the whole French army rose like one\nman, and, falling into line without an instant's delay, rushed for the\nstream, which at that spot was swift but fordable, flowing between\nwide, low banks of gravel. The surprise was complete; the stream was\ncrossed, and the Austrians had barely time to form when the French\nwere upon them. They fought with gallantry for three hours until\ntheir flank was turned. They then drew off in an orderly retreat,\nabandoning many guns and losing some prisoners.\n\nMassena, waiting behind the intervening ridge for the signal, advanced\nat the first sound of cannon into the upper valley of the same stream,\ncrossed it, and beset the passes of the Italian Alps, by which\ncommunication with the Austrian capital was quickest. Charles had\nnothing left, therefore, but to withdraw due eastward across the great\ndivide of the Alps, where they bow toward the Adriatic, and pass into\nthe valley of the Isonzo, behind that full and rushing stream, which\nhe fondly hoped would stop the French pursuit. The frost, however, had\nbridged it in several places, and these were quickly found. Bernadotte\nand Serurier stormed the fortress of Gradisca, and captured two\nthousand five hundred men, while Massena seized the fort at the Chiusa\nVeneta, and, scattering a whole division of flying Austrians, captured\nfive thousand with their stores and equipments. He then attacked and\nrouted the enemy's guard on the Pontebba pass, occupied Tarvis, and\nthus cut off their communication with the Puster valley, by which the\nAustrian detachment from the Rhine was to arrive. It was in this\ncampaign that Bernadotte laid the foundation of his future greatness.\nHe was the son of a lawyer in Pau, where he was born in 1764.\nEnlisting as a common soldier, he was wounded in Corsica, became chief\nof battalion under Custine, general of brigade under Kleber, and\ncommanded a division at Fleurus. The previous year he had shared the\ndefeat of Jourdan on the Rhine, but under Bonaparte he became a famous\nparticipant in victory. A Jacobin democrat, he was later entrusted by\nthe Directory with important missions, but in these he had little\nsuccess. It was as a soldier that he rose in the coming years to\nheights which in his own mind awakened a rivalry with Napoleon;\nambitious for the highest rank, he made a great match with the\nsister-in-law of Joseph Bonaparte, and so managed his affairs that, as\nis well known, he ended on the throne of Sweden and founded the\nreigning house of that kingdom.\n\nBonaparte wooed the stupefied Carinthians with his softly worded\nproclamations, and his advancing columns were unharassed by the\npeasantry while he pushed farther on, capturing Klagenfurt, and\nseizing both Triest and Fiume, the only harbors on the Austrian shore.\nHe then returned with the main body of his troops, and, crossing the\npass of Tarvis, entered Germany at Villach. \"We are come,\" he said to\nthe inhabitants, \"not as enemies, but as friends, to end a terrible\nwar imposed by England on a ministry bought with her gold.\" And the\npopulace, listening to his siren voice, believed him. All this was\naccomplished before the end of March; and Charles, his army reduced to\nless than three fourths, was resting northward on the road to Vienna,\nbeyond the river Mur, exhausted, and expecting daily that he would be\ncompelled to a further retreat.\n\nJoubert had not been so successful. According to instructions, he had\npushed up the Adige as far as Brixen, into the heart of the hostile\nTyrol. The Austrians had again called the mountaineers to arms, and a\nconsiderable force under Laudon was gathered to resist the invaders.\nIt had been a general but most indefinite understanding between\nBonaparte and the Directory that Moreau was again to cross the Rhine\nand advance once more, this time for a junction with Joubert to march\nagainst Vienna. But the directors, in an access of suspicion, had\nbroken their word, and, pleading their penury, had not taken a step\ntoward fitting out the Army of the North. Moreau was therefore not\nwithin reach; he had not even crossed the Rhine. Consequently Joubert\nwas in straits, for the whole country had now risen against him. It\nwas with difficulty that he had advanced, and with serious loss that\nhe fought one terrible battle after another; finally, however, he\nforced his way into the valley of the Drave, and marched down that\nriver to join Bonaparte. This was regarded by Bonaparte as a\nremarkable feat, but by the Austrians as a virtual repulse; both the\nTyrol and Venice were jubilant, and the effects spread as far eastward\nas the Austrian provinces of the Adriatic. Triest and Fiume had not\nbeen garrisoned, and the Austrians occupied them once more; the\nVenetian senate organized a secret insurrection, which broke out\nsimultaneously in many places, and was suppressed only after many of\nthe French, some of them invalids in the hospitals, had been murdered.\n\nOn March thirty-first, Bonaparte, having received definite and\nofficial information that he could expect no immediate support from\nthe Army of the Rhine, addressed from Klagenfurt to the Archduke what\nhe called a \"philosophical\" letter, calling attention to the fact that\nit was England which had embroiled France and Austria, powers which\nhad really no grievance one against the other. Would a prince, so far\nremoved by lofty birth from the petty weaknesses of ministers and\ngovernments, not intervene as the savior of Germany to end the\nmiseries of a useless war? \"As far as I myself am concerned, if the\ncommunication I have the honor to be making should save the life of a\nsingle man, I should be prouder of that civic crown than of the sad\nrenown which results from military success.\" At the same time Massena\nwas pressing forward into the valley of the Mur, across the passes of\nNeumarkt; and before the end of the week his seizure of St. Michael\nand Leoben had cut off the last hope of a junction between the forces\nof Charles and his expected reinforcements from the Rhine. Austria was\ncarrying on her preparations of war with the same proud determination\nshe had always shown, and Charles continued his disastrous hostilities\nwith Massena. But when Thugut received the \"philosophical\" letter from\nBonaparte, which Charles had promptly forwarded to Vienna, the\nimperial cabinet did not hesitate, and plenipotentiaries were soon on\ntheir way to Leoben.\n\nThe situation of Bonaparte at Leoben was by no means what the position\nof the French forces within ninety miles of Vienna would seem to\nindicate. The revolutionary movement in Venetia, silently but\neffectually fostered by the French garrisons, had been successful in\nBergamo, Brescia, and Salo. The senate, in despair, sent envoys to\nBonaparte at Goeritz. His reply was conciliatory, but he declared that\nhe would do nothing unless the city of Venice should make the\nlong-desired concession about inscriptions in the Golden Book. At the\nsame time he demanded a monthly payment of a million francs in lieu of\nall requisitions on its territory. At Paris the Venetian ambassador\nhad no better success, and with the news of Joubert's withdrawal from\nthe Tyrol a terrible insurrection broke out, which sacrificed many\nFrench lives at Verona and elsewhere. Bonaparte's suggestions for the\npreliminaries of peace with Austria had been drawn up before the news\nof that event reached him: but with the Tyrol and Venice all aflame in\nhis rear, and threatening his connections; with no prospect of\nassistance from Moreau in enforcing his demands; and with a growing\nhostility showing itself among the populations of the hereditary\nstates of Austria into which he had penetrated, it was not wonderful\nthat his original design was confirmed. \"At Leoben,\" he once said, in\na gambler's metaphor, \"I was playing twenty-one, and I had only\ntwenty.\"\n\nWhen, therefore, Merveldt and Gallo, the duly accredited\nplenipotentiaries of Austria, and General Bonaparte, representing the\nFrench republic, but with no formal powers from its government, met in\nthe castle of Goess at Leoben, they all knew that the situation of the\nFrench was very precarious indeed, and that the terms to be made could\nnot be those dictated by a triumphant conqueror in the full tide of\nvictory. Neither party had any scruples about violating the public law\nof Europe by the destruction of another nationality; but they needed\nsome pretext. While they were in the opening stages of negotiation the\npretext came; for on April ninth Bonaparte received news of the\nmurders to which reference has been made, and of an engagement at\nSalo, provoked by the French, in which the Bergamask mountaineers had\ncaptured three hundred of the garrison, mostly Poles. This affair was\nonly a little more serious than numerous other conflicts incident to\npartisan warfare which were daily occurring; but it was enough. With a\nfeigned fury the French general addressed the Venetian senate as if\ntheir land were utterly irreconcilable, and demanded from them\nimpossible acts of reparation. Junot was despatched to Venice with the\nmessage, and delivered it from the floor of the senate on April\nfifteenth, the very day on which his chief was concluding negotiations\nfor the delivery of the Venetian mainland to Austria.\n\nSo strong had the peace party in Vienna become, and such was the\nterror of its inhabitants at seeing the court hide its treasures and\nprepare to fly into Hungary, that the plenipotentiaries could only\naccept the offer of Bonaparte, which they did with ill-concealed\ndelight. There was but one point of difference, the grand duchy of\nModena, which Francis for the honor of his house was determined to\nkeep, if possible. With Tuscany, Modena, and the Venetian mainland all\nin their hands, the Austrian authorities felt that time would surely\nrestore to them the lost Milanese. But Bonaparte was obdurate. On the\neighteenth the preliminaries were closed and adopted. The Austrians\nsolemnly declared at the time that, when the papers were to be\nexchanged formally, Bonaparte presented a copy which purported to be a\ncounterpart of what had been mutually arranged. Essential differences\nwere, however, almost immediately marked by the recipients, and when\nthey announced their discovery with violent clamor, the cool,\nsarcastic general produced without remark another copy, which was\nfound to be a correct reproduction of the preliminary terms agreed\nupon. This coarse and silly ruse seems to have been a favorite device,\nfor it was tried later in another conspicuous instance, the\nnegotiation of the Concordat. According to the authentic articles,\nFrance was to have Belgium, with the \"limits of France\" as decreed by\nthe laws of the republic, a purposely ambiguous expression. In this\npreliminary outline the Rhine boundary was not mentioned. The\nterritory of the Empire was also guaranteed. These flat contradictions\nindicate something like panic on both sides, and duplicity at least on\none and probably on both, for Thugut's correspondence indicates his\nfirm purpose to despoil and destroy Venice. In any case Austria\nobtained the longed-for mainland of Venice as far as the river Oglio,\ntogether with Istria and Dalmatia, the Venetian dependencies beyond\nthe Adriatic, while Venice herself was to be nominally indemnified by\nthe receipt of the three papal legations, Bologna, Ferrara, and the\nRomagna, which had just been erected into the Transpadane Republic!\nModena was to be united with Mantua, Reggio, and the Milanese into a\ngreat central republic, which would always be dependent on France, and\nwas to be connected with her territory by way of Genoa. Some of the\narticles were secret, and all were subject to immaterial changes in\nthe final negotiations for definitive peace, which were to be carried\non later at Bern, chosen for the purpose as being a neutral city.\n\nBonaparte explained, in a letter to the Directory, that whatever\noccurred, the Papal States could never become an integral part of\nVenice, and would always be under French influences. His sincerity was\nno greater, as the event showed, concerning the very existence of\nVenice herself. The terms he had made were considered at Vienna most\nfavorable, and there was great rejoicing in that capital. But it was\nsignificant that in the routine negotiations the old-school\ndiplomatists had been sadly shocked by the behavior of their military\nantagonist, who, though a mere tyro in their art, was very hard to\ndeal with. At the outset, for instance, they had proposed to\nincorporate, as the first article in the preliminaries, that for which\nthe Directory had long been negotiating with Austria, a recognition of\nthe French republic. \"Strike that out,\" said Bonaparte. \"The Republic\nis like the sun on the horizon--all the worse for him who will not see\nit.\" This was but a foretaste of ruder dealings which followed, and of\nstill more violent breaches with tradition in the long negotiations\nwhich were to ensue over the definitive treaty.\n\nThe very day on which the signatures were affixed at Leoben, the\nAustrian arms were humbled by Hoche on the Rhine. Moreau had not been\nable to move for lack of a paltry sum which he was begging for, but\ncould not obtain, from the Directory. Hoche, chafing at similar\ndelays, and anxious to atone for Jourdan's failure of the previous\nyear, finally set forth, and, crossing at Neuwied, advanced to\nHeddersdorf, where he attacked the Austrians, who had been weakened to\nstrengthen the Archduke Charles. They were routed with a loss of six\nthousand prisoners. Another considerable force was nearly surrounded\nwhen a sudden stop was put to Hoche's career by the arrival of a\ncourier from Leoben. Though, soon after, the ministry of war was\noffered to him, he declined. It was apparently prescience of the fact\nthat the greatest laurels were still to be won which led him to\nrefuse, and return to his headquarters at Wetzlar. There a mysterious\nmalady, still attributed by many to poison, ended his brief and\nglorious career on September eighteenth, 1797. His laurels were such\nas adorn only a character full of promise, serene and generous alike\nin success and defeat. In the Black Forest, Desaix, having crossed the\nRhine with Moreau's army below Strasburg, was likewise driving the\nAustrians before him. He too was similarly checked, and these\nbrilliant achievements came all too late. No advantage was gained by\nthem in the terms of peace, and the glory of humiliating Austria\nremained to Bonaparte. Desaix was an Auvergnat, an aristocrat of\nfamous pedigree, carefully trained as a cadet to the military career.\nHe was now twenty-nine, having served on the Rhine as Victor's\nadjutant, as general of brigade in the Army of the Moselle, and as\ngeneral of division under Jourdan and Moreau. Transferred to Italy, he\nbecame the confidential friend and stanch supporter of Bonaparte. His\nmanner was winning, his courage contagious, his liberal principles\nunquestioned. No finer figure appears on the battle-fields of the\nDirectory and Consulate.\n\nThroughout all France there was considerable dissatisfaction with\nBonaparte's moderation, and a feeling among extreme republicans,\nespecially in the Directory, that he should have destroyed the\nAustrian monarchy. Larevelliere and Rewbell were altogether of this\nopinion, and the corrupt Barras to a certain extent, for he had taken\na bribe of six hundred thousand francs from the Venetian ambassador at\nParis, to compel the repression by Bonaparte of the rebels on the\nmainland. The correspondence of various emissaries connected with this\naffair fell into the general's hands at Milan, and put the Directory\nmore completely at his mercy than ever. On April nineteenth, however,\nhe wrote as if in reply to such strictures as might be made: \"If at\nthe beginning of the campaign I had persisted in going to Turin, I\nnever should have passed the Po; if I had persisted in going to Rome,\nI should have lost Milan; if I had persisted in going to Vienna,\nperhaps I should have overthrown the Republic.\" He well understood\nthat fear would yield what despair might refuse. It was a matter of\ncourse that when the terms of Leoben reached Paris the Directory\nratified them: even though they had been irregularly negotiated by an\nunauthorized agent, they separated England from Austria, and crushed\nthe coalition. One thing, however, the directors notified Bonaparte he\nmust not do; that was, to interfere further in the affairs of Venice.\nThis order reached him on May eighth; but just a week before, Venice,\nas an independent state, had ceased to exist.\n\nAccident and crafty prearrangement had combined to bring the affairs\nof that ancient commonwealth to such a crisis. The general\ninsurrection and the fight at Salo had given a pretext for disposing\nof the Venetian mainland; soon after, the inevitable results of French\noccupation afforded the opportunity for destroying the oligarchy\naltogether. The evacuation of Verona by the garrison of its former\nmasters had been ordered as a part of the general disarmament of\nItaly. The Veronese were intensely, fiercely indignant on learning\nthat they were to be transferred to a hated allegiance; and on April\nseventeenth, when a party appeared to reinforce the French troops\nalready there, the citizens rose in a frenzy of indignation, and drove\nthe hated invaders into the citadel. During the following days, three\nhundred of the French civilians in the town, all who had not been able\nto find refuge, were massacred; old and young, sick and well. At the\nsame time a detachment of Austrians under Laudon came in from the\nTyrol to join Fioravente, the Venetian general, and his Slavs. This of\ncourse increased the tumult, for the French began to bombard the city\nfrom the citadel. For a moment the combined besiegers, exaggerating\nthe accounts of Joubert's withdrawal and of Moreau's failure to\nadvance, hoped for ultimate success, and the overthrow of the French.\nBut rumors from Leoben caused the Austrians to withdraw up the Adige,\nand a Lombard regiment came to the assistance of the French. The\nVenetian forces were captured, and the city was disarmed; so also were\nPeschiera, Castelnuovo, and many others which had made no resistance.\n\nTwo days after this furious outbreak of Veronese resentment,--an event\nwhich is known to the French as the Veronese Passover,--occurred\nanother, of vastly less importance in itself, but having perhaps even\nmore value as cumulative evidence that the wound already inflicted by\nBonaparte on the Venetian state was mortal. A French vessel, flying\nbefore two Austrian cruisers, appeared off the Lido, and anchored\nunder the arsenal. It was contrary to immemorial custom for an armed\nvessel to enter the harbor of Venice, and the captain was ordered to\nweigh anchor. He refused. Thereupon, in stupid zeal, the guns of the\nVenetian forts opened on the ship. Many of the crew were killed, and\nthe rest were thrown into prison. This was the final stroke, all that\nwas necessary for the justification of Bonaparte's plans. An embassy\nfrom the senate had been with him at Gratz when the awful news from\nVerona came to his headquarters. He had then treated them harshly,\ndemanding not only the liberation of every man confined for political\nreasons within their prison walls, but the surrender of their\ninquisitors as well. \"I will have no more Inquisition, no more Senate;\nI shall be an Attila to Venice!... I want not your alliance nor your\nschemes; I mean to lay down the law.\" They left his presence with\ngloomy and accurate forebodings as to what was in those secret\narticles which had been executed at Leoben. When, two days later, came\nthis news of further conflict with the French in Venice itself, the\nenvoys were dismissed, without another audience, by a note which\ndeclared that its writer \"could not receive them, dripping as they\nwere with French blood.\" On May third, having advanced to Palma,\nBonaparte declared war against Venice. In accordance with the general\nlicense of the age, hostilities had, however, already begun; for as\nearly as April thirtieth the French and their Italian helpers had\nfortified the lowlands between the Venetian lagoons, and on May first\nthe main army appeared at Fusina, the nearest point on the mainland to\nthe city.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nThe Fall of Venice.\n\n     Feebleness of the Venetian Oligarchy -- Its Overthrow --\n     Bonaparte's Duplicity -- Letters of Opposite Purport --\n     Montebello -- The Republican Court -- England's Proposition\n     for Peace -- Plans of the Directory -- General Clarke's\n     Diplomatic Career -- Conduct of Mme. Bonaparte --\n     Bonaparte's Jealous Tenderness -- His Wife's Social\n     Conquests -- Relations of the Powers.\n\n\n[Sidenote: 1797.]\n\nSince the days of Carthage no government like that of the Venetian\noligarchy had existed on the earth. At its best it was dark and\nremorseless; with the disappearance of its vigor its despotism had\nbecome somewhat milder, but even yet no common man might draw the veil\nfrom its mysterious, irresponsible councils and live. A few hundred\nfamilies administered the country as they did their private estates.\nAll intelligence, all liberty, all personal independence, were\nrepressed by such a system. The more enlightened Venetians of the\nmainland, many even in the city, feeling the influences of the time,\nhad long been uneasy under their government, smoothly as it seemed to\nrun in time of peace. Now that the earth was quaking under the march\nof Bonaparte's troops, this government was not only helpless, but in\nits panic it actually grew contemptible, displaying by its conduct how\nurgent was the necessity for a change. The senate had a powerful\nfleet, three thousand native troops, and eleven thousand mercenaries;\nbut they struck only a single futile blow on their own account,\npermitting a rash captain to open fire from the gunboats against the\nFrench vanguard when it appeared. But immediately, as if in fear of\ntheir own temerity, they despatched an embassy to learn the will of\nthe approaching general. That his dealings might be merciful, they\ntried the plan of Modena, and offered him a bribe of seven million\nfrancs; but, as in the case of Modena, he refused. Next day the Great\nCouncil having been summoned, it was determined by a nearly unanimous\nvote of the patricians--six hundred and ninety to twenty-one--that\nthey would remodel their institutions on democratic lines. The pale\nand terrified Doge thought that in such a surrender lay the last hope\nof safety.\n\nNot for a moment did Lallemant and Villetard, the two French agents,\nintermit their revolutionary agitation in the town. Disorders grew\nmore frequent, while uncertainty both paralyzed and disintegrated the\npatrician party. A week later the government virtually abdicated. Two\nutter strangers appeared in a theatrical way at its doors, and\nsuggested in writing to the Great Council that to appease the spirit\nof the times they should plant the liberty-tree on the Place of St.\nMark, and speedily accede to all the propositions for liberalizing\nVenice which the popular temper seemed to demand. Such were the terror\nand disorganization of the aristocracy that instead of punishing the\nintrusion of the unknown reformers by death, according to the\ntraditions of their merciless procedure, they took measures to carry\nout the suggestions made in a way as dark and significant as any of\ntheir own. The fleet was dismantled, and the army disbanded. By the\nend of the month the revolution was virtually accomplished; a rising\nof their supporters having been mistaken by the Great Council, in its\npusillanimous terror, for a rebellion of their antagonists, they\ndecreed the abolition of all existing institutions, and, after hastily\norganizing a provisional government, disbanded. Four thousand French\nsoldiers occupied the town, and an ostensible treaty was made between\nthe new republic of Venice and that of France.\n\nThis treaty was really nothing but a pronunciamento of Bonaparte. He\ndecreed a general amnesty to all offenders except the commander of\nFort Luco, who had recently fired on the French vessel. He also\nguaranteed the public debt, and promised to occupy the city only as\nlong as the public order required it. By a series of secret articles,\nvaguely expressed, Venice was bound to accept the stipulations of\nLeoben in regard to territory, pay an indemnity of one million two\nhundred thousand dollars, and furnish three ships of the line with two\nfrigates, while, in pursuance of the general policy of the French\nrepublic, experts were to select twenty pictures from her galleries,\nand five hundred manuscripts from her libraries. Whatever was the\nunderstanding of those who signed these crushing conditions, the city\nwas never again treated by any European power as an independent state.\nTo this dismemberment the Directory made itself an accessory after the\nfact, having issued a declaration of war on Venice which only reached\nMilan to be suppressed, when already Venice was no more. Whether the\noligarchy or its assassin was the more loathsome still remains an\nacademic question, debatable only in an idle hour. Soon afterward a\nFrench expedition was despatched to occupy her island possessions in\nthe Levant. The arrangements had been carefully prepared during the\nvery time when the provisional government believed itself to be paying\nthe price of its new liberties. And earlier still, on May\ntwenty-seventh, three days before the abdication of the aristocracy,\nBonaparte had already offered to Austria the entire republic in its\nproposed form as an exchange for the German lands on the left bank of\nthe Rhine.\n\nWriting to the Directory on that day, he declared that Venice, which\nhad been in a decline ever since the discovery of the Cape of Good\nHope and the rise of Triest and Ancona, could with difficulty survive\nthe blows just given her. \"This miserable, cowardly people, unfit for\nliberty, and without land or water--it seems natural to me that we\nshould hand them over to those who have received their mainland from\nus. We shall take all their ships, we shall despoil their arsenal, we\nshall remove all their cannon, we shall wreck their rank, we shall\nkeep Corfu and Ancona for ourselves.\" On the twenty-sixth, only the\nday previous, a letter to his \"friends\" of the Venetian provisional\ngovernment had assured them that he would do all in his power to\nconfirm their liberties, and that he earnestly desired that Italy,\n\"now covered with glory, and free from every foreign influence, should\nagain appear on the world's stage, and assert among the great powers\nthat station to which by nature, position, and destiny it was\nentitled.\" Ordinary minds cannot grasp the guile and daring which seem\nto have foreseen and prearranged all the conditions necessary to plans\nwhich for double-dealing transcended the conceptions of men even in\nthat age of duplicity and selfishness.\n\nNot far from Milan, on a gentle rise, stands the famous villa, or\ncountry-seat, of Montebello. Its windows command a scene of rare\nbeauty: on one side, in the distance, the mighty Alps, with their\npeaks of never-melting ice and snow; on the other three, the almost\nvoluptuous beauty of the fertile plains; while in the near foreground\nlies the great capital of Lombardy, with its splendid industries, its\nstores of art, and its crowded spires hoary with antiquity. Within\neasy reach are the exquisite scenes of an enchanted region--that of\nthe Italian lakes. To this lordly residence Bonaparte withdrew. His\nsummer's task was to be the pacification of Europe, and the\nconsolidation of his own power in Italy, in France, and northward\nbeyond the Alps. The two objects went hand in hand. From Austria, from\nRome, from Naples, from Turin, from Parma, from Switzerland, and even\nfrom the minor German principalities whose fate hung on the\nrearrangement of German lands to be made by the Diet of the Empire,\nagents of every kind, both military and diplomatic, both secret and\naccredited, flocked to the seat of power. Expresses came and went in\nall directions, while humble suitors vied with one another in homage\nto the risen sun.\n\nThe uses of rigid etiquette were well understood by Bonaparte. He\nappreciated the dazzling power of ceremony, the fascination of\ncondescension, and the influence of woman in the conduct of affairs.\nAll such influences he lavished with a profusion which could have been\nconceived only by an Oriental imagination. As if to overpower the\nsenses by an impressive contrast, and symbolize the triumph of that\ndominant Third Estate of which he claimed to be the champion against\naristocrats, princes, kings, and emperors, the simplicity of the\nRevolution was personified and emphasized in his own person. His\nostentatious frugality, his disdain for dress, his contempt for\npersonal wealth and its outward signs, were all heightened by the\nsetting which inclosed them, as a frame of brilliants often heightens\nthe character in the portrait of a homely face.\n\nMeantime England, grimly determined to save herself and the Europe\nessential to her well-being, was not a passive spectator of events in\nItaly. To understand the political situation certain facts must be\nreiterated in orderly connection. At the close of 1796, Pitt's\nadministration was still in great straits, for the Tories who\nsupported him were angered by his lack of success, while the Whig\nopposition was correspondingly jubilant and daily growing stronger.\nThe navy had been able barely to preserve appearances, but that was\nall. There was urgent need for reform in tactics, in administration,\nand in equipment. France had made some progress in all these\ndirections, and, in spite of English assistance, both the Vendean and\nthe Chouan insurrections had, to all appearance, been utterly crushed.\nSubsequently the powerful expedition under Hoche, equipped and held in\nreadiness to sail for Ireland, there to organize rebellion, and give\nEngland a draught from her own cup, though destined to disaster,\nwrought powerfully on the British imagination. It was clear that the\nWhigs would score a triumph at the coming elections if something were\nnot done. Accordingly, as has been told, Pitt determined to open\nnegotiations for peace with the Directory. As his agent he unwisely\nchose a representative aristocrat, who had distinguished himself as a\ndiplomatist in Holland by organizing the Orange party to sustain the\nPrussian arms against the rising democracy of that country. Moreover,\nthe envoy was an ultra-conservative in his views of the French\nRevolution, and, believing that there was no room in western Europe\nfor his own country and her great rival, thought there could be no\npeace until France was destroyed. Burke sneered that he had gone to\nParis on his knees. He had been received with suspicion and distrust,\nmany believing his real errand to be the reorganization of a royalist\nparty in France. Then, too, Delacroix, minister of foreign affairs,\nwas a narrow, shallow, and conceited man, unable either to meet an\nadroit and experienced negotiator on his own ground, or to prepare new\nforms of diplomatic combat, as Bonaparte had done. The English\nproposition, it is well to recall, was that Great Britain would give\nup all the French colonial possessions she had seized during the war,\nprovided the French republic would abandon Belgium. It is essential to\nan understanding of Bonaparte's attitude in 1797, to recall also in\nthis connection that the navigation of the Scheldt has ever been an\nobject of the highest importance to England: the establishment of a\nstrong, hostile maritime power in harbors like those of the\nNetherlands would menace, if not destroy, the British carrying-trade\nwith central and northern Europe. The reply of the Directory had been\nthat their fundamental law forbade the consideration of such a point;\nand when Malmesbury persisted in his offer, he was allowed forty-eight\nhours to leave the country. The negotiation was a fiasco as far as\nAustria was concerned, although useful in consolidating British\npatriotism. Hoche, having been despatched to Ireland, found wind and\nwaves adverse, and then returned to replace Jourdan in command of one\nof the Rhine armies, the latter having been displaced for his failures\nin Germany and relegated to the career of politics. Bonaparte's\nvictories left his most conspicuous rival nothing to do and he\ngracefully congratulated his Italian colleague on having forestalled\nhim. His sad and suspicious death in September had no influence on the\nterms of Bonaparte's treaty, but emphasized the need of its\nratification.\n\nThe Directory, with an eye single to the consolidation of the\nrepublic, cared little for Lombardy, and much for Belgium; for the\nprestige of the government, even for its stability, Belgium with the\nRhine frontier must be secured. The Austrian minister cared little for\nthe distant provinces of the empire, and everything for a compact\nterritorial consolidation. The successes of 1796 had secured to France\ntreaties with Prussia, Bavaria, Wuertemberg, Baden, and the two circles\nof Swabia and Franconia, whereby these powers consented to abandon\nthe control of all lands on the left bank of the Rhine hitherto\nbelonging to them or to the Germanic body. As a consequence the goal\nof the Directory could be reached by Austria's consent, and Austria\nappeared to be willing. The only question was, Would France restore\nthe Milanese? Carnot was emphatic in the expression of his opinion\nthat for the sake of peace with honor, a speedy, enduring peace, she\nmust, and his colleagues assented. Accordingly, Bonaparte was warned\nthat no expectations of emancipation must be awakened in the Italian\npeoples. But such a warning was absurd. The directors, having been\nable neither to support their general with adequate reinforcements,\nnor to pay his troops, it had been only in the role of a liberator\nthat Bonaparte was successful in cajoling and conquering Italy, in\nsustaining and arming his men, and in pouring treasures into Paris. It\nwas for this reason that, enormous and outrageous as was the ruin and\nspoliation of a neutral state, he saw himself compelled to overthrow\nVenice, and hold it as a substitute for Lombardy in the coming trade\nwith Austria. But the directors either could not or would not at that\ntime enter into his plans, and refused to comprehend the situation.\n\nWith doubtful good sense they had therefore determined in November,\n1796, to send Clarke, their own chosen agent, to Vienna. It was for\nthis that they selected a man of polished manners and honest purpose,\nbut, contrary to their estimate, of very moderate ability. He must of\ncourse have a previous understanding with Bonaparte, and to that end\nhe had journeyed by way of Italy. Being kindly welcomed, he was\nentirely befooled by his subtle host, who detained him with idle\nsuggestions until after the fall of Mantua, when to his amazement he\nreceived the instructions from Paris already stated: to make no\nproposition of any kind without Bonaparte's consent. Then followed\nthe death of the Czarina Catherine, which left Austria with no ally,\nand all the subsequent events to the eve of Leoben. Thugut, of course,\nwanted no Jacobin agitator at Vienna, such as he supposed Clarke to\nbe, and informed him that he must not come thither, but might reach a\ndiplomatic understanding with the Austrian minister at Turin, if he\ncould. He was thus comfortably banished from the seat of war during\nthe closing scenes of the campaign, and to Bonaparte's satisfaction\ncould not of course reach Leoben in time to conclude the preliminaries\nas the accredited agent of the republic. But, to save the self-respect\nof the Directory, he was henceforth to be associated with Bonaparte in\narranging the final terms of peace; and to that end he came of course\nto Milan. Representing as he did the conviction of the government that\nthe Rhine frontier must be a condition of peace, and necessarily\nemphasizing its scheme of territorial compensations, he had to be\neither managed or disregarded. It was the versatility of the envoy at\nMontebello which assured him his subsequent career under the consulate\nand empire.\n\nThe court at Montebello was not a mere levee of men. There was as well\nan assemblage of brilliant women, of whom the presiding genius was\nMme. Bonaparte. Love, doubt, decision, marriage, separation, had been\nthe rapidly succeeding incidents of her connection with Bonaparte in\nParis. Though she had made ardent professions of devotion to her\nhusband, the marriage vow sat but lightly on her in the early days of\ntheir separation. Her husband appears to have been for a short time\nmore constant, but, convinced of her fickleness, to have become as\nunfaithful as she. And yet the complexity of emotions--ambition,\nself-interest, and physical attraction--which seems to have been\npresent in both, although in widely different degree, sustained\nsomething like genuine ardor in him, and an affection sincere enough\noften to awaken jealousy in her. The news of Bonaparte's successive\nvictories in Italy made his wife a heroine in Paris. In all the salons\nof the capital, from that of the directors at the Luxembourg downward\nthrough those of her more aristocratic but less powerful\nacquaintances, she was feted and caressed. As early as April, 1796,\ncame the first summons of her husband to join him in Italy. Friends\nexplained to her willing ears that it was not a French custom for the\nwives of generals to join the camp-train, and she refused. Resistance\nbut served to rouse the passions of the young conqueror, and his fiery\nlove-letters reached Paris by every courier. Josephine, however,\nremained unmoved; for the traditions of her admirers, to whom she\nshowed them, made light of a conjugal affection such as that. She was\nflattered, but, during the courtship, slightly frightened by such\naddresses.\n\nIn due time there were symptoms which appeared to be those of\npregnancy. On receipt of this news the prospective father could not\ncontain himself for joy. The letter which he sent has been preserved.\nIt was written from Tortona, on June fifteenth, 1796. Life is but a\nvain show because at such an hour he is absent from her. His passion\nhad clouded his faculties, but if she is in pain he will leave at any\nhazard for her side. Without appetite, and sleepless; without thought\nof friends, glory, or country, all the world is annihilated for him\nexcept herself. \"I care for honor because you do, for victory because\nit gratifies you, otherwise I would have left all else to throw myself\nat your feet. Dear friend, be sure and say you are persuaded that I\nlove you above all that can be imagined--persuaded that every moment\nof my time is consecrated to you; that never an hour passes without\nthought of you; that it never occurred to me to think of another\nwoman; that they are all in my eyes without grace, without beauty,\nwithout wit; that you--you alone as I see you, as you are--could\nplease and absorb all the faculties of my soul; that you have fathomed\nall its depths; that my heart has no fold unopened to you, no thoughts\nwhich are not attendant upon you; that my strength, my arms, my mind,\nare all yours; that my soul is in your form, and that the day you\nchange, or the day you cease to live, will be that of my death; that\nnature, the earth, is lovely in my eyes, only because you dwell within\nit. If you do not believe all this, if your soul is not persuaded,\nsaturated, you distress me, you do not love me. Between those who love\nis a magnetic bond. You know that I could never see you with a lover,\nmuch less endure your having one: to see him and to tear out his heart\nwould for me be one and the same thing; and then, could I, I would lay\nviolent hands on your sacred person.... No, I would never dare, but I\nwould leave a world where that which is most virtuous had deceived me.\nI am confident and proud of your love. Misfortunes are trials which\nmutually develop the strength of our passion. A child lovely as its\nmother is to see the light in your arms. Wretched man that I am, a\nsingle day would satisfy me! A thousand kisses on your eyes, on your\nlips. Adorable woman! what a power you have! I am sick with your\ndisease: besides, I have a burning fever. Keep the courier but six\nhours, and let him return at once, bringing to me the darling letter\nof my queen.\"\n\nAt length, in June, when the first great victories had been won, when\nthe symptoms of motherhood proved to be spurious and disappeared, when\nhonors like those of a sovereign were awaiting her in Italy, Mme.\nBonaparte decided to tear herself away from the circle of her friends\nin Paris, and to yield to the ever more urgent pleadings of her\nhusband. Traveling under Junot's care, she reached Milan early in\nJuly, to find the general no longer an adventurer, but the successful\ndictator of a people, courted by princes and kings, adored by the\nmasses, and the arbiter of nations. Rising, apparently without an\neffort, to the height of the occasion, she began and continued\nthroughout the year to rival in her social conquests the victories of\nher husband in the field. Where he was Caius, she was Caia. High-born\ndames sought her favor, and nobles bowed low to win her support. At\ntimes she actually braved the dangers of insurrection and the\nbattle-field. Her presence in their capital was used to soothe the\nexasperated Venetians. To gratify her spouse's ardor, she journeyed to\nmany cities, and by a show of mild sympathy moderated somewhat the\nwild ambitions which the scenes and character of his successes\nawakened in his mind. The heroes and poets of Rome had moved upon that\nsame stage. To his consort the new Caesar unveiled the visions of his\nheated imagination, explained the sensations aroused in him by their\nshadowy presence, and unfolded his schemes of emulation. Of such\npurposes the court held during the summer at Montebello was but the\nnatural outcome. Its historic influence was incalculable: on one hand,\nby the prestige it gave in negotiation to the central figure, and by\nthe chance it afforded to fix and crystallize the indefinite visions\nof the hour; on the other, by rendering memorable the celebration of\nthe national fete on July fourteenth, 1797, an event arranged for\npolitical purposes, and so dazzling as to fix in the army the intense\nand complete devotion to their leader which made possible the next\nepoch in his career.\n\nThe summer was a season of enforced idleness, outwardly and as far as\ninternational relations were concerned, but in reality Bonaparte was\nnever more active nor more successful. In February the Bank of England\nhad suspended specie payments, and in March the price of English\nconsols was fifty-one, the lowest it ever reached. The battle of Cape\nSt. Vincent, fought on February fourteenth, destroyed the Spanish\nnaval power, and freed Great Britain from the fear of a combination\nbetween the French and Spanish fleets for an invasion. But, on the\nother hand, sedition was wide-spread in the navy; the British sailors\nwere mutinous to the danger-point, hoisting the red flag and\nthreatening piracy. The risings, though numerous, were eventually\nquelled, but the effect on the English people was magical. Left\nwithout an ally by the death of Catherine, the temporizing of Paul,\nand his leaning to the Prussian policy of neutrality, facts mirrored\nin the preliminaries of Leoben, their government made overtures for\npeace. There was a crisis in the affairs of the Directory and, as a\nsort of shelter from the stormy menace of popular disapproval,\nDelacroix consented to receive Malmesbury again and renew negotiations\nat Lille. As expected, the arrangement was a second theatrical\nfencing-bout from the beginning. Canning feared his country would meet\nwith an accident in the sword-play, for the terms proposed were a weak\nyielding to French pride by laying the Netherlands at her feet.\nProbably the offer was not serious in any case, the farce was quickly\nended, and when their feint was met the British nation had recuperated\nand was not dismayed. It required the utmost diligence in the use of\npersonal influence, on the part both of the French general and of his\nwife, to thwart among the European diplomats assembled at Montebello\nthe prestige of English naval victory and the swift adaptations of\ntheir policy to changing conditions. But they succeeded, and the\nevidence was ultimately given not merely in great matters like the\nsuccess of Fructidor or the peace of Campo Formio, but in small\nones--such, for example, as the speedy liberation of Lafayette from\nhis Austrian prison.\n\n\nEND OF VOLUME I\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, by\nWilliam Milligan Sloane\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Vol. 56 No. 348 October 1844",
        "publication_date": 1844,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/25066",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Brendan O'Connor, Jonathan Ingram, Louise Pryor\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp:\/\/www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Library of Early\nJournals.)\n\n\n\n\n\n{Transcriber's note: Spellings are sometimes erratic. A few obvious\nmisprints have been corrected, but in general the original spelling has\nbeen retained. Accents in the French phrases are inconsistent, and have\nnot been standardised. Greek phrases have been transliterated, and are\nenclosed in + signs +anekdotoi+.}\n\n\nBLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.\n\nNo. CCCXLVIII.    OCTOBER, 1844.    VOL. LVI.\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n    THE LIFE OF A DIPLOMATIST,                              401\n\n    POEMS AND BALLADS OF GOETHE. NO. II.,                   417\n\n    THE GREAT DROUGHT,                                      433\n\n    A TENDER CONSCIENCE,                                    454\n\n    THIERRY'S HISTORY OF THE GAULS,                         466\n\n    THE WITCHFINDER. CONCLUSION,                            487\n\n    MY LAST COURTSHIP; OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA,               507\n\n    GREECE UNDER THE ROMANS.                                524\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    EDINBURGH:\n    WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;\n    AND 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON.\n\n_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._\n\nSOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.\n\nPRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\nBLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.\n\nNO. CCCXLVIII.    OCTOBER, 1844.    VOL. LVI.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF A DIPLOMATIST.{A}\n\n\nThis is one of those curious memoirs which, from time to time, start\nforth from the family archives of public men, for the illustration of\nthe past and the wisdom of the future. Nothing can be more important to\neither the man of office or the man of reflection. Avoiding all the\ntheoretical portion of history, on which all men may be mistaken, they\ngive us its facts, on which no one can be deceived; detailing the course\nof personal events, they supply us with the views of the most\nintelligent minds directly employed in the transactions, exhibit the\nportraits of those minds, and point out to those who are to follow, the\neffect of vigour, intrepidity, and knowledge, in overcoming the\ndifficulties of nations.\n\nThe work on which we are about to make some remarks, is one of those\nproductions which do especial honour to the English aristocracy. It is\nthe diplomatic career of the founder of a peerage; compiled and\npublished by the third in succession to the earldom. The noble editor,\nprofessing to have done but little in this office of reverence and duty,\nhas done much--he has paid due honour to a manly, wise, and vigorous\nancestor; and he has set a striking example to the young nobility of his\ntime. The libraries of every noble family of England contain similar\nrecords of the highest value; and nothing could be at once more\nhonourable to the memory of the gallant and renowned who have passed\naway, or more important to posterity, than to give those documents to\nthe light, illustrated by the recollections of their noble descendants,\nand brought before the public with the natural advantages of\nauthenticity and authority.\n\nLord Malmesbury's career continued through one of the most interesting\nportions of the last century; that which was the preparative for the\ngreat catastrophe of its close, the overthrow of the French monarchy. He\nwas in the service of his country, as a diplomatist, from 1768 to 1797;\nand for many succeeding years was in connexion with all the leading\npolitical characters of a time singularly fertile in remarkable men. He\nwas born at Salisbury in 1746, the descendant of an old English family,\npossessed of property in Wiltshire. His father was an eminent scholar,\nthe author of _Hermes_, and other well known treatises on literary and\nphilosophical subjects. But the scholar was also a man of active public\nlife. Entering into parliament, he was appointed a lord of the treasury\nin 1763, and secretary and comptroller of the Queen's household some\nyears after. A _bon-mot_ of one of the Townsends is recorded, on his\ntaking his seat.\n\n\"Who is the new member?\" asked Townsend.\n\n\"A Mr Harris, who has written on grammar and harmony.\"\n\n\"Then what brings him here, where he will hear _neither_?\"\n\nThe son of such a man had public life before him as his natural source\nof distinction; and Lord Malmesbury, late in life, (in 1800,) thus\ngracefully commemorated his gratitude. \"To my father's precepts and\nexample I owe every good quality I have. To his reputation and his\ncharacter, I attribute my more than common success in life. It was those\nthat introduced me with peculiar advantage into the world. It was as his\nson that I first obtained friends and patrons. I had nothing in myself;\nand I speak, at the distance of thirty-five years, not from affected\nmodesty, but from a powerful recollection of what there was to entitle\nme to notice. Once, indeed, placed in a conspicuous and responsible\nsituation, I was anxious to act becomingly in it. And even here I recur\nwith pleasure to the same grateful source; for while my father lived,\nwhich was during the first twelve years of my public life, the strongest\nincentive I had to exert myself was in the satisfaction I knew he would\nderive from any credit I might acquire; and the many and distinguished\nhonours which I have since received, have suffered a great diminution in\nmy esteem, from his being no longer a witness to them.\"\n\nHe was sent to Winchester, where he remained till he was sixteen. From\nWinchester he was transferred to Oxford, where the discipline at that\nperiod was so relaxed, that his only surprise in after life was at the\nsuccess of so many of his companions, among whom were Charles Fox, North,\nBishop of Winchester, Lord Robert Spenser, Lord Auckland, and others, who\nhad risen to rank of various kinds. He left Oxford in 1765, and passed\nthirty-five years on the Continent. His lordship here makes a striking\nobservation on his own experience, which has been authenticated by every\nintelligent and honest mind under the same circumstances--remarking that\nhis foreign residence was so far from making him undervalue England, that\nit raised it still higher in his estimation. He adds--\"Here I will make\nan assertion, grounded on experience and conviction, and which may be\napplied as a never-failing test, that an Englishman who, after a long\nabsence from England, returns to it with feelings and sentiments partial\nto other countries, and adverse to his own, has no _real_ mind--is\nwithout the powers of discernment and plain easy comparison--and has no\ntitle to enjoy the superior moral and local advantages to which he is\nborn, but of which he is insensible and unworthy.\"\n\nAs diplomacy was evidently the career marked out for him by his father,\nhe was sent to study at Leyden, where he remained a year. In the\ncommencement of the century, Holland was the central point of all\nEuropean negotiations; and its schools became famous for languages and\nthe study of international law. The society among the higher orders of\nthe country was the most intelligent in Europe, consisting of\nambassadors and scholars of the first character. After this year of\nvigorous study, and some brief stay at home, he returned to the\nContinent, and made an extensive tour of the north. In the autumn of\nthis year he received his first diplomatic appointment, in the mission\nto Spain. His success in the Falkland Island negotiation recommended him\nto government, and he was appointed minister at Berlin--a very unusual\ndistinction for a diplomatist only twenty-four years old. But a still\nmore important distinction now awaited him. In 1777 he was sent as\nminister to the court of the Empress Catharine, where he found himself\ninvolved in all the craft of diplomacy with two of the most artful\nsovereigns that ever lived, Frederick and Catharine. But difficulties\nonly place talents in a more conspicuous point of view, and he received\nfrom his government the highest reward then conferred upon a foreign\nminister, the Order of the Bath, in 1780. The climate of Russia was at\nlength found too severe for his health, and he petitioned for his\nrecall, which was granted, but with the honourable offer of his choice\nof a mission either to Spain or the Hague; the former was the higher in\nrank, but the latter the more important in activity. He unhesitatingly,\nand wisely, chose the embassy to the Hague. In 1784, the Foxite\nadministration fell, and Pitt was in the ascendant. Harris had been at\nall times connected with Fox, and had constantly voted with him in the\nHouse; but so high was the public sense of his ability, and such was the\nimpartiality of Pitt's sense of public duty, that he offered him the\nre-appointment to the Hague, which Harris, after consulting Fox and the\nDuke of Portland as his political leaders, accepted. His services were\npeculiarly required at this period, from the violent discussions which\nhad arisen in Holland; and he either originated, or perfected, the\ntreaty of alliance between England, Holland, and Prussia, which saved\nthe Stadtholder for the time, and Holland probably from being made a\nFrench province. His conduct was regarded with so much approbation by\nthe allies, that he received from the Prussian king leave to add the\nPrussian eagle to his arms, and from the Stadtholder, his motto, \"_Je\nmaintiendrai_.\" From England he received the more substantial rewards of\nthe peerage, by the title of Baron Malmesbury, and the appointment of\nambassador. But though he was a Whig, he was one on the old English\nprinciple, and not on the new. In 1793, when in the midst of\nrevolutionary horrors, and after the murder of the unfortunate French\nking, Fox, in the spirit of infatuation, declared himself ready to\nacknowledge the French republic, all the chief leaders of the Whigs\nretired from the Opposition bench. The Duke of Portland, Lord\nLoughborough, Sir Gilbert Elliott, Lord Spenser, and Lord Malmesbury,\njoined those distinguished persons; yet without any apparent loss of\nfriendship with Fox, whose manners retained personal friends even when\nhe had lost their political confidence. Frederick William, king of\nPrussia, a prince of singularly undecided character, though of loud\nprofessions, being at this time suspected of a leaning towards the\nrevolutionists, Lord Malmesbury was immediately sent by Pitt to Berlin,\nfor the purpose of holding him to his good faith. He succeeded, to the\nextent of making the king sign an additional treaty with England and\nHolland.\n\nHis next mission, if not one of more importance, was of still greater\ndelicacy--it was to ask the hand of the Duke of Brunswick's daughter for\nthe Prince of Wales. This was a marriage by compulsion, and the wrath of\nthe prince fell upon the noble negotiator. He never forgave Lord\nMalmesbury, and he quickly alienated himself from the princess: the\nunfortunate result is fully known. In 1796, and 1797, Lord Malmesbury\nwas engaged in the most important negotiation of his life. The French\nDirectory, probably for the purpose of exciting dissensions between\nAustria and England, made a secret proposal of peace, which led to the\nmission of an ambassador. But while Napoleon was pursuing his conquests\nin Italy, France had no actual desire of pacification. The purpose was\nevidently to gain time; and Lord Malmesbury, on discovering the true\nnature of the transaction, demanded his passports, and returned to\nEngland. It cannot be imputed to Pitt, that he was ever negligent of\nthose who had done the state service. Lord Malmesbury had already\nobtained the Order of the Bath, and a barony; he was now raised to an\nearldom, with a viscounty, by the title of Lord Fitzharris; and it was\nin Pitt's contemplation to send him once more to Paris, when his\nministry was suddenly brought to a conclusion, and Mr Addington was\nappointed premier; by whom the peace, or rather the unlucky truce of\nAmiens, was made. His political life was now at an end. He had been for\nsome time suffering under deafness, which increased so much, that he\nregarded it as incapacitating him from public employment; yet he still\nloved society, and, dividing his time between London and his seat near\nHenley, he passed a pleasant and cheerful time, mingling with the chief\ncharacters of the rising political generation. For the last ten years of\nhis life, his thoughts seem to have been much directed to religious\nsubjects; and he kept what he entitled a \"self-controlling journal,\" in\nwhich he registered his thoughts. We have probably reason to regret that\nthe scrupulous delicacy of his biographer has hitherto withheld it from\nthe public. The few sentences transcribed from it, give a strong\nconception of the piety and clear-headedness of the noble author. They\nwere written within a fortnight of his death. They describe him as\n\"having completed his 74th year, and having thus lived longer than any\nof his ancestors for the last two centuries; that his existence had been\nwithout any great misfortune, and without any acute disease, and that he\nowed all praise and thanksgiving to the Supreme Being; that the next\nstep would probably be his last; that he was now too much exhausted,\nboth in mind and body, to be of service to his country, but was\nfortunate in leaving his children well and happy; and that he now waited\nthe Divine will with becoming resignation.\"\n\nHe died without disease, and through mere exhaustion of nature, in his\n75th year, in 1820, and was buried in Salisbury cathedral.\n\nLord Malmesbury's reputation ranked very high in the diplomatic circles\nof the Continent. He was a clear-headed, well-informed, and active\nminister--sagacious enough to see his way through difficulties which\nwould have perplexed inferior men, and bold enough to act according to\nhis own opinion, where feebler minds would have ruined all, by waiting\nfor the tardy wisdom of others. Talleyrand, a first-rate judge on such\nsubjects, said of him, in his epigrammatic style--\"I think that Lord\nMalmesbury was the ablest minister whom you had in his time. It was\nhopeless to get before him; all that could be done was to follow him\nclose. If one let him have the last word, he contrived always to have\nthe best of the argument.\" He seems to have been a thorough Englishman\nin the highest sense of the word, and to have had the loftiest opinion\nof the power and principles of England; not from any fantastic\nprejudice, but from the experience of a long life, with the best\nopportunities of forming an unprejudiced judgment. We have already\nmentioned his declared opinion after living long abroad, and as a great\ndiplomatic functionary, living under the most advantageous circumstances\nof foreign society; that any Englishman who, after a residence abroad,\nprefers the Continent to his own country, is beyond all question a man\nof gross and contemptible mind, and incapable of taking a \"common-sense\nview\" of the subject. We have his constant testimony, that \"as there is\nnothing equal to England on the face of the earth, so no exertion on the\npart of her people can be too great in defence of her freedom and\nhonour.\" In conformity with this matured conviction, and reigning\nprinciple of his heart, he chose as the motto for his coronet--\n\n    \"Ubique patriam reminisci.\"{B}\n\nMr Harris's first visit to the Continent was in 1767, when he set out on\na tour to Holland, Prussia, and Poland, remaining for some time at\nBerlin, where he had the advantage of seeing the cleverest, though the\nmost eccentric, of all sovereigns, Frederick the Great. A number of\ntraits of character are given, of various degrees of force, but all\nexpressive. The king's chief amusement was playing on the flute, on\nwhich he performed very well for an amateur, though, compared with the\nprofessional performers, he necessarily made rather an unkingly figure.\nFrederick, who was afraid of nothing else, was so much afraid of failure\nin his flute playing, that whenever he had a new piece of music, he shut\nhimself up in his closet some hours beforehand, to practise it; and\nalthough no one was permitted to be present at those concerts except a\nvery few select friends, he was always observed to be remarkably nervous\nat the commencement. He had a fine collection of flutes, all made by the\nsame man, and for which he paid a hundred ducats a-piece. He had an\nattendant whose sole office was to keep those flutes in order. During\nthe war, when his finances were reduced to so low an ebb that he paid\nbad coin to every one, he took care that his flute-maker should be paid\nin good coin, lest, for bad money, he should give him bad flutes. Royal\narchitecture is not always fortunate. It is observed that Louis XIV.\nbuilt his famous Versailles in a swampy hollow, when he had the noble\nterrace of St Germain before him. Frederick built his Sans-Souci in a\nmarshy meadow, while he had a fine hill within sight. Unhappily _we_\nhave but little to boast of in the location of our modern palaces. The\nsite of Buckingham Palace seems to have been chosen with no other object\nthan to discover which was the superior annoyance, the smoke of\nsteam-engines or the vapours of a swamp; and this was chosen with one of\nthe finest possible situations within half a mile of it, in the centre\nof Hyde Park. Her Majesty's palace at Brighton has been located with\nexactly the same curious perversion of taste; the hills to the north of\nthat very handsome town offering one of the noblest situations that can\nbe conceived--a fine land view, and an unobstructed sweep of the ocean:\nbut the evil genius of building prevailed, and the palace is fixed in a\ngloomy bottom, from which it can be overlooked by every body, and from\nwhich nothing can be seen. Frederick, though sometimes superb in his\nexpenses, was habitually penurious. He seems to have thought that war\nwas the only thing on which it was worth his while to spend money. The\nsalaries of his gentlemen and attendants were all on the narrowest\nscale. Lord Malmesbury observes that even the Prince of Dessau's\nmarriage, at which he was present, exhibited this penury. All the\napartments, except those immediately used for supper or cards, were\nlighted with a single candle. The supper had no dessert; the wines were\nbad; their quantity stinted. On his asking, after dancing, for some wine\nand water, he was answered--\"the wine is all gone, but you may have some\ntea;\" and this was a peculiarly distinguished party. He saw the king\nhimself directing the servants in lighting up the ball-room, and telling\nthem where to put the candles. Whilst this operation was performing, the\nqueen, the royal family, and the company, were waiting literally in the\ndark; as the king did not begin this ceremony till supper was finished,\nand no one dared to give orders to have it done. Frederick, when a young\nman, was intended for the husband of a British princess. This was a\nmatch of his mother's construction. But the old king, who hated George\nII., threatened to cut off his son's head for his presumption. The\nEnglish king called the Prussian \"my brother the sergeant;\" the Prussian\nretaliated by calling the English king \"my brother the dancing-master.\"\nThis hostility amounted to a mixture of the profane and the ludicrous.\nWhen the old king was seized with his mortal illness, he asked whether\n\"it was necessary to forgive all his enemies.\" On receiving the proper\nanswer, he said to the Queen--\"Dorothy, write to your brother that I\nforgive him all the evil that he has done me; but wait till I'm dead\nfirst.\" A good repartee of Sir Andrew Mitchell on the battle of Quebec,\nis mentioned. \"Is it true,\" said the king to him, \"that, after all, you\nhave taken Quebec?\" \"Yes, sire,\" said Sir Andrew Mitchell the envoy, \"by\nthe help of Providence.\" \"What!\" said the king, \"is Providence among\nyour allies?\" \"Yes,\" said the envoy, \"and the only one among then who\ndemands _no subsidy_.\"\n\nSir Charles Williams wrote to one of the queen's marshals a letter\nintroducing Lord Essex, ludicrously finishing with--\"You may be sure\nthat it is not he who had his head cut off in the time of Elizabeth.\"\nThe marshal, not perfectly understanding this, but depending on his\ninformation, introduced him in this style to her majesty--\"Madam, my\nLord Essex; and I assure your majesty it is not he who was decapitated\nby Queen Elizabeth.\"\n\nFrederick, sending a minister to Denmark who complained of the smallness\nof his salary, and said that he could keep neither an equipage nor a\ntable; the king's remark to him was--\"You are a prodigal; you ought to\nknow that it is more healthy to go on foot than it is to go in a\ncarriage; and that, so far as eating is concerned, another man's table\nis always the best.\"\n\nAt this period Poland was in a state of great confusion. The Empress of\nRussia had marched an army into it for the purpose, as she declared, of\nallowing the popular representatives to act freely, while the king\nregarded himself as little better than her prisoner. Repnin, the Russian\nambassador, actually commanded every thing; and the principal nobility\nof Poland were compelled to be his agents. Of course, this state of\nthings never could have occurred in any country where the tone of\nmanners was high; and Poland, though the people were brave, and the\nnobility in general patriotic, unquestionably fell by its own vices.\nThe portrait drawn of Prince Radzivil is the reverse of flattering, but\nit is characteristic:--\n\n\"Prince Radzivil, the marshal of the confederation, was one of the most\npowerful princes of Poland. His revenues were nearly equal to half a\nmillion sterling a-year, though they were at this period much diminished\nby Russian ravages. He had at one time an army of eight thousand man,\nwith which he opposed the Imperial progress. He afterwards became the\ntool of the Russian policy, and was rewarded with the first palatinate\nof the kingdom. He gave a masquerade on the empress's birthday to near\nthree thousand masks; and it was calculated that, besides the other\nwines, they drank a thousand bottles of champagne.\" The prodigality of a\nPolish feast exceeds all comprehension. This prince kept open house on\nsuch a scale, that his five-and-twenty cooks were scarcely able to\nsupply his table. The great article of luxury in Poland was Hungary\nwine, which they had in great perfection, but which was very costly.\nChampagne was drunk as cider. The multitude of servants in a Polish\nestablishment must have been ruinous. Prince Czartoriski's personal\nattendants and servants amounted to three hundred and seventy-five.\nThose in his country-house were still more numerous. His troops amounted\nto four thousand men. Prince Repnin, though of the Greek church, which\nabounds in forms and ceremonies, and in fasts exceeds all others, had so\nlittle regard for the forms of his religion, that he ordered a play to\nbe acted on Ash Wednesday at Warsaw. Towards Christmas 1767, Lord\nMalmesbury, then Mr Harris, was at the house of a Polish nobleman in the\nhunting season. He observed to the king that he had never seen him in\nbetter spirits. \"Ah!\" was the royal answer, \"it is very pleasant to\ndelude one's self sometimes.\"\n\nIn 1768 Mr Harris began his diplomatic life as secretary of legation\nunder Sir James Gray, then British minister at the court of Madrid.\n\nHe set out from Paris on the last day of the year, and after\nsix-and-twenty days' journey, in which he loitered but two days on the\nroad, accomplished the eleven hundred miles without accident.\n\nThough accustomed to Popish countries, the Spanish ceremonials of the\nHoly Week seem to have surprised him. In the streets was kept a second\ncarnival, with a peculiar costume. The court and the higher orders wore\nblack velvet, with flame- waistcoats and sleeves trimmed with\ngold; the citizens left their shops, and spent the day in the streets.\nThe king on Holy Thursday visited seven churches, washed the feet of\ntwelve paupers, and afterwards served them at dinner. From Friday till\nSaturday all was silence, and no coaches were permitted in the streets.\nOn Saturday at noon the bells rang, the people shouted, the coaches\nmoved again, and all was clamour. From a personal knowledge of the\npeople, Mr Harris pronounced that their defects arose from their\nreligion and from their priests; both of which, by keeping the lower\norders in a state of mendicity and the higher in a state of ignorance,\nprevent the progress of the nation. Even at this period, their dislike\nof the French was contemptuous and strongly marked.\n\nThe life of a diplomatic man is not unlike the life of a naval officer.\nHe has frequent opportunities of signalizing himself in a small way. The\ncabinet is the admiral, commanding a large force, and acting on a large\nscale. The diplomatist is the captain of the frigate, thrown out at a\ndistance to make his observations, and enabled to exhibit his\nintrepidity and talent, through, from the smallness of his means, the\nresults may be equally small. In 1769, Sir James Gray returning to\nEngland, left Mr Harris behind him as _charge d'affaires_. In the next\nyear Spain, always jealous of any foreign approach to her South American\npossessions, fitted out a fleet for the purpose of expelling the British\ncolony from the Falkland Isles. Harris acted spiritedly on this\noccasion. He instantly made so strong a representation to the Spanish\nminister, the Marquis Grimaldi, that he threw him into evident alarm.\nThe letter to the British ministry which Harris wrote on the subject,\nsatisfied them of the advantage of making a vigorous remonstrance. The\nresult to the country was, that the colony, which had been seized, was\nrestored, and that the officer who seized it was disgraced by the\nSpanish government. To Harris the whole transaction was regarded as\nhonourable, and entitling him to the favour of his government. The\nresult was, his being appointed, in 1771, as minister at the court of\nthe most subtle and busy monarch of Europe, Frederick the Second.\n\nWe now come to the partition of Poland, the most momentous transaction\nof modern times; excepting the French Revolution, if even that\nrevolution was not its consequence. Mr Harris makes his first\ncommunication on this important subject in March 1772. If we read his\nwhole letter, the brevity of his announcement is a model even to\ndiplomacy. He thus states the event to Lord Suffolk, then secretary of\nstate.\n\n\"Just as I am going to make up my packet, I am informed that a treaty of\npartition, disposing of several parts of Poland, was signed at\nPetersburg on the 15th of last month, and that as soon as the\ncertificates can be exchanged between the courts of Vienna, Berlin, and\nRussia, a congress will be held at Warsaw.\" A few statements respecting\nthe Prussian officers dispatched to the Polish frontier are given; and\nthis seems to be the whole announcement of one of the most atrocious\nacts of perfidy and blood in the memory of Europe.\n\nThe French Revolution was begun on grounds independent of foreign\ndisturbances. But no man can read the annals of the French war, without\na conviction, that one of its providential purposes was the punishment\nof the three monarchies which had perpetrated this atrocity. Within a\nbrief period from the first ruin of Polish independence, the French\narmies began those sweeping conquests which were destined especially to\nravage Prussia, Austria, and Russia. The punishment seemed even to bear\nsomething like a proportion to the degree of guilt in each of the\nparties. The original proposer of the partition was Frederick, the\nstrenuous participator was Catharine, and the unwilling, though\nconsenting accomplice, was Joseph. Before that war was over, Napoleon\nreduced Prussia to the lowest condition of a conquered country,\nplundered her of millions of gold, held her fortresses by his garrisons,\nand treated her like a province. His invasion of Russia was next in\nhavoc: the ravage of the country, the repulse and slaughter of her brave\nand patriotic armies, and the destruction of her ancient capital, were\n_her_ share of the punishment. Austria suffered, but her suffering was\nof a lighter order--defeat in the field, havoc of the people, and the\ndouble capture of her capital; yet those wounds were rapidly healed, and\nthe close of the war saw Austria taking a higher rank in Europe. Those\nstruggles and sufferings extended over nearly a quarter of a century of\nunexampled bloodshed. It is remarkable that a project so fully entitled\nto excite the vigilance of all courts, seems to have been almost wholly\noverlooked by the English ministry; Lord Suffolk, in his confidential\nanswer to the ambassador, simply styling it a curious transaction; and\neven in the more advanced stage of the affair, when the attention of the\ncabinet was called to it by the memorials of the Polish king and people,\nall that could be obtained was a verbal answer, evidently declining any\ninterference on the subject, and contenting itself with the avoidance of\napprobation. The result of this singular negligence distinctly points\nout the course which should be taken by England in her continental\npolicy. Her natural office is that of mediator and protector.\nEntertaining no views of conquest for herself, it is her duty to repress\nthem in all others. If, in 1772, she had instantly issued a strong\nremonstrance to the three governments, it would have acted as an appeal\nto the reason of Europe. A fleet sent to the Baltic in support of that\nremonstrance would have acted upon the fears of the aggressors, and\nPoland would have been saved. The blood of the thousands shed in the war\nof independence would have been spared--the great crime of the century\nwould have been partially avoided--and its punishment, in the shape of\nthe revolutionary war, might never have been inflicted. The diplomatic\nand formal portion of this fatal event was thus announced by the\nambassador to the British cabinet:--\"Berlin, 19th September 1772.--I\nreceived a message from Count Finckenstein yesterday morning, desiring\nto speak to me between twelve and one. On my waiting on him, he\ninformed me that his Prussian majesty having come to an agreement with\nthe courts of Vienna and Petersburg to renew certain ancient claims they\nhad on parts of the kingdom of Poland, they had instructed their\nrespective ministers at the court of Warsaw to signify their intentions\nto the king and republic, by presenting him with a declaration on this\nsubject.\n\n\"That his Prussian majesty, desirous of seizing every opportunity of\nshowing his friendship and attention to the king, had ordered him, Count\nFinckenstein, to take the earliest moment of acquainting me with this\nevent, and at the same time to give me a copy of the declaration, which\nI here enclose--that his _charge d'affaires_ in London had likewise\nreceived orders to inform the king's ministers on this subject, and to\ncommunicate to them the declaration.\"\n\nThe reply of the English minister to this momentous announcement,\nexhibits, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary instances of\nministerial negligence on record. On a subject which might have moved\nthe very stones to mutiny, and which, in its consequences, involved the\ninterests of all Europe, the only answer of the King of England was\ncontained in the following note, written in French:--\"The king is\nwilling to suppose that the three courts have convinced themselves of\nthe justice of their respective pretensions, although his majesty is not\ninformed of the motives of their conduct.\" \"You will observe,\" adds Lord\nSuffolk, \"in the terns in which I express myself, that though this mode\nof expression was preferable to an absolute silence, the utmost caution\nhas been used.\" The caution was indeed sufficiently circumspect, for it\nwas wholly useless; and the consequence was perfect impunity to the\nperpetrators.\n\nFrederick was the great infidel of his day. He had been so long involved\nin hostilities with Austria, the most superstitious court in Europe,\nthat he adopted \"free-thinking\" as a part of his policy; and his\neagerness for European fame connected him with Voltaire and the French\ninfidels, whose wit and wickedness had made them the leaders of\nphilosophical fashion. But there is a principle of belief in human\nnature which revenges itself on the infidel. There are no men more\nliable to groundless fears, than those who reject the object of\nlegitimate awe. The man who will not believe in a deity, has often\nbelieved in witchcraft; and those who will not acknowledge a Providence,\nhave often trembled before a conjurer. At this period, Frederick had\ngrown peculiarly anxious and irascible--a temper for which the\nambassador accounts by a sudden impulse of superstition. He\nsays--\"Amongst several other incredible follies in so great a character,\nhe has that of not entirely disbelieving judicial astrology; and I am\ntold, from one whose authority is not despicable, that the fear of a\nprediction being this year fulfilled, which was pronounced by a Saxon\nfortune-teller whom his majesty was weak enough some time ago to\nconsult, dwells on his mind, and augments the sourness of a disposition\nnaturally crabbed. I should have paid no attention to these reports,\nwhich savour so much of the nursery, had I not myself observed him\ndispleased at a mourning coat at his levee, and seen his countenance\nvisibly alter on being informed of any man's dying a sudden death.\"\n\nWe then have a curious letter from Lord Grantham, the ambassador at\nMadrid, giving an account of an expedition to Algiers, which derives an\ninterest from the present state of African affairs.\n\n\"You will learn that a very unsuccessful attempt has been made at\nAlgiers, and that the Spanish troops have been repulsed with a loss and\ndisablement of upwards of 5000 men. The fleet, consisting of 450 sail,\nand carrying about 40,000 men, sailed from Carthagena, and reached\nAlgiers the 1st inst., (July 1775.) On the night of the 7th, the\ninfantry, and two detachments of about 8000 men each, landed. The first\ndetachment advanced too eagerly, could not be supported to any purpose,\nand, after thirteen hours' engagement, all that could regained the\nships. But the loss of killed and wounded, first estimated at 3000,\ncertainly exceeded five or six. The transports with the army are\nreturned to Carthagena and Alicante. I leave you to judge how deep an\nimpression this severe failure makes here. The Marquis de la Romana is\nkilled--all the generals, except Buck, are wounded. Among the wounded\nare twenty-eight officers of the Spanish guards, and twelve out of\nseventeen engineers.\"\n\nThe court of Frederick would form a singular contrast to what is called\nthe British Household, composed of the great officers of state. \"You are\nnot ignorant,\" says Harris, writing to William Eden, \"that the great\nofficers of the court are merely titular, and never allowed to have any\nauthority annexed to their office. This is given to some menial\nservants, who are constantly about the king's person, and his treasurer\nwas a Russian named Deiss, in whom his Majesty placed more confidence\nthan he appears to have deserved; since for maladministration, or some\nequally notorious fault, his majesty a few days ago, dismissed him from\nhis high post, and ordered him to be employed as a drummer in a marching\nregiment. Deiss affected to submit patiently to his sentence, and, on\nbeing arrested, begged leave of the officer only to go into his room,\nadjoining the king's writing-closet, to fetch his hat. This being\ngranted, he immediately locked the door, took a pistol from his pocket,\nand shot himself through the head. The king heard and was alarmed by the\nreport of a pistol so near him, and being told what had happened, he\npitied Deiss, said that he was out of his senses, and ordered all that\nhe died worth to be distributed equally among his children. Deiss had\ncharged the pistol with small-shot and crooked nails, and put the muzzle\nof it into his mouth.\"\n\nA striking anecdote is given of General Seidlitz, the officer who formed\nthe Prussian cavalry. When only a lieutenant, he happened to be near the\nking on a bridge which crossed the Oder. The king asked him, \"if both\nthe avenues of the bridge were possessed by the enemy, what he would do\nto disengage himself.\" Seidlitz, without making an answer, immediately\nleaped his horse over the rails into the river, and notwithstanding its\nbreadth and rapidity, swam safe ashore. The king, who took it for\ngranted that he must be drowned, on seeing him come towards him, said in\nFrench, \"_Major_, I beg of you not to run such hazards in future.\"\n\nDespotic power has certainly great advantages, in its rapid\nadministration of justice, and sometimes in its reaching offences which\nwould altogether baffle trial by jury. Frederick was ridiculously fond\nof exhibiting his musical attainments; and among the other preparatives\nfor the reception of the Russian grand-duke (afterwards the Emperor\nPaul) at Berlin, was a piece of music composed by the king. The husband\nof the first singer at the opera, the well-known Madame Mara, was\nimprudent enough to observe of this performance, that \"the composer knew\nmore about soldiers than music.\" The king ordered him to be instantly\nmade over to the _corps-de-garde_, with orders to punish him, enough to\nmake him more cautious of criticism in future. The soldiers accordingly,\nas there happened to be no punishment in the military regulations for\nimpertinent remarks on royal amateurs, took the affair into their own\nhands. They began by dressing him in a uniform, covering his face with a\nhuge pair of whiskers, and loading him with the heaviest firelock which\nthey could find, they then made him perform the manual exercise for two\nhours--accompanying the lesson with all the usual discipline of the\ncane--then ordered him to dance and sing, finishing their discipline by\nmaking the surgeon take from him a large quantity of blood, obviously to\nreduce the heat of temper which had given rise to such impertinence.\nAfter this lesson he was sent back to his wife. Severe as it may have\nappeared, Harris regarded it as earned by many previous impertinences of\nthe same kind, but of which it may fairly be presumed this was the last.\n\nAt last the grand-duke arrived, and was received with the most unusual\npomp and ceremony by the Prussian court. By some curious instance of\nchoice, Sunday is selected on the Continent as the day for every thing\nin the shape of show. The Russian prince made his public entry into\nBerlin on Sunday, and was met by the trading companies in uniform, by\nescorts of cavalry, and the equipages of the king and royal family. In\nthe evening, after a sumptuous dinner, there was a concert and ball.\nThe rest of the week was similarly occupied. The grand-duke had come to\ndemand the Princess of Wirtemberg in marriage. When we recollect the\nfate of this unhappy monarch, murdered on the Russian throne, and\ncontrast it with the brilliancy of his early reception in the world, and\nhis actual powers when master of the diadem, a deeper lesson of the\ninstability of human fortune has seldom been given to man.\n\nA laughable anecdote of Russian and Prussian discipline is told. All the\ndomestics belonging to the Imperial family of Russia have military rank;\nthe grand-duke's coachman and the king's going one evening to drink\ntogether, a dispute arose about precedence. \"What is your rank?\" said\nthe Prussian. \"A lieutenant-colonel,\" said the other. \"Ay, but I am a\ncolonel,\" said the German, and walked first into the ale-house. This\ncame to the king's ears. The _colonel_ was sent for three days to\nprison, and received fifty blows of the cane.\n\nThe ambassador now obtained a new instance of the favour of his court.\nHe was recalled from Prussia in 1776, and shortly after was appointed to\nthe most important of our embassies at that period, the embassy to\nRussia.\n\nThe politics of England at this period bore an appearance of perplexity,\nwhich evidently alarmed her cabinet, and which as evidently excited the\nhopes of her enemies. At this period she had two enemies in Europe,\nhostile in every thing except to the extent of open war--France, always\njealous and irreconcilable; and Prussia, which, from her dread of\nEngland's interference in her Polish usurpations, pretended to believe\nthat England was conspiring with Austria against the safety of her\ndominions. The feebleness with which the American war was carried on,\nhad deceived Europe into the belief that the power of England was really\non the point of decay. Foreigners are never capable of appreciating the\nreality of English power. In the first place, because they prefer the\nromantic to the real; and in the next, because, living under despotisms,\nthey have never seen, nor can comprehend, the effect of liberty upon\nnational resources. Thus, when they see a nation unwilling to go to\nwar--or, what is the next thing to reluctance, waging it tardily--they\nimagine that this tardiness has its origin in national weakness; and it\nis not until the palpable necessity of self-defence calls out the whole\nenergy of the people, that the foreigner ever sees the genuine strength\nof England. The capture of two small armies in America, neither of them\nmore numerous than the advanced guard of a continental army, had given\nthe impression that the military strength of England was gone for ever.\nThus the European courts thought themselves entitled to insult her; and\nthus so diminutive a power as Prussia, however guided by an able and\npolitic prince, was suffered to despise her opinion. But the English\nministry themselves of that day palpably shared the general delusion;\nand, to judge from their diplomatic correspondence, they seemed actually\nto rely for the safety of England on the aid of the foreign courts. They\nhad yet to learn the lesson, taught them by the Revolutionary war, that\nEngland is degraded by dependence of any kind; that she is a match for\nthe world in arms; that the cause of Europe is dependent on _her_; and\nthat the more boldly, directly, and resolutely she defies France, and\nits allies and slaves, the more secure she is of victory. In the pursuit\nof this false policy of conciliation and supplication, Harris was sent\nto Petersburg, to counteract Prussia with the empress, and to form an\noffensive and defensive alliance with Catharine. Count Panin was at that\ntime prime minister--a man of the old ministerial school, who regarded\ndiplomacy as the legitimate science of chicane, was a master of all the\nlittleness of his art, and was wholly under the influence of the King of\nPrussia. The count was all consent, and yet contrived to keep the\nambassador at arm's-length; while the empress, equally crafty, and\nequally determined not to commit herself, managed him with still greater\nsubtlety.\n\nIn speaking of the Empress Catharine, it is impossible to avoid alluding\nto the scandals of her court. The death of her husband, suspicious as it\nwas, had left her sole mistress of an empire, and of the power of public\nopinion, in a country where a sneer might send the offender to Siberia.\nThe wretchedly relaxed religion of the Greek church, where a trivial\npenance atones for every thing, and ceremonial takes the place of\nmorals, as it inevitably does wherever a religion is encumbered with\nunnecessary forms, could be no restraint on the conduct of a daring and\nimperious woman. By some of that easy casuistry which reconciles the\npowerful to vice, she had fully convinced herself that she ought, for\nthe sake of her throne, never to submit to matrimonial ties again; and\nshe adopted the notorious and guilty alternative of living with a\nsuccession of partners. The ambassador's letters frequently allude to\nthis disgraceful topic, and always with the contempt and reprobation\nwhich were so amply its due. \"The worst enemies\"--such is his\nexpression--\"which the empress has, are flattery and her own passions.\nShe never turns a deaf ear to the first, let it be ever so gross; and\nher inclination to gratify the latter appears to grow upon her with\nage.\"\n\nThe policy of Russia had two grand objects, both of them wholly\ninconsistent with the policy of England; and therefore rendering the\nambassador's zeal wholly useless. The King of Prussia favoured both, and\ntherefore commanded the highest influence with the empress. It was thus\nthe impossible task of the unfortunate diplomatist, to convince a\nhaughty and self-sufficient woman against her will. Of course, failure\nwas the necessary consequence. But in the mean time, dining and dancing,\nfeasting and frivolity, went on with Asiatic splendour. The birth of the\ngrand-duke's son, \"Constantine,\" (expressly so named with a view to\nTurkish objects,) gave occasion to fetes which it tasked the whole power\nof Russian panegyric to describe. The empress gave one in the period of\nthe Carnival, ultra-imperially magnificent. The dessert and supper were\nset out with jewels to the amount of upwards of two millions sterling!\nand at the tables of macao, the fashionable game, besides the stake in\nmoney, a diamond of fifty rubles' value was given by her majesty to each\nof those who got _nine_, the highest point of the game. One hundred and\nfifty diamonds were distributed in this manner.\n\nBut a new event occurred to stir the lazy politics of Europe--that act of\ninfinite treachery on the part of the French government--the breach of\ntreaty with England, and the alliance with America. The menaces of war\nwhich are held out at this moment by the Jacobin party, and its insolent\neagerness to turn every trivial incident into a mortal quarrel, give a\nnew and additional interest to this former act of desperate perfidy. But\nlet it be remembered with what tremendous vengeance that perfidy was\npunished--that the American alliance was the precursor of the French\nrepublic; and that the long train of hideous calamities which broke down\nthe French throne, banished the nobility, and decimated the population,\ndates its origin from the day when that fatal treaty was signed. A letter\nfrom Sir Gilbert Elliott (afterwards Lord Minto) to the ambassador,\n(March 20, 1778,) thus briefly communicates the intelligence:--\"We had\njust passed the bills for repealing some of the obnoxious American acts,\nand for enabling the king to appoint his commissioners to treat with\nAmerica with very large powers, when the report of the French treaty with\nthe colonies became very prevalent, and obtained credit here. Government,\nhowever, had certainly obtained no authentic account of it which is\nsingular enough; and Lord North positively disclaimed all knowledge of\nit. A loan of six millions was made on very hard terms for the public,\nmuch owing to the report of the French treaty; the three per cent consols\nbeing at 661\/2--monstrously low. The first payment was fixed for Tuesday\nlast. On the Friday before, the Marquis de Noailles delivered a paper to\nLord Weymouth, communicating the 'treaty of commerce and alliance' with\nthe colonies, and acknowledging their independency. The manner and style\nof the communication were inexpressibly insolent, and were no doubt\nmeant as a studied affront and challenge. On Saturday, all the French in\nLondon were sent to the opera, plays, clubs, coffee-houses, and\nale-houses, to publish the intelligence, which they did with their\nnatural impertinence. On Tuesday, the two Houses received a message from\nthe king, informing them of the communication from the French\nambassador--that he had recalled his ambassador from Versailles; and\nassuring them that he would exert every means in his power to protect\nthe honour and interest of his kingdom. In answer to which, the two\nHouses voted an address, promising to support him with our lives and\nfortunes. Opposition, like _good patriots_, in answer to this message,\nproposed to address the king to remove his ministers; and C. Fox assured\nus, 'he thought an invasion a _much better thing_ than the continuance\nof the present administration.' When this proposal was negatived, they\ntherefore refused their assent to our address. There is no declaration\nof war yet; but as it is quite certain, and as France will undoubtedly\nact immediately, I do not see what we gain by delaying it. I hope at\nleast we shall begin taking their ships immediately. The militia is to\nbe called out; credit is dreadfully low--stock was a few days ago at 60.\nThe French are poorer than we--that's something.\"\n\nExaggeration is a propensity which seems common to ambassadors. We\ncertainly have never seen an ambassadorial correspondence, in which the\nmost groundless views did not make a large part of its communications.\nThe British diplomatist in Russia was unquestionably a shrewd man, and\nyet his letters abound in predictions of Russian ruin. His descriptions\nrun in this style:--\"Great expenses, and nothing to show for them. The\narmy in a state of decay; the navy incomplete and ill-equipped; the\npolitical system languid, and such as, if pursued, must ultimately\nreduce this immense mass of power to that state of Asiatic\ninsignificancy from which it so lately emerged.\"\n\nAnd this high- and rash statement, it is to be remembered, was\nnot a page in a popular novel or in a summer's \"Tour,\" but was given as\nthe deliberate opinion of a statesman conversant in continental\npolitics, and addressed to the government of this country. He seems to\nhave altogether overlooked the boundless territory and growing\npopulation of Russia, her forty millions of men--a number already\nexceeding that of any other kingdom in Europe--the inaccessible nature\nof her dominions, the implicit and Asiatic devotion of her subjects, the\nunrivaled vigour of her despotism, and the fact that she had but that\nmoment secured an immense tract of Polish territory, and was stripping\nthe Turks on the other side--that to the north she was touching on the\nVistula, and to the south had nearly reached the Danube. The subsequent\ncareer of Russia is a still stronger refutation. Every war, instead of\nshaking her power, has only given it additional strength and stability.\nLike England, she has gone on with almost involuntary but rapid\nprogress; and the period may arrive when there will be but two nations\nleft in Europe--England the ruler of the seas, and Russia holding the\nkingdoms of the Continent in vassalage. It is true, that the ambassador\nadverts now and then to the inaccessible nature of the Russian\nterritory, and the success of the national arms; but the former would be\nbut a negative source of power, and the latter he uniformly attributed\nto good-luck. He ought to lave attributed them to the causes which would\nhave produced the same effect in any age of the world--to the mastery of\nan immense population; to the daring of a head of empire possessed of\nremarkable ability, and filled with projects of unbounded supremacy; and\nto the growth of a new generation of soldiers and statesmen, encouraged\nto the highest exertion of their talents by the most munificent\nrewards--the policy of the empress making the evidence of courage and\ngenius in the soldier the only requisite for promotion; and exhibiting\nthe strongest personal interest of the sovereign in the elevation of\nthose able servants of the crown. The consequence was, success in all\nthe enterprises of Catharine, the rapid advance of the nation in\nEuropean influence, the establishment of an insecure throne on the\nstrongest footing of public security, the popularity of a despotism, the\ncomparative civilization of a people half Asiatic, and who but half a\ncentury before had been barbarians, and the personal attachment of the\nnation to Catharine in a degree scarcely less than adoration. The chief\ncause of this triumphant state of things, beyond all question, was the\nhigh spirit, the generosity, and the affability of the empress. The\nunhappy transactions of her private life are matters of painful record;\nand the letters of the ambassador are full of the reprobation which the\nmemoirs of the time authenticate. But we have no gratification in\ndwelling on such topics. We infinitely prefer paying the tribute due to\ngreat talents splendidly exercised, to the public achievements of a\npowerful intellect, and to the superiority which this munificent\npromoter of the genius of all classes of her people exhibited to all the\nhaughty, exclusive, and selfish sovereigns of her time.\n\nThe ambassador now found it necessary to look for support against the\nPrussian propensities of the minister; and he had recourse to Potemkin\nand the Orloffs, as the antagonists of Panin. Potemkin was one of the\nmost extraordinary men whom the especial circumstances of the court and\ncountry raised into public distinction. He had been but a cornet of\ncavalry on the memorable night when Catharine, uncertain whether she was\nmounting a throne or a scaffold, put herself at the head of the guards,\nand deposed her husband. As she rode along, observing that she had not a\nmilitary plume in her hat, she turned to ask for one; the cornet\ninstantly plucked out his own, and presented it to her--as Raleigh threw\nhis cloak on the ground for Elizabeth to walk over. These gallant acts\nare never lost upon a woman of the superior order of mind. The favour of\nthe throne followed alike in both instances; and Potemkin soon became\nthe guide of the Russian councils. It was the custom of the French\nmemoir writers--a race who always aimed at pungency of narrative in\npreference to truth, and who, for their generation, performed the part\nof general libellers--to represent Potemkin as a savage, devoted to\ndrinking, and whose influence was solely the result of his grossness.\nBut the conferences which he held with this British ambassador, and the\nextracts of his opinions given in these letters, show him to have been a\nman of remarkable clearness of comprehension, dexterity of resource, and\nreadiness of knowledge. It is obvious that nothing but the exertion of\ndistinguished skill in the ways of courts, could have accomplished the\nobjects which no other man of his time attained with such complete\nsuccess. In a court of contention and favouritism, he retained supreme\ninfluence to the last; released from the labours of office, he possessed\nmore than the power of a minister--and nominally a subject, he was\nscarcely less than emperor. Boundless wealth, the highest rank, and\nevery honour which the empire could lavish on its first noble, were the\nprizes of Potemkin.\n\nPeople at home are in the habit of looking upon the diplomatic body\nabroad as a collection of very subtle and sagacious personages--a\ncollection of sages. A nearer view sometimes strips the idea down to\nhumble dimensions. Sir James Harris (he had now obtained the Order of\nthe Bath, which he seems to have deserved by his diligence) thus\nsketches the new ambassadorial body--a general change having just taken\nplace. \"The Imperial, Danish, French, Prussian, and Spanish ministers\nare all altered, and one from Naples is added to our corps.\" The\nNeapolitan he describes as \"utterly unfit for business;\" Count Cobenzel,\nthe Austrian ambassador, \"as a man of excellent parts and great\nactivity;\" Goertz, the Prussian, \"a very able and artful man.\" So far as\nthis point, the honour of the corps is sustained; but then come the\nciphers. Monsieur Verac, the cunning French envoy, is \"more amiable in\ncompany than formidable in cabinet.\" The Swede and the Saxon ministers,\n\"most perfectly insignificant and overpowered with debts.\" The Dutch\nresident, Swartz, \"a man neither of birth nor character, totally\nimproper for the post he fills. The Swiss resident, having no other\nbusiness than the lawsuits of his countrymen,\" &c.\n\nOf the culpable habits of the empress we shall say no more. The respect\nwhich this country feels for the character of Emperor Nicholas, and the\ntotal contrast which that character presents to the especial failings of\nhis ancestor, justly prevent our wandering into those observations. But\nwe have a curious instance of the skill and adroitness of this memorable\nwoman, in an interview in which she was wholly left to herself, and yet\nsucceeded perfectly in what is presumed to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of\ndiplomacy--the art of disguising her intentions. The British\nambassador, after a long period of comparative failure, had succeeded in\nobtaining an audience through Potemkin--who always pretended to be\npowerless, yet who could do every thing which he desired. The\nappointment to meet the ambassador was made, and Potemkin prefaced his\nservice by the following singular sketch of his sovereign. \"Do not\nexpect that it is in the power of any living being to prevent her from\nconcluding her favourite plan of armed neutrality. Content yourself with\ndestroying the effects--the resolution is immovable. As it was conceived\nby _mistake_ and perfected by _vanity_, it is maintained by _pride_ and\n_obstinacy_. You well know the hold of those passions on a _female\nmind_; and if you attempt to slacken, you will only tighten the knot.\"\n\nOne of the imperial valets then came to lead the ambassador to the\ninterview; which he gives in French, and which he commenced in a strain\nwhich we hope will never be imitated again by any cabinet of England.\n\n\"I have come to represent to your imperial majesty the _critical\nsituation_ in which our affairs are at present. You know our reliance on\nyou. We venture to _flatter_ ourselves that you will _avert the storm_,\nand reassure us as to our fears of having lost your friendship.\" If the\nexpressions were not in print, we should scarcely have thought it\npossible that such crouching language could have been used. The\nambassador, of course, is but the mouthpiece of his government. The\nblame must fall, not on the intelligent servant, but on the feeble\nmasters. Who can wonder if the daring and haughty spirit of Catharine\nscoffed at the remonstrances, and despised the interests of a country,\nwhose cabinet adopted language so unfitting the dignity and real power\nof the mighty British empire? The expressions of this dialogue would\nhave been humiliating to the smallest of the \"square-league\"\nsovereignties of the Continent. The answer of the empress was precisely\nwhat she might have addressed to the envoy of Poland or the Crimea.\n\"Sir, you are aware of my sentiments relative to your nation; they are\nequally sincere and invariable. But I have found so little return on\nyour part, that I feel I ought not to consider you any longer among my\nfriends.\"\n\nTo this haughty tone, what is the reply of the ambassador?\n\n\"It is in the hope that those sentiments were not _entirely effaced_,\nthat I wished to address myself directly to your Majesty. But it was not\n_without fear_ that I approached you. Appearances only too strongly\nprove the impressions which you have received from our enemies.\" And so\ngoes on the dialogue, like a scene in a play, see-sawing through six\nintolerable pages. How differently would Pitt's cabinet have acted, and\nhow differently did it act! When the Russian councils menaced the\nseizure of even a paltry Turkish fortress on the Black Sea, the great\nminister ordered a fleet to be ready as _his_ negotiators; and though\nthe factiousness of Opposition at the time prevented this manly\ndemonstration of policy and justice, the evidence was given, in the\nreign of Paul, when a British fleet crushed the armed neutrality--that\ntrick of French mountebanks imposing on the ambition of the north--and\nrestored Russia to so full a sense of the power and the honour of\nEngland, that she sent her fleet into her safe keeping at the approach\nof Napoleon's invasion, and has been her fast and honourable ally ever\nsince. \"Cromwell's ambassador\" is the true one for England at all times.\nA stout British squadron sent to the Baltic in 1780 would have\nwonderfully solved the difficulties of the British negotiation, have\ncompletely cleared the empress's conscience, have enlightened Count\nPanin's brains, and have convinced even the wily Potemkin himself that\nthe art of political delusion was too dangerous a game to be tried\nagainst England.\n\nBut the true value of history is to instruct the future. We are now in\nnearly the same relative position to France in which we were sixty-four\nyears ago relative to Russia. We are exhibiting the same dilatoriness\nwhich we exhibited then, and we shall be fortunate if we escape the same\nconsequences. A strong fleet sent to the Mediterranean would do more to\ncalm the elements of strife effectually, than all the remonstrances of\nall our negotiators. Or, if the French were foolish enough to provoke a\nbattle, a repetition of the 1st of June or the 21st of October would be\nthe tranquillizer of a restless people, who can never suffer Europe to\nrest in peace but when they themselves have been taught the miseries of\nwar.\n\nIn justice to the cabinet of 1780, it must be acknowledged that the\npersonal tone of the ambassador was criticised; and we thus find him\nmaking his diplomatic apology to Lord Stormont, then secretary for\nforeign affairs:--\n\n\"I have often been conscious of the remark your lordship makes, and have\nmyself felt that I was not acting up to the character of an English\nminister, in bestowing such _fulsome incense_ on the empress. But here,\ntoo, I was drawn from my system and principles by the conduct of my\nadversaries. They ever addressed her as a being of a superior nature;\nand as she goes near to think herself infallible, she expects to be\napproached with all the reverence due to a divinity.\" No excuse could be\nmore unsatisfactory. If other men chose to bow down, there would have\nonly been the more manliness, and the more effect too, in refusing to\nfollow such an example.\n\nIn 1783, the ambassador obtained permission to return to England. His\ncorrespondence at the period immediately previous, is remarkably\ninteresting; and it is striking to see that the successive secretaries\nfor the foreign department, under all changes of administration, formed\nthe same view of the substantial policy of England. When, in 1783, Fox\nassumed the foreign seals, he thus writes to Harris, in the course of a\nlong letter on the foreign policy of the cabinet:--\"You will readily\nbelieve me, that my system of foreign politics was too deeply rooted to\nmake it likely that I should have changed it. Alliances with the\nnorthern powers _ever have been, and ever will be, the system of every\nenlightened Englishman_.\"\n\nIn the year following, Sir James Harris was appointed by Pitt to the\nDutch embassy, to which he had been previously nominated by Fox, his\nfriend and political leader. The appointment by the new cabinet was thus\nthe strongest testimony to his talents. His letters from the Hague\ncontain a very intelligent statement of the parties and principles which\nagitated Holland in 1787. The object was the establishment of a\ndemocracy and the extinction of the Stadtholderate, or at least its\nsuppression as a hereditary dignity. The court of France was busy in\nthis democratic intrigue; and its partial success unquestionably added\nnew combustibles to the pile on which that unfortunate monarchy, in the\nhour of infatuation, was preparing to throw itself. The ambassador's\nlanguage on this occasion is characteristic and memorable. In one of his\ndespatches to the Marquis of Carmarthen, then secretary of state, he\nthus says:--\n\n\"The infamy and profligacy of the French make me long to change my\nprofession, and to fight them with a sharper instrument than a pen. It\nmust be with those (not our pens, but our swords) that we must carry the\nmediation through, if we mean it should be attended with any success.\nThere are strong reports of a popular insurrection in France:\"--\"_Si_\nDieu voulait les punir par ou ils ont peche, comme j'admirerais la\njustice divine!\" The remark was natural; it was almost prophetic; and it\nwas on the eve of realization. In 1789, but two years after, the\nRevolution began.\n\nThese volumes contain a great deal of extremely curious material,\nespecially important to every man who may in future be employed in the\nforeign service of our diplomacy. They supply a model of the manner in\nwhich those offices may be most effectively sustained. We have already\nexpressed dissatisfaction at the submissive style used in addressing the\nRussian empress. But in other instances, the language of the ambassador\nseems to have been prompt and plain. It is remarkable that England has,\nat the present time, arrived at a condition of European affairs bearing\nno slight resemblance to that of the period between 1783 and 1789. It is\ntrue that there will be no second French Revolution; one catastrophe of\nthat terrible extent is enough for the world. But there are strong\nsymptoms of those hostilities which the Bourbons were endeavouring to\nkindle against this country, for at least a dozen years before the\nRevolution which crushed their monarchy.\n\nWithout any provocation on the part of England, any actual claim, or\nany desire whatever of war, this country finds itself suddenly made an\nobject of perpetual insult on the part of all the active mind of France.\nThe cry from every organ of public opinion seems to be, war with\nEngland, whether with or without cause. A violent clamour is raised for\nour national ruin; the resources of France are blazoned in all quarters;\nand the only contemplation popular in France is, how most suddenly and\neffectually French armies may be poured on our shores, our fields\nravaged, our maritime cities burned, and our people massacred! It must\nbe hoped that this detestable spirit does not reach higher than the\nJacobin papers, and the villains by whom that principal part of the\nFrench press is conducted. Yet we find but little contradiction to it in\neven the more serious and authentic portion of the national sentiments.\nIn such circumstances, it is only right to be prepared. We find also the\nstill more expressive evidence of this spirit of evil, in the general\nconduct of the agents of France in her colonies--a habit of sudden\nencroachment, a growing arrogance, and a full exhibition of that bitter\nand sneering petulance, which was supposed to have been scourged out of\nthe French by their desperate defeats towards the close of the war. All\nthis insolence may, by possibility, pass away; but it also may go on to\nfurther inflammation, and it may be necessary to scourge it again; and\nthis discipline, if once begun, must be carried through more effectually\nthan when the Allies last visited Paris. The respect felt for the French\nking and his prime minister, as the friends of peace, naturally\nrestrains the language with which aggression deserves to be reprobated.\nBut the French government, if it desires to retain that respect, must\nexhibit its sincerity in making some substantial effort to preserve\npeace. No man of sense in Europe can believe in the necessity of the\nseizure of Algiers, nor in the necessity of the war with Morocco. But\nevery man can see the influence of both on the freedom of the\nMediterranean. The seizure of the British consul at Otaheite shows a\nspirit which must be summarily extinguished, or the preservation of\npeace will be impossible. In the mean time, we hear from France nothing\nbut a cry for steam-ships, and threats of invasion. We ask, what has\nEngland done? Nothing to offend or injure: there is not even an\nallegation of any thing of the kind. But if war must come, woe be to\nthose by whom it is begun! The history of all the wars of England with\nFrance, is one of French defeat. We have beaten the French by land, we\nhave beaten them by sea; and, with the blessing of Heaven on the\nrighteous cause and our own stout hands, we shall always beat them. We\nhave beaten them on the soil of the stranger--we have beaten them on\ntheir own. From the fourteenth century, when English soldiers were\nmasters of the half of France, down to Waterloo, we have always beaten\nFrance; and if we beat her under Napoleon, there can be no fear of our\nnot beating her under a race so palpably his inferiors. All England\ndeprecates war as useless, unnatural, and criminal. But the crime is\nsolely on the head of the aggressor. Woe to those who begin the next\nwar! It may be final.\n\nThe late visit of the Emperor of Russia to this country, which so much\nperplexed the political circles of both France and England, now probably\nadmits of elucidation. The emperor's visit has been followed by that of\nthe ablest and most powerful diplomatist in his dominions, the Count\nNesselrode, his foreign minister. For this visit, too, a speedy\nelucidation may be found. The visits of the King of Saxony, and the\nPrinces of Prussia and Holland, also have their importance in this point\nof view; and the malignant insults of the French journals may have had a\nvery influential share in contributing to the increased closeness of our\nconnexion with the sovereignties of Germany and Russia. The maxim of\nFox, that the northern alliances are the true policy of England, is as\nsound as ever. Still, we deprecate war--all rational men deprecate war;\nand we speak in a feeling which we fully believe to be universal in\nEngland, that nothing would be a higher source of rejoicing in Great\nBritain, than a _safe_ peace with France, and harmony with all the\nnations of the world.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n{A} _Diaries and Correspondence of James Harris, First Earl of\nMalmesbury._ Edited by his GRANDSON, the Third Earl. 2 vols.\n\n{B} \"Every where to remember his country.\"\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS AND BALLADS OF GOETHE.\n\nNo. II.\n\n\nGoethe's love for the Fine Arts amounted almost to a passion. In his\nearlier years, he performed the painter's customary pilgrimage through\nItaly, and not merely surveyed, but studied with intense anxiety, the\nworks of the great modern masters. A poet, if he understands the theory\nof his own calling, may learn much from pictures; for the analogy\nbetween the sister arts is very strong. The secret of preserving\nrichness without glare, fulness without pruriency, and strength without\nexaggeration, must be attained alike by poet and painter, before either\nof them can take their rank among the chosen children of immortality. It\nis a common but most erroneous idea, that an artist is more indebted for\nsuccess to inspiration, than to severe study. Unquestionably he must\npossess some portion of the former--that is, he must have within him the\npower to imagine and to create; for if he has not that, the fundamental\nfaculty is wanting. But how different are the crude shapeless fancies,\nhow meagre and uncertain the outlines of the mental sketch, from the\nwarm, vivid, and glowing perfection of the matured and finished work! It\nis in the strange and indescribable process of moulding the rude idea,\nof giving due proportion to each individual part, and combining the\nwhole into symmetry, that the test of excellence lies. _There_\ninspiration will help but little; and labour, the common doom of man in\nthe loftiest as well as the lowest walks of life, is requisite to\nconsummate the triumph.\n\nNo man better understood, or more thoroughly acted upon the knowledge of\nthis analogy, than Goethe. He wrought rigidly by the rule of the artist.\nNot one poem, however trifling might be the subject, did he suffer to\nescape from his hands, until it had received the final touches, and\nundergone the most thorough revision. So far did he carry this\nprinciple, that many of his lesser works seem absolutely mere\ntranscripts or descriptions of pictures, where the sentiment is rather\ninferred than expressed; and in some, for example that which we are\nabout to quote, he even brings before the reader what may be called the\nprocess of mental painting.\n\n\nCUPID AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER\n\n      Once I sate upon a mountain,\n    Gazing on the mist before me;\n    Like a great grey sheet of canvass,\n    Shrouding all things in its cover,\n    Did it float 'twixt earth and heaven.\n\n      Then a child appear'd beside me;\n    Saying, \"Friend, it is not seemly,\n    Thus to gaze in idle wonder,\n    With that noble breadth before thee.\n    Hast thou lost thine inspiration?\n    Hath the spirit of the painter\n    Died within thee utterly?\"\n\n      But I turn'd and look'd upon him,\n    Speaking not, but thinking inly,\n    \"Will he read a lesson now!\"\n\n      \"Folded hands,\" pursued the infant,\n    \"Never yet have won a triumph.\n    Look! I'll paint for thee a picture\n    Such as none have seen before.\"\n\n      And he pointed with his finger,\n    Which like any rose was ruddy,\n    And upon the breadth of vapour\n    With that finger 'gan to draw.\n\n      First a glorious sun he painted,\n    Dazzling when I look'd upon it;\n    And he made the inner border\n    Of the clouds around it golden,\n    With the light rays through the masses\n    Pouring down in streams of splendour.\n    Then the tender taper summits\n    Of the trees, all leaf and glitter,\n    Started from the sullen void;\n    And the <DW72>s behind them rising,\n    Graceful-lined in undulation,\n    Glided backwards one by one.\n    Underneath, be sure, was water;\n    And the stream was drawn so truly\n    That it seem'd to break and shimmer,\n    That it seem'd as if cascading\n    From the lofty rolling wheel.\n\n      There were flowers beside the brooklet;\n    There were colours on the meadow--\n    Gold and azure, green and purple,\n    Emerald and bright carbuncle.\n    Clear and pure he work'd the ether\n    As with lapis-lazuli,\n    And the mountains in the distance\n    Stretching blue and far away--\n    All so well, that I, in rapture\n    At this second revelation,\n    Turn'd to gaze upon the painter\n    From the picture which he drew.\n\n      \"Have I not,\" he said, \"convinced thee\n    That I know the painter's secret?\n    Yet the greatest is to come.\"\n\n      Then he drew with gentle finger,\n    Still more delicately pointed,\n    In the wood, about its margin,\n    Where the sun within the water\n    Glanced as from the clearest mirror,\n    Such a maiden's form!\n    Perfect shape in perfect raiment,\n    Fair young cheeks 'neath glossy ringlets,\n    And the cheeks were of the colour\n    Of the finger whence they came.\n\n      \"Child,\" I cried, \"what wond'rous master\n    In his school of art hath form'd thee,\n    That so deftly and so truly,\n    From the sketch unto the burnish,\n    Thou hast finish'd such a gem?\"\n\n      As I spoke, a breeze arising\n    Stirr'd the tree-tops in the picture,\n    Ruffled every pool of water,\n    Waved the garments of the maiden;\n    And, what more than all amazed me,\n    Her small feet took motion also,\n    And she came towards the station\n    Where I sat beside the boy.\n\n      So, when every thing was moving,\n    Leaves and water, flowers and raiment,\n    And the footsteps of the darling--\n    Think you I remain'd as lifeless\n    As the rock on which I rested?\n    No, I trow--not I!\n\nThis is as perfect a landscape as one of Berghem's sunniest.\n\nAn artist is, to our mind, one of the happiest creatures in God's\ncreation. Now that the race of wandering minstrels has passed away, your\npainter is the only free joyous denizen of the earth, who can give way\nto his natural impulses without fear of reproach, and who can indulge\nhis enthusiasm for the bright and beautiful to the utmost. He has his\ntroubles, no doubt; for he is ambitious, and too often he is poor; but\nit is something to pursue ambition along the natural path with unwarped\nenergies, and ardent and sincere devotion. As to poverty, that is a\nfault that must daily mend, if he is only true to himself. In a few\nyears, the foot-sore wanderer of the Alps, with little more worldly\ngoods than the wallet and sketch-book he carries, will be the royal\nacademician, the Rubens or the Reynolds of his day, with the most\n_recherche_ studio in London, and more orders upon his list than he has\neither time or inclination to execute. Goethe has let us into the secret\nof the young German artist's life. Let us look upon him in the dawnings\nof his fame, before he is summoned to adorn the stately halls of Munich\nwith frescoes from the Niebelungen Lied.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE ARTIST'S MORNING SONG.\n\n    My dwelling is the Muses' home--\n      What matters it how small?\n    And here, within my heart, is set\n      The holiest place of all.\n\n    When, waken'd by the early sun,\n      I rise from slumbers sound,\n    I see the ever-living forms\n      In radiance group'd around.\n\n    I pray, and songs of thanks and praise\n      Are more than half my prayer,\n    With simple notes of music, tuned\n      To some harmonious air.\n\n    I bow before the altar then,\n      And read, as well I may,\n    From noble Homer's master-work,\n      The lesson for the day.\n\n    He takes me to the furious fight,\n      Where lion warriors throng;\n    Where god-descended heroes whirl\n      In iron cars along.\n\n    And steeds go down before the cars;\n      And round the cumber'd wheel,\n    Both friend and foe are rolling now,\n      All blood from head to heel!\n\n    Then comes the champion of them all,\n      Pelides' friend is he,\n    And crashes through the dense array,\n      Though thousands ten they be!\n\n    And ever smites that fiery sword\n      Through helmet, shield, and mail;\n    Until he falls by craft divine,\n      Where might could not prevail.\n\n    Down from the glorious pile he rolls,\n      Which he himself had made,\n    And foemen trample on the limbs\n      From which they shrank afraid.\n\n    Then start I up, with arms in hand,\n      What arms the painter bears;\n    And soon along my kindling wall\n      The fight at Troy appears.\n\n    On! on again! The wrath is here\n      Of battle rolling red;\n    Shield strikes on shield, and sword on helm,\n      And dead men fall on dead!\n\n    I throng into the inner press,\n      Where loudest rings the din;\n    For there, around their hero's corpse,\n      Fight on his furious kin!\n\n    A rescue! rescue! bear him hence\n      Into the leaguer near;\n    Pour balsam in his glorious wounds,\n      And weep above his bier.\n\n    And when from that hot trance I pass,\n      Great Love, I feel thy charm;\n    There hangs my lady's picture near--\n      A picture yet so warm!\n\n    How fair she was, reclining there;\n      What languish in her look!\n    How thrill'd her glance through all my frame!\n      The very pencil shook.\n\n    Her eyes, her cheeks, her lovely lips,\n      Were all the world to me;\n    And in my breast a younger life\n      Rose wild and wantonly.\n\n    Oh! turn again, and bide thee here,\n      Nor fear such rude alarms;\n    How could I think of battles more\n      With thee within my arms!\n\n    But thou shalt lend thy perfect form\n      To all I fashion best;\n    I'll paint thee first, Madonna-wise,\n      The infant on thy breast.\n\n    I'll paint thee as a startled nymph,\n      Myself a following fawn;\n    And still pursue thy flying feet\n      Across the woodland lawn.\n\n    With helm on head, like Mars, I'll lie\n      By thee, the Queen of Love,\n    And draw a net around us twain,\n      And smile on heaven above.\n\n    And every god that comes shall pour\n      His blessings on thy head,\n    And envious eyes be far away\n      From that dear marriage-bed!\n\nThere is abundance of spirit here. For once, in describing the battle\nand fall of Patroclus, Goethe seems to have caught a spark of Homeric\ninspiration, and the lines ring out as clearly as the stroke of the\nhammer on the anvil. There is no rhyme in the original, which, we\nconfess, appears to us a fault; more especially as the rhythm is that of\nthe ordinary ballad. We have, therefore, ventured to supply it, with as\nlittle deviation otherwise as possible. It is for the reader to judge\nwhether the effect is diminished.\n\nOur next selection shall be \"The God and the Bayadere\"--a poem which is\nlittle inferior in beauty to the Bride of Corinth, and which, from its\nstructure, opposes to the translator quite as serious a difficulty. The\nsubject is taken from the Hindoo mythology, and conveys a very touching\nmoral of humanity and forbearance; somewhat daring, perhaps, from its\nnovelty, and the peculiar customs and religious faith of an eastern\nland, yet, withal, most delicately handled.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE GOD AND THE BAYADERE.\n\nAN INDIAN LEGEND.\n\n    I.\n\n        Mahadeh, earth's lord, descending\n          To its mansions comes again,\n        That, like man with mortals blending,\n          He may feel their joy and pain;\n        Stoops to try life's varied changes,\n          And with human eyes to see,\n        Ere he praises or avenges,\n          What their fitful lot may be.\n    He has pass'd through the city, has look'd on them all;\n    He has watch'd o'er the great, nor forgotten the small,\n    And at evening went forth on his journey so free.\n\n    II.\n\n        In the outskirts of the city,\n          Where the straggling huts are piled,\n        At a casement stood a pretty\n          Painted thing, almost a child.\n        \"Greet thee, maiden!\" \"Thanks--art weary?\n          Wait, and quickly I'll appear!\"\n        \"What art thou?\"--\"A Bayadere,\n          And the home of love is here.\"\n    She rises; the cymbals she strikes as she dances,\n    And whirling, and bending with grace, she advances,\n    And offers him flowers as she undulates near.\n\n    III.\n\n        O'er the threshold gliding lightly\n          In she leads him to her room.\n        \"Fear not, gentle stranger; brightly\n          Shall my lamp dispel the gloom.\n        Art thou weary? I'll relieve thee--\n          Bathe thy feet, and soothe their smart;\n        All thou askest I can give thee--\n          Rest, or song, or joy impart.\"\n    She labours to soothe him, she labours to please;\n    The Deity smiles; for with pleasure he sees\n    Through deep degradation a right-loving heart.\n\n    IV.\n\n        And he asks for service menial,\n          And she only strives the more,\n        Nature's impulse now is genial\n          Where but art prevail'd before.\n        As the fruit succeeds the blossom,\n          Swells and ripens day by day,\n        So, where kindness fills the bosom,\n          Love is never far away.\n    But he, whose vast motive was deeper and higher,\n    Selected, more keenly and clearly to try her,\n    Love, follow'd by anguish, and death, and dismay.\n\n    V.\n\n        And her rosy cheeks he presses,\n          And she feels love's torment sore,\n        And, thrill'd through by his caresses,\n          Weeps, that never wept before.\n        Droops beside him, not dissembling,\n          Or for passion or for gain,\n        But her limbs grow faint and trembling,\n          And no more their strength retain.\n    Meanwhile the still hours of the night stealing by,\n    Spread their shadowy woof o'er the face of the sky,\n    Bringing love and its festival joys in their train.\n\n    VI.\n\n        Lately roused, her arms around him,\n          Waking up from broken rest,\n        Dead upon her breast she found him,\n          Dead--that dearly-cherish'd guest!\n        Shrieking loud, she flings her o'er him,\n          But he answers not her cry;\n        And unto the pile they bore him,\n          Stark of limb and cold of eye.\n    She hears the priests chanting--she hears the death-song,\n    And frantic she rises, and bursts through the throng.\n    \"Who is she? what seeks she? why comes she so nigh?\"\n\n    VII.\n\n        But the bier she falleth over,\n          And her shrieks are loud and shrill--\n        \"I _will_ have my lord, my lover!\n          In the grave I seek him still.\n        Shall that godlike frame be wasted\n          By the fire's consuming blight?\n        Mine it was--yea mine! though tasted\n          Only one delicious night!\"\n    But the priests, they chant ever--\"We carry the old,\n    When their watching is over, their journeys are told;\n    We carry the young, when they pass from the light!\n\n    VIII.\n\n        \"Hear us, woman! Him we carry\n          Was not, could not be, thy spouse.\n        Art thou not a Bayadere?\n          So hast thou no nuptial vows.\n        Only to death's silent hollow\n          With the body goes the shade;\n        Only wives their husbands follow:\n          Thus alone is duty paid.\n    Strike loud the wild turmoil of drum and of gong!\n    Receive him, ye gods, in your glorious throng--\n    Receive him in garments of burning array'd!\"\n\n    IX.\n\n        Harsh their words, and unavailing,\n          Swift she threaded through the quire,\n        And with arms outstretch'd, unquailing\n          Leap'd into the crackling fire.\n        But the deed alone sufficeth--\n          Robed in might and majesty,\n        From the pile the god ariseth\n          With the ransom'd one on high.\n    Divinity joys in a sinner repenting,\n    And the lost ones of earth, by immortals relenting,\n    Are borne upon pinions of fire to the sky!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet us now take a poem of the Hartz mountains, containing no common\nallegory. Every man is more or less a Treasure-seeker--a hater of\nlabour--until he has received the important truth, that labour alone can\nbring content and happiness. There is an affinity, strange as it may\nappear, between those whose lot in life is the most exalted, and the\nhaggard hollow-eyed wretch who prowls incessantly around the crumbling\nruins of the past, in the belief that there lies beneath their\nmysterious foundations a mighty treasure, over which some jealous demon\nkeeps watch for evermore. But Goethe shall read the moral to us himself.\n\n\nTHE TREASURE-SEEKER.\n\n    I.\n\n    Many weary days I suffer'd,\n      Sick of heart and poor of purse;\n    Riches are the greatest blessing--\n      Poverty the deepest curse!\n    Till at last to dig a treasure\n      Forth I went into the wood--\n    \"Fiend! my soul is thine for ever!\"\n      And I sign'd the scroll with blood.\n\n    II.\n\n    Then I drew the magic circles,\n      Kindled the mysterious fire,\n    Placed the herbs and bones in order,\n      Spoke the incantation dire.\n    And I sought the buried metal\n      With a spell of mickle might--\n    Sought it as my master taught me;\n      Black and stormy was the night.\n\n    III.\n\n    And I saw a light appearing\n      In the distance, like a star;\n    When the midnight hour was tolling,\n      Came it waxing from afar:\n    Came it flashing, swift and sudden;\n      As if fiery wine it were,\n    Flowing from an open chalice,\n      Which a beauteous boy did bear.\n\n    IV.\n\n    And he wore a lustrous chaplet,\n      And his eyes were full of thought,\n    As he stepp'd into the circle\n      With the radiance that he brought.\n    And he bade me taste the goblet;\n      And I thought--\"It cannot be,\n    That this boy should be the bearer\n      Of the Demon's gifts to me!\"\n\n    V.\n\n    \"Taste the draught of pure existence\n      Sparkling in this golden urn,\n    And no more with baneful magic\n      Shalt thou hitherward return.\n    Do not dig for treasures longer;\n      Let thy future spellwords be\n    Days of labour, nights of resting;\n      So shall peace return to thee!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPass we away now from the Hartz to Heidelberg, in the company of our\nglorious poet. We all know the magnificent ruins of the Neckar, the\nfeudal turrets which look down upon one of the sweetest spots that ever\nfilled the soul of a weary man with yearning for a long repose. Many a\nyear has gone by since the helmet of the warder was seen glancing on\nthese lofty battlements, since the tramp of the steed was heard in the\ncourt-yard, and the banner floated proudly from the topmost turret; but\nfancy has a power to call them back, and the shattered stone is restored\nin an instant by the touch of that sublimest architect:--\n\n\nTHE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN.\n\n    There stands an ancient castle\n      On yonder mountain height,\n    Where, fenced with door and portal,\n      Once tarried steed and knight.\n\n    But gone are door and portal,\n      And all is hush'd and still;\n    O'er ruin'd wall and rafter\n      I clamber as I will.\n\n    A cellar with many a vintage\n      Once lay in yonder nook;\n    Where now are the cellarer's flagons,\n      And where is his jovial look?\n\n    No more he sets the beakers\n      For the guests at the wassail feast;\n    Nor fills a flask from the oldest cask\n      For the duties of the priest.\n\n    No more he gives on the staircase\n      The stoup to the thirsty squires,\n    And a hurried thanks for the hurried gift\n      Receives, nor more requires.\n\n    For burn'd are roof and rafter,\n      And they hang begrimed and black;\n    And stair, and hall, and chapel,\n      Are turn'd to dust and wrack.\n\n    Yet, as with song and cittern,\n      One day when the sun was bright,\n    I saw my love ascending\n      With me the rocky height;\n\n    From the hush and desolation\n      Sweet fancies did unfold,\n    And it seem'd as we were living\n      In the merry days of old.\n\n    As if the stateliest chambers\n      For noble guests were spread,\n    And out from the prime of that glorious time\n      A youth a maiden led.\n\n    And, standing in the chapel,\n      The good old priest did say,\n    \"Will ye wed with one another?\"\n      And we smiled and we answer'd \"Yea!\"\n\n    We sung, and our hearts they bounded\n      To the thrilling lays we sung,\n    And every note was doubled\n      By the echo's catching tongue.\n\n    And when, as eve descended,\n      We left the silence still,\n    And the setting sun look'd upward\n      On that great castled hill;\n\n    Then far and wide, like lord and bride,\n      In the radiant light we shone--\n    It sank; and again the ruins\n      Stood desolate and lone!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe shall now select, from the songs that are scattered throughout the\ntale of Wilhelm Meister, one of the most genial and sweet. It is an\nin-door picture of evening, and of those odorous flowers of life which\nexpand their petals only at the approach of Hesperus.\n\n\nPHILINE'S SONG.\n\n    Sing not thus in notes of sadness\n      Of the loneliness of night;\n    No! 'tis made for social gladness,\n      Converse sweet, and love's delight.\n\n    As to rugged man his wife is,\n      As his fairest half decreed,\n    So dear night the half of life is,\n      And the fairest half indeed.\n\n    Canst thou in the day have pleasure,\n      Which but breaks on rapture in,\n    Scares us from our dreams of leisure\n      With its glare and irksome din?\n\n    But when night is come, and glowing\n      Is the lamp's attemper'd ray,\n    And from lip to lip are flowing\n      Love and mirth, in sparkling play;\n\n    When the fiery boy, that wildly\n      Rushes in his wayward mood,\n    Calms to rest, disporting mildly,\n      By some trivial gift subdued;\n\n    When the nightingale is trilling\n      Songs of love to lovers' ears,\n    Which, to hearts with sorrow thrilling,\n      Seem but sighs and waken tears;\n\n    Then, with bosom lightly springing,\n      Dost thou listen to the bell,\n    That, with midnight's number ringing,\n      Speaks of rest and joy so well?\n\n    Then, dear heart, this comfort borrow\n      From the long day's lingering light--\n    Every day hath its own sorrow,\n      Gladness cometh with the night!\n\nWe are somewhat puzzled as to the title which we ought to prefix to our\nnext specimen. Goethe rather maliciously calls it \"Gegenwart,\" which may\nbe equivalent to the word \"Presentiality,\" if, indeed, such a word\nbelongs to the English language. We, therefore, prefer dedicating it to\nour own ladye love; and we could not find for her any where a sweeter\nstrain, unless we were to commit depredation upon the minor poems of Ben\nJonson or of Shakspeare.\n\n\nTO MY MISTRESS.\n\n    All that's lovely speaks of thee!\n      When the glorious sun appeareth,\n    'Tis thy harbinger to me:\n      Only thus he cheereth.\n\n    In the garden where thou go'st,\n      There art thou the rose of roses,\n    First of lilies, fragrant most\n      Of the fragrant posies.\n\n    When thou movest in the dance,\n      All the stars with thee are moving,\n    And around thee gleam and glance,\n      Never tired of loving.\n\n    Night!--and would the night were here!\n      Yet the moon would lose her duty,\n    Though her sheen be soft and clear,\n      Softer is thy beauty!\n\n    Fair, and kind, and gentle one!\n      Do not moon, and stars, and flowers\n    Pay that homage to their sun\n      That we pay to ours?\n\n    Sun of mine, that art so dear--\n      Sun, that art above all sorrow!\n    Shine, I pray thee, on me here\n      Till the eternal morrow.\n\nAnother little poem makes us think of \"poor Ophelia.\" We suspect that\nGoethe had the music of her broken ballad floating in his mind, when he\ncomposed the following verses:--\n\n\nTHE WILD ROSE.\n\n    A boy espied, in morning light,\n        A little rosebud blowing.\n    'Twas so delicate and bright,\n    That he came to feast his sight,\n        And wonder at its growing.\n    Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,\n        Rosebud brightly blowing!\n\n    I will gather thee--he cried--\n        Rosebud brightly blowing!\n    Then I'll sting thee, it replied,\n    And you'll quickly start aside\n        With the prickle glowing.\n    Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,\n        Rosebud brightly blowing!\n\n    But he pluck'd it from the plain,\n        The rosebud brightly blowing!\n    It turn'd and stung him, but in vain--\n    He regarded not the pain,\n        Homewards with it going.\n    Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red,\n        Rosebud brightly blowing!\n\nWe are sure that the votaries of Wordsworth will thank us for the next\ntranslation, which embodies a most noble idea. See how the eye of the\npoet is scanning the silent march of the heavens, and mark with what\nsolemn music he invests the stately thought!\n\n\nA NIGHT THOUGHT.\n\n    I do not envy you, ye joyless stars,\n    Though fair ye be, and glorious to the sight--\n    The seaman's hope amidst the 'whelming storm,\n    When help from God or man there cometh none.\n    No! for ye love not, nor have ever loved!\n    Through the broad fields of heaven, the eternal hours\n    Lead on your circling spheres unceasingly.\n    How vast a journey have ye travell'd o'er,\n    Since I, upon the bosom of my love,\n    Forgot all memory of night or you!\n\nLet us follow up these glorious lines with a conception worthy of\nAEschylus--indeed an abstract of his master-subject. It were out of place\nhere to dilate upon the mythical grandeur of Prometheus, and the heroic\nendurance of his character, as depicted by the ancient poet. To our mind\nand ear, the modern is scarcely inferior.\n\n\nPROMETHEUS.\n\n    Curtain thy heavens, thou Jove, with clouds and mist,\n    And, like a boy that moweth thistles down,\n    Unloose thy spleen on oaks and mountain-tops;\n    Yet canst thou not deprive me of my earth,\n    Nor of my hut, the which thou didst not build,\n    Nor of my hearth, whose little cheerful flame\n    Thou enviest me!\n\n    I know not aught within the universe\n    More slight, more pitiful than you, ye Gods!\n    Who nurse your majesty with scant supplies\n    Of offerings wrung from fear, and mutter'd prayers,\n    And needs must starve, were't not that babes and beggars\n    Are hope-besotted fools!\n\n    When I was yet a child, and knew not whence\n    My being came, nor where to turn its powers,\n    Up to the sun I bent my wilder'd eye,\n    As though above, within its glorious orb,\n    There dwelt an ear to listen to my plaint,\n    A heart, like mine, to pity the oppress'd.\n\n    Who gave me succour\n    Against the Titans in their tyrannous might?\n    Who rescued me from death--from slavery?\n    Thou!--thou, my soul, burning with hallow'd fire,\n    Thou hast thyself alone achieved it all!\n    Yet didst thou, in thy young simplicity,\n    Glow with misguided thankfulness to him\n    That slumbers on in idlesse there above!\n\n    I reverence thee?\n    Wherefore? Hast thou ever\n    Lighten'd the sorrows of the heavy-laden?\n    _Thou_ ever stretch'd thy hand to still the tears\n    Of the perplex'd in spirit?\n    Was it not\n    Almighty Time, and ever-during Fate--\n    My lords and thine--that shaped and fashion'd me\n    Into the MAN I am?\n\n    Belike it was thy dream,\n    That I should hate life--fly to wastes and wilds,\n    For that the buds of visionary thought\n    Did not all ripen into goodly flowers?\n\n    Here do I sit, and mould\n    Men after mine own image--\n    A race that may be like unto myself,\n    To suffer, weep; to enjoy, and to rejoice;\n    And, like myself, unheeding all of thee!\n\nWe shall close this Number with a ballad of a different cast, but, lest\nthe transition should be too violent, we shall interpolate the space\nwith a very beautiful lyric. We claim no merit for this translation,\nfor, to say the truth, we could not have done it half so well. Perhaps\nthe fair hand that penned it, will turn over the pages of Maga in\ndistant Wales, and a happy blush over-spread her cheek when she sees,\nenshrined in these columns, the effort of her maiden Muse.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nNEW LOVE, NEW LIFE.\n\n    Heart--my heart! what means this feeling?\n    Say what weighs thee down so sore?\n    What new life is this revealing!\n    What thou wert, thou art no more.\n    All once dear to thee is vanish'd,\n    All that marr'd thy peace is banish'd,\n    Gone thy trouble and thine ease--\n    Ah! whence come such woes as these?\n\n    Does the bloom of youth bright-gleaming--\n    Does that form of purest light--\n    Do these eyes so sweetly beaming,\n    Chain thee with resistless might?\n    When the charm I'd wildly sever--\n    Man myself to fly for ever--\n    Ah! or yet the thought can stir,\n    Back my footsteps fly to her.\n\n    With such magic meshes laden,\n    All too closely round me cast,\n    Holds me that bewitching maiden,\n    An unwilling captive fast.\n    In her charmed sphere delaying,\n    Must I live, her will obeying--\n    Ah! how great the change in me!\n    Love--O love, do set me free!\n\nOne other mood of love, and we leave the apprentice of Cornelius Agrippa\nto bring up the rear. Goethe is said to have been somewhat fickle in his\nattachments--most poets are--but here is one instance where passion\nappears to have prevailed over absence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nSEPARATION.\n\n    I think of thee whene'er the sun is glowing\n              Upon the lake;\n    Of thee, when in the crystal fountain flowing\n              The moonbeams shake.\n\n    I see thee when the wanton wind is busy,\n              And dust-clouds rise;\n    In the deep night, when o'er the bridge so dizzy\n              The wanderer hies.\n\n    I hear thee when the waves, with hollow roaring,\n              Gush forth their fill;\n    Often along the heath I go exploring,\n              When all is still.\n\n    I am with thee! Though far thou art and darkling,\n              Yet art thou near.\n    The sun goes down, the stars will soon be sparkling--\n              Oh, wert thou here!\n\nIf we recollect right--for it is a long time since we studied the occult\nsciences--Wierius, in his erudite volume \"De Prestigiis Demonum,\"\nrecounts the story which is celebrated in the following ballad.\nSomething like it is to be found in the biography of every magician; for\nthe household staff of a wizard was not complete without a _famulus_,\nwho usually proved to be a fellow of considerable humour, but endowed\nwith the meddling propensities of a monkey. Thus, Doctor Faustus of\nWittenburg--not at all to be confounded with the illustrious\nprinter--had a perfect jewel in the person of his attendant Wagner; and\nour English Friar Bacon was equally fortunate in Miles, his trusty\nsquire. Each of these gentlemen, in their master's absence, attempted a\nlittle conjuring on their own account; but with no better success than\nthe nameless attendant of Agrippa, whom Goethe has sought to\nimmortalize. There is a great deal of grotesque humour in the\nmanufacture, agility, and multiplication of the domestic Kobold.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE MAGICIAN'S APPRENTICE.\n\n    Huzzah, huzzah! His back is fairly\n      Turn'd about, the wizard old;\n    And I'll now his spirits rarely\n      To my will and pleasure mould!\n    His spells and orgies--ha'n't I\n      Mark'd them all aright?\n    And I'll do wonders, sha'n't I?\n      And deeds of mickle might.\n          Bubble, bubble;\n          Fast and faster!\n          Hear your master,\n          Hear his calling--\n          Water! flow in measures double,\n          To the bath in torrents falling!\n\n    Ho, thou batter'd broomstick! take ye\n      This old seedy coat, and wear it--\n    Ah, thou household drudge, I'll make ye\n      Do my bidding; ay, and fear it.\n    Stand on legs, old tramper!\n      Here's a head--I've stuck it--\n    Now be off--hey, scamper\n      With the water-bucket!\n          Bubble, bubble;\n          Fast and faster!\n          Hear your master,\n          Hear his calling--\n          Water! flow in measure double,\n          To the bath in torrents falling!\n\n    See, 'tis off--'tis at the river--\n      In the stream the bucket flashes;\n    Now 'tis back--and down, or ever\n      You can wink; the burden dashes.\n    Again, again, and quicker!\n      The floor is in a swim,\n    And every stoup and bicker\n      Is running o'er the brim.\n          Stop, now stop!\n          For you've granted\n          All I wanted\n          Well and neatly--\n          Gracious me! I'm like to drop--\n          I've forgot the word completely!\n\n    Oh, the word, so strong and baleful,\n      To make it what it was before!\n    There it skips with pail on pailful--\n      Would thou wert a broom once more!\n    Still new streams he scatters,\n      Round and ever round me--\n    Oh, a hundred waters\n      Rushing in have bound me!\n          No--no longer\n          Can I bear it.\n          No, I swear it!\n          Gifts and graces!\n          Woe is me, my fears grow stronger,\n          Look what grinnings, what grimaces!\n\n    Wilt thou, offspring of the devil,\n      Soak the house to please thy funning?\n    Even now, above the level\n      Of the door the water's running.\n    Broom accurst, that will not\n      Hear, although I roar!\n    Stick! be now, and fail not,\n      What thou wert before!\n          You will joke me?\n          I'll not bear it,\n          No, I swear it!\n          I will catch you;\n          And with axe, if you provoke me,\n          In a twinkling I'll dispatch you.\n\n    Back it comes--will nought prevent it?\n      If I only turn me to thee,\n    Soon, O Kobold! thou'lt repent it,\n      When the steel goes crashing through thee.\n    Bravely struck, and surely!\n      There it goes in twain;\n    Now I move securely,\n      And I breathe again!\n          Woe and wonder!\n          As it parted,\n          Up there started,\n          'Quipp'd aright,\n          Goblins twain that rush asunder.\n          Help, oh help, ye powers of might!\n\n    Deep and deeper grows the water\n      On the stairs and in the hall,\n    Rushing in with roar and clatter--\n      Lord and master, hear me call!\n    Ah, here comes the master--\n      Sore, sir, is my straight;\n    I raised this spirit faster\n      Far than I can lay't.\n          \"To your hole!\n          As you were, be\n          Broom! and there be\n          Still; for none\n          But the wizard can control,\n          And make you on his errands run!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT DROUGHT.\n\n\nIn the spring and summer of 1844 rain began to fail, and the first\nthings that perished for want of water died that year. But the moisture\nof the earth was still abundant, and the plants which took deep root\nfound sustenance below; so that the forest trees showed an abundance of\nfoliage, and the harvest in some kinds was plentiful. Towards the autumn\nrain returned again, and every thing appeared to be recovering its\nformer order; but the dry winter, the dry spring, dry summer of the next\nyear, told upon the face of creation. Many trees put forth small and\nscanty leaves, and many perished altogether; whole species were cut off;\nfor instance, except where they were artificially preserved, one could\nnot find a living ash or beech--few were kept alive by means of man; for\nwater began to be hoarded for the necessaries of life. The wheat was\nwatered, and, where such a thing was possible, the hay-fields also; but\nnumbers of animals died, and numbers were killed this year--the first\nfrom thirst, and the last to reduce the consumers of the precious\nelement. Still the rich commanded the necessaries, and many of the\nluxuries of life; and the arts which required a consumption of water\nwere carried on as yet, and continued in practice even longer than\nprudence warranted: so strong was the force of habit, and the pressure\nof the artificial necessities which they supplied. The railroads were as\nyet in activity, and when water failed along the line, it was brought\nfrom the sea by the rich companies concerned in the traffic; only the\nfares were raised, and the trains which ran for pleasure merely, were\nsuspended. But, in the midst of business and interest, there was a deep\ngloom. Projects which affected the fortunes of nations were in suspense,\nbecause there was no rain. Cares for the succession of crowns, and the\nformation of constitutions, might all be futile, if there should be no\nrain: and it seemed as if there never would be any; for this was now the\nthird year, and the earth had not received a shower. And now, ceasing to\nbe supplied from their usual sources, the springs and rivers withered\nand shrank. Water became in many places not dear, but unattainable. The\ngreatest people of the land left it, and used their wealth in chasing\nthe retreating element from place to place on the earth. In some cases,\namong these luxurious spirits there were scenes of extravagant revelry\nstill; they had no employment except to live, and they endeavoured to\nmake the act of living as exciting as their old amusements had been. But\naccounts of foreign countries came more and more rarely to England; for\nwhen the fourth rainless year arrived, drought and famine had slain\nthree-fourths of its inhabitants, and commerce and agriculture were\nalike suspended. When a vessel came as far up in the mouth of a river as\nthe sinking waters permitted, it brought tidings of desolation from\nwhatever port it had left. Stories began to spread of dry land in parts\nof the ocean where it had never been seen before; marks which had stood\nin the deep of the sea might now be walked round at all times of the\ntide, and thick crusts of salt were beginning to spread upon tracts of\nthe great deep. These tidings from foreign lands came at long intervals,\nand at long intervals was a ship sent from any English haven. The few\ndwellers of the coast knew not if there were still any dwellers of the\ninterior: for England was become like the desert; and there were no\nbeasts to carry one across it, and no water to be hoarded in skins for\nthe passage. Traffic of every kind ceased; industry was gone; the\nsecrets of science, and the cultivated mind of the philosopher, were all\nbent to the production of water; and many a precious object was resolved\nback into its elements, and afforded a scanty supply to a few parched\nmouths. The lingering inhabitants had the produce of past years only to\nlive upon, which nothing replenished as it diminished, and to renew\nwhich the baked earth was wholly incompetent.\n\nIn the heart of this desert, there was a family which had hitherto\nsurvived the destruction of life around them. It consisted of a father\nand mother, and two young children, Charles and Alice; the last of whom,\nthe girl, was but a few months old when the Great Drought began. They\nhad lived in Derbyshire, near the range of low hills called the Peak;\nand they and other inhabitants of that region had found water longer\nthan many others, from the sides of the hills, and from excavations\nwhich they had made in the rocks. The strong hope and expectation of\nrain had kept them lingering on as long as any supply lasted; and\nPaulett, who in the days when ranks existed, had been a great landlord,\nhad used both his knowledge and his influence to supply the wants of the\npeople, and to postpone their destruction. But those days were gone by;\nhis possessions were so much dust: he wanted water, and nobody wanted\nany thing else. He was a mere man now, like those who are born naked and\ndie naked, and had to struggle with the needs of nature, even as every\none else. Meantime his education availed him; and the resources which it\ntaught him prolonged the lives of his family and himself. But he was\nsoon obliged to limit himself to this sole care; for the supply he\nobtained was scanty, and he knew how precarious it must be. He had\nexplored the cavern of the Peak with great attention, and he bored the\nrock in various places, and used means suggested by his knowledge of\nnatural causes, which had procured a slender flow of water into a basin\nwhich he had made. The fury of thirsty men for water was so great, that\nhe was obliged to keep his secret with the utmost care; and towards the\nend of the fourth year, he removed his wife and children to the cavern\nitself, and blocked up the entrance, in such a manner that he could\ndefend it against any chance survivor. There was no want of the luxuries\nof furniture in the cavern--all the splendours of the land were at the\ncommand of those who would take them; and Paulett brought there whatever\nhad adorned his home when the earth was a fit dwelling-place for man.\nThere was velvet and down to lie upon; there were carpets on which the\nlittle Alice could roll; there were warm dresses, and luxurious\nornaments of the toilette; whatever could be used for comfort he had\nbrought, and all other precious things he had left in his open house,\nlocking himself and his family up with only water. At first there would\ncome sometimes a miserable man or woman, tracing the presence of living\ncreatures, and crying for water. Paulett or his wife supplied several,\nand when they had been refreshed, they revealed the secret to others;\nor, being strengthened themselves, felt the desperate desire of life\nrevive, and attempted violence to get at the treasure. After this the\ninhabitants of the cavern fell back to mere self-preservation; and the\nfather and mother were able to harden their hearts against others, by\nlooking at the two creatures whom they had born into the world, and who\ndepended upon them. But, indeed, life seemed to shrink rapidly to\nnothing over the face of the country. It was very rare to see a moving\nform of any kind--skeletons of beasts and men were in plenty, and their\nwhite bones lay on the arid soil; or even their withered shapes, dried\nby the air and the sun, were stretched out on the places where they had\nceased to suffer: but life was most rare, and it became scarcely\nnecessary to use any precaution against an invader of their store. The\ndreadful misery was, that this store diminished. The heart of the earth\nseemed drying, and was ceasing to be capable of yielding moisture, even\nto the utmost wrenching of science. There was so little one hot day,\nthat Paulett and Ellen scarcely moistened their lips after their meal of\nbaked corn, and warned their children that the draught they received was\nthe only one that could be given them. Charles was now seven years old,\nand had learned to submit, but his longing eyes pleaded for more; little\nAlice was clamorous, and the mother felt tears overflow her eyes to\nthink that there was no possibility of yielding to that childish\npeevishness, and that the absolute non-existence of water must punish\nher poor child's wilfulness. When Paulett had set his instruments to\nwork, to renew if possible the supply, and when Ellen had removed the\nsilver cups and dishes which had held their corn and water, he and she\nsat down at the mouth of the cavern, and the little ones got their\nplaythings, and placed them on piece of rock not far off. The mouth of\nthe cave is lofty, and there is a sort of terrace running along one\nside, at the foot of which lay the channel of the stream, that was now\ndry. The view is down the first reach of a narrow valley, which turns\npresently afterwards, and so shuts out the world beyond from sight; and\nthe hill on each side rises high, and from its perpendicularity seems\neven higher than it is. The shade of the cavern was deep and cool, but\nthe sky glowed with the heat and light of the sun, and there was not a\ncloud to hinder him from burning up the earth. The hill-sides, the\nchannel where the brook had flowed, the stones of the cave, were all\nequally bare; there was no sound of voice, or bird, or insect--no cool\ndrop from the ceiling of the cave--no moisture even in the coolness of\nthe shadow. Ellen leaned her head on her husband, and Paulett pressed\nhis arm round her--both of them were thinking of the basin empty of\nwater.\n\n\"Ellen,\" said Paulett, \"I think the time is come when the elements shall\nmelt with fervent heat. It seems like the conflagration of the world;\nnot indeed as we have always fancied it, with flames and visible fire,\nbut not the less on that account the action of heat. It is perhaps the\nLast Day.\"\n\n\"I hope it is,\" said Ellen, \"I hope it is; I wish those precious\ncreatures may be among those that are alive and remain, and may be\nspared the torments of this thirsty death.\"\n\n\"You and I could bear it, if they were gone,\" said Paulett, glancing at\nthem and withdrawing his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" said Ellen, pressing near to him, and taking his hand in both\nhers. They were silent, and they heard the children talking as they\nplayed.\n\n\"There is King Alexander,\" said Charles, setting up a pebble--\"he is\ngoing to dinner. Put the dinner, Alice.\"\n\nAlice set out several other pebbles before King Alexander.\n\n\"And he has got a great feast. There is plenty of water, more than he\ncan drink; and he drinks, drinks, as much as he likes, and still there\nis plenty of water when he goes to bed.\"\n\n\"Poor children! I can't bear it,\" said Ellen.\n\n\"Oh, Ellen, it would have been better never to have given them birth!\"\nsaid Paulett.\n\n\"No--not that,\" said Ellen, sitting down again; \"though they must\nsuffer, they are better to be; when this suffering has dissolved their\nbodies--on the other side of these mortal pains there is ease and\nhappiness.\"\n\n\"True, true, dear Ellen,\" said Paulett; \"it is only difficult to die.\"\n\nHe held her hand; and while he did so, his eye fastened on a diamond\nring which she wore. She observed his fixed look.\n\n\"You gave me that when we little thought how it was we should part--when\nI was a bride--and there was all the pleasure and business of the world\nround us. It hardly seems as if we were the same creatures.\"\n\n\"No, we are not; for I am thinking, concerning that ring which you were\nnever to part with, whether I could not convert the diamond into water.\"\n\n\"How, Paulett?\"\n\n\"I can't explain it to you; but it has just crossed my mind that it is\npossible; and if so, there are still plenty of jewels in the world to\nkeep us alive.\"\n\nHe drew off the ring as he spoke, and went into the interior of the\ncave, whither Ellen followed him. There was a fire, and some apparatus\nbelonging to Paulett, which he had used in experiments upon the\ndecreasing water of the basin. He knocked the stone out of its setting,\nand applied himself to decompose it over the fire. He put forth all his\nskill and all his power, and was successful; the diamond disappeared,\nand there remained a few drops of water. He looked at his wife and\nsmiled; she raised her eyes to his, astonished and pleased, took the cup\nfrom his hand, and looked at the precious metamorphosis.\n\n\"I'll give it the children,\" she said, and was going away; but he\nstopped her. \"No, Ellen, there is not enough to do any good; you and I\nwill drink each other's health in it; and he put the cup first to her\nlips and then to his own. God bless you, my Ellen!\" he said, \"my wife--I\npledge you again with that diamond. The first drop of water comes from\nthe stone that plighted my faith to you, and may it bring you health and\nhappiness yet.\"\n\n\"God bless you, my husband! If we could but die now!\"\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nPaulett now exerted himself to collect all the diamonds that remained\nwithout owners in the neighbourhood. First he visited his own forsaken\nhome, and took thence the jewels, which he had neglected in his retreat\nfrom it, but which were now as precious as water. He found no great\nstore even after ransacking all the houses within reach, and determined\nto undertake a longer journey in search of more. The basin in the cavern\ncontinued to yield a scanty supply of water; and Paulett extracted a\nsmall quantity from his stones. He made what provision he could for his\nfamily before setting out; and for his own necessities took the smallest\npossible portion, in a silver vessel, which was most preciously secured,\nand concealed about his person. It was a strange parting between his\nwife and him, both of them feeling and saying, that alive they should\nprobably not meet again: yet death was so near them constantly, and was\nso far better than life, that his presence had grown familiar; and it\nwas only the mode in which he would come that made them anxious. Paulett\nperishing alone of thirst was the fearful image to Ellen, and Ellen and\nher children waiting for him in vain, and dying one after the other for\nwant of his help, was the dread of Paulett. They stood in the cavern,\nand embraced each other silently, and blessed their children with the\nsame prayer for the last time. The little ones received and returned his\ncaress, and Paulett quitted the cavern and set out on his uncertain\nexpedition.\n\nThe face of the country was so much changed that he had some difficulty\nin making his way. The vivid colours of the earth were all gone, and in\nplace of them was the painful greyness of the dead trees, and the yellow\nof the parched soil. Nothing was overthrown in ruin, but all stood dead\nin its place. The shapes of men and animals only lay strewn upon the\nearth. The human beings were comparatively rare; they were the last\nsurvivors of the destroying drought whom there had been none to bury;\nbut these at length had died by hundreds, and in places their bones were\nseen whiter than any other object; or if any where over the surface\nthere hung a vapour, it came from some collection of dead bodies which\nhad not yet been resolved into the elements. Those whom he found there\nwere mostly in heaps--the beasts had died singly; near what had been\nwater-courses he saw more than once signs of struggle, and the last\nbattles of earth had been fought for possession of its waters. He traced\nout many a pathetic story among the dry bones and faded garments.\nWomen's dresses were there; and fallen into a shapeless heap on what had\nbeen their bosom, were little forms, and the raiment of children. Where\nthe dry air and the sun had preserved the face, he beheld the fallen\nestate of those who had been men in the uncovered shame of death; the\nwide open lips, the sunken eyes, over which the eyelid was undrawn, the\nswollen tongue, the frame writhed into an expression of anguish,\nrevealed all the pain and shame of death. But here and there, the hand\nof some one who had been a survivor, was visible in the attempt to\nconceal all this. In one place there was a shallow grave, into which a\nbody had been rolled, and lay on its side; and close by, on a heap of\nclothes, out of which bones appeared, there was a spade with which the\nunfinished work had been attempted. In another, a female body was\ncovered from sun and moon by a man's cloak; and a few paces off lay a\nman, whom nothing shielded. There was an infant's skeleton wrapped in a\nwoman's shawl, under what had been a hawthorn hedge; the mother had\neither perished attempting to find water, or had laid her child down,\nand gone away, like Hagar in the desert, not to see it die. The poor\ninnocent's skull was turned on its shoulder; its cheek must have rested\nthere while the face remained. It was too young to have struggled much.\nPaulett thought of his little Alice; of her unconsciousness to the fate\naround her; of what would be her and Charles's and poor Ellen's fate, if\nhe failed in his search, or perished by the way. He roused himself from\nlooking on all these sorrowful objects, and went on his dreary way. The\nsecond day after he left the cavern, he came to a stately pile of\nbuilding, which he determined to explore for the life-giving stones he\nwas in search of. It stood upon its terraces, surrounded by its\ncolonnades and garden-steps, in all its old pride and beauty. Its\nforests were withered indeed, its gardens burned, its fountains dry; but\nthe palace glanced back the sunlight, and was as steadfast and perfect\nas in the days of the living. Paulett drew near, and found, as he came\nclose, signs of the last days of life in it. The doors were opened to\nthe air; and a few marks of objects removed, remained in the outer\nrooms. There was scoring and dragging on the marble floor; and Paulett\ndoubted for a moment what had left these marks, till he saw on one side\nof a gilded table, a barrel, lying there empty, from which the top, as\nit seemed, had been accidentally knocked, and the liquor had flowed out.\nThe marble bore the stain of wine, and where it had flowed, the slabs\nwere broken in two places, perhaps from the violence of the struggle of\nthose who saw the liquid flow, to wet each one his own parched lips.\nPaulett thought the lord of the castle had probably deserted it before\nthe worst crisis arrived, and had tried to remove what was most valuable\nin his possession. He went on through long galleries and magnificent\nrooms, all silent as death, statues, which represented man in his glory\nand his strength; books, which were the work of that high spirit, now\nextinguished under the pressure of bodily wants; luxurious\nsuperfluities, which were for better days of the world--all was\nvalueless, all open; he might go where he would, till at length one door\nresisted his efforts, and seemed to have been barred with a certain care\nfrom within. Paulett's heart beat high. Was there some one still living\nlike himself; another human creature struggling for existence in this\ngreat world, and guarding, as he had done in his cavern, his treasure of\nwater? Should he have another companion to speak with; another, with\nwhom, perhaps, to get over the evil days; to whom to communicate his\nsecret of producing water from diamonds? For the first time since he\nleft the cavern, he spoke aloud--he called--he called in the great\nsilence of the earth, but nothing answered him. If any one were still\nalive, he might be afraid of another living creature--had not he himself\nleft pistols loaded for his poor Ellen, to defend her life and her\nchildren, if any human being should come near her? He gently shook the\ndoor; then proceeded to more violence, and forced it open. It was the\ndoor of a great dining-room, on whose lofty ceiling, as he entered it,\nwreaths of smoke rolled, which the air had put in motion, and a heavy\nsmell, as of burned charcoal, struck him as he entered. There were no\nliving creatures--the inhabitants were all dead in the last posture of\nlife. The table was covered with silver and gold vessels, and among them\nwere dead flowers and fruits, dried by the close chamber. It should seem\nthey had drunk deeply before they died here--perhaps they had collected\nthe last liquids, and resolved to perish when they had once more\nfeasted: for there was wine still in some of the vessels, nay, in one\nthere was water; and the ghostly shapes were adorned and fantastically\ncovered with jewels and velvet, and all sort of rare and exquisite\nornaments. Some were still on chairs, some fallen forward on the table,\nsome prostrate, as if they had lain down to sleep. There were fragments\nof shivered glass on the floor; there was a statue broken to pieces on\nthe table, on the pedestal of which was written \"Patience;\" there were\npieces of torn paper in the hands of one, which seemed a letter; all\nthese faint shadowings of long stories, and of a scene of which there\nremained no witness, struck Paulett's eye. One had sunk down by the\nsilver tripod in which the charcoal had burned, and the match that fired\nit was amongst his garments. One face was there, resting on a sofa,\nstill perfect enough to show it had been a beautiful woman; and roses,\nartfully made close to nature, crowned the long hair which fell upon\narms from which the flesh had withered. On the neck were diamonds, on\nthe hands diamonds--diamonds had confined the ringlets--diamonds\nsparkled on the feet. Paulett shuddered as he took them away. The\nspirit, indeed, was gone; but here was the last act of the spirit before\nit plunged into an unknown region, it knew not where. Paulett asked\nhimself where. \"A little longer,\" said he, \"and they must have died;\ncould not they wait their time, and take patience with death? Must they\ndie in drunkenness, in madness; worse than beasts?\" Then his own thirsty\neyes fixed on the table, where, in the light of the sun, the water\nsparkled, and gave rainbow rays. He forgot all beside, in the impulse\nwhich urged him to seize and drink--to drink the first draught--to\nsatiate his throat with water. He drank and revived; and then blamed\nhimself for yielding so passionately to the impulse which was now passed\naway; and as it passed, the horror of the scene around him acquired\ngreater force, and he longed to be out of its influence. He made haste\nto collect all the jewels around him, and when he had done, found that\nhis burden was as much as he could safely carry. He went hastily out of\nthe room, as if any of these figures could rise and follow him, and\nfastened the door again, where the crime had been wrought. He hastily\ncrossed the marble halls and gilded rooms, and came out in the\nsunlight--the splendid, solemn sunlight that looked upon a burnt-up\nworld!\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nMeantime, poor Ellen waited anxiously in the cavern, and as soon as the\nfirst possible moment for Paulett's return was passed, her fears grew\nstrong. There was so much danger for him in the bare desert, with his\nscanty supply of water, that she might well listen to fear as soon as it\nhad any reason to make itself heard; and with this dread, when she next\ndrew water from her scanty supply, came the horrible torment of the\nanticipated death by thirst, which seemed descending upon her children\nand her. The day she had thought he would return rose and set, and so\ndid another and another; and from fearing, she had begun to believe,\nindeed, that Paulett's earthly hours were passed. Yet hope would not be\nsubdued entirely; and then she felt that perhaps by prolonging their\nlives another day only, she should save them to welcome him, and to\nprofit by his hard-earned treasure. The store of water was sacredly\nprecious. She dealt it out in the smallest portions to her children, and\nshe herself scarcely wetted her lips; she hardened her heart to see her\nboy's pale face, her girl's feverish eye; she checked even the motherly\ntenderness of her habits, lest the softening of her heart should\novercome her resolution; and so she laid them in their beds the third\nnight of her dread, when indeed there was scarce another day's supply.\nShe herself lay on hers, but deadly anxiety kept her from sleeping, and\nher ears ached with the silence which ought to have been broken by a\nstep. And at last, oh joy! there was a foot--yes, a few moments made\nthat certain, which from the first indeed she believed, but which was so\nfaint that it wanted confirmation to her bodily sense. Up sprang Ellen,\nand darted to meet him. She held forward the candle into the air, and,\nlo! it was a woman. Ellen screamed aloud; the woman had seen her before\nand said nothing, only pressed forward. \"Who are you?\" cried Ellen; \"are\nyou alive?\" \"Yes, just alive; and see here,\" said the woman, uncovering\nthe face of her young child--\"my child is just alive too; give me water\nbefore it dies.\" \"Then my children will perish,\" said Ellen. \"No, no,\"\nsaid the woman; \"how are you alive now unless you have plenty? All mine\nare gone but this one; my husband died yesterday; ours has been gone for\ndays.\" \"My husband is dead, too,\" said Ellen, \"and I have only one\ndraught left.\" \"Then I will take it,\" said the mother, rushing forward.\nEllen caught her and struggled with her; the poor child moaned in its\nmother's arms, and a pang shot through the heart of Ellen. \"For God's\nsake, miserable woman,\" she said, \"do not go near that basin! You are\nmad with want; you will leave none for my children. Stay here, and I\nwill bring your child water. You and I can want, and yours and mine\nshall drink.\" But the desperate woman pressed on; her eyes fixed on the\nwater, and dilated with intense desire; her lips wide open, dying almost\nfor the draught. Ellen's soul was concentred in the fear, that the last\nhope of her boy and girl's life was about to be lost; she struggled with\nthe woman with all her might; she screamed aloud; she lost her hold; she\nseized a pistol from the table, and close as she was to her adversary,\nfired it full at her. The mother fell, with a shriek. Ellen started\nforward and broke her fall, and laid hold on the child to free it from\nher dying grasp. \"Give him me, give him me!\" said the mother, struggling\nto lift herself up, and stretching her hands out for the boy. The\ntrembling Ellen stooped to give him to her, but the child's head dropped\non one side as she held him out; he made no effort to get into his\nmother's arms. Ellen wildly raised his face, and he was dead too. The\nshot had gone through his breast to his mother's, and a little blood\nbegan to steal from his lips. \"He's dead!\" said the mother, who was\nherself passing away. \"Oh, my boy!\" and then feebly, with her\nfast-failing strength, she raised him, after more than one effort, in\nher arms, and pressed her lips to his twice, with all the passion that\ndeath left in her. The wasted form of the child lay there, all pale and\nwithered, the straight brown hair was parted on his thin forehead; the\nmother's uncovered breast, where his head rested, was white, and the\nhands delicate; the raiment was luxurious; that head had not been reared\nin the expectation of dying on a bed of rock. Ellen burst into floods of\ntears, and wrung her hands as she stood by, looking on what she had\ndone. The woman lifted her eyes, and tried to form her lips into a\nsmile; she no longer felt any vehement passion, and the torment of\nthirst was now only one of the pangs of death. Her eyes wandered to the\nwater, but when Ellen moved to fetch some, she stopped her.\n\n\"No; it was for him. He is at ease now. You did right. Don't grieve.\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said Ellen, kneeling down at her side.\n\n\"Oh yes! the poor precious babe suffers no more. I was mad; you said\ntruly in that. I nursed him at my breast till his lips grew dry even\nthere; we lived not far from your cavern, and I have seen you, and been\nglad you had water. We had some. _We?_ Yes, is not my husband dead; and\nmy boy is dead too! See, there is blood on his face; wipe it away; he\nwill die else.\" Ellen's sobs caught her wandering attention. \"I remember\nnow, you killed him; oh, good angel, guardian angel! you have killed\nhim, and there is only I to suffer. He is gone from this dear, dear\nbody; I wish it did not look so like him still--and it looks in pain\ntoo--it looks thirsty.\"\n\nEllen hid her own face on the mother's shoulder for an instant.--Her\nchildren had awakened at the noise of the pistol, and they were out of\nbed and clinging around her; her sorrow roused theirs, and the sound of\ntheir lamentation reached the dying woman's ear.\n\n\"There are my children crying. Alas! I thought they had all been dead.\"\n\n\"They are mine,\" said Ellen. \"Yours are at rest, yours _are_ all dead.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" said the mother; and though the words were earnest, the\nvoice was faint; all the effort of nature was in them, but they came\nfeebly from her lips. After that, indistinct sounds and murmured names\nonly were heard; her breath came in gasps, and at longer and longer\nintervals; till the faint shuddering of her limbs ceased by degrees,\nand after it had been insensible to the world for a while, the spirit\nquitted it for ever. Ellen's heart died within her; her senses were\ntroubled, and she pressed herself in Paulett's arms without knowing when\nhe came, or being surprised that he was there. \"Oh, Paulett!\" she said\nat last, \"I have not done wrong, but it is so dreadful!\" Paulett soon\ngathered from her all that had happened; and gazed with pity on what had\nonce been a beautiful form, but rejoiced that it suffered no longer.\nEllen, shuddering, arranged the dress, composed the limbs, and, with a\nthousand tears, placed the infant on that breast which had been so\nfaithfully its mother to the last. And there they slept, mother and\nchild--the day of trouble ended for both.\n\n\"My poor Ellen,\" said Paulett, \"I wish it were thou and my children who\nwere there at rest!\" and Ellen pressed her Charles and her Alice to her\nheart, and would have been glad if they had indeed been dead.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIn that time of trouble and of unexampled events, the mind received\nimpressions in a different manner from what it had ever done before. The\nstern gloom that hung over the future, the hazard upon which life was\nsuspended, the close contact with universal death, and the desperate\nstruggle by which it was staved off, gave to all things a new character;\nand the scene of the last chapter was but one of the series of deadly\nand dreadful excitements which were now the habit of every day. The\nsolemn frame of mind which it induced in Ellen, was of a piece with the\nsolemn nature of their existence; and she could talk of it with her\nhusband at any time, and not disturb the natural bent which their\nconversation took. They searched the immediate neighbourhood for the\nhabitation of the unhappy mother and her family; and the marks of her\nfootsteps on the dust of the soil enabled them to trace her to Hope, a\nvillage in the plain, two miles, or rather more, from the Peak. She and\nher husband had used the church for their habitation, and it seemed had\nemployed the same kind of precaution as Paulett to defend it and conceal\nthat it was their dwelling. One entrance only was left, and the other\napertures blocked up; but all care was useless now, for death had set\nthem free from pain and fear. On a bed beside the altar lay the body of\na man, over which as spread a cloak of fur and velvet, which in the\nlifetime of the world would have been most precious. His eyes were\ndecently closed, the curtains of the bed drawn round him, and the pillow\nwhich supported his head was marked with the pressure of another head,\nand with moisture which could have been only the tears of his wife. The\nfloor of the church was in confusion, like the dwelling of one too much\ndistracted with trouble to attend to what did not relate to it; but\nthere was corn which had served for food, and fuel heaped on the stone\nwhich had been a hearth--there was the drawing of a lovely woman and of\na beautiful place: but these were cast into a corner, probably by the\nirritable hand of despair. On a table stood empty cups, which had long,\nperhaps, been dry--the glass of one had been shivered, and the fragments\nlay on the floor; there were also a few books, neglected and covered\nwith dust. In the churchyard were the marks of three recent graves--one\nof them had a stone at its head, on which was carved with care the name\nof Alfred, and the soil was fenced and supported with sticks, so as to\npreserve its shape over the body--probably it was that of the first\nchild whom the parents had committed to dust. Another was more hastily\nprepared, and no superfluous labour had been bestowed on it. This must\nbe the last, when heart and health were both failing. Paulett and Ellen\nkneeled and prayed beside them, and rejoiced that the mother, too, was\nat rest after the long misery of this scene. They returned to their\ncave, and, under the shadow of the rock near the old course of the\nbrook, laid both mother and child, covering their bodies with stones,\nand thinking more of the probable reunion, in some unknown scene, of\nthe spirits of that family, than of the distance which separated their\ngraves on this earth.\n\nAnd now, with good store of diamonds, and with increasing skill and\nsuccess in the resolution of them into water, both Paulett and Ellen\nlooked upon the lives of all as safe for the present, and their thoughts\nwere at liberty to wander to some other subject. They believed that they\nand their children were alone in the world, for every sign of life from\nother countries, as well as their own, had ceased. It was very long\nsince any human tidings had come, and though, after men had done with\neach other, birds continued their migrations, these had now long been\nover, and the years passed away without bringing or sending a single\nwing. The course of the seasons, too, was strange and unnatural. It\nseemed as if the earth performed its usual course in the heavens, and\nkept its place and functions in the movements of the planets; days and\nnights varied in their length according to the season, and the heat of\nthe sun was at one time of the year great and at another weak: but much\nthat depended hitherto upon the constitution of the globe was suspended.\nThere were no clouds in the sky, no dews dropping from the air, no\nreproduction in the earth. It seemed decayed and dying of old age. Yet\nPaulett said, a new existence would, perhaps, arise on this same scene,\nand from these same elements. Once before, the earth had been reduced to\neight persons by the action of water; and now the absence of the same\nelement had brought it to four. Charles and Alice might be the destined\nparents of a new race, and those names that were so familiar now, might\nbecome the venerable appellations of the founders of the third race of\nman. Ellen smiled and shook her head, looking at the boy and girl, who\nwere building a house of pebbles; and both parents listened for a while\nto what they were saying. Charles recollected the house he had dwelt in\nbefore the great shipwreck of human life drove then to the cavern; and\nhe was teaching Alice that there were rooms below and rooms above, and\nthat he had heard how people like their father had carried great stones,\nand put them one on another to make these rooms. Alice persisted in\nmaking her house one hollow cavern; and the other she called Charles's\nhouse, and did not understand his recommendation.\n\n\"Charles is taking the part already of a teacher, in whom remains the\ntraditionary knowledge of an old world,\" said Paulett; \"and Alice\nrepresents the new inhabitants, who have their own rude copies of\nnatural objects, but who will be open to the training of the learned\nman.\"\n\n\"The learned man will be their father,\" said Ellen; \"they will gladly\ntake their notions from him.\"\n\n\"Yes; but if it should be so destined, the first generation must work\nhard merely to live--they must be very long ignorant of every thing\nexcept a paternal government, and such habitations as can be raised or\nappropriated most easily. They will be children in comparison to Charles\nall their lives, if we can but succeed in giving him the ideas of the\nage we have lived in. Fancy them, Ellen, increased to perhaps fifty\ninhabitants before he dies, a very old man, coming round his chair to\nhear of the wonderful steam-engine, and the use of the telescope, and to\nlearn the art of printing, and the list of different languages which\nRomans, Frenchmen, Germans, Greeks, used; and what lions were, and\nhorses.\"\n\n\"Or tell them how he and Alice escaped from the great drought,\" said\nEllen. \"But, alas! it is far more likely he and she will perish in it,\nand then of what use is this knowledge to him?\"\n\n\"Why--his soul. 'It is a thing immortal like thyself;' and if what he\nknows is of no use here, it will be useful elsewhere.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Ellen, smiling--\"are there railroads and telescopes in\nanother world?\"\n\n\"For aught I can tell. At all events, the powers that contrive them here\nmay contrive something from the same principles hereafter.\"\n\n\"But we can tell nothing about the other world,\" said Ellen.\n\n\"Nay, this is _another world_ to the stars; and, if we know nothing\nabout our destiny, the only way we have to judge is by what we actually\nare, and tend to be, now. So, while life remains, I will teach my boy\nall I know, and go on as a man of this world ought to do; then we shall\nbe ready for every thing.\"\n\nAccordingly, Paulett every day carried on his son's education, as far as\nthe boy's age permitted, and instructed him in all that he would have\nlearned had the world been as it was formerly. Only, like a man in a\nshipwreck looking forward to a desert island as his best hope, he dwelt\nmost upon what would be usefullest, supposing Charles (being preserved)\nto have to provide for the physical necessities of a new race of man.\nNext in order came science and arts; and it was easier to make him feel\nthe merits of these than of the exploits of men, especially when they\nconsisted of valour, and of the deeds of conquerors; for the heroic\nvirtues seemed to take a new character in the present circumstances of\nthe world; and whereas they used to kindle and blaze in personal danger,\nand at the sound of the applause of men, they now burned brightly in the\nendurance of a world's dissolution, which, with all its terrors and\nprolonged impressions, must be met by the calm, self-sustaining spirit,\nrising superior to the greatest excess of physical injury. The boy's\nsoul replied to the call upon it. He learned to look on the dangers\nbefore him, and to consider the possibility of escape with quiet\ncalculation of chances. He inured himself to privation readily, and\neagerly tried to spare his mother and Alice from it. He and his father,\nhand in hand, walked over the desolate land, realizing the idea that\nthey were in fact spirits, superior to all physical things, and divided\nfrom spirits and their sphere only by their frail connexion with a body.\nThey talked of virtue and duty, and how good it was to dwell in these\npainful bodies, since they were the place wherein virtue was practised\nand duty learned; and the father taught the son that the opportunities\noccurred, not only in enduring the dissolution of the frame of present\nthings, and in the untiring exertion to aid and support life in those\nwho were of weaker sex than they, but in abiding with even and cheerful\ntemper the vexations of every day, and in adorning as far as possible,\nas well as preserving, life. The mother was heroic, good, and patient,\ntoo. She brought her children, night and morning, to the mouth of the\ncavern, and there they all kneeled by Paulett, who prayed aloud with\nthem and for them. Then Ellen made ready their meal, which must all be\nprepared without water, and which consisted of the stores from former\nharvests, of which there was abundance laid up in various houses; and\nthe little Alice, who could run at her mother's side, learned to be\nuseful in some matters, and patient and obedient. Charles played with\nher and taught her; and he himself, mere child as he was, grew merry in\nhis play, and earnest; and many a time the profound silence of the earth\nwas broken by the hearty laugh of children, which would ring out through\nthe cavern, and reverberate against its walls. They grew, and were\nperfect and beautiful in shape; their minds developed, and talents and\nvirtues filled them. They were types of man and woman--the one bold and\nprotecting, the other seeking for affection and defence. They flourished\nwhen means appeared inadequate to their support; and, amid a paralysed\nworld, it was in them only that body and spirit seemed to unfold.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTime passed on, and there was no change in the state of things. Still an\nunclouded sun--still the deep, intense blue sky--winds on the earth but\nno moisture; and the whole frame of nature seemed crumbling into chaos.\nPaulett felt the strife with fate to be unequal indeed, and could\nscarcely comprehend that he and his family were truly survivors amid\nsuch destruction; but he resolved not to give in, while the means\nremained to him, but to fight the fight out till overpowered by the\nmaterial universe. He told Ellen that they must move to some place\nwhere they might hope to find more diamonds, and Ellen agreed--wishing\nwith Paulett that the strife were over and the last agony suffered, and\nthat they were among the free and disembodied spirits. London was their\nobject; for there they might hope to find most of the materials of what\nwas now the most precious of all things, water; and providing as well as\nthey could for their necessities by the way, they quitted the cavern,\nand set off on their journey.\n\nFirst came the father, carrying the little Alice in his arms; the boy\nheld his mother by the hand; and they followed Paulett on his path.\nThere was the delicate woman, the mother of all that remained alive of\nthe human race, setting out on the desert, which she remembered, but a\nfew years before, the scene of luxury and abundance. On her shoulder she\ncarried a burthen containing corn for their sustenance; and the brave\nboy took his share by bearing the jar of water which had been provided\nfor their support on the journey; and thus the last family of mankind\nset out on their pilgrimage over the desolated earth. The unmitigated\nsun had made great rents in the sides of the hills, and, together with\nthe wind, had broken up the roads, between which and the parched fields\nthere was scarcely now any difference. Where there had been inclosures\nand hedges, the withered sticks had in most places yielded to the winds,\nand were scattered about the spot where they had stood. Here and there\nwere the marks of fire, which had run along the country till some\ninterval of previous desolation had stopped it; and where this had been\nthe case, the black unsightly remains lay strewn over the surface, one\nfurther step advanced in dissolution than the dead world around. There\nwas no want of habitations for their nightly shelter. Palaces and\ncottages, all alike, were open; all alike were silent and tenantless\nhabitations. They might choose where they would. And the first day they\ndid not go far, for Ellen and her children, with stout hearts, had not\nbodily strength for great fatigue, and were unused to the strong\nexertion they were now compelled to make. Towards evening, therefore,\nwhen they reached a house with which Paulett and Ellen had once been\nfamiliar, they determined to rest there for the night. They pushed open\nthe gates, which still swung on their hinges, and which admitted them to\nwhat had been a park, filled once with trees, and bathed with waters. A\nlarge wood covered the hill which rose on one side, and which now, under\na summer sun, stood perfectly bare, and all of one uniform grey colour\nas far as the view extended. On the other side, the eye looked over a\ntract of country varied with hill and dale, but desolate of every colour\nthat used to shine forth in light and shade. The setting sun shone among\nthe leafless branches, casting long brilliant rays of light. The\nunclouded sky met the sparkling earth, and both glittered with unnatural\nbrilliancy. To Paulett and Ellen, every thing spoke of desolation and\ndeath; and an exclamation escaped Ellen, in a low tone, that it was a\npiteous and horrible spectacle. But Charles, standing still at their\nside as they looked on the scene, cried it was beautiful; the colours of\nthe sun were so splendid on the fine white trees, and one could see so\nfar, and every thing was so white and shining on the earth. The parents\nfelt that ideas were ceasing to be in common between the last and the\nfirst members of the old and the new generation; and far from\ncontradicting their boy, they tried to partake his pleasure and enter\ninto his impressions. They moved on up to the old familiar door and\nentered the open silent hall, where they remembered the ceremonies and\nthe courtesies of life. They chose among the rooms which had been those\nof friends, and recognised familiar objects of their everyday existence.\nIt was a conceit of Paulett's, for which he smiled at himself, to wind\nup the clock in the hall, and set it to tell out the time again for\nanother week. There were musical instruments in a room adjoining, and\nover one of these Ellen timidly passed her fingers. It was out of tune,\nand the sounds, though sweet in themselves, all jarred with one another.\n\n\"That's the last music of the world, perhaps,\" said Ellen; \"and all\ndiscord too.\"\n\nThey found some small store of corn in one of the rooms; they prepared\nand ate it, and lay down to sleep; forgetting in fatigue all their\ndismal feelings, and in their dreams seeing the old state of things and\ndead persons--nay, a dead world--without wondering that they were come\nto life again. All the days of their journey wore an uniform character;\nand they kept on and on through waste and ruin, glad to leave the\ncountry behind them, and expecting, as some relief, the aspect of\nstreets and a town. They halted, at length, within a few miles of\nLondon, and lay down to rest, thankful to be so near their bourne; for\nthey had suffered as much fatigue as they could well bear, and their\nstock of diamonds was waxing very low and needed replenishment. Paulett\ncontinued busy preparing water from part of those that remained, after\nhis wife and children were asleep. His own frame scarcely felt the\nexertion of the journey, and he was full of the thoughts with which the\napproaching sight of what had been once the great metropolis filled him.\nThe vast untenanted dwelling-place, the solitude of the habitation of\ncrowds, the absence of mind and talent from the scene they had so\nfilled; all these things excited his feelings, and gaining ground in the\nsolitude of the night he felt at last that he could not willingly delay\nhis first meeting with the bereaved city, and that he should be pleased\nto have an opportunity of indulging alone the highly-wrought emotion\nwith which he expected the sight of it. Accordingly, when the light\nbegan to break, he wrote word to Ellen that she should wait for him a\nfew hours, and that he would be back again in that time to lead her and\nthe children to their journey's end; and then, softly leaving the house,\nset forward eagerly on his way.\n\nIt was evening before he returned. He came in pale and excited; he took\nhis children in his arms as usual, and seemed like one upon whom a thing\nwhich he has seen has made a deep impression, but who either doubts the\npower of words to convey the same impression, or thinks that he himself\nis over-excited by it.\n\n\"Ellen,\" he said at last, \"London is burned to the ground.\"\n\nThe sudden flush on her face, and her clasped hands, while she spoke\nnot, showed that the event touched her, too, as deeply as him; and then\nhe went on freely--\n\n\"Oh, Ellen! if you had seen it! It stands there, all in ruins--the whole\ncity in ruins! It has been the work of some great storm which fired it\nwhen all were gone or dead; for there has been no pulling down, no\npillage, no aid, no attempt to stop the fire! All the palaces, all the\nmuseums, all the stores of learning and art, the streets, the crowded\nhouses; they are gone, Ellen--they are all gone!\"\n\nHis wife had never before in all their misery seen him so deeply\nmoved--so nearly overpowered by any thing that had occurred. His\nexcitement communicated itself to her, and she caught the full bearing\nof his narration. She felt for the long ages of story, and the monuments\nof human skill, buried in the great city. Irretrievable ruin! The work\nwhich men, and years, and glowing knowledge, had slowly raised up, all\ndead, all annihilated so suddenly. They sat talking of it very long\nbefore Ellen said,\n\n\"And what must _we_ do now, Paulett?\"\n\n\"We must go on, Ellen; we must travel further. The rest we hoped for is\ndestroyed with the city, and we must press forward if we are to save our\nlives.\"\n\n\"That seems less and less possible,\" said Ellen; \"and in all this\ndestruction why should we be preserved?\"\n\n\"Perhaps because we have as yet avoided the stroke, by using all our\nhuman skill; perhaps because a new race is to spring from us, who shall\nreign in another mighty London! Alas, London!--alas, the great city!\"\n\nSeveral times during the night Ellen heard Paulett murmur to himself\nwords of lament over the fallen city; and when he slept, his rest was\nagitated, and his frame seemed trembling under the emotions of the day.\n\nIt was resolved that Ellen should rest a little while in their present\nhabitation, before undertaking the toils of further travel. They\nintended to make for the coast, sure of a dry channel to the opposite\nshore, and hoping to reach some of the great continental towns before\ntheir store of diamonds should be utterly exhausted. In the meantime,\nPaulett was bent upon taking his boy through the ruins of London, and\nimpressing upon him the memory of the place, and its great events. So\nthe next day, leaving Ellen and the little Alice together, he and\nCharles began their pilgrimage through the mighty ruins. The event must\nhave occurred very many months ago, for the ruins were perfectly cold,\nand the winds had toppled down the walls of all the more fragile\nbuildings; so that the streets lay in confusion over one another, and it\nwas impossible, except by other marks, to recognise the localities.\nPaulett and Charles clambered over the fallen walls, and would have been\nbewildered among heaps of masonry, and houses shaken from their base and\nblackened by fire--only that over the desolate prospect they saw, and\nPaulett marked the bearings of St Paul's, the chief part of whose dome\nrose high in the air, though a huge rent let the daylight through it,\nand threatened a speedy fall. There was here and there a spire, rising\nperfect over the ruins; there were remains of Whitehall, strong though\nblackened, seen over a long view of prostrate streets; and in the\ndistance beyond, fragments of Westminster Abbey showed themselves in the\nsunlight, though defaced and crumbled, as if the frame had been too\nancient to resist the fire. Guided by these landmarks, Paulett traced\nout the plan of the city, and by degrees recognised where the great\nstreets had run, where the palaces had stood, where the river had\nflowed. And all was silent, all an absolute stillness, where there had\nbeen such ceaseless voices, and sounds of life; the libraries were\nburned, the statues calcined, the museums in ashes; the mind of man,\nwhich triumphs over the body, had here been subdued by matter, and left\nno trace of itself.\n\n\"Oh! London, London! So much talent, so much glory and beauty; such\nmighty hearts, such mighty works; such ages of story--all buried in one\nblack mass! Piteous spectacle!\" cried Paulett, striking his breast, and\nstretching forth his arms over the skeleton of what was once a sovereign\nin the world.\n\nHe took his son by the hand, and led him over the confused masses,\ntelling him as they went along what were the ruins by which they passed.\n\n\"This great heap of building which has fallen into a square, must be the\npalace of our kings. It is that St James's, where they dwelt till nobler\nbuildings rose with the improving times. See here, Charles--there is\nless ruin here. This opener space was park and garden; and time has been\nthat I have heard the buzz of men filling all this place, when the\nsovereigns came to hold their courts in that building. I think that this\ndreadful fire must have taken place before life was quite extinct; for\nsee, there are heaps of bones here, as though men had fled together to\navoid it; and it either overtook them with long tongues of fire, such as\na burning city would send forth, or smothered them before they could\nescape, with its smoke. Ha! I see almost a palace there--a wonder of\nmodern art. It is the house I once saw, and only once, for it was built\nduring the years of the great drought.\"\n\n\"Who could build in those days, father?\" said Charles; \"I thought no one\nhad any heart for doing more than we do, and that is but just keeping\nourselves alive.\"\n\n\"Nay, it was very long before the persuasion came that those were the\nlast days. We all believed that rain would come again and restore the\nearth to its old order, and whoever possessed the means, builded and\nprojected still. You may see this magnificent place suffered violence\nbefore the fire; for its ornaments are torn from the walls, and its\nstatues mutilated by other means than the bare fall. It was the property\nof a man called Jephcot, who, when the water began to fail, contrived\nmeans to bring it into London from great distances, and thus to secure a\nsupply when the ordinary means were useless. He kept his contrivance\nsecret, and supplied the city when other men's resources were exhausted;\nand he grew exceedingly rich by this exercise of his ingenuity, and\nbuilt himself the palace which you see there. But when the failure of\nwater amounted to absolute famine, the rich people naturally were the\nlast who wanted; they gave his price, and he supplied them before he\nwould supply others who had no money to bring. This was endured with\nmurmurs, which might have gone on a little longer, had not Jephcot, in\nthe midst of this distress, given a banquet to the great people of\nLondon.\n\n\"It was in the second year of the drought, when little thinking what the\nend was to be, we all continued to live, as far as possible, as we had\ndone before. I was in London where the parliament was then sitting, and\namong others I was invited to this house, and still remember the scene\nof luxury and profusion of these bare rooms. In the midst of the noise\nof a crowded assembly, some of us heard sounds outside, which were such\nas you will never hear, even if you live--sounds of the feet and voices\nof thousands of human beings. Among this tumult, we began to distinguish\nindividual voices, chiefly those of women, crying out, \"water!\" We paid\nlittle attention, and those who did, said the police and soldiers were\ncalled out and would prevent violence; but before long it was whispered\nthat these forces, pressed by extreme want, and seeing their families\nperishing, had joined the mob, and were exciting violence. There fell a\nsilence over all the assembly; every one left the tables, and gathered\ntogether to hear and to consult: and while we did so, there came an\nassault on the front of the house, and the voices of the populace all\nbroke out at once into shouting. They were irresistible; they forced\ntheir way in, and came pouring up the staircase; they uttered cries of\nvengeance for imaginary wrongs, saying that the waters of London had\nbeen kept for the rich, and that there was abundance for both rich and\npoor, and threatened the lives of Jephcot and his family, even more\neagerly than they demanded water. He tried to address them, but they\ncaught him down from the head of the staircase where he stood, and flung\nhim at once over the marble banisters. This was the signal for attack on\nall sides. We rushed forward to rescue his body and revenge him, they to\npossess themselves of the treasure they so much coveted. Of course we\nwere overpowered, for we were one to fifty; and that night there fell a\nhundred of the nobles of England. The women were respected by the mob,\nand except one lady who was shot accidentally, and another who saw her\nson fall, and stood over him till he ceased to breathe, then fell\nwounded and dying herself, all escaped. Your mother was not there. When\nour party was quite vanquished, I found myself in the midst of the mob,\nbleeding to death as I thought; but they flung me on one side, and I\nrecovered. They pulled the house to the ground, after they had satiated\nthemselves with drinking. And that was the first great calamity which\noverthrew the government of the country.\"\n\n\"And how did that come about, father?\" said Charles, eagerly holding him\nby the hand, and sharing his excitement.\n\nPaulett led him on, telling him, at one ruined monument after another,\nwhat steps had been taken at each, in the destruction of the order of\nthings. They came to the dry channel of the Thames, a deep and wide\ntrench, whose bottom showed objects that had lain there when the waters\nflowed above, and which would once have been as precious as now they\nwere unregarded. Here as a bridge from side to side; and a little way\nabove, stood part of the walls of a noble building, partly black with\nsmoke, partly white with the polish and beauty of stones newly built\ntogether.\n\n\"These are the Houses of Parliament,\" said Paulett, \"the work of many\nyears, which were to replace those burned in 1834. See how beautiful\nthey were, what excellent design, what exquisite finish; how strong and\nstable, to last for a thousand ages, and to crown the river which then\nflowed in this dusty channel. When matters were come almost to the\nworst, and there were convulsions all over the country in consequence of\nthe famine, the queen, for the first time, came to these houses to open\nthe last parliament that ever assembled. There were no beasts of\nburthen left alive in the country; it had been found impossible to\nappropriate water enough to those which had been reserved in the royal\nstables; and the queen, surrounded by a certain number of the court,\nwalked along yonder street to the House. The sight of so young a woman,\nand so great a sovereign, thus leveled by physical necessity with the\nmeanest, excited some of the old enthusiasm with which she used to be\ngreeted: the populace themselves, with their squalid faces, and in their\nextreme misery, greeted her; but the greatest feeling was aroused among\nthe nobles and gentry who surrounded her, and who seemed to make a point\nof offering more homage, the less outer circumstances commanded it.\nThere was assembled in the House all that remained alive of the nobles\nof England, and the sovereign; and they proposed to deliberate upon the\npossibility of any means remaining to provide water. But a demagogue of\nthe people, Matthison by name, roused their fury and their madness, and\nthey burst in, accusing their superiors of their calamities. The queen's\nlife was in danger;--and then occurred a gallant action, which is worthy\nto live if man lives. A Churchill, a descendant of that Marlborough who\nfought Blenheim, came to the hall whither they had broken in, and\nrequired in the queen's name to know what they wanted. He meant to gain\ntime; for other nobles had effected an exit at a private door for her,\nand were hurrying her away to a place of security, till she could escape\nfrom England. They answered Churchill, that water was monopolized; that\nMatthison must be minister; that they must speak to the queen face to\nface, and have her hostage for the accomplishment of what they wished.\nChurchill pretended to deliberate for an instant with some one in the\nadjoining chamber; and then returning, said, 'If the queen do not speak\nwith you in ten minutes, you may tear me in pieces.' Some of the mob\ncried that he was saying this to give her time to escape. Others said,\nif it were so, he should assuredly suffer the penalty. Churchill\nanswered nothing, only smiled; and then the majority said he could not\nbe so foolhardy, and they would grant the queen ten minutes.\n\n\"The time passed, and Matthison eagerly cried, 'The time is gone, yet we\ndon't see the queen.'\n\n\"'Then tear me in pieces,' said Churchill; and the mob, finding their\nprey had escaped, did so indeed; the gallant man falling where he stood,\nand not another word came from his lips.\"\n\n\"The brave man!\" cried Charles; \"the good man! Were there many such\nbrave, good men in the old world, father?\"\n\n\"Ay, that there were,\" said Paulett; \"many a glorious one; some known\nand some unknown, who did things which made one know one's-self a\nglorious, an immortal creature. See there that ruined abbey--there lie\nthe ashes of brave and good; these are their crumbled monuments--'that\nfane where fame is A spectral resident!' Alas, there is no fame, no name\nleft!\"\n\nPaulett and Charles went down among the ruins of the abbey, and there,\namidst the fallen stones and broken aisles, saw monumental marbles, old\nknown names, and funeral inscriptions, contrasting strongly by their\nquiet character with the confusion around.\n\n\"Never forget them, Charles,\" said Paulett. \"These are names which the\nworld has trembled at, and which are now like to be such as those before\nthe Flood, barbarous to those who are building up a new order of things,\nand known merely as a barren catalogue of names. Yet, if you live,\nremember Edward the king here; remember the Black Prince; remember the\ndays and heroes of Elizabeth; remember the poetry and the romance of the\nold world.\"\n\n\"Ay, father, and I'll remember the great name of him who taught you to\nprint, and of Wicliffe the reformer, and of the man who gave you the\nsteam-engine.\"\n\nPaulett smiled and sighed; he felt that his own ideas of things heroic\nwere as much contrasted with those of Charles, as their notions of the\nbeautiful. But he thought not to stem the stream.\n\n\"See here,\" he said, pointing to some new monuments, which, like the\nold, were cracked by fire; \"there were many brave and good actions\ndone, and one of those who did best was laid here. He was a clergyman,\nhis name Host, and during the pestilence which came on in the fourth\nyear, he was more like an inspired messenger of good than any mortal\ncreature. You must know, Charles, that the teachers of religion at this\ntime were greatly divided among themselves, and they had led a great\nportion of the lay world into their disputes. One party, in an age of\nreasoning, and when nothing in science was taken upon trust, gave up\ntheir reason altogether, and followed authority as blindly as they\ncould--still, however, feeling the influence of the age; for they would\nargue upon the existence or non-existence of authority, and would fit it\nunconsciously each man to his own conceit. Indeed, superstition was the\ndisease of the age, and while the healthy part of the community employed\nand enjoyed the freest use of their reason, this same infirmity appeared\namong other people in other forms; so that some men took up the notion\nthat the human mind might act independently of sense, and see without\neyes, and know intuitively what existed at a distance. Other parties,\namong professors of religion, allowed nothing in religion that they\nallowed daily in the evidence of other matters. They gave no weight to\nresearch, and thought, about religious facts; and dreamed that each one\namong themselves gained a kind of spiritual knowledge by inspiration. It\nwas a time of conceits and quackery; but there was a better spirit\nabroad, of which this good man Host was the representative. He began in\nthe pestilence, and went to all houses indifferently, whether they were\nprinces or peasants; and there was a common-sense in what he did and\nsaid, a universal character in his religion, which struck men in these\nevil days. They drew nearer to each other under his influence; and I\nrecollect this great building thronged in one of the last months that\nmen continued here, with a congregation of all orders and all divisions\nof opinion, who met to pray together, and listen to Host. He stood\nyonder, Charles, as nearly there, I think, as I can tell from the ruins;\nhe was rapt by his own discourse, and his face was as the face of an\nangel. And truly three days after, he was dead; and here they buried\nhim--the last sound of the organ, the last service of this church, being\nfor him. Here is his name still on the tombstone--\n\n         'Host.\n    Pio. dilecto. beato.\n    Populus miserrimus.'\"\n\nCharles's memory was deeply impressed with this history, and he followed\nhis father, much engrossed and animated by what he had heard. Not so\nPaulett; for the ruins of London occupied his mind, and filled him with\ndeep pity and regret for the fair world destroyed: and so they returned\nto their temporary habitation, the father sorrowful, the son exulting;\none full of the old world, one dreaming great actions for the new.\n\nAfter another day's rest, the sole surviving family of mankind set forth\nagain on their pilgrimage. Paulett again carried his Alice, and Ellen\nand Charles walked hand in hand with such a basket of necessaries as\nthey could support. Paulett secured about his person a large packet of\ndiamonds, collected in palaces and noble dwellings near London, and the\napparatus he required for transmuting them into water; and searching for\nand finding the remains of the railroad to the coast, at Dover, they\nkept on in that track, which, from its evenness, offered facility to\ntheir journey. But in several places it had been purposely broken up,\nduring the commotions which preceded the final triumph of the drought,\nand the tunnel near Folkestone had fallen in the middle from want of the\nnecessary attention to the masonry. These difficulties seemed harder to\nbear than those which they had met with in the beginning of their\npilgrimage, when their hopes of reaching a certain bourne were more\nsecure. The destruction of London had thrown a deep gloom over all their\nexpectations; and besides that help was removed to a much greater\ndistance, they could not but feel it very probable that a similar fate\nmight have befallen the other places they looked to. Nevertheless, none\nof them murmured. They went steadfastly though sadly on; and the two\nchildren, with less knowledge of what was to be feared, were encouraged\nby their parents whenever they broke into a merrier strain. Alice was\nthe happiest of the party, for she knew least. She was the one who\nsuffered least also; for every one spared her suffering, and contrived\nthat what remained on earth of luxury should be hers. She had the first\ndraught of water; she was carried on her father's shoulder; she ran to\nfind pebbles, and whatever shone and glittered on their path; and when\nthe others were silent, they heard with joy her infant voice singing,\nwithout words like a bird, in a covered tone, as they got wearily over\nmile by mile of their way. Ellen suffered most, though Paulett tried, by\nall means that remained, to lighten her fatigue and cheer her spirit.\nShe bore up steadfastly; but her frame was slight, and her feelings were\noppressed by the fearful aspect of things around her. They made a deep\nand deeper impression, and she was fain to look steadfastly on the faces\nof the few living, to recover from the effects of such universal death.\n\nPaulett himself was shaken more than he knew, though he was as energetic\nas ever; but Charles was vigorous and advanced beyond his years, and\ntook more than his share in aiding and in comforting. They came at last\nto what had been sea-coast, and to that part of the road which ran along\nthe face of the cliff overlooking the sea; and here they paused, and\ngazed upon the wild and strange view before them. Where the sea had\nstretched all glorious in motion, expanse, and colour, there was now a\ndeep valley, the bottom of which was rough with rocks, black for the\nmost part, but in places glittering with the white salt from which the\nwater had evaporated, and which the winds had rolled together. Further\nout from the coast, where the sea had been deepest, there seemed tracks\nof sand; and far away over this newly exposed desert, rose other hills,\nclearly seen through the unclouded atmosphere, and which they knew to be\nthe rocks of France. And if they should arrive there, what was the hope\nthey offered? Scarce any. Nothing but more pilgrimage, further\nwandering. Paulett and Ellen sat apart, while the children lay sleeping\nside by side, for an hour or two, at this point of their journey, and\ntalked over the desolation before them.\n\n\"Yet,\" said Paulett, \"the more terrible is the appearance which material\nthings put on, the greater I feel the triumph of the spirit to be. The\nworse it looks, the more immortal I feel; and when a perishing world\nshows itself most perishable, I exult most that you and I, Ellen, have\nborne it so far.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am glad too,\" said Ellen; \"your strength strengthens me. In the\nmidst of this desolation the mind rises, for an hour at least, higher\nperhaps than it would have ever done if we had been prosperous.\"\n\n\"Yet we might have used our prosperity to the same good end,\" said\nPaulett. \"It is not necessary to be miserable in order to be noble.\nMillions have died before us, some in agony, some before the struggle\nbegan; some hardly, some at ease: they had all their chances; all had\ntheir occasions of virtue, if they used them; and some used them, some\nfailed: ours is not over yet; we have to struggle on still; and let us\ndo it, dear Ellen, and be ready for the good day when we too may be\nallowed to die.\" And thus talking for a while, they rested themselves in\nsight of the desert they had to traverse; then with renewed strength and\nsteadfast resolution, when the children woke, descended the cliffs, and\nprepared to trace out a path through what had been the bottom of the\nsea. The first part of the journey was infinitely difficult: the rocks\nover which foot of man had never passed; the abrupt precipices over\nwhich had flowed the even surface of the ocean, and then the height to\nclimb again, again to find themselves on ledges and shelves of\nrocks--all these seemed at times hardly passable impediments. And when\nthey got to a distance from what had been the shore, the unnatural place\nwhere they found themselves pressed upon the imagination. There was a\nplain of sand, about which at irregular distances rose rocks, which,\nnorth and south, stretched out beyond the reach of the eye; and this\nsand, which had been at such a depth that it never felt the influence\nof the waves, was covered in places with shells, the inhabitants of\nwhich had perished when the waters gradually dried away. There lay mixed\nwith these some skeletons of fishes; here a huge heap, and there small\nbones which looked less terrible; and masses of sea-weed, dried and\ncolourless, under which, as it seemed, the creeping things of the ocean\nhad sheltered for a while, and some had crawled to the surface when\nabout to perish. But it was not only the brute creation which had died\nhere: there was in the middle a pile of rocks, on one side of which they\ncame suddenly to a pit, so deep and dark that they perceived no bottom;\nand here probably there had been seawater longer than elsewhere, for\nthere were human bones about it, and skulls of men, and human garbs,\nwhich the sun had faded, but which were not disturbed by waves. There\nwas a cord and a metal jar attached to it, for lowering into the pit;\nbut Paulett, as he looked at the attitudes of the remaining skeletons,\nand observed how they seemed distorted in death, fancied that they must\nhave brought up either poisoned water, or waters so intensely salt as to\ndrive them mad with the additional thirst; and that some had died on the\ninstant, some had lingered, some had sought to succour others, and\nyielded sooner or later to the same influence. Ellen and he would not\ndwell on the sight after the first contemplation of it; they passed on,\nshuddering, and made toward the great wall of rock which they saw rising\nto the south, and which must be their way to the land of France. But\nbefore they reached it the sun began to decline, and without light it\nwas in vain to attempt to seek a path. There was a wind keener than they\nhad felt of late, which came from the west, and the little Alice pressed\non her father's bosom to shield her from it. He wrapped her closer in a\ncloak, and they resolved to put themselves under the shelter of the\nfirst rock they reached, and pass the night in the channel of the sea.\nThey pressed on, and found at last the place they sought; a cliff which\nmust once have raised its head above the waves, and which now stood like\nsome vast palace wall, bare and huge, upon the ocean sand. Screened from\nthe wind, they collected an abundance of the dried vegetation of the\nsea, partly for warmth and to roast their corn, partly for Paulett to\ndissolve some of the diamonds into water; and here they rested, here\nthey slept, many fathoms below that level over which navies used to\nsail. At times during the night Paulett fancied, when the wind abated,\nthat he heard a sound like thunder, or like what used to be the rushing\nof a distant torrent; and occasionally he thought he felt a vibration in\nthe earth as if it were shaken by some moving body. The region he was in\nwas so strange that he knew not what might be here, or what about to\nhappen; the sounds so imperfect that he tormented himself to be sure of\nthem, or to be sure they were not; and when the time for action came he\nwas beginning to disbelieve them altogether; but Alice brought all back\nagain by saying, \"My rock\" (for her cradle was a rock) \"shook my head,\nfather.\" The child could explain herself no further; but the vibration\nhe had fancied seemed to be what she had felt. And now they climbed\nagain, and again descended weary rock after rock; it was a strange\nchaos, which the tides had swept and moulded, and which had in places\nrisen to the surface, and caused the wreck of many a vessel. Fragments\nof these lay under the rocks they had split upon, but the wandering\nfamily had no thoughts for them; wonder and pity had been exhausted\namong exciting and terrific scenes. They thought only of forcing their\nway over the rocks, and feared to think how much of this they had to\ntraverse before they should come to what had been the shore, and to\ntowns.\n\nSuddenly, as they toiled forward, Paulett said in a low voice to Ellen,\n\"Don't you hear it?\"\n\n\"I have heard it a long time,\" said Ellen in the same tone; and Charles\nstopping as well as they, said, \"Father, what is that?\"\n\n\"I can't tell, my boy,\" said Paulett, listening.\n\n\"Water?\" asked Ellen.\n\nPaulett shook his head, yet they all pressed forward, and there grew a\nthundering sullen sound. There was a valley and a ridge of rock before\nthem, and they had to clamber first down the rugged precipice they were\nupon, then to cross the valley, and then to struggle up the opposite\nside, a trembling motion growing perceptible as they advanced, before\nthey stood on a sort of broad ledge, which they perceived at the angles\nthat jutted out, went down straight into a depth, and opposite which was\nanother broad table-land of rock, between which and that they were upon\nwas a rent, wider and narrower in various parts, and running along as\nfar as they could see to right and left. Paulett rushed on to the brink,\nand stood looking. He put his hand out to keep Ellen back when he heard\nher close behind; but she also sprang to the edge, and when she had seen\nturned to catch Charles in her arms. Rushing past was a torrent, but not\nwater. It was dark, thick, pitchy; it sent up hot steams to the edge: it\nwas one of the secrets of nature, laid bare when the ocean was taken\naway. Fire seemed to be at work below, for occasionally it would boil\nwith more violence, and rush on with an increased, increasing noise,\nthen sullenly fall back to the first gloomy sound. It bewildered the\nsense; and though it could threaten no more than death, yet it was death\nwith so many horrors around it, that the body and mind both shrank from\nit. How was it possible, too, to cross it? Yet their way lay over it;\nfor behind was certain destruction, and before it was not yet proved\nimpossible that they might find the element of water. Paulett felt that\nit would not do to linger on the brink; he drew his family away from the\nsight, and he himself went up and down to find some narrower place, and\nsome means by which to make a bridge over the abyss; and it was not till\ntheir assistance could avail him that he returned for them, and brought\nthem to the place where he hoped to get over. It was a fearful point,\nfor in order to reach a space narrow enough to have a chance of throwing\na plank over, it was necessary to go down the broken side of the\nprecipice some twenty feet, and there, high above the seething lava, to\ncross on such a piece of wood as could be got to span the abyss, and\nthen clamber up the rugged opposite side. Paulett had been down to the\npoint he selected, and had got timber, which a wrecked vessel had\nsupplied, to the edge, so that Ellen and Charles might push a plank down\nto him, and he might try, at least, to cast it to the opposite bank. His\nhead was steady, his hand strong; no one of them spoke a word while he\nstood below, steadying himself to receive the plank. Ellen's weak arm\ngrew powerful; her wit was ready with expedients, to aid him in this\nnecessity. Her frame and spirit were strung to the very uttermost, and\nshe was brave and silent, doing all that could be done. No word was\nspoken till Paulett said, \"I have done it;\" and Ellen and Charles had\nseen him place the plank, and secure it on his own side of the abyss\nwith stones. Then they held their breath, beholding him cross it; but\nhis firm foot carried him safely, and he heaped stones on the other side\nalso. He came over again, sprang up the side, and now smiled and spoke.\n\n\"After all it is but a mountain torrent, Ellen,\" he said, \"and the water\nwould have destroyed us like yonder seething flood; yet we have crossed\nmany a one and feared nothing. Now Charles shall go over; then Alice,\nand he shall take care of her; and then my Ellen. The ground beyond is\nbetter; we shall get on well after this.\"\n\nEllen took the girl in her arms, and stood, not trembling, not weeping;\nseeing and feeling every motion; all was safe that time again, Charles\nwas on the opposite bank, and his father waved his hand to Ellen. He\ncame back for Alice, whom her mother tied on his shoulders, for hands as\nwell as feet were wanted to scramble down and up the banks. And now\nEllen followed to the brink, and forgot, in watching her husband and\nchild pass over, that the black torrent was seething beneath her eyes.\nWhen they were quite safe, she felt again that it was there, and that\nher eyes were growing dizzy, and her hands involuntarily grasping about\nfor support. She did not take time to feel more, but sprang upon the\nplank, and over it, and found Paulett's hand seizing hers, and drawing\nher up the opposite bank.\n\nAnd once there, with all the three round her, she burst into\ntears--tears which had not overcome her through many miseries--and\nembracing them alternately, blessed them that they were all so far safe.\nPaulett suffered this emotion to spend itself before he said that he\nmust cross the plank again. To be more at liberty to assist them, he had\nleft the diamonds on the other side, till they should be over. Ellen\noffered no remonstrance. The times had so schooled them all, that\nselfish or unreasonable thoughts either did not come at all, or were\nsuppressed at once; and she did not oppose, even with a word, this\nnecessary step. But the renewal of fear, after the excited energy had\nsubsided, did her more harm than all that had gone before; and she stood\non the brink exhausted, yet palpitating again, while Paulett made the\npassage. He himself was wearied; but he had reached the plank, and was\nupon it on his way back to safety, when one of those ebullitions which\nstirred the dark fluid began roaring down the cleft rock, and with\nstunning noise sent up dark and clouding vapour. Paulett seemed\nsuffocating--he could not be heard--he could but just be seen--he\nreeled! Has he fallen? Oh, he has fallen! No--no! he has got his footing\nagain; he forces himself up the bank; he is safe--but the diamonds are\nin the bottom of the pit.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe exhausted family toiled with difficulty over the remaining passage\nto what had been the mainland, and reached a village on the former\ncoast, under a roof of which they entered, and lay down on the floor of\nthe first room they came to. Their supply of water was almost out; the\nmaterials for producing more were gone; and there seemed little chance\nof finding any in the neighbourhood. \"Death was here;\" and yet the\nexhaustion of their frames led them to sleep before they died, and to\nseek and enjoy a taste of that oblivion which was soon to fall upon them\nwith an impenetrable shroud. All but Ellen were soon asleep; but she,\nthe most wearied of all, could not close her eyes and admit rest to her\noverwrought frame. There was a burning thirst in her throat, which the\nsmall portion of water she and the rest had shared--being all that\nremained for them--had failed to slake. She had not complained of it;\nbut she rejoiced when she heard them asleep, that she could rise and\nmove restlessly about. The night was hot, and yet the west wind\ncontinued to blow strongly; the moon shone, but scarcely with so bright\na light as usual--there was a film upon it, or perhaps, Ellen thought,\nit was the dimness of her own weary eyes. She came softly up to Paulett,\nand watched his frame, half naked in the unconsciousness of sleep, and\nupon which none of the ravages of want and exertion were now concealed.\nThe flesh was wasted; the strong chest showed the bones of the skeleton;\nthe arms which had so strained their powers were thin, and lay in an\nattitude of extreme exhaustion. His sleep was deep; his lips open; his\neyelids blue; he would wake in want; and soon he would be able to sleep\nno more, till the last sleep of all came in torment and anguish. Poor\nCharles lay by him, his head on his father's body for a pillow, his\nlimbs drawn somewhat together, his clusters of brown hair parted off his\npale thin cheek; and Alice, the darling Alice, with more colour in her\nface than any of them, slept in deep repose, destined, perhaps, to live\nlast, and to call in vain on those whose cares had hitherto kept her\nhealthier and happier than themselves. The mother groaned with anguish;\nshe measured what these were about to suffer, by all she began to suffer\nherself; and the sight of them seemed to sear the burning eyes which\ncould no longer weep. She sat down on the floor by Alice; her head fell\nagainst the wall; she caught at a little rosary which hung near her, and\npressed it in her mouth, the comparative coolness of the beads giving\nher a little ease; her face fell on her bosom.\n\nWhen Paulett woke out of his deep sleep, and as soon as he stirred, the\nlittle Alice came on tiptoe across the floor to him, and said, \"Hush,\nfather! my mother is asleep at last.\"\n\n\"At last, my Alice! What! Could not she sleep?\"\n\n\"I think she could not sleep. I woke up, and there was my mother; and\nCharles woke presently, and she said Charles should go out and try to\nbring back some cold stones in a cup, and then presently she sat down\nagain, and went to sleep.\"\n\nHe rose softly, and taking the little girl by the hand, came up to\nEllen's side, and looked upon her. She was lying at full length on the\nfloor; her head was toward him, but her face was turned upon the ground,\nand her hair further hid it; her right arm was fallen forward, and the\nback of that hand lay in the palm of the other. He did not hear nor see\nher breathe. \"Is it so, my Ellen?\" he said. \"Art thou at rest? Is there\nno farewell for me?\" He kneeled and stooped lower and lower. His lip did\nnot venture to feel hers; he longed that she might be free, yet shrank\nfrom knowing that she was gone. But no; she had not ceased to suffer; a\nlow sigh came at last, and her parched mouth opened.\n\n\"Water!\" she said; then lifted her eyes and saw Paulett, and remembered\nall by degrees. \"Is not there a little? Oh, no--none! Nay, I shall not\nwant it soon!\" She turned her face on Paulett's breast, and soon after\ntried to rise and push herself from him. \"Leave me, dear husband; kiss\nme once, and leave me; try to save _them_!\"\n\nBut Paulett folded his arms round her. \"Not so, my Ellen; the chances of\nlife are so little, that it is lawful for me to give them up, unless we\ncan all seek them together. Alas! all I can do is but to see thee die!\nOh, if I could give thee one minute's ease!\"\n\n\"Alas! you must all die like this,\" said Ellen, who was perishing like\none of the flowers that had died in the drought for want of rain. Water\nwould have saved that life, spared those sufferings. That burning hand,\nthose gasping lips, those anxious eyes, revealed what the spirit passing\naway in that torment would fain have concealed. \"Alice, come near me;\nhold my hand, Alice. Are you thirsty, poor child? Oh, do not grieve your\nfather! It will be but a short time, my little girl--be patient.\" Ellen\ntried to kiss her; her husband kneeled and raised her head on his\nshoulder, bending his face on her forehead, and murmuring the last\nfarewell--the last thanks--the agony of his pity for her suffering. The\npoor child threw herself on her mother, gazing upward in want, and\ngrief, and bewilderment, in her face. \"My Charles,\" said the mother,\nfeeling about with the other hand, but she did not find his head to\nbless it. \"My Charles,\" she repeated in a fainter tone, and her eyelids\ndrooped over the hot eyes.\n\nPaulett saw nothing but his suffering wife, heard nothing except her\npainful breath. At that moment the door opened, and Charles stood there,\npaler than ever, with glittering eyes. He held the cup towards his\nfather. \"Father,\" he said, \"there is water coming down from heaven!\"\n\nPaulett looked up and cried, \"O God, it rains!\"\n\n\n\n\nA TENDER CONSCIENCE.\n\n\nI have a story to tell you, my dear Eusebius, of a tender conscience. It\nwill please you; for you delight to extract good out of evil, and find\nsomething ever to say in favour of the \"poor wretches of this world's\ncoinage,\" as you call them; thus gently throwing half their errors, and\nscattering them among a pretty large society to be responsible for them;\nprovided only they be wretches by confession, that dare not hide\nthemselves in hypocrisy. In all such cases you show that you were born\nwith the genius of a beadle, and (strange conjunction) the tenderest of\nhearts. I believe that you would stand an hour at a pillory, and see\nfull justice done to a delinquent of that caste; and would as willingly,\nin your own person, receive the missiles that you would attempt to ward\noff from the contrite wretch, whose sins might not have been woefully\nagainst human kindness. Could you choose your seat in the eternal\nmansions, it would be among the angels that rejoice over one sinner that\nrepenteth. You can distinguish in another the feeblest light of\nconscience that ever dimly burned, and see in it the germ of a beautiful\nlight, that may one day, by a little fanning and fostering, shine as a\nstar, and shed a vital heat that may set the machinery of the heart in\nmotion to throw off glorious actions. But let not the man that shams a\nconscience come in your way. I have seen you play off such an one till\nhe has burst forth--up, up, up, aiming at the skies, nothing less, in\nhis self-glorification; and how have you despised him, and exhibited him\nto all bystanders as nothing but a poor stick in his descent! These\nhuman rockets are at their best but falling stars--cinders incapable of\nbeing rekindled. Commend me to the modest glow-worms, that shine only\nwhen they think the gazing world is asleep, and dwell in green hedges,\nand fancy themselves invisible to all eyes but those of love.\n\nThere are persons, and of grave judgments too, who verily believe that\nthe quantity of conscience amongst mankind is not worth speaking of, and\ntreat of human actions as entirely independent of it. And this fault\nhonest Montaigne finds with Guicciardini:--\"I have also,\" says he,\n\"observed this in him, that of so many persons and so many effects, so\nmany motives and so many counsels as he judges of, he never attributes\nany one of them to virtue, religion, or conscience, as if all those were\nutterly extinct in the world; and of all the actions, however brave an\noutward show they make, he always throws the cause and motive upon some\nvicious occasion, or some prospect of profit. It is impossible to\nimagine but that, amongst such an infinite number of actions as he makes\nmention of, there must be some one produced by the way of reason. No\ncorruption could so universally have affected men, that some of them\nwould not have escaped the contagion, which makes me suspect that his\nown taste was vicious; from whence it might happen that he judged other\nmen by himself.\" You, Eusebius, will be perfectly of Montaigne's\nopinion. We would rather trust that there are few in whom this moral\nprinciple has no vitality whatever. The wayside beggar, when he divides\nhis meal--which, perhaps, he has stolen--with his dog, acts from its\nkind impulse; and see how uncharitable I am at my first impulse, to\nsuppose, to suggest that the meal is stolen--so ready are we to steal\naway virtues, one after the other, and in our judgments to be thieves\nupon a large scale. And so a better feeling pricks me to charity. I\ndoubt if we ought even to say that the parliamentary reprobate, who\nopenly confessed \"that he could not afford to keep a conscience,\" had\nnone--he was but dead to some of its motions. If it were not that it\nmust be something annexed to an immortal condition, would you not,\nEusebius, say that the beggar's dog conscientiously makes his return of\nservice and gratitude for the scraps thrown to him? See him by the\ngipsies' tent: how safely can the infant children be left to his sole\ncare by the roadside! It is a beautiful sight to see the sagacious, the\nfaithful creature, watching while they sleep, and lying upon the outer\nfold of the blanket that enwraps them. Has he not a sense of duty--a\nsort of bastard conscience? And what is truly wonderful, is, that\nanimals have often a sense of duty against their instincts. If it be\nsaid that they act through fear of punishment, it is a punishment their\ninstincts would teach them to avoid; and, after all, this fear of\npunishment may be a mighty ingredient in most men's consciences. We\nlearn that immense numbers of ducks are reared by that part of the\nChinese population who spend their lives in boats upon the rivers; and\nthese birds, salted and dried, form one of the chief articles of diet in\nthe celestial land. They are kept in large cages or crates, from which,\nin the morning, they are sent forth to seek their food upon the river\nbanks. A whistle from their keeper brings them back in the evening; and\nas, according to Tradescent Lay, the last to return receives a flogging\nfor his tardiness, their hurry to get back to the boats, when they hear\nthe accustomed call, is in no small degree amusing. I cannot but think\nthat there must be something like a sense of duty in these poor\ncreatures, that they thus of themselves, and of good-will return to the\ncertainty of being salted and dried. This may sound very ridiculous,\nEusebius, but there is matter in it to muse upon; and if we want to know\nman, we must speculate a little beyond him, and learn him by similities\nand differences. He has best knowledge of his own home and country who\nhas wandered into a _terra incognita_, and studied the differences of\nsoil and climate. And besides that every man is a world to himself, and\nmay find a _terra incognita_ in his own breast, it is not amiss to look\nabroad into other wildernesses, where he will find instincts that are\nnot so much any creature's but that they have something divine in them,\nand so, in their origin at least, akin to his own. He will find\nconscience of some sort growing in the soil of every heart. It is not\namiss to discover where it grows most healthily, and by what deadly\nnightshade its virtue may be suffocated, and its nicer sense not thrive.\n\nSurprising is the diversity;--were not nature corrupted, there would be\nno diversity. Now, truth and right is one; and yet we judge not one\nthing, we think not aright. Yet is the original impulse true to its\npurpose, but, in its passage through the many channels of the mind, is\nstrangely perverted. It is eloquently said by a modern writer, a deep\nthinker, \"Thus does the conscience of man project itself athwart\nwhatsoever of knowledge, or surmise, or imagination, understanding,\nfaculty, acquirement, or natural disposition he has in him; and, like\nlight through  glass, paint strange pictures on the rim of the\nhorizon and elsewhere. Truly this same sense of the infinite nature of\nduty, is the central part of all within us; a ray as of eternity and\nimmortality immured in dusky many- Time, and its deaths and\nbirths. Your  glass varies so much from century to century--and\nin certain money-making, game-preserving centuries, it gets terribly\nopaque. Not a heaven with cherubim surrounds you then, but a kind of\nvacant, leaden, cold hell. One day it will again cease to be opaque,\nthis  glass; now, may it not become at once translucent and\nuncoloured? Painting no pictures more for us, but only the everlasting\nazure itself. That will be a right glorious consummation.\" If it were\nonly the painting pictures! but we act the painted scenes. And strange\nthey are, and of diversity enough. It was the confession of an apostle,\nthat he \"thought with himself that he ought to do many things contrary\"\nto his master. There are national consciences how unlike each other;\nthere are consciences of tribes and guilds, which, strange to say,\nthough they be composed of individuals, bear not the stamp of any one\nindividual conscience among them. They apologise to themselves for\niniquity by a division and subdivision of the responsibility; and thus,\nby each owning to but a little share collectively, they commit a great\nenormity. It is the whole and sole responsibility of the individual,\nresponsibility to that inner arbiter sitting _foro conscientiae_, and the\nsight of those frowning attendants of the court, Nemesis and Adraste,\nready with the scourge to follow crime, that keep the man honest. Put\nnot confidence, Eusebius, in bodies, in guilds, and committees. Trust\nnot to them property or person; they may be all individually good\nSamaritans, but collectively they will rather change places with the\nthieves than bind up your wounds. In this matter, \"Experto crede\nRoberto.\"\n\nBut of this diversity.--The Turk will split his sides with laughter,\nagainst the very nature, too, of his Turkish gravity, should he witness\nthe remorse of the subdued polygamist. We read of nations who, from a\nsense of duty, eat their parents, and would shudder at the crime of\nburying them in the earth, or burning them. So is there a cannibalism of\nlove as well as of hatred. Sinbad's terror at the duty of being buried\nalive with his deceased wife, the king's daughter, was no invention\nbeyond the probability of custom. The Scythians, as Herodotus tells us,\nthought it an honourable act and no _murders_ committed, when they\nslaughtered the king's councillors and officers of state, and guards and\ntheir horses, on which they stuck them upright by skewers, to be in\ndeath the king's attendants. The suttee is still thought no wrong. There\nis habit of thought that justifies habit of deed. Southey, in his\n_History of the Brazils_, tells a sad tale of a dying _converted_\nIndian. In her dying moments, cannibalism prevailed over Christian\nconscience; and was the Pagan conscience silent? She was asked by those\nstanding about her, if they could do any thing for her. She replied,\nthat she thought she _could_ pick the bones of a little child's hand,\nbut that she had no one now who would go and kill her one. I dare to\nsay, Eusebius, she died in peace. The greater part of the world die in\npeace. Their conscience may be the first part of then that departs--it\nis dead before the man--most say, I have done no harm. I have known a\nman die in the very effort of triumphant chuckling over his unfortunate\nneighbours, by his successful fraud and over-reaching; yet, perhaps,\nthis man's conscience was only dead as to any sense of right and wrong\nin this particular line; very possibly he had \"compunctious visitings\"\nabout \"mint and cumine\"--and oh! human inconsistency, some such have\nbeen known to found hospitals--some spark of conscience working its way\ninto the very rottenness of their hearts, that, like tinder, have let\nout all their kindred and latent fire, till that moment invisible, all\nbut _in posse_ non-existent. But for any thing like a public conscience\nso kindling since the repentance of the Ninevites, it is not to be\nthought of. The pretence of such a thing is a sign of the last state of\nnational hypocrisy. It was not that sense which emancipated the <DW64>s\nand forbade the slave trade. Take, for example, the Portuguese, and\ntheir \"board of conscience\" at Lisbon, which they set up to quiet the\nremorse, if any should exist, of those who had bought the miserable\nnatives of Reoxcave, when they sold themselves and their children for\nfood. This very convenient scruple was started in \"the court, to\nsanction the purchase, that if these so purchased slaves were set free,\nthey might _apostatize_!\" Now, who were the judges in such a court? Oh!\nthe villany of the whole conclave!--yet was each individual, perhaps, of\ndemure and sanctimonious manners, to whom the moral eye of a people\nlooked--villains all in the guise of goodness:--\n\n    \"Vir bonus, omne forum quem spectat et omne tribunal,\n    Quandocuncque Deos vel porco vel bove placat,\n    Jane Pater, clare, clare, cum dixit, Apollo,\n    Labra movet metuens audiri--Pulchra Laverna,\n    Da mihi fallere, da justum sanctumque videri,\n    Noctem peccatis et fraudibus objice nubem.\"\n\nWe are told that there is such a disease as a cannibal madness, and that\nit was common among the North American savages; that those seized with\nit have a raving desire for human flesh, and rush like wolves upon all\nthey meet. Now, in what was this court of conscience better than these\ncannibals? Better! a thousand times worse--for wolves are honest. Now I\nwell know, Eusebius, how I have put a coal under the very fountain of\nyour blood--and it is boiling at a fine rate. Let me allay it, and\nfollow the stage directions of \"soft music;\" only on this occasion we\nomit the music, and take the rhyme. So here do I exhibit conscience in\nits playful vein. Our friend S., the other day, repeated me off the\nfollowing lines; he cannot remember where he had them--he says it was\nwhen a boy that he met with them somewhere. Call it the Conscientious\nToper; yet that is too common--it is the characteristic of all\ntopers--never was one that could not find an excuse. Drink wonderfully\nelicits moral words, to compound for immoral deeds. Call it then--\n\n\nTHE CONTROVERSY.\n\n    No plate had John and Joan to hoard--\n      Plain folks in humble plight--\n    One only tankard graced their board,\n      But that was fill'd each night;\n\n    Upon whose inner bottom, sketch'd\n      In pride of chubby grace,\n    Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd\n      A baby angel's face.\n\n    John took at first a moderate sup--\n      But Joan was not like John--\n    For when her lips once touch'd the cup,\n      She swill'd till all was gone.\n\n    John often urged her to drink fair,\n      But she cared not a jot--\n    She loved to see that angel there,\n      And therefore drain'd the pot.\n\n    When John found all remonstrance vain,\n      Another card he play'd,\n    And where the angel stood so plain\n      He had a devil portray'd.\n\n    Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,\n      Yet still she stoutly quaff'd,\n    And when her lips once touch'd the ale,\n      She clear'd it at a draught.\n\n    John stood with wonder petrified,\n      His hair stood on his pate,\n    \"And why dost guzzle now,\" he cried,\n      \"At that enormous rate?\"\n\n    \"Oh, John!\" she said, \"I'm not to blame--\n      I _can't in conscience_ stop--\n    For sure 'twould be a burning shame\n      To leave the devil a drop.\"\n\nChangeable, versatile, inconstant Eusebius, where is now your burst of\nphilanthropy--where is all your rage? Pretty havoc you would but now have\nmade, had you been armed with thunder--thunder, I say, for yours would\nhave been no silent devastation among the villains. No Warnerian silent\nblazeless destruction would suit your indignation--in open day, and with\na shout, would you do it, and in such wise would you suffer, if needs\nmust, with Ajax's prayer in your mouth--\"+En de Phaei kai olesson+.\"\nBut for a grand picture of a sweeping indignation, there is nothing so\ngrand as that fine passage in the Psalms--\"Let them be as the dust before\nthe wind, and the angel of the Lord scattering them.\" Men and all their\niniquities, once so mighty, so vast, but as grains less than grains of\ndust--all the clouds of hypocrisy dispersed in atoms before the fury of\nthe storm of vengeance. You were, as you read, Eusebius, in honest rage.\nI could see you as in a picture, like the figure with the scourge in hand\nflying off the very ground, in Raffaelle's noble fresco, the Heliodorus;\nand now are you far more like a merryandrew in your mirth, and the\nquaint sly humour of the tale in verse has made you blind to the\ndelinquencies of the quaffing Joan. Blind to their delinquencies! Stay\nyour mirth a moment, Eusebius--are you not blind to your own? Now I\nremember me, you are a thief, Eusebius, however you may have settled\nthat matter with your conscience. Have you read the proposed \"Dog-bill?\"\nHere's a pretty to do!--Eusebius convicted of dog-stealing--subject to\nthe penalty of misdemeanour! \"I!\" you will say. Yes, you. You put it\ndown, doubtless, in the catalogue of your virtues, as you did when you\nboasted to me that you had, by a lucky detection in probably the\ncriminal's first offence, saved a fellow-creature from a course of\ncrime. Do you remember your dog Chance? yes, _your_ dog, for so you\ncalled him--and, pray, how came you by him? This was your version. A\nregiment was marching by your neighbourhood, at the fag-end of which a\nsoldier led a very fine spaniel by a piece of cord. You always loved\ndogs--did you not, you cunning Eusebius? You can put two and two\ntogether as well as most people. The dog had no collar. Oh, oh! thought\nyou--the master of so fine a dog would have collar and chain, too, for\nhim. This fellow must have stolen him--it is my duty (your virtuous\nduty, indeed) to rescue this fine creature, and perchance save this\nwretched man from such wicked courses. So thus you proceed--you look\nindignant, and accost the soldier, \"Holloa, you fellow--whose dog's\nthat?\" Soldier--\"What's that to you?\" Eusebius--\"What's the name of your\ncaptain, that I may instantly appeal to him on the subject?\" Soldier\nalarmed--\"I beg your honour's pardon, but the dog followed me. I don't\nknow to whom he belongs.\" What made you, then, so particularly enquire\nwhere he came from, and whereabouts he met with him? Your virtue\nwhispered to you, \"Ask these questions, that you may be able to find out\nthe owner.\" Another imp whispered, \"It might be useful.\" So you seize\nthe rope, lecture the man upon the enormity of his intentions, quietly\ntake the dog to your stable, and walk away with, as you flatter\nyourself, the heartfelt satisfaction of having saved a fellow-creature\nfrom the commission of a theft. To do you justice, you did, I verily\nbelieve, for two whole days make decent enquiries, and _endeavour_, if\nthat be not too strong a word--_endeavour_ to find out the owner. But at\nthe close of every day question Rover himself; and questioning Rover led\nyou to look into each other's faces--and so you liked Rover's looks, and\nRover liked your looks--and when you said to Rover, I should like to\nknow who your master is? Rover looked with all his eyes, as much as to\nsay, \"Well now, if ever I heard the like of that! If my name is Rover,\nyours must be Bouncer\"--then you patted him for a true and truth-telling\ndog; and he wagged his tail, and looked again at you, till you perfectly\nmesmerized each other, and understood each other, and he acknowledged\nthat you, and no other, could be his master--and so you mastered him,\nand he mastered your conscience--and then you and your conscience began\nto have a parley. I fear you had sent her to a bad boarding-school, and\nhad just brought her home for the holidays, with a pretty many more\nniceties and distinctions than she took with her--and had come back\n\"more nice than wise.\" \"Have you found the owner?\" quoth she. \"It is\ntime he were found,\" replied you. \"Why?\" quoth she. \"Because,\" you\nrejoin, \"the shooting season is fast approaching.\" \"That is true.\" \"The\ndog will be spoiled for want of practice.\" \"That will be a pity.\" \"Thank\nyou, conscience--won't it be a sin?\" Conscience is silent, so you take\nthat for granted. \"Hadn't I better take out a license this year?\" \"Oh!\nit wouldn't be right you should go without one.\" \"Certainly not,\n(somewhat boldly;) I _will_ get my license directly. Poor\nRover!--well--how very fond that dog is of me--it would be highly\nungrateful not to make a return even to a dog. I ought to be fond of\nhim. I--am--very fond of him.\" Then you confess, Eusebius, that you\nshould be very sorry to part with him. Conscience says, \"Do you mean to\nsay you should be sorry to find out the real owner?\" \"Really,\nconscience,\" you reply, \"there can be no harm in being sorry; but you\nare becoming very impertinent, and asking too many questions.\" Here\nconscience nods--is asleep--is in a coma, Eusebius--fairly mesmerized by\nyou, and follows you at your beck wherever you choose to lead her. And\nso you take her to your stable to look at Rover: and you want a\nsuggestion how you can stop Rover's wandering propensities; and\nconscience, being in a state of _clairvoyance_, bids you tie him up. You\nask how--\"by the teeth;\" so you order him a good plate of meat inside,\nyour stable-door locked, and you replenish that plate for a week or\nmore, and have a few conferences with Rover in your parlour--and the dog\nis tied. Then you didn't like the name of Rover--but liked Chance.\nConscience suggested the name as a palliative, as something between true\nproprietorship and theft--it gave you a protective right, and took away\nthe sting of the possession. You fortified yourself in this position, as\ncunningly as the French at Tahiti. But how happened it, Eusebius, that\nwhen any friend asked you if you had found the owner, you turned off the\nsubject always so ingeniously, or denied that you had a Rover, but one\nChance, certainly a fine dog?--and how came it that you never took him\nin the direction of the country from whence the regiment had come? And\nyet, if the truth could be known, would it not turn out, Eusebius, that\nfears did often come across your pleasures, and your affection for\nChance? and had a child but asked you, as you might have been crossing a\nstile, in quest, with Chance before you, as you did the soldier, \"whose\ndog's that?\" you would have stammered a little--and almost, in your\naffection, have gone down upon your knees to have begged him as a gift;\nand it is fearful to think what a sum any knave as cunning as yourself\nhad been, would have got out of you. Now, my dear Eusebius, I entreat\nyou, when you shall read or hear read--\"Is thy servant a dog, that he\nshould do this thing,\" that you think of Chance, and not of _his doing_,\nbut _yours_. I dare to say, you have never quite looked at the affair in\nthis light; we all are apt to wash our hands of a troublesome affair,\nand think we come with them clean into court.\n\nTake care you don't resemble the monkey with the meal-tub. His master\nthrashed him when he caught him at the theft, and showed him his hands\ncovered with meal, that he might understand the reason of his\npunishment. Monkey, after the next theft, took care to wash his hands,\nand when his master came to punish him, extended them to show how clean\nthey were. His master smiled, and immediately brought him a\nlooking-glass--his face and whiskers were powdered with meal: and there\nyou have the origin of the adage, \"You have washed your hands but not\nyour face.\" There will still be a monitor, Eusebius, to hold the\nlooking-glass to you, and the like of you: and look to your face; and\nwhenever you find that you have _put a good face_ upon any doubtful\nmatter, take the trouble then to look at your hands; and if they be\nclean, look again and see if your face and hands are clean together. And\nthat will be the best _tableau-vivant_ you or any one else can study.\n\nNow, however, that conscience seems so thoroughly gone to the dogs,\nwithout any personal allusion to your case, Eusebius, I cannot resist\ntelling you an anecdote by which you will see how Neighbour Grace of\nM----n ingeniously touched the conscience of Attorney B., who was\nsupposed to have none--upon the matter of a dog-theft, and how Attorney\nB. was a match for Neighbour Grace.\n\n\"I am come to thee, Friend B.,\" said Grace, \"to ask thee a question.\nSuppose my dog should go into thy kitchen, and run off with a neck of\nmutton, dost thee think I ought to pay thee for the neck of mutton?\"\n\n\"Without doubt,\" said Lawyer B.\n\n\"Then I'd thank thee to pay me three and fourpence; for it was thy dog\nstole my neck of mutton, and that's the cost of it.\"\n\n\"Perfectly right,\" said Attorney B., coolly drawing out a bill and\nreceipt. \"So, Neighbour Grace, you must pay me three and fourpence, and\nthat settles the matter.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Why, as you asked my opinion, my charge for that is six and\neightpence--deduct value of neck of mutton, three and fourpence, and\njust so much remains.\" And Lawyer B. got the best of it, and made him\npay too. Now this it was to probe another's conscience, without knowing\nthe nature of the beast you stir up; not considering that when\nconscience thus comes down, as it were, with \"a power of attorney,\" it\nis powerful indeed--\"recalcitrat undique tutus.\" There are many such big\nswelling consciences, that grow up and cover the whole man--like the\ngourd of Jonah, up in a night and down in a night--a fine shelter for a\ntime from the too-searching sun; but there is a _worm_ in it, Eusebius,\nand it won't last.\n\nIt is a very odd thing that people commonly think they can have their\nconsciences at command, and can set them as they do their watches, and\nit is generally behind time: yet will they go irregularly, and sometimes\nall of a run; and when they come to set them again, they will bear no\nsort of regulation. Some set them as they would an alarum, to awaken\nthem at a given time; and when this answers at all, they are awakened in\nsuch an amazement that they know not what they are about. Such was the\ncase with the notorious Parisian pawnbroker, who all in a hurry sent for\nthe priest; but when the crucifix was presented to him, stammered out\nthat he could lend but a very small matter upon it. So consciences go by\nlatitudes and longitudes--slow here and fast there. They have, too,\ntheir antipodes--it is night here and sunshine there. And so of ages and\neras: and thus the same things make men laugh and tremble by turns. What\nunextinguishable laughter would arise should Dr Howley, Archbishop of\nCanterbury, go in procession with his clergy to Windsor, each armed with\nscissors, to clip the moustaches of the prince and his court! Yet a like\nabsurdity has in other days pricked the consciences of king and\ncourtiers to a sudden and bitter remorse. I read the other day in that\nvery amusing volume, the _Literary Conglomerate_, in an \"Essay on Hair,\"\nhow Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury, went so far as to pronounce an\nanathema of excommunication on all who wore long hair, for which pious\nzeal he was much commended; and how \"Serlo, a Norman bishop, acquired\ngreat honour by a sermon which he preached before Henry I. in 1104,\nagainst long curled hair, with which the king and his courtiers were so\nmuch affected, that they consented to resign their flowing ringlets of\nwhich they had been so vain. The prudent prelate gave them no time to\nchange their minds, but immediately pulled a pair of shears out of his\nsleeve, and performed the operation with his own hand.\" A canon is still\nextant, of the date of 1096, importing that such as wore long hair\nshould be excluded from the church whilst living, or being prayed for\nwhen dead. Now, the very curates rejoice in ringlets and macassar. It\nwould be curious to trace the heresy to its complete triumph in\nfull-bottomed wigs, in which, it was ignorantly supposed, wisdom finally\nsettled, when it was not discovered elsewhere. Thus it is, Eusebius,\nthat folly, the vile insect, flies about--just drops a few eggs in the\nvery nest of conscience, and is off, and a corruption of the flesh\nfolloweth. Those, therefore, who take out license to shoot folly as it\nflies, should be made to look after the eggs likewise.\n\nAlas, Eusebius, that any thing should take the name of this nice sense\nthat is not replete with goodness, that is not the true _ductor\nsubstantium_! The prophet of an evil which wounds his very soul will\ntake offence if it come not to pass and spare not. Was not Jonah grieved\nthat the whole city was not destroyed as he had said? That nice and\ninner sense was more ingenious on the side of bold justice, than\nprodigal to mercy; and so had he not \"a conscience void of offence;\"\nand thus this honourable feeling not always acts unfettered, but is\nintercepted and hurried on, spite of itself, into courses of action in\nwhich there is too much of passion, and, plunging into error with this\noutward violence, is forced upon ingenious defences. The story of Piso\nis in point. He thought to act the conscientious judge, when he\ncondemned the soldier to death who had returned from forage without his\ncompanion, under the impression that he had killed him; but as he is\nupon the point of execution, the man supposed to have been murdered\nreturns, all the soldiery present rejoice, and the executioner brings\nthem both to the presence of Piso. And what did the conscientious Piso?\nHis conscience would not so let him put by justice; so, with a\nsurprising ingenuity of that nice faculty in its delirium, he orders\nexecution upon all three--the first soldier, because he had been\ncondemned--the second, who had lost his way, because he was the cause of\nhis companion's death--and the executioner, because he had disobeyed his\norders. He had but to pretend to be greatly grieved at his vagary, to\nhave the act lauded as an instance of Roman virtue. I look upon the\nfamed Brutus, when he thought it a matter of conscience to witness, as\nwell as order, his sons' execution, to have been a vain unfeeling fool\nor a madman. Let us have no prate about conscience proceeding from a\nhard heart; these are frightful notions when they become infectious. A\nhandful of such madmen are enough, if allowed to have their way, to\nenact the horrors of a French Revolution. All this you know, Eusebius,\nbetter than I do, and will knit your brows at this too serious vein of\nthought. I will come, therefore, a little nearer our common homes. You\nshall have a scene from domestic life, as I had it the other day, from a\nlady with whom I was conversing upon this subject, who tells me it is a\nveritable fact, and took place some seventy years back. \"It will want\nits true power,\" said my friend, \"because that one solitary trait could\ngive you no idea of the rich humour of the lady, the subject of this\nincident--her simplicity, shrewdness, art, ignorance, quickness,\nmischief, made lovely by exceeding beauty, and a most amusing\nconsciousness of it. Seventy years ago, too, it happened--there are no\nsuch ladies in the better ranks of society now. She lived at Margate. It\ncame to pass that the topping upholsterer there got a new-shaped chest\nof drawers from London--the very first that had appeared in Margate--and\ngave madam, she being one of the high top-families, the first sight of\nit. With the article she fell in love, and entreated her husband to buy\nit; but the sensible gentleman, having his house capitally and fully\nfurnished, would not. The lady still longed, but had not money enough to\nmake the purchase--begged to have her _quarter_ advanced. This was not\ngranted. She pouted a little, and then, like a wise woman, made up her\nmind to be disappointed, and resumed her more than wonted cheerfulness;\nbut, alas! she was a daughter of Eve, as it will be seen. Christmas-day\ncame--it was the invariable custom of the family to receive the\nsacrament. Before church-time she sent for her husband. She had a sin on\nher conscience--she must confess before she could go to the altar. Her\nhusband was surprised. \"What is it?\" \"You must promise not to be very\nangry.\" \"But what is it? Have you broken my grandmother's china\ntea-pot?\" \"Oh! worse than that.\" \"Have you thrown a bank-note in the\nfire?\" \"Worse than that.\" \"Have you run in debt to your abominable\nsmuggling lace-woman?\" \"Worse than that.\" \"Woman!\" quoth he sternly, and\ntaking down an old broadsword that hung over the chimney-piece, \"confess\nthis instant;\" and he gave the weapon a portentous flourish. \"Oh! dear\nRichard, don't kill me, and I'll tell you all at once. Then I, (sob,) I,\n(sob,) have cribbed (sob) out of the house-money every week to buy that\nchest of drawers, and you've had bad dinners and suppers this month for\nit; and (sobbing) that's all.\" He could just keep his countenance to\nsay--\"And where have you hid this accursed thing?\" \"Oh, Richard! I have\nnever been able to use it; for I have covered it over with a blanket\never since I had it, for fear of your seeing it. Oh! pray, forgive me!\"\nYou need not be told how she went to church with a \"clean breast,\" as\nthe saying is. It is an unadorned fact. Her husband used to tell it\nevery merry Christmas to his old friend-guests.\" Here you have the\nstory, Eusebius, as I had it thus dramatically (for I could not mend it)\nfrom the lips of the narrator.\n\nIs it your fault or your virtue, Eusebius, that you positively love\nthese errors of human nature? You ever say, you have no sympathy with or\nfor a perfect monster--if such there be--which you deny, and aver that\nif you detect not the blot, it is but too well covered; and by that very\ncovering, for aught you know to the contrary, may be all blot. You would\nhave catalogued this good lady among your \"right estimable and lovely\nwomen!\" and if you did not think that chest of drawers must be an\nheirloom in the family, you would set about many odd means to get\npossession of it. Yet I do verily believe that there are brutes that\nwould not have forgiven in their wives this error--that would argue\nthus, You may sin, madam, against your Maker; but you shall not sin\nagainst me. Is there not a story somewhere, of a wretched vagabond at\nthe confessional--dreadful were the crimes for which he was promised\nabsolution; but after all his compunctions, contortions, self-cursings,\nbreast-beatings, hand-wringings, out came the sin of sins--he had once\nspit by accident upon the priest's robe, though he only meant to spit\nupon the altar steps. Unpardonable offence! Never-to-be-forgiven wretch!\nHis life could not atone for it. And what had the friars, blue and grey,\nbeen daily, hourly doing? You have been in Italy, Eusebius.\n\nI have not yet told you the story for the telling which I began this\nletter; and why I have kept it back I know not--it is not for the\nimportance of it; for it is of a poor simple creature. But I must stay\nmy hand from it again; for here has one passed before my window that can\nhave no conscience. It is a great booby--six foot man-boy of about\nnineteen years. He has just stalked by with his insect-catcher on his\nshoulder; the fellow has been with his green net into the innocent\nfields, to catch butterflies and other poor insects. Many an hour have I\nseen you, Eusebius, with your head half-buried in the long blades of\ngrass and pleasant field-weeds, partially edged by the slanting and\npervading sunbeams, while the little stream has played its song of\nvaried gentleness, watching the little insect world, and the golden\nbeetles climbing up the long stalks, performing wondrous feats for your\nand their own amusement--for your delight was to participate in all\ntheir pleasures; and some would, with a familiarity that made you feel\nakin to all about you, walk over the page of the book you were reading,\nand look up, and pause, and trust their honest legs upon your hand,\nconfiding that there was one human creature that would not hurt them.\nThink of those hours, my gentle friend, and consider the object for\nwhich that wretch of a booby is out. How many of your playmates has he\nstuck through with pins, upon which they are now writhing! And when the\nwretch goes home murder-laden, his parents or guardians will greet him\nas a most amiable and sweet youth, who wouldn't for the world misspend\nhis time as other boys do, but is ever on the search after knowledge;\nand so they swagger and boast of his love of entomology. I'd rather my\nchildren should grow up like cucumbers--more to belly than head--than\nhave these scientific curiosity-noddles upon their poles of bodies, that\nhaven't room for hearts, and look cold and cruel, like the pins they\nstick through the poor moths and butterflies, and all innocent insects.\nGood would it be to hear you lecture the parents of these heartless\nbodies for their bringing up, and picture, in your eloquent manner, the\ntorments that devils may be doomed to inflict in the other world on the\ncruel in this; and to fix them writhing upon their forks as they pin the\npoor insects. What would they do but call you a wicked blasphemer, and\nprate about the merciful goodness of their Maker, as if one Maker did\nnot make all creatures? Yet what do such as they know of mercy but the\nname? These are they that kill conscience in the bud.\n\nMen's bosoms are like their dwellings--mansions, magnificent and\ngorgeous--full of all noble and generous thoughts, with room to\nexpand--or dwellings of pretensions, show, and meanness--or hovels of\nall dirt and slovenliness; yet is there scarcely one in which conscience\ndoes not walk in and out boldly, or steal in cautiously, though she may\nnot always have room to move her arms about her, and assert her\npresence. Yet even when circumscribed by narrowness, and immured in all\nunseemly things, will she patiently watch her time for some appropriate\ntouch, or some quiet sound of her voice. Her most difficult scene of\naction, however, is in the bosom of pretension; for there the trumpet of\nself-praise is ever sounding to overwhelm her voice, and she is kept at\narm's-length from the touch of the guilty hearts, by the padding and the\nfurniture that surround them. But oh! the hypocrites of this life--they\nalmost make one weary of it; they who walk with their hands as if ever\nweighing, by invisible scales, with their scruples of conscience their\nevery thought, word, and action. Shall I portray the disgusting effigies\nof one? \"Niger est--hunc tu, Romane, caveto.\" I will, however, tell you\nsomewhat of one that has lately come across my path, and I will call him\nPeter Pure; for he is one of those that, though assuming a quietness, is\nreally rabid in politics, and has ever upon his lips \"purity of\nelection,\" and the like cant words. A few years ago his circumstances not\nbeing very flourishing, he got the ear of our generous friend of the\nGrange; through his timely assistance, and a pretty considerable loan, he\novercame his difficulties, and is now pretty well to do. At the last\ncontest for the borough, our friend T. of the Grange, with others, waited\nupon Peter Pure; and Peter, with large professions of gratitude--as how\ncould he do less for so kind a benefactor?--unhesitatingly promised his\nvote. At this time, be it observed, there was not the slightest\nappearance of the contest which afterwards came, and with that storm a\npretty good shower of bribery. What quantity of this shower fell to Peter\nPure's share, was never discovered; but it is easy to conjecture that so\nnice, so grateful a conscience was not overcome for nothing. Peter never\nliked cheap sins. The contest came, the election takes place, and Peter\nPure's plumper weighs down the adversary's scale. Soon after this he had\nthe impudence to accost his benefactor thus:--\"My dear friend and\nbenefactor, and worthy sir, I wished for this opportunity of explaining\nto you, with the utmost sincerity and confidence, what may have appeared\nto you like--yes--really like a breaking of my word. It is true I did\npromise you my vote: but then, you know, voting being a very serious\nmatter, I thought it necessary to read my oath which I should be called\nupon to take; and I found, my good friend, to my astonishment, that I was\nbound by it not to vote from '_favour and affection_.' Yes, those are the\nwords. Now, it unfortunately--only unfortunately in this instance, mind\nme--happens, that there is not a man in the world so much in my\naffection and my favour as yourself; to vote, therefore, as you had\nwished me to vote, would, after reading the oath, have been downright\nperjury; for I certainly should have voted 'through favour and\naffection.' That would have been a fearful weight upon my conscience.\"\nHere was a pretty scoundrel, Eusebius. I should be sorry to have you\nencounter him in a crowd, and trust his sides to your elbows, lest you\nshould be taken with one of those sudden fits of juvenility that are not\nquite in accordance with the sedateness of your years. You will not be\ninclined to agree with an apologist I met the other day, who simply said\nthat Satan had thrown the temptation in his way. There is no occasion\nfor such superfluous labour, nor does the arch-fiend throw any of his\nlabour away. Your Peter Pures may be very well left to themselves, and\nare left to themselves; their own inventions are quite sufficient for\nall their trading purposes; there is no need to put temptations in their\nway--they will seek them of themselves.\n\nYou will certainly lay me under the censure that Montaigne throws upon\nGuicciardini. Let me then make amends, and ascribe one action to a\ngenerous, a conscientious motive. There cannot be found a better example\nthan I have met with in reading some memoirs of the great and good\nColston, the founder of those excellent charities in London, Bristol,\nand elsewhere. I find this passage in his life. It happened that one of\nhis most richly-laden vessels was so long missing, and the violent\nstorms having given every reason to suppose she had perished, that\nColston gave her up for lost. Upon this occasion, it is said, he did not\nlament his unhappiness as many are apt to do, and perpetually count up\nthe serious amount of his losses; but, with dutiful submission, fell\nupon his knees, and with thankfulness for what Providence had been\npleased to leave him, and with the utmost resignation relinquished even\nthe smallest hope of her recovery. When, therefore, his people came soon\nafterwards to tell him that his ship had safely come to port, he did not\nshow the signs of self-gratulation which his friends expected to see. He\nwas devoutly thankful for the preservation of the lives of so many\nseamen; but as for the vessel and her cargo, they were no longer his--he\nhad resigned them--he could not in conscience take them back. He looked\nupon all as the gift of Providence to the poor; and, as such, he sold\nthe ship and merchandize--and most valuable they were--and, praying for\na right guidance, distributed the proceeds among the poor. How beautiful\nis such charity! Here is no false lustre thrown upon the riches and\ngoods of this world, that, reflected, blind the eyes that they see not\naright. The conscience of such a man as Colston was an arbiter even\nagainst himself, sat within him in judgment to put aside his worldly\ninterest, and made a steady light for itself to see by, where naturally\nwas either a glare or an obscurity, that alike might bewilder less\nhonest vision.\n\nSome such idea is gloriously thus expressed by Sir Thomas Browne in his\nadmirable _Religio Medici_.{A} \"Conscience only, that can see without\nlight, sits in the areopagy and dark tribunal of our hearts, surveys our\nthoughts, and condemns our obliquities. Happy is that state of vision\nthat can see without light, though all should look as before the\ncreation, when there was not an eye to see, or light to actuate a\nvision--wherein, notwithstanding, obscurity is only imaginable\nrespectively unto eyes. For unto God there was none. Eternal light was\nfor ever--created light was for the creation, not himself; and as He saw\nbefore the sun, He may still also see without it.\"\n\nA case of conscience came to be discussed not long since, in which I\ntook a part. We had been speaking of the beauty of truth, and that\nnothing could justify the slightest deviation from the plain letter of\nit. This was doubted; and the case supposed was, that of a ruffian or a\nmadman pursuing an innocent person with intent to murder. You see the\nflight and pursuit; the pursuer is at fault, and questions you as to the\nway taken by the fugitive. Are you justified in deceiving the pursuer by\na false direction of the way his intended victim had taken? Are you to\nsay the person went to the right, when the way taken was the left? The\nadvocate for the downright truth maintained that you were not to\ndeceive--though you felt quite sure that by your telling the truth, or\nby your silence altogether, immediate murder would ensue. The advocate\ndeclared, that without a moment's hesitation he should act upon his\ndecision. He would have done no such thing. People are better than their\ncreeds, and, it should seem, sometimes _better_ than _their_ principles.\nIn which case would his conscience prick him most, when the heat was\nover--as accessory to the murder or as the utterer of untruth? I cannot\nbut think it a case of instinct, which, acting before conscience, _pro\nhac vice_ supersedes it. The matter is altogether and at once, by an\nirresistible decree, taken out of the secondary \"Court of Conscience\"\nand put into the primary \"Court of Nature.\"\n\nTruth, truth! well may Bacon speak of it thus--\"'What is truth?' said\nlaughing Pilate, and wouldn't wait for an answer.\" If there be danger in\nthe deviation shown in the case stated, what a state are we all in? All,\nas we do daily in some way or other, putting our best legs foremost.\nLook at the whole advertising, puffing, quacking, world--the flattering,\nthe soothing, the complimenting. Virtues and vices alike driving us more\nor less out of the straight line; and, blindfolded by habit, we know not\nthat we are walking circuitously. And they are not the worst among us,\nperhaps, who walk so deviatingly--seeing, knowing--those that stammer\nout nightly ere they rest, in confession, their fears that they have\nbeen acting if not speaking the untrue thing, and praying for strength\nin their infirmity, and more simplicity of heart; and would in their\npenitence shun the concourse that besets them, and hide their heads in\nsome retired quiet spot of peace, out of reach of this assault of\ntemptation. And this, Eusebius, is the best prelude I can devise to the\nstory I have to tell you. It is of a poor old woman; shall I magnify her\noffence? It was magnified indeed in her eyes. Smaller, therefore, shall\nit be--because of its very largeness to her. But it will not do to\nsoften offences, Eusebius. I see already you are determined to do so. I\nwill call it her crime. Yes, she lived a life of daily untruth. She\nwrote it, she put her name to it--\"litera scripta manet.\" We must not\nmince the matter; she spoke it, she acted it hourly, she took payment\nfor it--it was her food, her raiment. Oh! all you that love to stamp the\nfoot at poor human nature, here is an object for your contempt, your\nsarcasm, your abuse, your punishment; drag her away by the hair of her\nhead. But stay, take care you do not \"strain at a gnat and swallow a\ncamel;\" examine yourselves a little first. She has confessed, perhaps\nyou have not. Remember, no one knew it; no one guessed it. It is she\nherself has lifted up the lantern into the dark recesses of her own\nheart; or rather, it is true religion in her hath done it: and dark\nthough it was there, you ought to see clearly enough that her heart is\nnot now the den wherein falsehood and hypocrisy lurk; search well--you\nsee none. She has made a \"clean breast of it,\" and you had better do the\nsame, and drop the stone you were about to fling so mercilessly at her\ndying head. Are you out of patience, Eusebius? and cry--Out with it,\nwhat did she do? You shall hear; 'tis but a simple anecdote after all. I\nhave learned it from a parish priest. He was sent for to attend the\ndeathbed of poor old village dame, or schoolmistress. She had a sin to\nconfess; she could not die in peace till she had confessed it. With\nbroken speech, she sobbed, and hesitated, and sobbed again.\n\n\"I--I--I,\" she stammered out, and hid her face again. \"There, I must, I\nmust tell it; and may I be forgiven! You know, sir, I have kept school\nforty years--yes, forty years--a poor sinful creature--I--I\"----\n\n\"My good woman,\" said the parish priest, \"take comfort; it will be\npardoned if you are thus penitent. I hope it is not a very great sin.\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\" said she, \"and pray call me not _good_ woman. I\nam--not--good;\" sobbing, \"alas, alas!--there, I--will out with it! I put\ndown that I taught grammar--and (sobbing) I, I, _did not know it\nmyself_.\"\n\nEusebius, Eusebius, had you been there, you would have embraced the old\ndame. The father of lies was not near her pillow. This little sin, she\nhad put it foremost, and, like the little figure before many nothings,\nshe had made a million of it; and one word, nay one thought, before\nconfession was uttered, had breathed upon and obliterated the whole\namount. Where will you see so great truth? And this, you will agree with\nme, was a case of _Tender Conscience_.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n{A} _Religio Medici_, a new edition, with its sequel, _Christian Morals_,\nand resemblant passages from Cowper's _Task_. By Mr Peace, Bristol. The\ntext of this inestimable author is here cleared of its many errors, and\nthe volume contains a useful verbal index.\n\n\n\n\nTHIERRY'S HISTORY OF THE GAULS.{A}\n\n\n'Tis a pleasant thing to turn from the present, with its turmoil and its\nnoise, its clank of engines and its pallid artizans, its political\nstrife and its social disorganization, to the calm and quiet records of\nthe past--to the contemplation of bygone greatness: of kingdoms which\nhave passed away,--of cities whose site is marked only by the mouldering\ncolumn and the time-worn wall--of men with whose name the world once\nrang, but whose very tombs are now unknown. If there is any thing\ncalculated to enlarge the mind, it is this; for it is only by a careful\nstudy of the past that we come to know how duly to appreciate the\npresent. Without this we magnify the present; we imagine that the future\nwill be like unto it; we form our ideas, we base our calculations upon\nit alone; we forget the maxim of the Eastern sage, that \"this too shall\npass away.\" It is by the study of history that we overcome this\notherwise inevitable tendency; we learn from it, that other nations have\nbeen as great as we, and that they are now forgotten--that a former\ncivilization, a fair and costly edifice which seemed to be perfect of\nits kind, has crumbled before the assaults of time, and left not a trace\nbehind. There is a still small voice issuing forth from the ruins of\nBabylon, which will teach more to the thinking mind than all the dogmas\nand theories of modern speculators.\n\nWhen we turn to the study of ancient history, our attention is\nimmediately riveted on the mighty name of Rome. Even the history of\nGreece cannot compare with it in interest. Greece was always great in\nthe arts, and for long she was eminent in arms: but the arms of her\ncitizens were too often turned against each other; and the mind gets\nfatigued and perplexed in attempting to follow the endless maze of\npolitics, and the constant succession of unimportant wars. There are,\nindeed, many splendid episodes in her history--such as the Persian war,\nthe retreat of the Ten Thousand, a few actions in the Peloponnesian\ncontest, and the whole of the Theban campaigns of Epaminondas; but the\nintervening periods have but a faint interest to the general reader,\ntill we come down to the period of the Macedonian monarchy. This,\nindeed, is the great act in the drama of Grecian history. Who can peruse\nwithout interest the accounts of the glorious reign of Alexander; of\nthat man who, issuing from the mountains of Macedonia, riveted the\nfetters of despotism on Greece, which had grown unworthy of freedom, and\ncarried his victorious arms over the fertile plains of Palestine, till\nhe stood a conqueror amidst the palaces of Persepolis, and finally\nhalted only on the frontiers of Hindostan, arrested in his progress not\nby the arms of his enemies but by the revolt of his soldiers? He flung a\nhalo of glory around the last days of Greece, like the bright light of a\nmeteor, whose course he resembled equally in the rapidity and brilliancy\nof his career. With him dies the interest of Grecian story: the\nintrigues and disputes of his successors, destitute of general interest,\nserved but to pave the way for the progress of a mightier power.\n\nOf greater interest even than this is the history of Rome. Her conquests\nwere not merely the glorious and dazzling achievements of one man, which\nowed their existence to his talents, and crumbled to pieces at his\ndeath; they were slow and gradual in their progress--the effects of a\ndeep and firm policy: they were not made in a day, but they endured for\na thousand years. No country presents such interest to the politician\nand the soldier. To the one, the rise and progress of her constitution;\nher internal struggles; the balance of political power in the state; her\npolicy, her principles of government; the administration and treatment\nof the many nations which composed her vast empire, must ever be the\nsubject of deep and careful study: while to the other, the campaigns of\nHannibal, the wars of Caesar, and the long line of her military annals,\npresent a wide field for investigation and instruction--an inexhaustible\ntopic for philosophic reflection.\n\nBut there is one subject connected with the progress of the Roman empire\nwhich has been unduly neglected, and without a perfect understanding of\nwhich we cannot justly appreciate either the civil or military policy of\nthat state. We mean the history of the nations who came in contact with\nher--viz. the Carthaginians, the Gauls, the Spaniards. The ancient\nhistorians belonged exclusively to Greece or Rome: they looked upon all\nother nations except themselves as barbarous; and they never related\ntheir history except incidentally, and in so far as it was connected\nwith that of those two countries. Modern historians, following in their\ntrack, and attracted by the splendour of their names, deviated not from\nthe beaten path; and a thick veil still hung over the semi-barbarous\nneighbours and enemies of Rome. The history of no one of those nations\nwas more interesting, or in many points involved in greater obscurity,\nthan that of the GAULS.\n\nNowhere amongst the ancient writers could any connected account of the\norigin or progress of this nation be found; scattered notices of them\nalone could be discovered interspersed incidentally amongst other\nmatter, and these notices were frequently inconsistent. This is\nparticularly the case as regards their early history: in later times,\nwhen they came into more immediate contact with the Romans, a more\nconnected and minute account of them has been preserved. In the lively\npages of Livy, and in the more accurate narrative of Polybius, a\nconsiderable mass of information on this subject maybe found; while a\nclear light has been thrown on many parts of their latter history by the\nnarrative of Appian, the Lives of Plutarch, and, above all, by the\nCommentaries of Caesar. But all this information, scattered over a\nmultiplicity of authors, could give us no conception of their history as\na people. An author was still wanting to collect all these together, so\nas to present us with something like a continuous history. But to do\nthis was no easy task: the materials were scanty and often\ncontradictory; they were all written in a spirit hostile to the Gauls; a\ndeep vein of prejudice and national partiality ran through and tarnished\nthem all; the motives of that people were misrepresented, their actions\nfalsified, the historians often understood little of their institutions\nand their character. From such materials it required no common man to be\nable to deduce a clear and impartial narrative; it required great talent\nand deep research--the accuracy of the scholar and the spirit of the\nphilosopher, the acuteness of the critic joined to the eye of the\npainter. Such a man has been found in Amadee Thierry. His _History of\nthe Gauls_ is a work of rare merit--a work which must ever be in the\nhand of every one who would understand the history of antiquity. It is\nlittle to the credit of the literature of this country, that his work\nhas not yet appeared in an English translation.\n\nHe has traced the progress of the Gauls, from their earliest appearance\non the stage of the world till their final subjection to the Roman\npower, in a manner worthy of a scholar and a philosopher. His narrative\nis clear, animated, and distinct; he possesses in an eminent degree the\npower of giving breadth to his pictures; of drawing the attention of his\nreaders to the important events, whilst the remainder are thrown into\nshade. His mode of treating his authorities is perhaps the best that can\nbe imagined; he neither clogs his pages with long extracts, nor does he\nleave them unsupported by a reference to the original authors. At the\nend of each paragraph a reference is given to the authorities followed,\nto whom the reader may at once turn if he wish to verify the conclusions\narrived at; and where the points are involved in obscurity, the passages\nfounded on are quoted generally in a note, and never in the text, except\nwhen their importance really justified such an interruption of the\nnarrative. His style is always animated and graphic, occasionally rising\nto elevated flights of eloquence, while his subject is one of a deep and\nvaried interest; for in following the checkered fortunes of the Gauls,\nhe is brought in contact with almost every nation of the earth. To\nwhatever country of the ancient world we turn, we find that the Gaul has\npreceded us, either as the savage conqueror or the little less savage\nmercenary. Issuing originally from the East, that boundless cradle of\nthe human race, we soon find him contending with the German for his\nmorass, with the Spaniard for his gold--traversing the sands of Africa,\nand pillaging the plains of Greece--founding a kingdom in the midst of\nAsiatic luxury, and bearing his conquering lance beneath the Capitol of\nRome. But a mightier spirit soon rose to rule the storm. In vain the\ncourage of the Gaul, allied with the power of Carthage, and directed by\nthe genius of Hannibal, maintained for years a desperate and doubtful\ncontest in the heart of Italy. The power of Rome kept steadily\nadvancing: Greece soon fell beneath her conquering arm; and the fleets\nof Carthage no longer ruled the wave. The Spaniard, after many a\nhard-fought field, at last sank into sullen submission; and the\nGalatians, degenerating under the influence of Asiatic manners, proved\nunequal to the contest; the Gaul, instead of inundating the land of the\nforeigner, could with difficulty maintain his own; and soon the eagle of\nthe Capitol spread its wings over a Transalpine province. But the free\nspirit of the Gaul now made a mighty effort to rend asunder the bonds\nwhich encircled it; and a countless multitude, after ravaging Spain,\npoured down into Italy: the Roman empire rocked to its foundation, when\nMarius, hastening over from his African conquests, saved his country by\nthe glorious and bloody victory of Aquae Sextiae. Yet a little while and\nthe legions of Rome, under the orders of Caesar, traversing with fire and\nsword their country, retaliated on the Gaul the calamities he had often\ninflicted on others, subdued his proud spirit, and forged for him,\namidst seas of blood, those fetters which were finally riveted by the\npolicy of Augustus. Such is a brief outline of the heart-stirring story\nof this singular and interesting race.\n\nOne of the most interesting parts of Thierry's work is the Introduction.\nHe there gives a brief view of the character of the Gaulish race; its\ndivision into two great branches, the Gaul and the Kimry, and the\nperiods into which the history of this people naturally divides itself.\nA considerable part of it is taken up in proving that this people do in\nreality consist of two great branches, the Gaul and the Kimry. This, we\nthink, he has clearly and satisfactorily shown, by evidence drawn both\nfrom the language and from the historical accounts which have been\npreserved to us regarding them. His character of the Gauls as a people\nis ably and well given; but here we must let him speak for himself:--\n\n     \"The salient characteristics of the Gaulish family--those which\n     distinguish it the most, in my opinion, from the other races of\n     men--may be thus summed up:--A personal bravery unequaled amongst\n     the people of antiquity; a spirit frank, impetuous, open to every\n     impression, eminently intelligent; but joined to that an extreme\n     frivolity, want of constancy, a marked repugnance to the ideas of\n     discipline and order so strong in the German race, much\n     ostentation--in fine, a perpetual disunion, the consequence of\n     excessive vanity. If we wish to compare, in a few words, the\n     Gaulish family with that German family to whom we have just\n     alluded, we may say that the personal sentiment, the individual I,\n     is too much developed amongst the former, and that amongst the\n     latter it is not sufficiently so. Thus we find, in every page of\n     Gaulish story, original characters who strongly excite and\n     concentrate upon themselves our sympathy, causing us to forget the\n     masses; whilst, in the history of the Germans, it is generally the\n     masses who produce the effect. Such is the general character of the\n     people of the Gaulish blood; but in that character itself, an\n     observation of facts leads us to recognise two distinct shades\n     corresponding to two distinct branches of the family, or to use the\n     expression consecrated by history, to two distinct races. One of\n     those races--that which I designate by the name of the\n     Gauls--presents in the most marked manner all the natural\n     dispositions, all the faults and all the virtues, of the family; to\n     it belong, in their purest state, the individual types of the Gaul.\n     The other, the Kimry, less active, less spiritual perhaps,\n     possesses in return more weight and stability: it is in its bosom\n     principally that we remark the institutions of classification and\n     order; it is there that the ideas of theocracy and monarchy longest\n     maintain their sway.\"--(I. iv. vi.)\n\nHow important and how little attended to is this character of the\ndifferent races of men! How perfectly is it preserved under all\nsituations and under all circumstances! No lapse of time can change, no\ndistance can efface it. Nowhere do we see this more distinctly than in\nAmerica: there how marked is the difference of the Spanish race in the\nsouth and the Anglo-Saxon in the north! And from this we may draw a\ndeeply important practical lesson; viz. the danger of attempting to\nforce on one race institutions fitted to another. Under a free\ngovernment, the Anglo-Saxon in the north flourished and increased, and\nbecame a mighty people. Under a despotic sway, the Spaniard in the south\nwas slowly but surely treading that path which would ultimately have led\nto national greatness, when a revolution, nourished by English gold, and\nrendered victorious by English arms, inflicted what was to him the curse\nof free institutions. Under their influence, commerce has fled from the\nshores of New Spain; the gold-mines of Peru lie unworked; population has\nretrograded; the fertile land has returned to a state of nature; and\nanarchy, usurping the place of government, has involved the country in\nruin and desolation. Nor is this the only instance of the effect of free\ninstitutions on the Spanish race. In Old Spain the same experiment has\nbeen tried, and has produced the same result. Under their withering\neffect, the empire of Spain and the Indies has passed away; the mother\ncountry, torn by internal dissensions, has fallen from her proud estate,\nand can with difficulty drag on a precarious existence amidst all the\ntumult and blood of incessant revolutions. How long will it be ere we\nlearn that free institutions are the Amreeta cup of nations--the\ngreatest of all blessings or the greatest of all curses, according to\nthe race on which it is conferred!\n\nThe history of the Gauls, in Thierry's opinion, divides itself naturally\ninto four great periods: his brief _resume_ of the state of the nation,\nduring each of those periods, is so animated that we cannot refrain from\nquoting his own words:--\n\n     \"The first period contains the adventures of the Gaulish nations in\n     the nomad state. No race of the West has accomplished a more\n     agitated and brilliant career. Its wanderings embrace Europe, Asia,\n     and Africa: its name is inscribed with terror in the annals of\n     almost every people. It burned Rome: it conquered Macedonia from\n     the veteran phalanxes of Alexander, forced Thermopylae, and pillaged\n     Delphi: afterwards it planted its tents on the ruins of ancient\n     Troy, in the public places of Miletus, on the banks of the\n     Sangarius, and on those of the Nile: it besieged Carthage,\n     threatened Memphis, reckoned among its tributaries the most\n     powerful monarchs of the East: on two occasions it founded in Upper\n     Italy a mighty dominion, and it raised up in the bosom of Phrygia\n     that other empire of the Galatians which so long ruled Asia Minor.\n\n     \"In the second period--that of the sedentary state--we observe the\n     same race every where developing itself, or permanently settled,\n     with social, religious, and political institutions, suited to its\n     particular character--original institutions, and civilization full\n     of life and movement, of which Transalpine Gaul offers a model the\n     purest and the most complete. One would say, to follow the animated\n     scenes of that picture, that the theocracy of India, the feudality\n     of the Middle Ages, and the Athenian democracy, had resorted to the\n     same soil, there to combat and rule over one and other in turn.\n     Soon that civilization mixes and alters: foreign elements introduce\n     themselves, imported by commerce, by the relations of vicinity, by\n     the reaction of the conquered population. Hence various and other\n     strange combinations: in Italy it is the Roman influence which\n     makes itself felt in the manners of the Cisalpines: in the south of\n     Transalpine Gaul it is at first the influence of the Greeks of\n     Massalia, afterwards that of the Italian colonies: and in Galatia\n     there springs up the most singular combination of Gaulish, Phrygian\n     and Greek civilization.\n\n     \"Next follows the period of national strife and of conquest. By a\n     chance worthy of notice, it is always under the sword of the Roman\n     that the power of the Gaulish nations falls: in proportion as the\n     Roman dominion extends, the Gaulish dominion, up to that time\n     firmly established, recoils and declines: one would say that the\n     conquerors and the conquered from the Allia followed one and other\n     to all points of the earth to decide the old quarrel of the\n     Capitol. In Italy the Cisalpines are subjugated, but only after two\n     centuries of the most determined resistance: when the rest of Asia\n     accepted the yoke, the Galatians defended still, against Rome, the\n     independence of the East. Gaul yields, but only from exhaustion,\n     after a century of partial contests, and nine years of a general\n     war under Caesar: in fine, the names of Caractac and Galgac render\n     illustrious the last and fruitless efforts of British liberty. It\n     is every where the unequal combat of a military spirit, ardent and\n     heroic, but simple and unskilful, against the same spirit\n     disciplined and persevering. Few nations show in their annals so\n     beautiful a page as that last Gaulish war, written nevertheless by\n     an enemy. Every effort of heroism, every prodigy of valour, which\n     the love of liberty and of country ever produced, there displayed\n     themselves in spite of a thousand contrary and fatal passions:\n     discords between the cities, discords in the cities, enterprises of\n     the nobles against the people, licentiousness of democracy,\n     hereditary enmities of race. What men were those Bitunyes who in\n     one day burned twenty of their towns! What men were those Camutes,\n     fugitives, pursued by the sword, by famine, by winter, and whom\n     nothing could conquer! What variety of character is there amongst\n     their chiefs--from the druid Divitiac, the good and honest\n     enthusiast of the Roman civilization, to the savage Ambio-rix,\n     crafty, vindictive, implacable, who admired and imitated nothing\n     save the savageness of the German: from Dumno-rix, that ambitious\n     but fierce agitator, who wished to make the conqueror of the Gauls\n     an instrument, but not a master, to that Vercingeto-rix, so pure,\n     so eloquent, so true, so magnanimous in misfortune, and who wanted\n     nothing to take a place amongst the greatest men, but to have had\n     another enemy, above all another historian, than Caesar!\n\n     \"The fourth period comprises the organization of Gaul into a Roman\n     province, and the slow and successive assimilation of Transalpine\n     manners to the manners and institutions of Italy--a labour\n     commenced by Augustus, continued with success by Claudius,\n     completed in latter times. That transference from one civilization\n     to another was not made without violence and without checks:\n     numerous revolts are suppressed by Augustus--a great insurrection\n     fails against Tiberius. The distractions and the impending ruin of\n     Rome during the civil wars of Galba, of Otho, of Vitellius, and of\n     Vespasian, gave room for a sudden explosion of the spirit of\n     independence to the north of the Alps. The Gaulish nations again\n     took up arms, the senates reformed themselves, the proscribed\n     druids reappeared, the Roman legions cantoned on the Rhine are\n     defeated or gained over, an empire of the Gauls is constructed in\n     haste: but soon Gaul perceives that it is already at bottom\n     entirely Roman, and that a return to the ancient order of things is\n     no longer either desirable for its happiness, or even possible; it\n     resigns itself therefore to its irrevocable destiny, and reunites\n     without a murmur into the community of the Roman empire.\"--(I.\n     6-10)\n\nHere indeed is a noble field for history--many such exist not in the\nworld; it joins the colours of romance to the truth of narrative--it\nembraces within its range all countries, from the snow-clad mountains of\nthe north to the waterless deserts of the south.\n\nWhen the first light of history dawns upon the Gallic race, we find them\nsettled in that territory which is bounded by the Rhine, the Alps, the\nMediterranean, the Pyrenees, and the ocean, and in the British isles.\nThere they lived, leading a pastoral life, wandering about from place to\nplace, and ready to descend with their flocks and herds wherever\ncupidity might lead, or fancy direct them. They first turned their\nfootsteps towards Spain; tribe after tribe crossed the Pyrenees, and\neither expelled or amalgamated with the aboriginal inhabitants. Their\nefforts were principally directed towards the centre and west; in\nconsequence of which, the native Spaniards, displaced and driven back\nupon the Mediterranean coast, soon opened a way for themselves across\nthe eastern passes of the mountains, and, traversing the shores of\nsouthern Gaul, entered Italy. There they took the name of the Ligures,\nand established themselves along the whole line of sea-coast from the\nPyrenees to the mouth of the Arno. The road to Italy being thus laid\nbare by the Spaniards, the Gauls soon followed on their footsteps, and,\ncrossing the Alps, poured down into the fertile plains and vine-clad\nhills of the smiling south: but they were encountered and overcome by\nthe Etruscans. Internal convulsions in the centre of Gaul, however,\nhurled new hordes across the Alps. The Kimry, from the Palus Moeotis,\nentered the north-eastern portion of Gaul, and expelled from their\nterritory many of the tribes who were settled there: these, uniting in\nlarge hordes, precipitated themselves upon Italy. The Kimry, too, joined\nin the incursion; race followed race, and the whole of northern Italy\nwas soon peopled by the Gaulish race, who long threatened the nations of\nthe south with entire subjugation and destruction. The empire of the\nGauls in Italy, known by the name of Cisalpine Gaul, was productive of\nthe greatest calamities to that unhappy country; every year there issued\nforth from it bands of adventurers, who wasted the fields and stormed\nthe cities of Etruria, of Campania, and of Magna Graecia. But an\nexpedition on a larger scale was at last undertaken. Pressed by the\nincreasing population in their rear, a large band determined to abandon\ntheir present homes, and seek new conquests, and acquire new booty. They\nfirst directed their march to Clusium; but soon the torrent rolled with\nresistless force upon the walls of Rome. Defeated at the Allia, the\nRomans abandoned their city, leaving, however, a garrison in the\nCapitol; this garrison, reduced to the last extremities by famine, was\nobliged to capitulate, and to purchase the departure of their foes by an\nenormous ransom. The Gauls, crowned with success and loaded with\nplunder, departed; and the Romans, taking courage at their retreat,\nharassed their rear and cut off their supplies.\n\nSuch is the truth regarding this famous invasion, which has been the\nsubject of a falsification probably without a parallel in the annals of\nhistory; by it defeat was transformed into victory, and the day when\nRome suffered her greatest humiliation by the ransom of her capital, was\nturned into almost the most famous day of her existence, when her most\nsuccessful enemy was humbled to the dust. In the pages of a Greek\nhistorian the truth has been preserved; while the annals of the state\nare filled with a very different tale, embellished with all the\neloquence and genius of the national historian. Such a sacrifice of\nhistorical veracity, in order to appease the insatiable cravings of\nnational vanity, naturally casts a shade of doubt and suspicion on all\nthe early records of her victories and triumphs. Freed from her enemies,\nRome revived and emerged unconquered from the strife; she had been\nforced to bend before misfortune, but she was not broken by adversity: a\nnew city sprung up on the ruins of the old, and the legions once more\nissued from the ramparts to carry her victorious banners to the capitals\nof a conquered world. We have not space to trace the various fortunes of\nCisalpine Gaul during the early struggles which it carried on with the\nnow increasing power of Rome. Suffice it to say, that when the Latins\nunited in a league against her, the Cisalpines joined them; an\nengagement took place at Sentinum, where victory crowned the efforts of\nthe Romans; but though defeated, the Gauls maintained their high\ncharacter for valour during that fatal day. This success was followed up\nby a vigorous attack on the powerful Gaulish tribe of the Senones, who\nwere almost exterminated, and on their territory was established a Roman\ncolony: this was the first permanent settlement made by that people\namongst the Gaulish tribes of Italy.\n\nWe must refer the reader to M. Thierry's work for the account of the\ncauses which led the Gauls and Kimry to press upon, and finally invade\nnorthern Greece, and the relation of the defeat of their first attack\nunder the Brenn. We shall dwell somewhat longer on their second\ninvasion, which forms one of the most interesting episodes of their\nhistory:--\n\n     \"In the year 280 B.C., the Gauls, under a celebrated chief whose\n     title was the Brenn, prepared to invade Greece. Their army,\n     composed of various tribes of Gauls and Kimry, amounted to 152,000\n     infantry and 61,000 cavalry. When this immense array reached the\n     frontiers of Macedonia, a division broke out amongst their chiefs,\n     and 20,000 men, detaching themselves from the main army, advanced\n     into Thrace. The remainder, under the Brenn, precipitated\n     themselves on Macedonia, routed the army which endeavoured to\n     arrest their progress, and forced the remnant of the regular forces\n     who survived, to take refuge in the fortified cities. During six\n     months they ravaged with fire and sword the open country, and\n     destroyed the unfortified towns of Macedonia and Thessaly. At the\n     approach of winter, the Brenn collected his forces and established\n     his camp in Thessaly, at a position near Mount Olympus. Thessaly is\n     separated from Epirus and AEtolia by the chain of Pindus; and on the\n     south, the almost impenetrable range of Mount Oeta divides it\n     from the provinces of Hellas. The only pass by which an army can\n     march into Greece is that of Thermopylae, which is a long narrow\n     defile, overhung on the right by the rocks of Mount Oeta, and\n     flanked on the left by impassable morasses, which finally lose\n     themselves in the waters of the gulf of Mulia. A few narrow and\n     difficult tracts traverse the ridge of Oeta; but these, though\n     passable to a small body of infantry, present insurmountable\n     obstacles to the advance of an army. To the pass of Thermopylae, in\n     the spring of the year 280 B.C., the Brenn directed his march.\n     Aware of its vital importance, the Athenians, Boeotians,\n     Locrians, Phocians, and Megarians, who had formed a league against\n     the northern invaders, collected a force of about 26,000 men, who,\n     under the orders of Calippus, advanced to and occupied the strait,\n     whilst 305 Athenian galleys, anchored in the bay of Mulia, were\n     ready to operate upon the flank of the enemy. In his approach to\n     this position, the Brenn had to pass the river Sperchius, to defend\n     which Calippus had detached a small force: the Brenn, by a\n     stratagem, directed their attention from the real point of attack,\n     and crossed the river without loss. He then advanced to Heraclea,\n     and laid waste the surrounding country. The day after his arrival\n     at this place, he marched upon Thermopylae. Hardly had the Gauls\n     begun to involve themselves in the pass, when they were encountered\n     by the Greeks in its classic defile. With loud cries, and in one\n     enormous mass, the Gauls rushed impetuously on; in silence, and in\n     perfect order, the Greeks advanced to the charge. The phalanx of\n     the south proved impenetrable to the sabre of the north; the pass\n     was soon covered with their dead bodies; the Gallic standards were\n     unable to advance. Meanwhile the Athenian galleys, forcing their\n     way through the marshes, poured in an incessant volley of arrows\n     and darts on the long and unprotected flank of the invaders. Unable\n     to withstand this double attack, the Gauls were forced to retreat.\n     This they did in the utmost confusion; large numbers perished,\n     trodden to death by their companions--still more were drowned in\n     the morasses. Seven days after this severe check, a small party\n     having attempted to cross Mount Oeta, they were attacked when\n     involved in a narrow and difficult pass, and cut to pieces. To\n     raise the drooping spirits of his men, and to separate the forces\n     of his adversaries, the Brenn detached a corps of 40,000 men, under\n     the command of Comlutis, with orders to force their way into\n     AEtolia. This diversion proved eminently successful. Comlutis,\n     finding the passes of Mount Pindus unguarded, traversed that range,\n     and entered AEtolia, the whole of which he laid waste with fire and\n     sword without opposition, as the whole military force of that\n     country had marched to the defence of Thermopylae. On hearing of\n     this invasion, the AEtolians immediately separated from the allied\n     army, and hastened to the defence of their country. On their\n     approach Comlutis retreated; but whilst involved in the mountain\n     passes, his rear was overtaken by the regulars, and his flanks were\n     assailed by the enraged peasantry; so severe was his loss, that\n     hardly one-half of his force rallied at the camp of Heraclea. The\n     day after the departure of the AEtolians, the Brenn led on the main\n     body of his troops to attack the pass of Thermopylae; whilst a\n     strong detachment received orders to force one of the mountain\n     paths, the knowledge of which had been betrayed to him by the\n     inhabitants; being guided by one of whom, and their movements being\n     concealed from view by a thick mist, which enveloped them, this\n     detachment succeeded in surprising the troops who were entrusted\n     with its defence, and, moving rapidly on, they fell on the rear of\n     the main body of the allies, who were engaged at Thermopylae.\n     Assaulted both in front and rear, the Greeks would have been\n     totally destroyed, had it not been for the presence of the Athenian\n     fleet, who afforded a safe refuge to their shattered ranks. Freed\n     from the presence of his opponents, the Brenn immediately pushed on\n     to Elatia at the head of 65,000 men, from whence he directed his\n     march on Delphi. The town of Delphi was built on the <DW72> of one\n     of the peaks of Parnassus, in the midst of a natural excavation,\n     and being almost entirely surrounded with precipices, it was left\n     unprotected by any artificial fortifications: above the town, on\n     the north, was situated the magnificent temple of Apollo, filled\n     with native offerings of the Greeks. The possession of this\n     treasure was the main object of the Brenn. The Gaulish army, on\n     their arrival before Delphi, dispersed over, and pillaged the\n     surrounding country for the remainder of the day; thus losing the\n     most favourable opportunity of assaulting the town.\"\n\nThe _denouement_ of the tragedy we shall give in Thierry's own words:--\n\n     \"During the night, Delphi received from all sides, by the mountain\n     paths, numerous reinforcements from the neighbouring people. There\n     arrived successively 1200 well-armed AEtolians, 400 heavy-armed men\n     from Amplussa, and a detachment of Phocians, who, with the citizens\n     of Delphi, formed a body of 4000 men. At the same time, they\n     learned that the brave AEtolian army, after having defeated\n     Comlutis, had retaken the road to Elatia, and, increased by bands\n     of the Phocians and Boeotians, laboured to prevent the junction\n     of the Gaulish army of Heraclea with the division which besieged\n     Delphi.\n\n     \"During the same night, the camp of the Gauls was the theatre of\n     the greatest debauchery; and when day dawned, the greater portion\n     of them were still intoxicated: nevertheless, it was necessary to\n     make the assault without loss of time, for the Brenn already\n     perceived how much the delay of a few hours had cost him. He drew\n     out his troops then in battle array, enumerating to them anew all\n     the treasures which they had before their eyes, and those which\n     awaited them in the temple: he then gave the signal for the\n     escalade. The attack was vigorous, and was sustained by the Greeks\n     with firmness. From the summit of the narrow and steep <DW72> by\n     which the assailants had to ascend in order to approach the town,\n     the besieged poured down a multitude of arrows and stones, not one\n     of which fell harmless. Several times the Gauls covered the ascent\n     with their dead; but every time they returned to the charge with\n     courage, and at last forced the passage. The besieged, obliged to\n     beat a retreat, withdrew to the nearest streets of the town,\n     leaving the approach which conducted to the temple free: the\n     Gaulish race rushed on: soon the whole multitude was occupied in\n     pillaging the oratories which adjoined the temple, and, in fine,\n     the temple itself.\n\n     \"It was then autumn, and during the combat one of those sudden\n     storms so frequent in the lofty chains of Hellas had gathered;\n     suddenly it burst, discharging on the mountain torrents of rain and\n     hail. The priests attached to the temple of Apollo, seized upon an\n     incident so fitted to strike the superstitious spirit of the\n     Greeks. With haggard eyes, with disheveled locks, with frenzied\n     minds, they spread out through the town, and through the ranks of\n     the army, crying that the god had arrived. 'He is here!' said they;\n     'we have seen him pass across the vault of the temple, which is\n     cloven beneath his feet; two armed virgins, Minerva and Diana,\n     accompany him. We have heard the whistling of their bows, and the\n     clang of their lances. Hasten, O Greeks! upon the steps of your\n     gods, if you wish to partake of their victory!' That spectacle,\n     those exhortations pronounced amidst the rolling of the thunder,\n     and by the glare of the lightning, filled the Hellenes with a\n     supernatural enthusiasm; they reformed in battle array, and\n     precipitated themselves sword in hand upon the enemy. The same\n     circumstances operated not less strongly, but in a contrary way,\n     upon the victorious bands; the Gauls believed that they recognised\n     the power of a divinity, but of an enraged divinity. The\n     thunderbolts had frequently struck their battalions, and its\n     reports, repeated by the echoes, produced around them such a\n     reverberation, that they no longer heard the commands of their\n     chiefs. Those who penetrated into the interior of the temple, had\n     felt the pavement tremble under their steps; they had been seized\n     by a thick and mephitic vapour, which overpowered them, and threw\n     them into a violent delirium. The historians relate, that amidst\n     this tumult they beheld three warriors of a sinister aspect, of\n     more than human stature, covered with old armour, and who\n     slaughtered the Gauls with their lances, appear. The Delphians\n     recognised, say they, the shades of three heroes, Hyperochus and\n     Zorodocus, whose tombs adjoined the temple, and Pyrrhus the son of\n     Achilles. As to the Gauls, a wild panic hurried them in disorder to\n     their camp, which they attained only with great difficulty,\n     overwhelmed by the arrows of the Greeks, and by the fall of\n     enormous rocks, which rolled over upon them from the summit of\n     Parnassus. In the ranks of the besiegers, the loss was doubtless\n     considerable.\n\n     \"To that disastrous day succeeded, for the Kimry-Gauls, a night not\n     less terrible; the cold was excessive, and snow fell in abundance;\n     besides, fragments of rock falling incessantly in their camp, which\n     was situated too near the mountain, crushed the soldiers not by one\n     or two at a time, but by bodies of thirty and forty, as often as\n     they assembled to maintain guard or to seek repose. The sun no\n     sooner rose, than the Greeks who were within the town made a\n     vigorous sally, whilst those who were in the country fell upon the\n     rear of the enemy. At the same time, the Phocians, crossing the\n     snow by paths known but to themselves, took them in flank, and\n     assailed them with arrows and stones, without exposing themselves\n     to the slightest danger. Hemmed in on all sides, discouraged, and,\n     moreover, extremely incommoded by the cold, which had cut off many\n     of their number during the night, the Gauls began to yield. They\n     were sustained for some time by the intrepidity of the chosen band\n     who combated around the Brenn, and acted as his guard. The\n     strength, the stature, the courage of that guard, struck the Greeks\n     with astonishment. In the end, the Brenn having been dangerously\n     wounded, those brave men dreamed only of making a rampart of their\n     bodies for him, and of carrying him from the field. The chiefs then\n     gave the signal of retreat, and to prevent the wounded from falling\n     into the hands of the enemy, they caused those who were not in a\n     condition to follow, to be put to death. The army halted when the\n     night overtook it.\n\n     \"The first watch of that second night had hardly commenced, when\n     the soldiers who were on guard imagined that they heard the tumult\n     of a night march, and the distant tramp of horses. The darkness,\n     already profound, did not permit them to discover their mistake;\n     they gave the alarm, and cried out that they were surprised--that\n     the enemy was upon them. The famine, the dangers, and the\n     extraordinary occurrences which had befallen them during the last\n     two days, had much shattered all their imaginations. At that cry,\n     'The enemy is at hand!' the Gauls, suddenly aroused, seized their\n     arms, and believing the camp already entered, they threw themselves\n     upon, and mutually slaughtered, each other. Their consternation was\n     so great, that they believed that each word which struck their ears\n     was uttered in Greek; as if they had forgotten their own proper\n     tongue. Besides, the darkness of the night did not permit them\n     either to recognise each other, or to distinguish the shape of\n     their bucklers. Day put an end to that frightful _melee_; but\n     during the night the Phocian shepherds, who remained in the fields\n     to watch their flocks, ran to inform the Greeks of the disorder\n     which was evident in the Gaulish camp. They attributed so\n     unexpected an event to the intervention of the god Pan, from whom,\n     according to the religious faith of the Greeks, alarms without any\n     real cause proceeded; full of ardour and of confidence, they\n     attacked the rearguard of the enemy. The Gauls had already resumed\n     their march, but with languor, as men discouraged, worn out by\n     diseases, famine, and fatigue. On their line of march the\n     population carried off the cattle and provisions, so that they\n     could not procure any subsistence without the utmost difficulty,\n     and at the point of the sword. The historians reckon at 10,000 the\n     number of those who sank under these misfortunes; the cold and the\n     nocturnal combat had cut off as many more, and 6000 had perished at\n     the assault of Delphi: there remained then to the Brenn no more\n     than 35,000 men when he rejoined the main body of his army, in the\n     plains watered by the Cephisus, on the day after his departure from\n     Thermopylae.\"--(I. 171-178.)\n\nThe Brenn, overwhelmed with grief at his misfortune, no sooner saw his\narmy free from immediate danger than he put himself to death. His\nsuccessor, following his dying advice, slaughtered 10,000 of the\nwounded, and continued his retreat:--\n\n     \"As he approached Thermopylae, the Greeks, issuing forth from an\n     ambuscade, threw themselves on his rearguard, which they cut to\n     pieces. It was in this miserable state that the Gauls gained the\n     camp of Heraclea. They remained there for a few days before setting\n     out on their northward route. All the bridges of the Sperchius had\n     been broken down, and the left bank of the river was occupied by\n     the Thessalians, who had collected _en masse_; nevertheless, the\n     Gaulish army forced a passage. It was in the midst of a population\n     all armed, and thirsting for vengeance, that they traversed, from\n     one extremity to the other, Thessaly and Macedonia, exposed to\n     perils, to sufferings, to privations, daily increasing, combating\n     without intermission during the day, and at night having no other\n     shelter than a cold and watery sky. They gained at last the\n     northern frontier of Macedonia. There the distribution of the body\n     took place: afterwards the Kimry-Gauls divided into many bands;\n     some returned to their country, others sought in different\n     directions new food for their turbulent activity.\"--(I. 180.)\n\nA band of Tectosages joined to the Tolistoboies, and a horde of Gauls,\nunited, and traversing Thrace with fire and sword, passed over into Asia\nMinor. They found it distracted by the quarrels of Alexander's\nsuccessors. Summoned in an evil hour by Nicomedes to aid him and the\nGreek states of Asia Minor in their struggle against the Seleucidae, they\nsoon established him on the throne of Bithynia. But they now turned\ntheir victorious arms against the nations of that unhappy country. Their\narmies, increased by reinforcements drawn from Thrace, had divided\nthemselves into three hordes: the Tectosages, the Tolistoboies, and the\nTrocmes. To avoid dispute, they distributed the whole of Asia Minor into\nthree parts: of these the Trocmes possessed the Hellespont and Troas;\nthe Tolistoboies, AEolida and Ionia; the Tectosages, the coast of the\nMediterranean from the west of Mount Taurus. They now overran and\nsubdued all Asia Minor; every country, every town, was obliged to pay\nthem tribute; or soon the fertile land was reduced to an arid desert,\nwatered only by the blood of its inhabitants, and the costly city,\nstormed by the fierce warriors of the north, became a heap of smoking\nruins. At last the Tectosages came in contact with Antiochus, king of\nSyria, and were totally defeated at the battle of the Taurus; the Syrian\nking, following up his victory, compelled them to resign their\nconquests, and to establish themselves on the banks of the Halys, near\nthe town of Ancyra, in Upper Phrygia, where they dwelt, too weak again\nto enter on the career of conquest. Internal war prevented the Asiatics\nfor some time from pursuing their successes, and the Trocmes and\nTolistoboies continued still to pillage and oppress all the maritime\nprovinces. Nay, their power was actually increased by those wars, as\neach of the contending parties purchased the mercenary services of large\nbands of those brave, though turbulent warriors. But the end of the\nGaulish rule in Asia Minor was at hand. The small state of Pergamus,\nunder the able rule of Eumenes, emerged from its obscurity, and\ninflicted a severe wound upon the Gauls by the defeat of Antiochus, king\nof Syria, with whom a great number of them served as mercenaries. His\nson Attalus, on his accession to the throne, immediately marched against\nand defeated the Tolistoboies. Ionia, which had long groaned under their\noppression, seizing the opportunity, rose up against them; the\nTolistoboies, beaten in several engagements, were driven beyond Mount\nTaurus; and the Trocmes, after a vain attempt to maintain themselves in\nTroas, were forced to retreat and unite with their defeated countrymen.\nAttacked now by the whole population of Asia Minor, the two hordes were\ndriven by degrees into Upper Phrygia, where the Tectosages had formerly\nsettled. Here the three hordes united, and here they founded the empire\nof Galatia.\n\n     \"Thus ended in Asia Minor the dominion of this people in their\n     character of nomad conquerors; another period of existence now\n     commenced for them. Abandoning their wandering life, they mixed\n     with the indigenous population, who were themselves a mixture of\n     Greek colonists and Asiatics. That blending together of three\n     races, unequal in power and in civilization, produced a mixed\n     nation, that of the Gallo-Greeks, whose civil, political, and\n     religious institutions, carry the triple stamp of Gaulish, Greek,\n     and Phrygian manners. The regular influence which the Gauls are\n     destined to act in Asia Minor, as an Asiatic power, will prove not\n     to be inferior to that of which they have been deprived; and we\n     shall see them defend, almost to the last, the liberty of the East\n     against the Roman arms.\"--(I. 203-204.)\n\nWe have not space to follow M. Thierry in his very interesting account\nof the exploits of the Gaulish mercenaries in Greece--in particular of\nthose who served in the army of Pyrrhus; or who, acting in the pay of\nCarthage, contributed so much to the victories of that powerful and\nwealthy people, and who took that lead in the famous insurrection of the\nmercenaries, which so nearly brought about their ruin. We must pass over\ntoo, unnoticed, the desperate struggle between the Romans and Gauls in\nCisalpine Gaul, which ended in the defeat of the Boian confederacy at\nthe battle of the Telama, and their submission, and the subjugation of\nthe Insubrians by Marcellus. The whole of Cisalpine Gaul thus seemed to\nbe finally subdued, when a new enemy suddenly appeared in the field, and\nagain led the Gaulish standards into the heart of southern Italy.\n\nHardly had the Cisalpines laid down their arms, when there arrived\namongst them emissaries sent by Hannibal to excite them to a renewal of\nthe war, and to engage them in an alliance with Carthage, by promising\nto guarantee to them the liberty of their country, and by exciting their\ncupidity with the prospect of the spoils of Rome and southern Italy.\nThey were well received, and secret armaments soon began to take place,\nespecially amongst the Boian confederacy. But what immediately caused\nthe outbreak was an attempt of the Romans to found two colonies, one at\nCremona, and the other at Placentia. Enraged at this, the Boians took up\narms, and attacking the colonists of Placentia, dispersed them, whilst\nthe Insubrians expelled those who had advanced to Cremona. The Boians\nand Insubrians now uniting their forces, laid siege to Mutina, but in\nvain. This check, however, was more than counterbalanced by the defeat\nof a Roman army under the orders of Manlius. While affairs were in this\nstate, the columns of Hannibal, descending from the Alps, arrived on the\nInsubrian territory. The result of the late successes of the Gauls in\ntheir disposition towards Hannibal, is well explained by Thierry:--\n\n     \"Two factions then divided all Cisalpine Gaul. The one composed of\n     the Venetes, the Cremonas, and the Ligures of the Alps, gained over\n     to the Roman cause, opposed with vigour every movement in favour of\n     Hannibal. The other, which included the Ligures of the Apennines,\n     the Insubrians, and the people of the Boian confederation, had\n     embraced the Carthaginian side, but without much ardour. The\n     affairs of Gaul had undergone a great change. At the time when the\n     propositions of Hannibal were received with enthusiasm, Gaul was\n     humiliated and conquered; Roman troops occupied her\n     territory--Roman colonies assembled in her towns. But since the\n     dispersion of the colonies of Cremona and Placentia--since the\n     defeat of L. Manlius in the forest of Mutina, the Boians and\n     Insubrians, satisfied at having recovered their independence with\n     their own forces, cared little to compromise themselves for the\n     advantage of strangers, whose appearance and numbers inspired them\n     with but slight confidence.\"--(I. 284-285.)\n\nHannibal felt all the importance of deciding the wavering sentiments of\nthis people; on them his future success or defeat depended; to do this\nnothing but victory was requisite. He accordingly advanced rapidly\nagainst the Romans, and first engaged them in a cavalry action at the\nTicinus. Victory declared for the Carthaginians. The horse of Numidia\nrouted the cavalry of Rome. This success, unimportant as it was,\nrevealed Hannibal to the eyes of the Gauls; influenced by it, the\nInsubrian chiefs hastened to supply him with provisions and troops.\nHardly had the Carthaginians arrived in sight of the Roman camp at\nPlacentia, when a large body of the Gaulish contingent revolted from\nScipio, and contrived, though much reduced in numbers, to cut their way\nthrough in spite of all opposition, and join Hannibal. The famous battle\nof the Trebia--the first of those great victories which have rendered\nimmortal the genius of the Carthaginian chief--soon followed; it at once\ndecided the course of Cisalpine Gaul. Its immediate and ultimate effects\non the power and operations of Hannibal are well developed by our\nauthor:--\n\n     \"The fortune of Hannibal was then consolidated; more than 60,000\n     Boians, Insubrians, and Ligures flocked in a few days to his\n     standards, and raised his forces to 100,000 men. With such a\n     disproportion between the nucleus of the Carthaginian army and its\n     auxiliaries, Hannibal was in reality but a Gaulish chief; and if,\n     in the moments of danger, he had no cause to repent his new\n     situation, more than once, nevertheless, he cursed with bitterness\n     its inconveniences. Nothing could equal the courage and devotion of\n     the Gaulish soldier in the dangers of the battle-field; but under\n     the tent he had neither the habit nor the taste of military\n     subordination. The lofty conceptions of Hannibal surpassed his\n     comprehension; he could not understand war, unless such as he\n     himself carried it on--as a bold and rapid plundering excursion, of\n     which the present moment reaped the whole advantage. He would have\n     wished to march instantly on Rome, or at least to pass the winter\n     in some of the allied or subject provinces--in Etruria or in\n     Umbria--there to live at discretion in pillage and license. Did\n     Hannibal represent that it was necessary to spare the provinces in\n     order to gain them over to the common cause, the Cisalpines broke\n     forth into murmurs; the combinations of prudence and genius\n     appeared in their eyes but a vile pretext to deprive them of the\n     advantages which they had legitimately won.\"--(I. 292-293.)\n\nWe cannot follow the steps of the great conqueror in his memorable\ncampaigns--in his fatal march over the fens of Etruria, or through the\nglorious field of Thrasymene. But the share which the Gauls had in the\nmighty victory of Cannae, and the change of the seat of war, with the\nresults which followed from it, are of such importance, and the remarks\nmade upon them by M. Thierry are so just, that we shall give the whole\nof his account of this event at full length:--\n\n     \"From the field of Thrasymene Hannibal passed into southern Italy,\n     and gave battle a third time to the Romans, near the village of\n     Cannae, on the banks of the Aufidus, now called the Offanto. He had\n     then under his banners 40,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry; and of\n     these 50,000 combatants, at least 30,000 were Gauls. In his order\n     of battle, he placed their cavalry on the right wing, and in the\n     centre their infantry, whom he united to the Spanish infantry, and\n     whom he commanded in person: the Gaulish foot, as was their custom\n     on all occasions when they were determined to conquer or die, threw\n     off their tunic and sagum, and fought naked from their waist\n     upwards, armed with their long and pointless sabres. They commenced\n     the action; and their cavalry and that of the Numidians terminated\n     it. We know how dreadful the carnage was in that celebrated\n     battle--the most glorious of the victories of Hannibal--the most\n     disastrous of the defeat of Rome. When the Carthaginian general,\n     moved with pity, called to his soldiers 'to halt, and to spare the\n     vanquished,' without doubt the Gauls, bloodthirsty in the\n     destruction of their mortal enemies, carried to that butchery more\n     than the ordinary irritation of wars, the satisfaction of a\n     vengeance ardently wished for, and long deferred. There 70,000\n     Romans perished; the loss on the side of the conquerors was 5500,\n     of which 4000 were Gauls. Out of 60,000 Gauls, whom Hannibal had\n     enumerated around him after the combat of the Trebia, 25,000 only\n     remained; battle, sickness, above all, the fatal passage over the\n     marshes of Etruria, had cut off all the rest; for up to this period\n     they had supported almost exclusively the weight of the war. The\n     victory of Cannae brought to the Carthaginians other auxiliaries; a\n     crowd of men from Campania, Lucania, Brutium, and Apulia, filled\n     his camp; but it was not that warlike race which he formerly\n     recruited on the banks of the Po. Cannae was the term of his\n     success; and assuredly the fault ought not to be imputed to his\n     genius, more admirable even in adverse than in good fortune--his\n     army only had changed. For two thousand years history has accused\n     him with bitterness for his inaction after the battle of Aufidus,\n     and for his delay at Capua; perhaps it might reproach him more\n     justly for having removed from the north of Italy, and for having\n     allowed his communications with the soldiers who had conquered\n     under him at Thrasymene and Cannae, to be cut off. Rome perceived\n     the fault of Hannibal, and hastened to profit by it. Two armies in\n     _echelon_, the one to the north, and the other to the south,\n     intercepted the communication between the Cisalpines and Magna\n     Graecia. That of the north, by its incursions and by its threatening\n     attitude, occupied the Gauls at their own hearths, whilst the\n     second made head against the Carthaginians.\"--(I. 297-300.)\n\nIt has been said by the most renowned conqueror of modern times, that,\ngive him but the Gallic infantry and the Mameluke cavalry, and he would\nsubdue the world. And it cannot fail to strike the attentive reader with\nastonishment, to learn that the severest blow ever given to the power of\nRome was inflicted by the Gaulish foot and the Numidian horse. It is\ncurious, as exemplifying the unchanging characters of race, to observe\nthat the greatest general of antiquity triumphed at the head of an army,\ncomposed of those very nations whom Napoleon, after the lapse of two\nthousand years, declared best fitted to pursue the blood-stained paths\nof military greatness.\n\nThe efforts of the Gauls did not cease with the battle of Cannae; they\ndefeated an army under Posthumius, which invaded their territory. When\nHasdrubal led his ill-fated expedition to strew their bodies on the\nItalian plains, he was accompanied by large bands of those brave\nadventurers; and when Carthage, making a last effort to succour her\ngeneral, disembarked 14,000 men under the command of Mago, Hannibal's\nbrother, at Genoa, numerous bodies of Gauls flocked to his standards.\nAnd this general, though unable to effect his junction with Hannibal,\nyet maintained his ground for ten years, till at last, defeated in the\nterritory of the Insubrians, he retired to Genoa. There he received\norders to return to the defence of Africa:--\n\n     \"His brother also, recalled by the Carthaginian senate, was obliged\n     to embark at the other extremity of Italy. The Gaulish and Ligurian\n     soldiers, who had faithfully served Hannibal during seventeen\n     years, abandoned him not in his days of misfortune; re-united to\n     their compatriots who had followed Mago, they formed still a third\n     part of the Carthaginian army at Zama, in the celebrated day which\n     terminated that long war to the advantage of the Romans, and\n     displayed to the world the genius of Hannibal humbled before the\n     fortune of Scipio. The ferocity with which the Gauls fought has\n     been recorded by the historian: 'They showed themselves,' says\n     Titus Livy, 'inflamed with that inborn hate against the Roman\n     people, peculiar to their race.'\"--(I. 310-311.)\n\nThe war in Cisalpine Gaul did not cease with the departure of Hannibal.\nUnder the orders of Carthaginian officer, the Gauls again took the\nfield--Placentia fell beneath their arms; but they received a severe\ndefeat from L. Furius, in the year 200 B.C., when the Carthaginian\ngeneral Amilcar perished. From this period till the year 191 B.C., the\nGaulish nations were involved in a constant succession of wars, in\nwhich, though occasionally victorious, they were upon the whole\nunsuccessful. Exposed to the incessant incursions of the Romans, their\nstrength gradually wasted away; each year left them in a state more\nexhausted and unfit to renew the war than the preceding. Nation after\nnation laid down their arms in despair, till at last the Boian\nconfederacy stood alone in its resistance of a foreign yoke; but their\nravaged lands and reduced numbers were unequal to the struggle, and\nwhen, in the year 190 B.C., the Roman armies advanced into the heart of\ntheir exhausted territory, the few remaining inhabitants determined to\nabandon the land of their birth, and to seek, amidst ruder nations, and\nbeneath a more ungenial sky, for that liberty in defence of which their\nfathers had so often bled. Accordingly, the wreck of a hundred and\ntwelve Boian tribes, rising _en masse_, united, and wending their weary\nsteps over the snow-clad summits of the Alps, and through the pathless\nforests of Germany, they found at last, on the banks of the distant\nDanube, a resting-place far removed from the hated name of Rome.\n\nAll resistance from Cisalpine Gaul now ceased. Occasionally, indeed, a\nfew tribes from the Transalpine would cross the Alps and descend into\nItaly, but they could not withstand the shock of the legions. The\nconquered territory was declared a Roman province, which it ever\nafterwards remained.\n\nWe have not space to follow M. Thierry in his account of the progress\nand fall of that strange Gaulish kingdom of Galatia. From the year 241\nto the year 190 B.C., it maintained its independence unshaken, amidst\nthe degenerate sons of Greece and the effeminate Asiatics. But the Roman\npower, beneath which the Gaulish race was ever doomed to bend, overtook\nthem even amidst the mountains of Asia Minor. The Galatians had\nfurnished some troops to Antiochus the Great, and then, for the first\ntime, they came in contact with the eagle of the Capitol. The first\nencounter is thus alluded to by our author:--\n\n     \"The Romans had annihilated, at Magnesia, the Asiatic and Greek\n     forces: yet the conquest of the country appeared to them still\n     incomplete. They had encountered, beneath the banners of Antiochus,\n     some bands of a force less easily conquered than the Syrians or the\n     Phrygians: by the armour, by the lofty stature, by the yellow or\n     reddish locks, by the war-cry, by the rattling clash of arms, by\n     the dauntless valour above all, the legions had easily recognised\n     that old enemy of Rome whom they had been brought up to fear.\n     Before deciding any thing as to the lot of the vanquished, the\n     Roman generals then determined to carry the war into Galatia.\"--(I.\n     360-361.)\n\nAccordingly, in the spring of 189 B.C., Cn. Manlius, with 22,000\nlegionaries and an auxiliary army furnished by the King of Pergamus,\ninvaded Galatia: at his approach the Tolistoboies and Tectosages\nintrenched themselves upon Mount Olympus, and the Trocmes upon Mount\nMegalon, and there awaited the attack. The consul first advanced to\nMount Olympus. He led his troops to attack the Gaulish position in three\ncolumns; the principal column, under his own orders, was to advance on\nthe Gauls in front, the other two were to try and turn their position on\neither flank. The column which he led first engaged.\n\n     \"His _velites_ advanced in front of the standards, with the Cretan\n     archers of Attalus, the slingers, and the corps of Trulles and of\n     the Thracians. The infantry of the legions followed with slow\n     steps, as the steepness of the declivity rendered necessary,\n     sheltered beneath their bucklers, so as to avoid stones and arrows.\n     At a considerable distance the combat began with discharges of\n     arrows, and at first with equal success. The Gauls had the\n     advantage in position, the Romans in the number and variety of\n     their arms. The action continued, the equality no longer remained.\n     The narrow and flat bucklers of the Gauls protected them\n     insufficiently: soon having expended their darts and javelins, they\n     found themselves altogether disarmed: for at that distance their\n     sabres were useless. As they had made no selection of flints and\n     stones beforehand, they seized the first which chance threw in\n     their way, which were for the most part too large to be easily\n     wielded, or for inexperienced arms to throw with effect. The\n     Romans, meanwhile, poured down upon them a murderous hail of\n     arrows, javelins, and leaden balls, which wounded them, without\n     their having any possibility of avoiding the approach. * * * * A\n     great number had bit the dust, others adopted the course of rushing\n     right on the enemy, and they, at least, did not perish unavenged.\n     It was the corps of the Roman _velites_ who did them most harm.\n     These _velites_ carried on their left arm a buckler three feet in\n     size, in their right hand javelins, which they threw from afar, at\n     their girdle a Spanish sword; when it was necessary to engage in\n     close contact, they transferred their javelins to the left hand,\n     and drew their sword. Few Gauls now remained on foot: seeing then\n     the legions advance to the charge, they fled precipitately to their\n     camp, which the alarm of the multitude of women, children and old\n     men who were shut up within it, already filled with tumult and\n     confusion.\"--(I. 373-376.)\n\nThe other two columns had, from the difficult nature of the ground, been\nunable to make any progress. Manlius now led on his legionaries to\nassault the intrenchment, which they carried at the sword's point. A few\ndays after this victory, Manlius advanced with his triumphant army to\nattack the Trocmes, who were intrenched on Mount Megalon. This battle\nresembled much, both in its progress and in its termination, the one\nwhich preceded it. The Trocmes were driven with slaughter from the\nfield, and their camp taken. Dispirited by this double defeat, the\nGalatians, who had rallied their scattered forces behind the Halys, sued\nfor peace. The Romans, desiring rather to conciliate than to irritate\nthis warlike people, merely exacted that they should surrender the land\nwhich they had taken from the allies of Rome, and that they should give\nup their wandering and predatory habits, so injurious to all their\nneighbours. Under the influence of the forced peace in which the\nsubjection of Asia to the Romans kept the Galatians, their manners\nrapidly changed. Asiatic luxury took the place of northern barbarity;\nthe worship of the national gods was abandoned, and the idols of the\nstranger were substituted in their room; the coarse garments of ancient\ndays, gave place to vestments of purple and gold: yet a little while,\nand the loss of national manners was followed by the loss of political\nprivileges; the magistracies, formerly elective, now became hereditary;\nthe families who usurped this privilege formed, in course of time, a\nbright and all-powerful aristocracy. Ambition limited the number of\nthese magistracies; from twelve they were reduced to four; at last they\nwere centred in a single hand: so that when Galatia was united as a\nprovince to the Roman empire, it was governed by a hereditary king. Yet,\namidst this usurpation of the sovereign power, the national council of\nthe Three Hundred still continued to exist, and assist in the government\nof the state.\n\nDuring twenty years peace subsisted between the Galatians and their\nAsiatic neighbours. At the end of that period, however, a war broke out,\nand pillaging bands once more began to traverse the plains of Asia\nMinor; when Rome interposed, and by her mediation peace was restored.\nMithridates, uniting beneath his sway all the powers of the East, drove\nback for a while the Roman eagles, and seemed about to restore their\nancient glory to the Asiatics. The Galatians joined with him; but their\nfidelity became suspected, and he seized upon sixty of their nobles as\nhostages. Enraged at this treatment, they formed a plot to assassinate\nhim; it was frustrated, and the conspirators were almost all\ntreacherously put to death at a banquet. His troops then advancing, took\npossession of Galatia, which was governed by one of his officers with\ninsolence and oppression for twelve years. At last a revolt broke out;\nhis armies were driven from the country; Galatia was once more free. The\ndefeat of Mithridates by the Roman arms ensured their independence for a\nshort time; but the rest of Asia was now subject to the Romans.\nSurrounded, enveloped on all sides by their power, Galatia yielded at\nlast, and was reduced to the form of a Roman province in the time of\nAugustus.\n\nHere M. Thierry ends the first part of his History of the Gauls; and\nthus far we have followed him step by step, because we considered this\nboth the least known and the most interesting portion of Gaulish\nhistory. The two periods which follow are more familiar to historical\nreaders: because, during them, Rome was the great enemy of the Gauls;\nand if she has often palliated her defeats, she has at least never\nfailed to chronicle her victories. Henceforth, therefore, we shall no\nlonger attempt to follow the thread of his narrative. The victories of\nMarius, the campaigns of Caesar, stand in no need of our attention being\ndirected to them, as to the wars of the Brenn in Greece, or the\nconquests of the horde in Asia Minor. Here we take leave of the Gaul as\nthe conquering nomad; we have seen him wandering through the land of the\nstranger with fire and sword; but the hour of vengeance has now come,\nand we shall see him bleed in vain on his native soil for that liberty\nof which he had so often deprived others.\n\nM. Thierry opens his history of the second period with an exceedingly\ninteresting account of the state of Gaul during the second and third\ncenturies before our era. Gaul was then inhabited by three distinct\nfamilies or races. By the Iberian family--divided into the Aquitains and\nthe Ligures. By the Gaulish family--divided into the Gauls, the Kimry,\nand the Belgians. And by the Ionian-Greek family, or the inhabitants of\nthe powerful and flourishing maritime and commercial state of Massalia.\nThe Iberian and Ionian-Greeks, families occupying comparatively but a\nsmall portion of Gaul, need not detain us. With the Gauls we have more\nto do. Our author gives the following account of the way in which their\nterritory was divided amongst the three different bands of this\nfamily:--\n\n     \"A line which, setting out from the mouth of the Tann, follows the\n     course of that river, then that of the Rhone, the Iser, the Alps,\n     the Rhine, the Vosges, the AEdnian hills, the Loire, the Vienne, and\n     comes at last to rejoin the Garonne, by turning the plateau of\n     Arvernia: that line would nearly circumscribe the possessions of\n     the Gallic race. The territory situated to the east of that limit\n     belonged to the race of the Kimry; it was in time divided into two\n     portions by the line of the Seine and the Marne, the one northern\n     and the other southern. To the south, between the Seine and the\n     Garonne, lived the Kimry of the first invasion, intermingled with\n     Gallic blood, or the Gallo-Kimry. To the north, between the Seine\n     and the Rhine, the Kimry of the second invasion, or Belgians. The\n     Gauls numbered twenty-two nations; the Gallo-Kimry, seventeen; and\n     the Belgians, twenty-three. These sixty-two nations were subdivided\n     into many hundred tribes.\"--(I. 28.)\n\nHe then enters into a long and most interesting description of the\ndomestic manners, and political and religious institutions, of the\nGauls.\n\nAfter having traced the Gaul for so long in the field, we love to follow\nhim into his cabin--to observe his appearance, his pursuits, his\nhabits--to mark the manly figure, the fair complexion, the flowing\nyellow locks, the glittering helmet surmounted with the antlers of the\nstag, the buckler covered with all the colours of the rainbow, the\npolished cuirass flashing back the rays of the morning sun, the heavy\nsabre hanging from the gold-bespangled belt, the precious necklace, the\nrich armlets, the bright and variegated hues of the martial sagum or\nmantle, of the noble Gaulish warrior. We follow him as he turns away\nfrom his clay-built mansion, and, regardless of the silent tears and\nentreating looks of his submissive, perhaps ill-used wife, hurries into\nthe noise and excitement of the battle-field. Observe the wild frenzy\nthat there seems to seize him, as he rushes with dauntless courage on\nthe bristling phalanx of his enemies; as, amidst the clouds of dust\nwhich float overhead, and the horrid cries which resound on all sides,\nhe tears and widens with savage ferocity the fearful gash he has just\nreceived; as, a moment after, overcoming in personal conflict yon\nstalwart chief, he decapitates, with one blow of his heavy sabre, the\nyet palpitating corpse, and waves the gory head with demoniac triumph in\nthe air; and as he returns home, yet reeking with blood and intoxicated\nwith victory, and suspends above his threshold the ghastly trophy. Look\nagain--the scene is changed--the glittering arms are flung aside. With\nhis mantle floating in the breeze, his light spear quivering in his\nhand, he plunges into the pathless forest; with fearless step he pursues\nhis way through the leafy shade, and traverses the treacherous surface\nof the morass. Beneath yon giant oak he has encountered the fiercest\ninhabitant of those solitudes--the wild bull; but it has fallen beneath\nhis javelin, which yet protrudes from it bushy neck, and, as it lies\nstruggling on the greensward, making the wood ring again with its\nbellowings, his dagger is raised to give it the final stroke.--Observe\nhim once more in the council of his nation. The warriors stand in an\nattentive circle leaning on their arms; he has risen to address them;\nhis action is animated, his words are vehement; the polished accents,\nthe finished periods of the Greek, flow not from his lips, but there is\neagerness in his eye, there is earnestness in his speech, his language\nis figurative in the extreme, a thousand picturesque and striking images\nillustrate his meaning; his metaphors, drawn from the battle and the\nchase, thrill to the bosom of all his listeners; and the clash and clang\nof their arms, amidst which he sits down, proclaims alike their assent\nto his proposition and their admiration of his eloquence. It is amidst\nscenes like these that we love to follow the Gaul, to picture to\nourselves an old race and an old civilization, which combined in so\nstrange a way the greatness and the savageness, the heroism in danger\nand weakness under temptation, of primeval and half-civilized man.\n\nTo comprehend clearly the internal and external history of the Gauls, we\nmust understand the political condition of their country. This is\nunfolded in a clear and masterly manner by our author, in the following\npassage:--\n\n     \"In Gaul, two privileged orders ruled the rest of the people--the\n     elective order of the priests, who recruited themselves\n     indiscriminately from all ranks, and the hereditary order of the\n     nobles or knights. This latter was composed of the ancient royal\n     families of the tribes, and of those men who had been recently\n     ennobled, either by war or by the influence of riches. The\n     multitudes were divided into two classes--the people of the\n     country, and the people of the town. The first formed the tribes or\n     the clans of the noble families. The client belonged to his patron,\n     whose domains he cultivated, whose standard he followed in war,\n     under whom he was a member of a little patriarchal aristocracy; his\n     duty was to defend him to the death from, and against all: to\n     abandon his patron in circumstances of danger, passed for the\n     consummation of disgrace, and even for a crime. The people of the\n     towns, from their situation, removed from the influence of the old\n     hierarchy of the tribes, enjoyed greater liberty, and fortunately\n     found themselves in a situation to maintain and to defend it.\n     Beneath the mass of the people came the slaves, who do not appear\n     to have been very numerous. The two privileged orders caused the\n     yoke of their despotism to weigh, turn by turn, upon Gaul. Turn by\n     turn they exercised absolute authority, and lost it by a series of\n     political revolutions. The history of the government of the Gauls\n     offers, then, three very distinct periods: that of the reign of the\n     priests, or of the theocracy--that of the reign of the chiefs of\n     the tribes, or of the military aristocracy--lastly, that of the\n     popular constitutions, founded on the principle of election, and on\n     the will of the majority. The epoch which we are about to treat of,\n     accomplished that last and great revolution; and popular\n     constitutions, although still ill assured, at last ruled over all\n     Gaul at the commencement of the first age.\"--(II. 71-73.)\n\nM. Thierry recognises in the Gauls the traces of two distinct religions.\nHe says--\n\n     \"When we examine attentively the character of the facts relative to\n     the religious belief of the Gauls, we are led to recognise two\n     systems of ideas, two bodies of symbols and superstitions\n     altogether distinct--in a word, two religions: the one altogether\n     sensible, derived from the adoration of natural phenomena, and by\n     its forms, as well as by its literal development, reminding us of\n     the polytheism of the Greeks; the other founded upon a material\n     pantheism, metaphysical, mysterious, sacerdotal, and presenting the\n     most astonishing conformity with the religions of the East. That\n     last has received the name of druidism, from the druids who were\n     its founders and priests. We shall give to the first the name of\n     the Gaulish polytheism.\"--(II. 73-74.)\n\nThierry thinks that this polytheism originally prevailed amongst the\nGauls, but that the Kimry introduced druidism, which soon became the\ndominant religion over the whole of Gaul, though the original polytheism\ningrafted upon it more or less, in different places, some of its tenets\nand ceremonies. The great seat of the religion of the druids was\nArmorika, and, above all, Britain; there existed the most powerful of\ntheir sacerdotal colleges--there were celebrated the most secret of\ntheir mysteries.\n\nIt is wondrous thing, that religion of the ancient druids! A solemn\nmystery enshrouds it--all the efforts of modern science cannot lift the\nveil. When we look on yon circle of stones which, grey with the lapse of\nages, stands in lonely majesty upon the dreary moor, near which no sound\nis ever heard, save the distant and sullen roar of the ocean, as it\nbreaks in sheets of foam on the rock-bound coast--the fitful cry of\ncurlew, as it wings over them its solitary way--or the occasional low\nmoaning of the wind, as, stealing through amidst the rocks, it seems to\npour forth a mournful dirge for the shades of departed greatness:--when\nwe look on a scene like this, we have before our gaze all that is known\nof these men of the olden time. Their blood-stained rites, their solemn\nmysteries, are forgotten; but their simple temples still stand\nimperishable as the God to whom they were erected. From the study of the\nancient authors little or no information can be gleaned; a few\ndescriptions of their bloody sacrifices, an account of some of their\nmore public ceremonials, is all that they have handed down to us. But\nthe real nature of their religion is unknown: more of its spirit is\ntaught to us by those silent stones than by all other accounts put\ntogether. The choice of the situations for those sacred monuments amidst\nthe melancholy waste, or buried deep in the recesses of some vast\nforest, where the wide-spreading branches of their sacred tree (the oak)\ncasts its deep shadows over the consecrated spot, with no canopy save\nthe heavens, shows the dark and gloomy spirit of their faith. They\nworshipped the God of the thunder-storm, not the God of peace; and it\nwas amidst the thunder-storm that their horrid rites appeared most\nhorrid. When, illuminated by the lurid glare of the lightning, the\ngigantic osier figure filled with human beings sank into the\nflames--when the shouts of the multitude who stood in a dense circle\naround the spot, the frenzied chants of the druids, and the despairing\nshrieks of the dying victims, were drowned in the sullen roar of the\nthunder--then must the fearful nature of their creed have stood forth in\nall its horrors. Yet with all this, there was a sort of grandeur in the\nseclusion and simplicity of their worship. All was not blood; and though\nthey bowed down to the Unknown God in an erring and mistaken spirit, yet\nmust their conception of him been fine. The God of nature and the\nwilderness--the God of the tempest and the storm--was a nobler idea than\nthe immortalized humanities of Greek and Roman mythology, though both\nhad wandered equally far from the true God of Mercy and of Peace.\n\nWhen Massalia was hard pressed by two Gaulish nations, she summoned, in\nan evil hour, Rome to her aid. By the Roman arms her assailants were\nrepelled, but these allies maintained their footing in the country. They\nsoon subdued Liguria, and founded the town of Aquae Sextiae; the Gaulish\nnation of the AEdues united with the strangers; a defensive league\nentered into by the Allobroges and the Arvernes to drive them from their\nshores, was defeated. The territory acquired by these victories was\norganized into a Transalpine province; this province gradually went on\nincreasing; its communications with Italy were assured, by the Romans\nobtaining possession of the passes of the Alps. In the year 118 B.C.,\nthe first Roman colony in Gaul was founded at Narbonne; hither, in\ncourse of time, came the great maritime commerce which had raised\nMassalia to her greatness; hither, too, flowed much of the internal\ntraffic of Gaul. The ships of Massalia lay rotting in her harbours, her\nextensive quays lost their busy multitudes. In the fall of her naval\npower, in the loss of her commercial policy, she received a just reward\nfor having wafted to her shores, and assisted with her forces, the\nstranger who was destined to rule over the Gaulish people. The\norganization of the province was completed; and from Narbonne, Roman\nemissaries issuing forth, laboured, by augmenting the quarrels and\ndissensions of the native tribes, to afford an opportunity for her to\nextend the limits of the empire.\n\nDriven from the shores of the Baltic by an inroad of the ocean, the two\ntribes of the Kimry and the Teutones uniting, precipitated themselves,\nto the number of 300,000 fighting men, upon the more southern countries.\nIn the course of their wanderings they came upon the Roman province of\nNorica, which they laid waste with fire and sword, and where they\ndefeated the consul, Papirius Carbon, with great loss. Without taking\nadvantage of this opportunity to enter Italy, which now lay open to\ntheir attack, they entered the country of the Helvetii, where they were\njoined by the tribes of that people, the Ambrones, the Tigurines, and\nthe Teutones; descending now upon Gaul like a devastating torrent, they\nwasted it as far as the Belgian frontier; here, however, the resistance\nof the inhabitants prevented them from advancing further. Turning now\nupon the Roman province of Transalpine Gaul, they defeated three Roman\narmies under Silanus, Cassius, and Scaurus; and here they were joined by\nthat portion of the Tectosages who had formerly returned from the\ndisastrous invasion of Greece. The Roman generals, Cepio and Manlius,\nwho had advanced against them, were utterly routed, and great part of\nthe province laid waste. From hence the Kimry penetrated into Spain,\nwhere they remained for two years, pillaging and wasting the country,\ntill, having received a check from the Celtiberians, they repassed the\nPyrenees, and united with their confederated in the plains of Gaul. The\nunited bands now prepared to march upon Italy; this they did in two\ndivisions: one, consisting of the Kimry and the Tigurines, directed its\nsteps through Helvetia and Norica and by the Tridentine Alps; while the\nother, consisting of the Ambrones and the Teutones, moved on the route\nwhich leads to Italy by the Maritime Alps: both divisions had appointed\na common rendezvous on the banks of the Po.\n\nRome was not unprepared for this invasion; to meet it, Marius had been\nrecalled from his command in Africa, and invested with the consular\npower. When the division of the Ambrones and the Teutones reached the\nMaritime Alps, they found that general encamped in a position which lay\ndirectly in their line of march. Assaulted for three successive days,\nthe Romans maintained themselves in their intrenchments: at last the\nGauls, giving up the attempt to force them, passed on and soon reached\nAquae Sextiae, whither they were followed by Marius. Marius encamped on a\nhill opposite the quarter of the Ambrones; between them flowed a river.\nThe sutlers of the Roman army having descended to obtain water,\nencountered, in the bed of the torrent, some Gauls. A skirmish began;\nthe Ambrones flocked in great numbers to support their comrades; soon\nthey assembled their whole force and advanced upon the Romans. In\ncrossing the stream they were vigorously opposed by the auxiliaries.\nMarius, seeing the favourable opportunity, led down his legions to the\nattack. Unable to withstand the shock, the Ambrones were driven back\nwith great loss; the river ran red with their blood; the plain was\ncovered with fugitives; and their routed forces halted not till they\nreached the neighbouring quarter of the Teutones. In their camp the\nRomans experienced more resistance from the women, who, rather than fall\ninto the hands of their enemies, flung themselves on the hostile ranks,\nor perished by their own hands. Marius drew off his troops before night,\nand retreated to his former position on the hill. The next night he sent\nround 3000 men to occupy a wood in the rear of the position of the\nTeutones. The following morning he drew out his legions in battle array\nupon the <DW72> of the hill, and sent forward his cavalry to skirmish\nwith the enemy, and induce them to engage with him. They fell into the\nsnare: pursuing his cavalry, they advanced to the river's edge, and\nthere, in an evil hour, crossed it and attacked the Roman army. The\ncontest which ensued was long and desperate; the Gauls had the advantage\nin numbers, the Romans in discipline and position. But while victory\nstill hung in the balance, the 3000 Romans, issuing forth from their\nambuscade, fell upon the rear of the Teutones: this produced\nirremediable confusion in the ranks of the Gauls. The Romans redoubled\nthe energy of their attack, and the victory was no longer doubtful. Many\nperished in the field, more in the pursuit; the remainder were cut off\nin detail by the peasants, who assailed them on all sides.\n\nMeanwhile the other divisions of the Gauls, consisting of the Kimry and\nthe Tigurines, after traversing Helvetia and Norica, arrived at the\nTridentine passes of the Alps at the end of winter. To keep possession\nof these passes the Tigurines halted upon the summits of the ridge,\nwhile the Kimry, continuing their march, descended into the valley of\nthe Adige. On their approach the consul Catulus, who was charged with\nthe defence of this part of Italy, retreated behind the Adige; and when\nthe Gauls advanced to attack him, his legions were seized with such a\npanic, that, abandoning their camp, they fled, and halted not till they\nhad placed the Po between themselves and the enemy. The Kimry now spread\nthemselves over the whole territory beyond the Po, and occupied the land\nwithout opposition: here they determined to await the arrival of the\nother column. This delay saved Italy; for it afforded time for Marius\nand his army to cross the Alps, and effect a junction with Catulus and\nhis troops. In the July of 101 B.C., Marius and Catulus advanced to meet\nthe Kimry on the banks of the Po. On the 30th of July the hostile armies\nmet to decide the fate of Italy in the Campus Ranolius. The battle which\nensued was long and bloody; but overcome by the heat of the day and the\nimmense clouds of dust, and exposed by their imperfect defensive armour\nto all the strokes of the enemy, the Kimry were in the end totally\ndefeated. When the Romans, in the course of the pursuit, came to their\ncamp, the same scene occurred as that which took place at Aquae Sextiae;\nas the women, after defending themselves for some time, at last put an\nend to their existence with their own hands. On receiving news of this\ndefeat, the Tigurines abandoned the passes of the Alps, and retreated to\ntheir native country, Helvetia. Thus ended the last invasion of Italy by\nthe Gauls. Rome acknowledged the danger she had run by the gratitude she\ndisplayed to Marius, who received the title of the third Romulus, and\nhis triumph was celebrated with all the enthusiasm of a grateful\ncountry.\n\nWe pass in silence over the various occurrences in Gaul till we come to\nthe year 58 B.C. This was the year when Caesar commenced his career of\nvictory. His first achievement was the defeat of the Helvetii, who,\nrising _en masse_, wished to abandon their sterile country, and gain by\nthe sword a more fertile land. He next advanced against Ariovistus and\nhis Germans, who were ravaging with fire and sword the eastern portions\nof Gaul: these he likewise totally routed--thus delivering the\ninhabitants from a withering scourge. But their joy at this event was\nsoon changed into sadness, when they saw that the Romans had no\nintention of retreating from their territory. Establishing himself\namongst the Sequanes, Caesar levied contributions and collected\nprovisions from all the neighbouring nations. Their discontent soon\nburst forth; they flew to arms, and prepared to make a desperate fight\nin defence of their liberties. We have no room to follow the Roman\nthrough his various campaigns; to trace the long and gallant stand made\nby the Gauls in defence of their native land; or the great and admirable\ngenius of Caesar, nowhere displayed so greatly as in his Gaulish\ncampaigns, though perfidy sometimes tainted his councils, and torrents\nof innocent blood too often stained his arms. Suffice it to say, that\nafter three campaigns, the north and west had submitted to his forces,\nand he had made his first descent on the British shores. In his fourth\ncampaign he undertook his second expedition against Britain, and subdued\nsome more of the continental tribes. But a general movement now took\nplace over nearly the whole of Gaul against the Romans, who at first\nsuffered some severe checks; but the military skill of Caesar, in the\ncourse of a fifth campaign, again triumphed. Though so often vanquished,\nthese brave people were not yet subdued. A new league was entered into\nby their cities; the war broke out afresh; and an able general,\nVercingeto-rix, now directed their movements. It was during the course\nof his sixth campaign, which now followed, that Caesar ran the greatest\ndanger and achieved the greatest triumphs. The surprise of Genatum, the\ncapture of Avaricum, seemed at first to promise a speedy victory to his\narms; but a repulse which he suffered before the walls of Geronia was\nthe signal for the whole of Gaul to unite with the insurgents. A victory\nwhich he gained over Vercingeto-rix soon afterwards, checked for the\nmoment, but did not dispirit, the Gauls; and the whole weight of the war\nwas soon collected around the ramparts of Alexia. Both parties felt that\nthe contest which would now ensue must decide the fate of the campaign,\nand both made the most strenuous exertions to prepare for it. The\ngigantic lines of Caesar were soon surrounded by the whole force of the\nenemy, and a combined attack was made upon them both from within and\nwithout. Great and imminent was the peril; but the steadiness of the\nlegions, and the gallantry of their chief, surmounted it, and the\nbanners of Rome finally waved triumphant over the hard-fought field. The\nfruits of this victory were immense. Alexia capitulated; the Gaulish\nnations who had been most active in the war submitted; and\nVercingeto-rix was given up to the conquerors. Yet was a great part of\nthe country still unsubdued; and when in the ensuing year, B.C. 51,\nCaesar took the field in his seventh and last campaign in this country,\nhe found a powerful and numerous confederacy in arms. Taught by the\nexperience of the past, they no longer attempted to unite their whole\nforces and defeat him in general engagements, but endeavoured to exhaust\nhis resources, and wear out his troops by a protracted defensive\nwarfare. They fortified and garrisoned their towns so as to impose on\nhim the necessity of innumerable sieges; whilst the country, on his\nline of march, was laid waste, and his troops were harassed by the\nincessant attacks of their skirmishers. But Caesar overcame all\ndifficulties: if they met him in battle, they were vanquished; if they\nretreated to their fortifications, they were driven from them by\nescalade; if they took refuge in their marshes, he pursued and overtook\nthem even there. Dispirited by these constant defeats, the Gauls, for\nthe last time, laid down their arms. The conquered territory was\norganized as a new province of the Roman empire, and Caesar laboured to\nattach it to his person by the lenity and moderation of his government.\nIn this he succeeded; nor had he ever reason to repent of having done\nso; for, during the civil wars which raised him to the imperial power,\nhe received no inconsiderable assistance from the courage and devotion\nof its inhabitants. Here, as a free people, ends the history of the\nGauls. We shall not follow M. Thierry in his account of the last period\nof their annals, which embraces the subjugation of the Britons; the\norganization of Gaul into a subject province; the gradual loss of their\nnationality by its inhabitants; the spread of Roman manners and Roman\ncivilization amongst them; their transition from an independent people\nto an integral part of the Roman empire. Here we take leave of them:\ntheir arms have just dropped from their hands; liberty has just fled\nfrom their shores; the fetters of conquest sit strangely on their\nfree-born limbs; they have not yet learned the vices of a subject race:\nafter having followed them in their career of conquest, and through the\nhard-fought struggle in their native land, we love not to dwell on the\ncrushing of their haughty spirit.\n\nThroughout the whole of his history, Thierry sustains the interest well;\nbut nowhere is his narrative more animated than in his account of the\nwars of Caesar; and no wonder, for a nobler field could not lie before\nhim. His book is altogether one of the most curious and interesting\nwhich we possess on the history of ancient times. A great work it cannot\nbe called. M. Thierry is more a man of talent than of genius; and\naccordingly, in his work, we are more struck with the interest of his\nnarrative than with the profoundness of his reflections: it contains not\nthe philosophy of Guizot, nor the originality of Michelet, yet it is a\nvaluable addition to modern literature. Would that we saw a few more\nsuch in our own country!\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n{A} _Histoire des Gaulois_, par M. AMADEE THIERRY. 3 tomes. Paris: 1835.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCHFINDER.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nAt the upper end of the large Gothic room, forming the interior of the\ntown-hall of Hammelburg, which was formally prepared as a court of\ntrial, sat upon a raised part of the flooring in his chair of state, the\nOber-Amtmann; before him were placed, at a velvet-behung table, his\n_schreibers_ or secretaries; beside him sat, upon a low cushioned stool,\nhis daughter, the fair Fraulein Bertha, surrounded by her tirewomen, who\nremained standing behind her.\n\nThe presence of the young Fraulein was of rare occurrence upon occasions\nof judicial ceremony in the old town-hall. But a solemn appeal to her\ntestimony had been made by the witchfinder; and her father, whose sense\nof justice considered that a matter of accusation of so heavy and\nserious a nature as that of witchcraft, should be investigated in all\nits bearings, had commanded her presence. Her heart, full of the purest\nmilk of human kindness, revolted, however, from witnessing the progress\nof such terrible proceedings--the justice of which her simple mind,\ntutored according to the dark prejudices of the age, never once doubted,\nbut which curdled her blood with horror. And she sat pale and sad, with\ndowncast eyes, scarcely daring to raise them upon the crowd that filled\nthe hall, much less upon the most conspicuous object in the scene before\nher--the unhappy being against whom all curses, all evil feelings, all\ninsane desires of blood and death, were then directed. Perhaps there was\nanother reason also, which, almost unconsciously, caused her to keep her\neyes fixed upon the earth; perhaps she feared that they might meet two\nother mild blue eyes, the expression of which was that of a deep--far\ntoo deep--an interest; for it caused her heart to beat, and her spirit\nto be troubled; and her bosom to heave and sigh, she knew not wherefore:\nunless, indeed, she were, in truth, bewitched.\n\nIn the centre of the hall was placed the accused woman. She was seated\nupon a rude three-legged stool, which was firmly fixed upon a raised\nflooring, elevated about three feet from the ground--her face turned\ntowards her judge. A slight chain passed round the middle of her body,\nand fastened her down to her seat. She was still attired in the dark\nhood and cloak which had been her customary dress, and sat, with head\nbent downwards, and her hands clasped languidly upon her knees, as if\nresigned, in the bitterness of her despair, to meet the cruel fate that\nawaited her.\n\nBelow, was a compact and turbulent crowd of the lower orders of the\ntown, which was with difficulty kept, by the pikemen, within the limits\nassigned to it; and which, from time to time, let forth low howls\nagainst the supposed sorceress, that increased, like the _crescendo_ of\ndistant thunder, and then died away again.\n\nOn either side, towards the upper end, were ranged upon benches some of\nthe more reputable _bourgeois_ and their spouses, all decked out in\ntheir finest braveries, as if they were present at a theatrical show, or\na church mystery: and, in truth, the representation about to be given,\nwas but little more in their own eyes, than a sort of show got up for\ntheir especial gratification.\n\nGuarded by two pikemen, stood the <DW36>--his teeth set firmly,\nalthough his lips quivered with excitement--his light eyes glaring\nfiercely around with an air of savage exultation, and gleaming, as it\nwere, with a pale phosphoric fire, from out of the dark ground of his\nswarthy face and lank black hair. He moved restlessly and uneasily upon\nhis withered limbs, clenching by fits and starts his rosary from his\nbosom, and murmuring a hasty, and--to judge by the wildness of his eyes,\nthat showed how his mind was fixed upon far other thoughts--a vain\nprayer. He rolled also his head and the upper part of his body\ncontinually backwards and forwards, like a wild beast fretting in his\ncage.\n\nAmong the more prominent of the crowd, whom the favour of the guards\nhad allowed to push beyond the assigned limits, or whom reasons,\nconnected with the trial, required to come forwards, stood \"Gentle\nGottlob.\" His brow was overclouded with sadness, for he felt in how\nfearful a pass this horrible denunciation had placed the woman whom he\nhad so long regarded with attachment. His mild blue eye was more\nmelancholy than of wont; and yet, in spite of the trouble of his mind,\nhe was unable to withdraw his looks from that bright loadstone of his\naffections, whose sadness seemed to sympathize with his own. At least,\nhis heart would fain persuade him that there was mysterious sympathy in\ntheir mutual dejection.\n\nThe principal personages concerned in the awful question at issue,\noccupied, thus, their respective positions in the old town-hall; when,\nafter a long and troubled pause, during which silence was with\ndifficulty obtained among the more tumultuous portion of the crowd at\nthe lower end of the hall, one of the _schreibers_ rose, and read, from\nan interminable strip of parchment which he held in his hand, the act of\naccusation against the female known under the popular designation of\n\"Mother Magdalena,\" as attainted of the foul crime of witchcraft, of the\ncasting of spells and malefices to the annoyance and destruction of her\nfellow-creatures, of consorting with spirits of darkness, and of\nlascivious intercourse with the arch-fiend himself. For so ran, at that\ntime, the tenor of the accusation directed against the unhappy women\nsuspected of this imaginary crime.\n\nThe act of accusation was long, and richly interlarded with all those\ninterminable complications of legal phraseology, which seem ever, at all\ntimes, and in all nations, to have been the necessary concomitants of\nall legal proceedings. The reading of the act, however, being at last\nterminated, the town-beggar, commonly known by the familiar name of\nBlack Claus the witchfinder, Schwartzer-Claus, or Claus Schwartz, as he\nwas usually designated among the people, was summoned to stand forward\nas the denouncer of the aforesaid Magdalena, and to substantiate his\ncharge.\n\nThus called upon, the <DW36> gave a start forward, like a lion let\nloose upon the gladiator's arena, through the barred gates of which he\nhas already sniffed the odour of blood; and then, raising one of his\nlong arms towards the stool of penitence, on which the criminal had been\nplaced, he again repeated, with an eagerness amounting to frenzy, his\naccusation against her.\n\nAs the witchfinder's hoarse voice was heard, a visible shudder passed\nthrough Magdalena's frame; but she raised not her head, moved not a\nlimb, spoke not; and it was only when called upon by the chief\n_schreiber_ to declare what she had to say against this accusation, that\nshe lowly murmured--\"God's will be done!\" but still with bowed head and\ndowncast eyes.\n\nIn support of his denunciation, the <DW36> proceeded to state how he\nhad watched the mysterious female called \"Mother Magdalena,\" and had\nobserved that she never would enter any consecrated building; how she\nwould daily advance up the steps of the church, and then pause before\nthe threshold, as if she feared to pass it, and then throw herself down\nupon the stones before the gate, where she would lie in strange\nconvulsions, and at last return without having penetrated into the\nbuilding--an evident proof that the devil she served had forbidden her\nto put her foot into any sacred dwelling, but had taught her,\nnevertheless, to approach near enough to treat the awful mysteries of\nthe Christian religion, performed within, with mockery and contempt. To\nthis accusation, which was confirmed by the acclamation of several\npersons present in the court, Magdalena, when called upon to speak,\nproffered no denial; she contented herself with the meek reply, that God\nalone knew the motives of the heart--that it was for him alone to judge.\nThe words were still uttered in the same low despairing tone, and\nwithout the slightest movement of her head from its sunken posture.\n\nThe partially monastic dress, which was her habitual attire, was next\nbrought forward against her as a proof of her desire to treat with\ncontempt the dress of the religious orders: and to this absurd\naccusation, when asked why she had adopted a costume resembling that of\nthe holy sisterhood of penitents, the old woman still refused any reply.\n\nThe events of the previous afternoon, when she had been openly seen to\nthrow her staff at the Amtmann's unoffending daughter, and wound her on\nthe neck, and then break into pieces the image of the Holy Cross, were\nthen recapitulated, as facts known upon the positive evidence of a\nhundred witnesses.\n\nThese matters disposed of, the <DW36> proceeded to detail his own\npeculiar grievances, and attributed, as he had done in the cases of the\nseven unhappy women who had already fallen victims of his frantic\ndelusion, the severe pains that had racked his poor distorted limbs to\nthe malefic charms of the sorceress. He related how, on the last night\non which he had met Mother Magdalena, he had found her sitting by the\nwell in the market-place, casting a spell upon the spring, and turning\nthe waters to poison and blood--as a proof of which, he swore to have\nhimself tasted in the water of the bucket the taste of blood; how, in\nrevenge for his warning to her to desist from her foul practices, she\nhad pointed up her finger to the sky, and immediately brought down upon\nhis head all the combined waters of heaven; how she had vanished from\nhis sight in this storm, he knew not how; and how immediately intense\npains began to torture his joints, until he became half frantic with\nagony, and had been compelled, by hideous visions, to quit the shelter\nhe had sought, in order to be exposed to all the peltings of the storm.\nHe had since suffered, he declared, the tortures of the damned in all\nhis limbs, with occasional fits of shuddering, sometimes of hot fever,\nsometimes of the most freezing cold, which were evidently torments\nworked upon him by the powers of darkness. And as he spoke, the unhappy\nwretch was again seized by one of his fearful fits of ague, during the\nconvulsions of which the clamours of the crowd grew terrible against the\nsorceress.\n\n\"What sayest thou to this accusation, woman?\" said the chief\n_schreiber_. \"Thou see'st how even now he suffers.\"\n\n\"I have never willed evil to any man--not even to him,\" was Magdalena's\nonly reply.\n\nWhen recovered from his fit, the <DW36> again raised his head--it was\nto cast a glance at the object of his denunciation, in which hatred and\ntriumph were blended together, in one of those occasional flashes of\nwildness which showed that there was a vein of insanity running through\nall the frenzied zeal of the witchfinder. He had now arrived at a period\nof his narration, when the most damning proof of all was to overwhelm\nthe accused woman.\n\nIt was not without an unaffected expression of horror, that he went on\nto relate how he had wandered around the building by the Watergate, in a\nlower cell of which he had discovered that she dwelt, seeking in vain to\nfind an entrance or a peep-hole, that might enable him to penetrate into\nthe interior; how he had, at last, dragged his crippled limbs up into a\ntree upon the river's bank, overlooking an upper chamber of the\nbuilding; how he had, at first, seen Mother Magdalena in conversation\nwith the young illuminator; how, upon his departure, she had flung\nherself down upon her knees, and after spitting upon one of the books of\nholy writ upon the table, had made wild gestures of conjuration, upon\nwhich the demon himself, attired in a dark robe, had suddenly appeared\nby supernatural means, for he had not entered by the door; how the foul\nhag had fallen down and worshipped the arch-fiend; and how, after a\nconference of short duration, during which the woman at his feet\nappeared to supplicate with earnestness, probably a prolongation of her\nwretched term of power to work ill, and afterwards kissed his hand in\ntoken of adoration and submission, the demon had vanished as suddenly as\nhe had appeared.\n\nA low murmur of horror ran through the assembly, as Black Claus related\nthis fearful story. All eyes were turned upon the handmaiden of Satan.\nFor a moment she had raised her head, horror-struck at this\ninterpretation of the interview she had in Gottlob's chamber with the\nstranger--for a moment she seemed to have a desire to speak. But then,\nclasping her hands before her face, she murmured--\"O God! it cannot be!\nBut this is terrible!\"\n\nGottlob, who, during the whole accusation, had listened with much\nimpatience, could now no longer restrain his generous feelings. He\nstarted forward with the words--\"No, no, it is impossible! Speak,\nMagdalena--say how false is this man's tale.\"\n\n\"God knows that it is false!\" said Magdalena.\n\n\"I knew it could not be. There could be no one with thee in my chamber,\nand he lies.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Magdalena sadly, \"thus far is true:--There was a stranger\nby me in your chamber.\"\n\n\"But who then?--speak, Magdalena,\" urged Gottlob. \"Clear yourself of the\nfoul stigma of his tale.\"\n\n\"I may not say!\" replied the unhappy woman. \"But God will prove my\ninnocence in His own right time.\"\n\n\"Why hesitate,\" again cried the eager young man, \"when with a word you\ncould disprove him?\"\n\n\"I have already said it cannot be,\" said the accused woman, sinking her\nhead upon her breast.\n\nGottlob himself drew back with a shudder; for a moment he knew not what\nto think; the strange answers of Magdalena perplexed and troubled him.\nHe began himself to doubt of the woman, who, in return for his\nbenevolence, had showed him the attachment of a mother. He pulled his\ncloak over his face with both his hands, and stood for a time\noverwhelmed.\n\n\"It needs no further questions upon this point, I presume,\" said the\nchief _schreiber_, turning to the Ober-Amtmann. \"The wretched woman has\nalready admitted a part of the truth;\" and, with a sign to the\ndenouncer, he bade him proceed.\n\nThe witchfinder paused for a moment, and gave one long look of\ntenderness and pity--as far, indeed, as his harsh, rudely-stamped\nfeatures could express such feelings--at the pale face of Bertha. Then,\nfixing his eye keenly upon the Ober-Amtmann, as if to fascinate his\nattention, he burst into a fresh accusation against the sorceress, as\nhaving, in the first place, cast her spells upon the noble Fraulein\nBertha, for the purpose of sowing the seeds of death within her frame;\nand as having, in the second place, employed the young man called\n\"Gentle Gottlob\" to be an involuntary agent in her work of ill.\n\nUpon hearing the first part of this charge, Magdalena had raised her\nhead to give, unconsciously as it were, a deprecating look at the fair\ngirl--as if to assure her, with that one long concentrated look of deep\nfeeling, that, far from desiring her evil, she contended only with the\noverpourings of kindness and love for her; and then, as though she had\nalready expressed more than her conscience could approve, she bowed\nagain her head, murmuring only--\"O God! support me. Thou knowest how\nfalse is the raving of that wretched man.\" The second part of the charge\nexcited other and very varied feelings among those present. Magdalena\nagain started, but with evident surprise, and made a hasty gesture of\ndenial. Gottlob sprang forward, horrified at being thus involved, even\nas an involuntary agent, in the hideous denunciation, and indignant at\nthe supposition that he could work ill to the Amtmann's lovely daughter;\nand he protested, with all the vehemence which gentle natures, when\nroused into excitement, will display, against so unfounded and\ncalumnious an accusation; whilst Bertha, joining together her small\nhands, as if in supplication, turned her face, with anxious expression,\nto her father, crying--\"No, no--it cannot be!\"\n\nAstounded at so unexpected a revelation, the Ober-Amtmann seemed at\nfirst not to know what to think. He gazed alternately upon Gottlob and\nBertha, as if to read upon their faces the secret of a connexion between\nthem; and then, satisfied of the impossibility that the noble\nOber-Amtmann's daughter could have the slightest affinity with the\nunknown youth before him, he drew a long breath, and passed his hand\nover his brow, as if to drive away ideas so absurd.\n\n\"Peace, youth--peace!\" he cried to Gottlob; \"we will hear thee anon. It\nis not thou who art accused. And thou, my child be calm. <DW36>! what\nmean thy words? What proof bringest thou of their truth?\"\n\n\"Ask of the suffering angel by thy side, my noble lord,\" replied the\n<DW36> with emotion. \"Let her tell how, of late, her cheek has grown\npale, her limbs have become weary, her very life's-blood languid and\noppressed. I have watched her day by day, and I have seen these changes.\nI have watched her with a careful and a cunning eye; and I have\nfelt--there, in my heart--that the spell was upon her: and this it was\nthat urged me to denounce that wretched hag.\"\n\n\"Speak, my child,\" said the Ober-Amtmann, in trouble and anxiety. \"What\nthis man says, is it true? Hast thou suffered lately? Indeed, I do\nremember thy cheek has been paler than of wont--thy appetite has left\nthee--thou hast been no longer so cheerful or so active as of old.\nSpeak, my child--hast thou really suffered?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! my father, I have not suffered,\" replied the agitated girl in\nmuch confusion; \"and yet I have not been as formerly I was. I have been\nsad, I knew not why, and wept in the silence of my chamber without\ncause; and I have found no pleasure in my embroidery, nor in my flowers,\nnor in my falcons. I have felt my foot fall weary. I have sought to\nrest, and yet, when reposing, I have felt unable to remain in quiet, and\nI have longed for exercise abroad. But yet I have not suffered; and\nsometimes I have even hugged with pleasure the trouble of my mind and\nbody.\"\n\n\"These seem, indeed, the symptoms of a deadly spell upon thee, my poor\nchild,\" exclaimed her father. \"Such, they say, are the first evidences\nof the working of those charms that witches breathe over their victims.\"\n\n\"And let the Fraulein Bertha tell,\" cried the witchfinder, \"how it has\nbeen yonder youth who has seemed to exercise this influence of ill upon\nher.\"\n\nAgain Gottlob sought to spring forward and speak; but a sign from the\nOber-Amtmann to the guards caused them to place their pikes before him,\nand arrest him in his impulse.\n\n\"How and what is this, my child?\" said the Ober-Amtmann. \"Knowest thou\nthat youth? and in what has he, consciously or unconsciously, done thee\nill?\"\n\n\"He has done me no ill,\" replied the innocent girl in still greater\nconfusion, as her bosom heaved, and the blood suffused her cheeks. \"I am\nsure he would not do me ill for all the treasures of the world!\"\n\n\"Thou knowest him then?\" said her father, somewhat more sternly.\n\n\"No, I know him not,\" replied Bertha in trouble; \"but I have met him\nsometimes in my path, and I have seen him\"--she hesitated for a moment,\nand then added, with downcast eyes, \"at his window, which overlooks our\ngarden.\"\n\n\"Why then this trouble, Bertha?\" continued the Ober-Amtmann, in a tone\nthat rendered their conversation inaudible beyond their own immediate\ncircle.\n\n\"I cannot tell myself, my father. I feel troubled and sad, it is true;\nand yet I know not why. I have no cause\"----\n\n\"And when thou hast met yonder youth, as thou sayest, hast thou felt\nthis trouble before?\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, my father. I remember now that at his aspect my heart would\nbeat; my head grow giddy, and my ears would tingle; and then a faintness\nwould come over me, as though it were a pain I felt, and yet it was a\npleasant pain. There was nothing in him that could cause me ill; was\nthere, father?\"\n\nThe Ober-Amtmann's brow grew dark as Bertha proceeded; but, after a\nmoment's reflection, he murmured to himself--\"Love! oh, no! It is\nimpossible! She and he! The noble's daughter and the low-born youngster.\nIt could not be! There is no doubt! Witchcraft has been at work! How\nlong has it been thus with thee, my child?\" he added with solicitude.\n\n\"I cannot tell, my father. Some five or six months past it came upon me.\nI know not when or how!\"\n\n\"Bears he no charm upon him?\" exclaimed the Ober-Amtmann aloud.\n\n\"He bears a charm upon him!\" cried the witchfinder in triumph. \"And ask\nwho bound it round his neck?\"\n\n\"It is false! I bear no charm!\" cried Gottlob eagerly. \"She herself\ndenied that it was such.\"\n\n\"Of what does he speak?\" cried the Ober-Amtmann.\n\n\"It was but a gift of affection, and no charm. She gave me this ring,\"\nsaid Gottlob, pointing to the ring hung by a small riband round his\nneck; \"and I have worn it, as she requested, in remembrance of some\nunworthy kindness I had shown her.\"\n\n\"And how long since was it,\" enquired the Ober-Amtmann, \"that she\nbestowed this supposed gift upon you?\"\n\n\"Some five or six months past,\" was Gottlob's unlucky answer; \"not long\nafter I first brought her to reside with me in my poor dwelling.\"\n\nDuring this examination the agitation of Magdalena had become extreme;\nand when, upon the Ober-Amtmann's command that the ring should be handed\nup to him, Gottlob removed it from his neck, and gave it into the hands\nof one of the guards, she cried, in much excitement, \"No, no; give it\nnot, Gottlob!\"\n\nThe ring, however, was passed on to the Ober-Amtmann; and Magdalena,\ncovering her face with her hands, fell back, with a stifled groan, into\nher former crouching position.\n\nThe sight of the ring seemed indeed to have the power of a necromancer's\ncharm upon the Ober-Amtmann. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it, than\nhis cheek grew pale--his usually severe and stern face was convulsed\nwith agitation--and he sank back in his chair with the low cry, \"That\nring! O God! After so many years of dearly-sought oblivion!\"\n\nAt the sight of the Ober-Amtmann's agitation and apparent swoon, a howl\nof execration burst from the crowd below, mingled with the cries of\n\"Tear the wretch in pieces! She has poisoned him! Tear her in pieces!\"\nConsternation prevailed through the whole assembly. Bertha sprang to her\nfather's side; but the Ober-Amtmann quickly rallied. He waved his\ndaughter back with the remark, \"It was nothing--it is past;\" and raising\nhimself in his chair, looked again upon the ring.\n\n\"There is no doubt,\" he murmured, \"it is that same ring--that Arabic\nring, brought me from the East, and which I gave--oh, no!--impossible!\"\nhe hurriedly exclaimed, as a horrible thought seemed to cross him. \"She\nhas been dead many years since. Did not my own brother assure me of her\ndeath? It cannot be!\"\n\nAfter a moment's pause to recover from his agitation, he gave orders to\none of the guards to remove the hood from Magdalena's head, that he\nmight see her features. With the crooked end of a pike's head, one of\nthem tore back her hood; while another, with the staff of his pike,\nforced her hands asunder. Magdalena's careworn and prematurely withered\nface was exposed to the gaze of all, distorted with emotion.\n\n\"Less rudely, varlets!\" cried the Ober-Amtmann, with a feeling of sudden\nforbearance towards the wretched woman which surprised all present; for\nthey could not but marvel at the slightest symptom of consideration\ntoward such an abhorred outcast of humanity as a convicted witch; and as\nsuch the miserable Magdalena was already regarded.\n\nFor a moment the Ober-Amtmann considered Magdalena's careworn, withered,\nand agitated face with painful attention; and then, as if relieved from\nsome terrible apprehension, he heaved a bitter sigh, and murmured to\nhimself--\"No, no, there is no trace of that once well-known face. I knew\nit could not be. She is no more. It was a wild and foolish thought! but\nthis ring--'tis strange! Woman, dost thou know me?\" he asked aloud, with\nsome remaining agitation.\n\n\"I know you not,\" replied Magdalena with a low and choked voice; for she\nnow trembled violently, and the tears gushed from her eyes.\n\n\"How camest thou then by this ring? Speak! I command thee,\" continued\nthe Ober-Amtmann.\n\nMagdalena bowed her head with a gesture of refusal to answer any further\nquestion.\n\n\"Wretched woman! Hast thou violated the repose of the dead? Hast thou\ntorn it from the grave? How else came it in thy possession?\"\n\nThe unhappy woman replied not. She had again covered her face with her\nhands, and the tears streamed through her meagre fingers.\n\n\"Speak, I tell thee! This ring has conjured up such recollections, that\nwere there but one human link between thee and one who has long since\nrested from all sorrow in the grave, it might ensure thy safety.\"\n\nNo answer was returned by Magdalena; although, to judge by the convulsed\nmovement of her body, the struggle within must have been bitter and\nheavy to bear.\n\n\"Die then in thy obstinacy, miserable woman,\" cried the Ober-Amtmann in\na suppressed voice--\"Let justice take its course!\"\n\n\"Denouncer!\" said the chief _schreiber_ to the witchfinder, \"hast thou\nfurther evidence to offer?\"\n\n\"Needs it more to convict a criminal of the foul and infernal practices\nof witchcraft?\" cried Black Claus with bitterness.\n\nThe chief _schreiber_ turned to the Ober-Amtmann, as if to consult his\nwill. For a moment the Ober-Amtmann passed one hand across his brow, as\nthough to sweep away the dark visions that were hovering about it; and\nthen, waving the other, as if he had come to a resolution which had cost\nhim pain, said with stern solemnity--\"Let the workers of the evil deeds\nof Satan perish, until the earth be purged of them all.\"\n\nThis customary formula implied the condemnation of the supposed\nsorceress.\n\n\"To the stake! to the stake!\" howled the crowd, upon hearing the\ndelivery of this expected sentence.\n\nAfter enjoining silence, which was with difficulty enforced, the chief\n_schreiber_ rose, and addressed to Magdalena the accustomed question,\n\"Woman, dost thou demand the trial by water, and God's issue by that\ntrial?\"\n\n\"I demand but to die in peace,\" replied the miserable woman; \"and God's\nwill be done!\"\n\n\"She refuses the trial by water,\" said the chief _schreiber_, in order\nto establish the fact, which was put down in writing by the adjuncts.\n\n\"To the stake! to the stake!\" howled the crowd.\n\n\"And hast thou nothing to urge against the justice of thy sentence?\"\nasked the official questioner.\n\n\"Justice!\" cried Magdalena, with a start, which caused the chain around\nher waist to clank upon the wretched stool on which she sat. \"Justice!\"\nshe cried in a tone of indignation. For a moment the earthly spirit\nrevolted. But it gleamed only for an instant. \"May God pardon my unjust\njudge the sins of his youth,\"--she paused, and added, \"as I forgive him\nmy cruel death!\" With these words, the last spark of angry feeling was\nextinguished for ever. \"May God pardon him, as well as those who have\nthus cruelly witnessed against me; and may He bless him, and all those\nwho are most near and dear to him,\" she continued--her voice, as she\nspoke, growing gradually more subdued, until it was lost and choked in\nconvulsive sobbings.\n\nAgain a thrill of horror passed through the Ober-Amtmann; for the sound\nof the voice seemed to revive in his mind memories of the past, and\nrecall a vision he had already striven to dispel from it. His frame\nshuddered, and again he fell back in his chair.\n\n\"It is a delusion of Satan!\" he muttered, pressing his hands to his\nears, and closing his eyes.\n\nBertha's eyes streamed with tears; her pitying heart was tortured by\nthis scene of sadness.\n\n\"Blessings instead of curses upon those who have condemned her! Can that\nbe guilt?\" said gentle Gottlob to himself. \"Can that be the spirit of\nthe malicious and revengeful agent of the dark deeds of Satan? No--she\nis innocent; and I will still save her, if human means can save!\"\n\nAfter thus parleying with himself, Gottlob began to struggle to make his\nway from the court.\n\n\"The blessings of the servants of the fiend are bitter curses,\" said the\ninfatuated witchfinder, on the other hand; \"and she has blessed me. God\nstand by me!\"\n\n\"To the stake!--to the stake!\" still howled the pitiless, the\nbloodthirsty crowd.\n\nThe refusal of the unhappy Magdalena to abide by the issue of the\nwell-known trial by water, had so much abridged the customary\nproceedings, that orders were given, and preparations made, for the\nexecution of the ultimate punishment for the crime of witchcraft--burning\nat the stake--shortly after daybreak on the morrow.\n\nIt was yet night--a short hour before the breaking of the dawn. The pile\nhad been already heaped in the market-place of Hammelburg--the stake\nfixed. All was in readiness for the hideous performance about to take\nplace. The guards paced backwards and forwards before the grated\ndoorway, which opened under the terrace of the old town-hall; for there,\nin that miserable hole, was confined the wretched victim of popular\ndelusion. The soldiers kept watch, however, upon their prisoner at such\na distance as to be as far as possible out of the reach of her malefic\nspells. The heavy clanking of their pikes, as they rested them from time\nto time upon the pavement, or paused to interchange a word, alone broke\nthe silence of the still sleeping town--sleeping, to awake shortly like\na tiger thirsty for blood. The light of a waning moon showed\nindistinctly the dark mass in the centre of the market-place--the stage\nupon which the frightful tragedy was about to be enacted--when one of\nthe sentinels all at once turning his head in that direction, descried a\ndark form creeping around the pile, as if examining it on all sides.\n\n\"What's that?\" he cried in alarm to his comrade, pointing to this dark\nobject. \"Is it the demon himself, whom she has conjured up, and who now\ncomes to deliver her? All good spirits\"--and he crossed himself with\nhurried zeal.\n\n\"Praise the Lord!\" continued the other, completing the usual German form\nof exorcism, and crossing himself no less devoutly.\n\n\"Challenge him, Hans!\" said the first; \"at the sound of a Christian\nvoice, mayhap, he may vanish away; and thou art ever boasting to Father\nPeter that thou are the most Christian man of thy company.\"\n\n\"Challenge him thyself,\" replied Hans, in a voice that did not say much\nfor the firmness of his conscience as a Christian.\n\n\"Let's challenge him both at once,\" proposed the other soldier.\n\"Perhaps, between us, we may muster up goodness enough to drive the foul\nfiend before us.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" replied Hans, with somewhat better courage; and upon this\njoint-stock company principle of piety, both the soldiers raised their\nvoices at once, and cried, in a somewhat quavering duet, \"Who goes\nthere?\"\n\nA hoarse laugh was the only answer received to this challenge; and the\ndark form seemed to advance towards them across the market-place.\n\nSo great appeared the modesty of each of the soldiers with regard to his\nappreciation of his own merits as a good Christian--so little his\nconfidence in his own powers of holiness to wrestle with the fiend of\ndarkness in the shape which now approached them--that they seemed\ndisposed rather humbly to quit the field, than encounter Sir Apollyon in\nso glorious a contest; when the dim light of the moon revealed the\nfigure, as it came forward, to be that of the witchfinder.\n\n\"It is Claus Schwartz!\" said Hans, taking breath.\n\n\"Or the devil in his form,\" pursued his fellow-sentinel with more\ncaution. \"Stand back!\" he shouted, as the witchfinder came within a few\nyards, \"and declare who thou art.\"\n\n\"Has the foul hag within there bewitched thee?\" cried Black Claus; \"or\nhas she smitten thee with blindness? Canst thou not see? The night is\nnot so dark but good men may know each other.\"\n\n\"What wouldst thou here?\" said Master Hans, completely recovered from\nhis spiritual alarm.\n\n\"I cannot rest,\" replied the witchfinder with bitterness. \"Until her\nlast ashes shall have mingled with the wind, I shall take no repose,\nbody or mind. I cannot sleep; or, if I close my eyes, visions of the\nhideous hags, who have already perished there, float before my\ndistracted eyes. It is she that murders my rest, as she has tormented my\npoor limbs--curses on her! But a short hour, a short hour more, and she\ntoo shall feel all the tortures of hell--tortures worse than those she\nhas inflicted on the poor <DW36>. The flames shall rise, and lap her\nbody round--the bright red flames. Her members shall writhe upon the\nstake. The screams of death shall issue from her blackened lips; until\nthe lurid smoke shall have wrapped her it its dark winding-sheet, and\nstifled the last cry of her parting soul, as it flies to meet its\ninfernal master in the realms of darkness. Oh, it will be a glorious\nsight!\" And the <DW36> laughed, with an insane laugh of malice and\nrevenge, which made the soldiers shudder in every limb, and draw back\nfrom him with horror.\n\nIt seemed as if the fever of his excitement had pressed so powerfully on\nhis brain as to have driven him completely into madness. After a moment,\nhowever, he pulled his rosary from his bosom, and kissed it, adding, in\na calmer tone, \"Yes, it will be a glorious sight--for it will be for the\ncause of the Lord, and of his holy church.\"\n\nLittle as they comprehended the witchfinder's raving, the soldiers again\ncrossed themselves, and looked upon him with a sort of awe.\n\n\"What wouldst thou?\" said one of them, as Claus advanced towards the\nprison door.\n\n\"I would look upon her, there--in her prison,\" said the <DW36>, with an\nexpression that denoted a malicious eagerness to gloat upon his victim.\n\nThe soldiers interchanged glances with one another, as if they doubted\nwhether such a permission ought to be allowed to the witchfinder.\n\n\"Ah, bah!\" said Hans. \"It is not he that will aid her to escape. Let him\npass. They'll make a fine sport with one another, the witchfinder and\nthe witch--dog and cat. Zist, zist!\" continued the young soldier,\nlaughing and making a movement and a sound as if setting on the two\nabove-mentioned animals to worry each other.\n\n\"Take care,\" said his more scrupulous companion. \"Jest not with such\nawful work. Who knows but it may be blasphemy; and what would Father\nPeter say?\"\n\nThe two sentinels continued their pacing up and down, but still at some\ndistance from the prison doorway, in order, as Hans's companion\nexpressed it, \"to keep as much as possible out of the devil's clutches;\"\nwhile Black Claus approached the grating of the door.\n\nAs the witchfinder peered, with knitted brow, through the bars of the\ngrating, it seemed to him at first, so complete was the darkness within,\nas though the cell was tenantless; and his first movement was to turn,\nin order to warn the guards of the escape of their prisoner. But as he\nagain strained his eyes, he became at last aware of the existence of a\ndark form upon the floor of the cell; and as by degrees his sight became\nmore able to penetrate the obscurity within, he began plainly to\nperceive the form of the miserable woman, crouched on her knees upon the\ndamp slimy pavement of the wretched hole. She was already dressed in the\nsackcloth robe of the penitents condemned to the stake, and her poor\ngrey hairs were without covering. So motionless was her form that for a\nmoment the witchfinder thought she was dead, and had fallen together in\nthe position in which she had knelt down; and the thought was like a\nknife in his revengeful heart, that she might thus have escaped the\ntortures prepared for her, and thwarted the gratification of his insane\nand hideous longings. A second thought suggested to him that she was\nsleeping. But this conjecture was scarcely less agonizing to him than\nthe former. That she, the sorceress, should sleep and be at rest, whilst\nhe, her victim, could find no sleep, no rest, no peace, body or mind,\nwas more than his bitter spirit could bear. He shook the bars of the\ndoor with violence, and called aloud, \"Magdalena!\"\n\n\"Is my hour already come?\" said the wretched woman, raising her head so\nimmediately as to show how far sleep was from her eyelids.\n\n\"No, thou hast got an hour to enjoy the torments of thy own despair,\"\nlaughed the witchfinder, with bitter irony.\n\n\"Let me, then, be left in peace, and my last prayers be undisturbed,\"\nsaid Magdalena.\n\n\"In order that thou mayst pray to the devil thou servest to deliver\nthee!\" pursued Black Claus, with another mocking laugh. \"Ay--pray--pray;\nbut it will be in vain. He is an arch-deceiver, the fiend, thy master.\nHe promises and fulfils not. He offers tempting wages to those who sell\nto him their souls, and then deserts his servants in the hour of\ntrouble. So prayed all the filthy hags who sat there before thee,\nMagdalena; but they prayed in vain.\"\n\n\"Leave me, wretched man!\" said Magdalena, who now became aware that it\nwas the <DW36> who addressed her. \"Hast thou not sufficiently sated thy\nthirst for evil, that thou shouldst come to torment me in my last\nmoments? Go! tempt not the bitterness of my spirit in this supreme hour\nof penitence and prayer. Go! for I have forgiven thee; and I would not\ncurse thee now.\"\n\n\"I defy thy curses, witch of hell!\" cried the <DW36> with frantic\nenergy. \"Already the first pale streaks of dawn begin to flicker in the\neast. A little time, and thy power to curse will be no more; a little\ntime, and nothing will remain of thee but a heap of noisome ashes; and a\nname, which will be mingled with that of the arch-enemy of mankind, in\nthe execrations of thy victims--a name to be remembered with horror and\ndisgust--as that of the foul serpent--in the thoughts of the tormented\n<DW36>, and of the pure angel of brightness, upon whom thou hast sought\nto work evil and death.\"\n\n\"O God! make not this hour of trial too hard for me to bear!\" exclaimed\nthe unhappy woman; and then, raising her clasped hands to Claus in\nbitter expostulation, she cried, \"Man! what have I done to harm thee,\nthat thou shouldst heap these coals of fire on my soul?\"\n\n\"What thou hast done to harm me?\" cried the witchfinder. \"Hast thou not\ntormented my poor <DW36> limbs with thy infernal spells? Hast thou not\ncaused me to suffer the tortures of the damned? But it is not vengeance\nthat I seek. No--no. I have vowed a holy vow--I have sworn to spend my\nlife in the good task of purging from the earth such workers of evil as\nthou, and those who served the fiend by their foul sorceries, were it\neven at the risk of exposing my body to pain and suffering, and even\ndeath, from the revengeful malice of their witchcrafts. And God knows I\nhave suffered in the holy cause.\"\n\nAnd the <DW36> clenched again within his right hand, the image attached\nto the rosary in his bosom, as if to satisfy himself by its contact of\nthe truth and right of those deeds, which he strove to qualify as holy.\n\n\"What thou, or such as thou, have done to harm me!\" he continued with\nbitter spite. \"I will tell thee, hag! I was once a young and happy boy.\nI was strong and well-favoured then. I had a father--a passionate but a\nkind man; and I had a mother, whom I loved beyond all created things.\nShe was the joy of my soul--the pride of my boyish dreams. I was happy\nthen, I tell thee. I called myself by another name. No matter what it\nwas. Black Claus is the avenger's name, and he will cleave to it. One\nday there came an aged beggar-woman to our cottage, and begged. My\nmother heeded her not. I know not why; for she was ever kind. My father\ndrove her from the door; and, as she turned away, she cursed us all. I\nnever can forget that moment, nor the terror of my youthful mind, as I\nheard that curse. And the curse clave to us; for she--_was a witch_; and\nit came upon us soon and bitterly. My mother was in the pride of her\nbeauty still, when a gay noble saw her in her loveliness, and paid her\ncourt. Then came a horrible night, when the witch's curse was fearfully\nfulfilled. My father was jealous. He attacked the young noble as he came\nby the darkness of night; and it was he--my father--who was killed. I\nsaw him die, weltering in his blood. My poor mother, too, was spirited\naway; the fell powers of witchcraft dragged her from that bloody hearth.\nYes; witchcraft it was--it must have been; for she was too pure and good\nto listen to the voice of the seducer--to follow her husband's murderer.\nShe died, probably, of grief--my poor wretched mother; for I never saw\nher more. For days and nights I sought her, but in vain; suffering cold\nand hunger, and sleeping oft-times in the cold woods and dank morasses.\nThen fell the witches curse on _me_ also; and I began to suffer these\npains, which thy foul tribe have never ceased to inflict upon me since.\nThe tortures of the body were added to the tortures of the mind. My\nlimbs grew distorted and withered. I became the outcast of humanity I\nnow am; and then it was I vowed a vow to pursue, even unto death, all\nthose hideous lemans of Satan, who, like her who cursed us, sell their\nwretched souls but to work evil, and destruction, and death to their\nfellow-creatures. And I have kept my vow!\"\n\nIn spite of herself, Magdalena had been obliged to listen to the\nwitchfinder's tale, which, with his face pressed against the iron bars\nof the grating, he poured, with harsh voice, into her unwilling ear. As\nhe proceeded, however, she appeared fascinated by the words he uttered,\nas the poor quivering bird is fascinated by the serpent's eye. Her\neyeballs were distended--her arms still outstretched towards him, as she\nhad first raised them to him in her cry of expostulation; but the hands\nwere desperately clenched together--the arms stiffened with the extreme\ntension of the nerves.\n\n\"Oh no!\" she murmured to herself as he yet spoke; \"that were too\nhorrible!\" and when he paused, it was with a smothered scream of agony,\nstill mixed with doubt, that she cried \"Karl!\"\n\n\"Karl!\" repeated the witchfinder, clenching the bars with still firmer\ngrasp, and raising himself with the effort to the full height of his\nstature, as though his limbs had on a sudden recovered all their\nstrength--\"Karl! Ay, that was my name! How dost thou know it, woman?\"\n\n\"O God!\" exclaimed the wretched tenant of the cell, \"was my cup of\nbitterness not yet full? Hast thou reserved me this?\" She wrung her\nhands in agony, and then, looking again at the <DW36>, cried in a tone\nof concentrated misery, \"Karl! they told me that thou wast dead--that\nthou, too, hadst died after that night of horrors!\"\n\n\"Who art thou, woman?\" cried the <DW36> again, with an accent of\nhorror, as if a frightful thought had for the first time forced itself\nupon his brain. \"Who art thou, that thou speakest to me thus, and\nfreezest the very marrow of my bones with fear? Who art thou that criest\n'Karl' with such a voice--a voice that now comes back upon my ear, as if\nit were a damning memory of times gone by? Who art thou woman?--speak!\nLet not this dreadful thought, that blasts me like lightning, strike me\nutterly to the earth.\"\n\n\"Who I am?\" sobbed the miserable woman. \"Thy wretched and guilty mother,\nKarl!\"\n\n\"Guilty!\" shouted the <DW36>. \"Then thou art not she! My mother was not\nguilty--she was all innocence and truth!\"\n\n\"I am thy guilty mother, Karl,\" repeated the kneeling woman, \"who has\nstriven, by long years of penitence and prayer, to expiate the past.\nAlas, in vain! for Heaven refuses the expiation, since it has reserved\nthe wretched penitent this last, most fearful blow of all!\"\n\n\"Thou!--oh no!--say it not! Thou my mother!\" cried the witchfinder.\n\n\"Thy mother--Margaret Weilheim!\"\n\n\"Horrible!--most horrible!\" repeated the agonized son, letting go the\nbars, and clasping his bony hands over his face. \"Thou, my once beloved\nmother, the wretched being of misery and sin--the accomplice of the\nspirits of darkness--and _I_ thy denouncer! O God! This is some fearful\ndelusion!\"\n\n\"The delusion is in thy own heart, my poor, distracted, infatuated son,\"\npursued the miserable mother. \"Happy and blessed were I, were no greater\nguilt upon my soul than that of the crime for which I am this day\ncondemned to die. Bitter it is to die; but I had accepted all as the\nwill of Him above, and he knows my innocence of all dealings with the\npowers of hell.\"\n\n\"Innocent!\" cried the witchfinder in frightful agitation. \"Were it\npossible! And is it I, thy own child, who strikes the blow--I, who am\nthy murderer--I, who, to avenge the mother, have condemned the mother to\nthe stake? Horrible! And yet those proofs--those fearful proofs!\"\n\n\"Hear me, for my time is short now in this world,\" said the poor woman,\nknown by the name of Magdalena. \"I will not tell thee how I listened to\nthe voice of the serpent, and how I fell. My pride in my fatal beauty\nwas my pitfall. All that the honied words of passion and persuasion\ncould effect was used to lure me on to my destruction--and at last I\nfled with my seducer. I knew not then, I swear to thee, Karl--God knows\nhow bitterly it costs the mother to reveal her shame to her own son; but\nbitter if it be, she accepts is as an expiation, and she will not\ndeceive him--I swear to thee, I knew not then that thy father had fallen\nin that unhappy night, and had fallen by the hand of him whom I madly\nfollowed. It was long after that the news reached me, and had nearly\ndriven me distracted. The same tale told me, but falsely, the death of\nmy first-born--my Karl. Remorse had long since tortured my heart. I was\nnot happy with the lover of my choice--I never had been happy with him;\nbut now the stings of my conscience became too strong to bear. Tormented\nby my bitter self-reproaches, I decided upon quitting my seducer, who\nhad long proved cold and heartless. But I had borne him a child--a\ndaughter; and to quit my offspring, the only child left to me, was\nagony; to take it with me, to bear it away to partake a life of poverty\nand wretchedness, was still greater agony to the mother's mind. The\ngreat man who was its father--for he was of noble rank, and highly\nplaced--when he found me determined to leave him and the world for\never--and he saw me part from him, the heartless one, without\nregret--offered to adopt my darling infant as his legitimate child; to\nbring it up to all the honours, wealth, and consideration of the world;\nto ensure it that earthly happiness the mother's heart yearned to give\nit. But, as I have told thee, he was cold and worldly-minded, and he\nexacted from me an oath--a cruel oath--that I never should own my child\nagain--that I never should address it as my offspring--that I never\nshould utter the word 'daughter,' never hear the cry of 'mother' from\nits lips. He would not that his daughter, the noble Fraulein, should be\nbrought to shame, by being acknowledged as the offspring of a peasant\nwife. All I desired was the welfare--the happiness--of my child.\n\n\"I stifled all the more selfish feelings of a mother's heart and I\nconsented. I took that oath. I kissed my child for the last time, and\ntore myself away. I hoped to die; but God reserved me for a long and\nbitter expiation of my sin. I still found upon earth, however, one kind\nand pitying friend. He was the brother of my noble lover, and himself\namong the highest in the land. He was a priest; and, in his compassion,\nhe found me refuge in a convent, where, though I deemed myself unworthy\nto receive the veil, I assumed the dress of the humblest penitent, and\ntook the name of the repentant one--the name of Magdalen. I desired to\ncut myself off completely from the world; and I permitted the father of\nmy child to believe a report that I was no more. In the humility of my\nbitter repentance, I vowed never to pass the gates of the holy house of\nGod--never to put my foot upon the sacred ground--never to profane the\nsanctuary with my soul of sin--to worship only without, and at the\nthreshold, until such time as it should seem to me that God had heard my\nrepentance, and accepted my expiation. Now, thou knowest why I have\nnever dared to enter the holy building.\"\n\nThe witchfinder groaned bitterly, clenching, in agony, the folds of his\ngarment, and tearing his breast.\n\n\"My spiritual adviser was benevolent and kind; but he was also stern in\nhis calling. He imposed upon me such penitence as, in his wisdom, he\nthought most fit to wash out my crime; and I obeyed with humble\nreverence. But there was one penance more cruel than the rest--the\nmortification of my only earthly affection--the driving out from my\nheart all thought of the child of my folly and sin--the vow never to\nseek, to look upon her more. But the love of the world was still too\nstrong upon the wretched mother. At the risk of her soul's salvation,\nshe fled the convent to see her child once again. It was in the frenzy\nof a fever-fit, when I thought to die. I forgot all--all but my oath--I\nnever sought to speak to my darling child; but I followed her wherever I\ncould--I watched for her as she passed--I gazed upon her with love--I\nprayed for blessings on her head.\"\n\n\"Alas! I see it all now. It is, as it were, a bandage fallen from my\neyes. Fool--infatuated fool!--monster that I was!\" cried the\nwitchfinder. \"Bertha was your daughter--my sister; and I have smitten\nthe mother for the love she bore her child. And he--her father--he was\nthat villain! Curses on him!\"\n\n\"Peace! Peace! my son!\" continued Magdalena, \"and curse no more. Nor can\nI tell thee that it was so. I have sworn that oath never to divulge my\ndaughter's birth; and cruel, heartless, as was the feeling that forced\nit on me, I must observe it ever. And thus I continued to live\non--absorbed in the one thought of my child and her happiness--heedless\nof the present--forgetful of my duty; when suddenly, but two days ago,\nhe who has been the kind guardian of my spiritual weal, appeared before\nme in the chamber where, alone and unobserved, I wept over the picture\nof my child. He came, I presume, by a passage seldom opened, from the\nmonastery, whither his duties had called him. He chid me for my\nflight--recalled me to my task of expiation--and, bidding me return to\nthe convent, left me, with an injunction not to say that I had seen him.\nNor could I reveal the fact of my mysterious interview with him, or tell\nhis name, without giving a clue to the truth of my own existence, and\nthe discovery of all I had sworn so binding an oath ever to conceal.\nThou sawest him also--but, alas! with other thoughts.\"\n\n\"Madman that I have been!\" exclaimed the witchfinder. \"Or is it now that\nI am mad? Am I not raving? Is not all this insane delusion? No--thou are\nthere before me--closed from my embraces by these cruel bars that I have\nplaced between us. Thou! my mother--my long-lost--my beloved--most\nwretched mother, in that dreadful garb!--condemned to die by thy own\ninfatuated son! Would that I _were_ mad, and that I could close my brain\nto so much horror! But thou shalt not die, my mother--thou shalt not\ndie! Thou are innocent! I will proclaim thy innocence to all! They will\nbelieve my word--will they not? For it was I who testified against thee.\nI, the matricide! I will tell them that I lied. Thou shalt not die, my\nmother! Already! already!--horror!--the day is come!\"\n\nThe day _was_ come. The first faint doubtful streaks of early dawn had\ngradually spread, in a cold heavy grey light, over the sky. By degrees\nthe darkness had fled, and the market-place, the surrounding gables of\nthe houses, the black pile in the midst, had become clearer and clearer\nin harsh distinctness. The day _was_ come! Already a few narrow\ncasements had been pushed back in their sliding grooves, and strange\nfaces, with sleepy eyes, had peered out, in night attire, to forestall\nimpatient curiosity. Already indistinct noises, a vague rumbling, an\nuncertain sound from here or there had broken up the utter silence of\nthe night, and told that the drowsy town was waking from its sleep, and\nstirring with the faint movement of new life. The day _was_ come! The\nsentinels paced up and down more quickly, to dissipate that feeling of\nshivering cold which runs through the night-watcher during the first\nhour of the morn. During the colloquy between the <DW36> and the\nprisoner, they had been more than once disturbed by the loud tones of\npassionate exclamation that had burst from the former; but Hans had\ncontrived to dispel his comrade's scruples as to what was going forward\nat the prison door, by making light of the matter.\n\n\"Let them alone. They are only having a tuzzle together--the witchfinder\nand the witch! And if the man, as the weaker vessel in matters of\nwitchcraft, do come off minus a nose or so, it will never spoil Black\nClaus's beauty, that's certain. Hark! hark! they are at it again! To it,\ndevil! To it, devil-hunter! Let them fight it out between them, man. Let\nthem fight it out. It's fine sport, and it will never spoil the show.\"\nAnd Hans stamped with his feet, and hooted at a distance, and hissed\nbetween his teeth, with all the zest of a modern cockfighter in the\nsport, rather to the scandal and shame of his more cautious and\nscrupulous companion. But when the <DW36>, in his despair, shook, in\nhis nervous grasp, the bars of the grating in the door, as if he would\nwrench it from its staples, and flung himself in desperation against the\nstrongly-ironed wooden mass, with a violence that threatened, in spite\nof its great strength, to burst it open, the matter seemed to become\nmore serious in their eyes.\n\n\"Hollo, man! witchfinder! Black Claus! What art thou doing?\" cried the\nsentinels, hurrying to the spot. \"Does the devil possess thee? Art thou\nbewitched? Wait! wait! they'll let her out quick enough to make her\nmount the pile. Have patience, man!\"\n\n\"She is innocent!\" cried the <DW36>, still grappling with the bars in\nhis despair. \"She is innocent! Let her go free!\"\n\n\"He is bewitched,\" said the one soldier. \"See what comes of letting them\nbe together.\"\n\n\"He has had the worst of it, sure enough,\" said Hans.\n\n\"I am not bewitched, fools!\" cried the frantic man. \"There's no\nwitchcraft here! She is innocent, I tell ye! O God! these bells! they\nannounce their coming! Bid them cease! bid them cease! they drive me\nmad!\"\n\nAt that moment a merry chime from the church-bells burst out joyously\nupon the morning air, to announce that a fete was about to take place in\nthe town; for such a gratifying show as the burning of a witch, was a\nfete for the inhabitants of Hammelburg.\n\n\"These bells! these bells!\" again cried Claus in agony, as their merry\nchime came in gusts along the rising wind, as if to mock his misery and\ndespair. \"How often, during this long night, I have longed to hear their\njoyous sound; and now they ring in my ears like the howlings of fiends!\nBut she shall not die! I will yet save her,\" continued the distracted\nman; and he again shook the prison door with a force which his crippled\nlimbs could scarcely have been supposed to possess.\n\nWith difficulty could the now alarmed sentinels, who shouted for help,\ncause the <DW36> to release his hold. Fresh guards rushed to the spot,\nand assisted to seize the desperate man. But in vain he protested the\ninnocence of the supposed sorceress--in vain he cried to them to release\nher. He was treated as bewitched; and it was only when at last, overcome\nby the violence of his struggles, he ceased to resist with so much\nenergy, that they allowed him to remain unbound, and let fall the cords\nwith which they had already commenced to tie his arms.\n\n\"The Ober-Amtmann will come,\" he said at last, with a sort of sullen\nresignation. \"He must--he shall hear me. He shall know all--he will\nbelieve her innocent.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile, the market-place had already begin to fill with an\nanxious crowd. In a short time, the press of spectators come to witness\nthe bloody spectacle, began to be great. The throng flowed on through\nstreet and lane. There were persons of all ages, all ranks, of both\nsexes--all hurrying, crowding, squeezing to the fete of horror and\ndeath. Manifold and various were the hundreds of faces congregated in a\ndense mass, as near as the guards would admit them round the pile--all\nmoved by one feeling of hideous curiosity. Little by little, all the\nwindows of the surrounding houses were jammed with faces--each window a\nstrange picture in its quaintly-carved wooden frame. The crowd was\nthere--the living crowd eager for death--palpitating with\nexcitement--each heart beating with one pitiless feeling of greedy\ncruelty. And the bells still rang ceaselessly their merry, joyous,\nfete-like peal.\n\nAnd now with difficulty the soldiers forced a way through the throng for\nthe approaching officer of justice; the great officiating dignitary of\nthe town, who was to preside over the ceremony. He neared the town-hall,\nto order the unlocking of the prison-door, when the wretched witchfinder\nagain sprang forward, crying, \"Mercy! mercy! she is innocent. Hear me,\nnoble Ober-Amtmann!\" But he again started back with a cry of despair--it\nwas not the Ober-Amtmann. He had been obliged, by indisposition, to give\nup the office of superintending the execution, and the chief _schreiber_\nhad been deputed to take his place.\n\n\"Where is the Ober-Amtmann?\" cried Claus in agony. \"I must see him--I\nmust speak with him! She is innocent--I swear she is! He will save her,\nvillain as he has been, when he hears all.\"\n\nThe general cry that Black Claus had been bewitched by the sorceress,\nwas a sufficient explanation to the chief _schreiber_ of his seemingly\nfrantic words.\n\n\"Poor man!\" was his only reply. \"She has worked her last spell upon him.\nHer death alone can save his reason.\"\n\nIn spite of the struggles and cries of the infuriated <DW36>, the door\nwas opened, and the unhappy Magdalena was forced to come forwards by the\nguards. She looked wretchedly haggard and careworn in her sackcloth\nrobe, with her short-cut grey hairs left bare. A chain was already bound\naround her waist, and clanked as she advanced. As her eyes fell upon her\nmiserable son she gave one convulsive shudder of despair; and then,\nclasping her hands towards him with a look of pity and forgiveness, she\nmurmured with a tone of resignation--\"It is too late. Farewell!\nfarewell! until we meet again, where there shall be no sorrow, no care,\nno pain--only mercy and forgiveness!\"\n\n\"No, no--thou shalt not die!\" screamed the <DW36>, whom several\nbystanders, as well as guards, now held back with force, in awe as well\nas pity at his distracted state.--\"Thou shalt not die! She is my\nmother!\" he cried like a maniac to the crowd around. \"My mother--do ye\nhear? She is innocent. What I said yesterday was false--utterly false--a\ndamning lie! She is not guilty--you would murder her! Fools! wretches,\nassassins! You believed me when I witnessed against her; why will ye not\nbelieve me now? She is innocent, I tell you. Ye shall not kill her!\"\n\n\"He is bewitched! he is bewitched! To the stake with the sorceress!--to\nthe stake!\" was the only reply returned to his cries by the crowd.\n\nIn truth the miserable man bore all the outward signs of a person who,\nin those times, might be supposed to be smitten by the spells of\nwitchcraft. His eyes rolled in his head. His every feature was distorted\nin the agony of his passion. His mouth foamed like that of a mad dog.\nHis struggles became desperate convulsions.\n\nBut he struggled in vain. The procession advanced towards the stake.\nBetween two bodies of guards, the condemned woman dragged her suffering\nbare feet over the rough stones of the market-place. On one side of her\nwalked the executioner of the town; on the other, his assistant, with a\nlighted torch of tow, besmeared with resin and pitch, shedding around in\na small cloud, the lurid smoke that was soon about to arise in a heavy\nvolume from the pile. The chief _schreiber_ had mounted, with his\nadjuncts, the terrace before the door of the town-hall, whence it was\ncustomary for the chief dignitary of the town to superintend such\nexecutions. The bells rang on their merry peal.\n\nAnd now the unhappy woman was forced on to the pile. The executioner\nfollowed. He bound her resistless to the stake, and then himself\ndescended. At each of the four corners of the pile, a guard on horseback\nkept off the crowd. There was a pause. Then appeared, at one end of the\nmass of wood and fagots, a slight curling smoke--a faint light. The\nexecutioner had applied the torch. A few seconds--and a bright glaring\nflame licked upwards with a forked tongue, and a heavier gush of smoke\nburst upwards in the air. The miserable woman crossed her hands over her\nbreast--raised her eyes for a moment to heaven, and then, closing them\nupon the scene around her, moved her lips in prayer--in the last prayer\nof the soul's agony. The crowd, which, during the time when the\nprocession had advanced towards the pile, had howled with its usual\npitiless howl, was now silent, breathless, motionless, in the extreme\ntension of its excitement. But still the merry peal of bells rang on.\n\nThe smoke grew thicker and thicker. The flame already darted forward, as\nif to snatch at the miserable garment of its victim, and claim her as\nits own, when there was heard a struggle--a cry--a shout of frantic\ndespair. The <DW36>, in that moment when all were occupied with the\nfearful sight, had broken on those who held him, and before another hand\ncould seize him, had staggered through the crowd, and now swung himself\nwith force upon the pile. A cry of horror burst from the mass of\nspectators. They thought him utterly deprived of reason, and determined,\nin his madness, to die with the sorceress. But in a moment his bony\nhands had torn the link that bound the chain--had unwound the chain\nitself--had snatched the woman from the stake. Before, in the surprise\nof the moment, a single person had stirred, his arm seized, with firm\nand heavy gripe, the collar of the nearest horseman, who found himself\nin his seat on horseback upon a level with the elevation of the pile. He\nknocked him with violence from the saddle. The guard reeled and fell;\nand in the next instant Claus had flung himself on to the horse, and in\nhis arms he bore the form of the half-fainting Magdalena.\n\nWith a cry--a yell--a wild scream--he shouted, \"To the sanctuary! to the\nsanctuary! she shall not die--room! room!\" Trampling right and left to\nthe earth the dense crowd, who fled from his passage as from an\ninfuriated tiger in its spring, he dashed upon the animal over the\nmarket-place, and darted in full gallop down the street leading to the\nBridge-gate of the town.\n\n\"After him!\" cried a thousand voices. The three other horsemen had\nalready sprung after the fugitive. The guards hastened in the same\ndirection. Several of the crowd rushed down the narrow street. All was\nconfusion. Part of those who passed on impeded the others. Groans arose\nfrom those who had been thrown down by the frantic passage of Claus, and\nwho, lying on the stones, prevented the pushing forwards of the others.\n\n\"Follow! After him! to the sanctuary!\" still cried a thousand voices of\nthe crowd.\n\nAt the same moment a noise of horsemen was heard coming from the\nentrance of the town in the opposite direction to that leading to the\nbridge. Those who stood nearest turned their heads eagerly that way. The\nfirst person who issued on the street, at full gallop, was Gottlob,\nwithout a covering to his head--his fair hair streaming to the wind--his\nhandsome face pale with fatigue and excitement.\n\n\"Stop! stop!\" he shouted as he advanced, and his eye fell upon the\nburning pile. \"I bring the prince's pardon! Save her!\"\n\nIn a few moments, followed by a scanty train of attendants, appeared the\nPrince Bishop of Fulda himself, in the dress--half religious, half\nsecular--that he wore in travelling. His mild benevolent face looked\nhaggard and anxious, and he also was very pale; for he had evidently\nridden hard through a part of the night; and the exertion was too much\nfor his years and habits. As he advanced through the crowd, who drew\nback with respect from the passage of their sovereign, he eagerly\ndemanded if the execution had taken place. The general rumour told him\nconfusedly the tale of the events that had just occurred. Gottlob was\nsoon again by his side, and related to him all that he had heard.\n\n\"Where is my brother?\" cried the bishop. \"Is he not here?\"\n\nA few words told him that he had not appeared on this occasion.\n\n\"I will to the palace, then,\" he continued. \"And the poor wretched\nwoman, which way has that maniac conveyed her?\"\n\n\"To the sanctuary upon the mountain-side, in the path leading to your\nhighness's castle of Saaleck, as he was heard to cry,\" was the answer.\n\n\"But the torrents have come down from the hills,\" exclaimed others, \"and\nthe inundations sweep so heavily upon the bridge, that it is impossible\nto pass it without the utmost danger.\"\n\n\"Save that unhappy woman!\" exclaimed the bishop in agitation. \"A reward\nfor him who saves her!\" and followed by his attendants, he took the\ndirection of the street leading to the palace.\n\nIt was true. The torrents had come down from the hills during the night,\nand the waters swept over the bridge with fury. The planked flooring of\nthe bridge, raised in ordinary circumstances some feet above the stream,\nwas now covered by the raging flood; and the side parapets, which\nconsisted partly of solid enclosure, partly of railing, tottered,\nquivered, and bent beneath the rushing mass of dark, dun-,\nwhirling waters. The river itself, swelled far beyond the usual extent\nof the customary inundations, for the passage of which the extreme\nlength of the bridge had been provided, hurried in wild eddies round the\nwalls of the town, like an invading army seeking to tear them down. But\nthe frantic Claus heeded not the violence of the waters, and dashed\nthrough the town-gate towards the bridge with desperation. The\nfrightened horse shied at the foaming stream, struggled, snorted; but\nthe <DW36> seemed to possess the resistless power of a demon--a power\nwhich gave him sway over the brute creation. He urged the unwilling\nanimal, with almost superhuman force, on to the tottering bridge.\n\nThe guards who had galloped after him, stopped suddenly as they saw the\nroaring torrent. None dared advance, none dared pursue. Others, on foot,\nclogged the gateway, and stood appalled at the sight of the rushing\nflood. The more eager of the crowd soon mounted on to those parts of the\ntown-walls that flanked the gate, and watched, with excited gesture, and\nshouts of wonder or terror, the desperate course of the <DW36>.\n\nPressing his mother in his arms, with his body stretched forward in wild\nimpatience upon the struggling horse, Black Claus had urged his way into\nthe middle of the stream. The bridge shook fearfully beneath the burden:\nhe heeded it not. It cracked and groaned still louder than the roaring\nof the stream: he heard it not. He strove to dash on against the almost\nresistless force of the sweeping current. His eye was strained upon the\nfirst point of the dry path on the highway beyond. Before him lay, at a\nshort distance, the road towards the castle of Saaleck, up the mountain\nside. Halfway up the height stood, embowered in trees, the chapel he\nsought to reach--the sanctuary of refuge for the condemned. That was his\nhaven--there his wretched mother would be in safety. He pressed her more\ntightly to his breast, and shouted wildly. His shout was followed by a\nloud fearful crash, a roaring of waters, and a straining of breaking\ntimbers. In another instant, the centre of the bridge was fiercely borne\naway by the torrent, and all was wild confusion around him.\n\nA general cry of horror burst from the crowd at the gate and on the\nwalls. All was for a moment lost to sight in the whirl of waters. Then\nwas first seen the snorting head of the poor horse rising from the\nstream. The animal was struggling in desperation to reach the land.\nAgain were whirled upwards the forms of the <DW36> and the female,\nstill tightly pressed within his arms; and then a rush of waters, more\npowerful than the son's frantic grasp, tore them asunder. Nothing now\nwas visible but a floating body, which again disappeared in the eddying\nflood; and now again the form of the witchfinder rose above the mass of\nwaters. His long arms were tossed aloft; his desperate cries were heard\nabove the roaring of the torrent.\n\n\"Mercy! mercy!\" he screamed. \"Save me from these flames! this stifling\nsmoke. I burn, I burn!\"\n\nAs he shouted these last words of mad despair, the icy cold waters swept\nover him for ever.\n\nAll had disappeared. Upon the boiling surface of the hurrying flood was\nnow seen nothing more than spars and fragments of timber, remnants of\nthe bridge, whirled up and down, and here and there, and dashing along\nthe stream.\n\nAmong the foremost of the crowd, who had pressed down the narrow lane\nleading to the water's edge, between the premises of the Benedictine\nmonastery and the palace garden, eager to gain an unoccupied point\nwhence they might watch the flight, stood \"Gentle Gottlob.\"\n\nFrom under the small water-gate, the stone passage of which was\npartially flooded by the unusually rising waters, he had seen the\nfrightful catastrophe which had accompanied the sweeping away of the\nbridge. He stood overwhelmed with grief at the fate of the poor woman,\nwhom he had uselessly striven to save; his eye fixed upon the roaring\nwaters, without seeing distinctly any thing but a sort of wild turmoil,\nwhich accorded well with his own troubled reflections; when a cry from\nthe crowd, which still lingered on the spot, recalled him to himself.\n\n\"Look, look!\" cried several voices. \"There it is again! It is a body!\"\n\nOn the dark surface of the waters, Gottlob saw a form whirled by the\nforce of the current towards the water-gate.\n\n\"It is the witch! it is the witch!\" again cried the crowd, as the\nsackcloth garment of the unhappy Magdalena showed itself above the\nstream.\n\nIn another moment Gottlob had rushed into the water, to seize the body\nas it was whirled past the water-gate, and was almost dashed against the\nstone-piles.\n\n\"Touch her not!\" screamed again the bystanders. \"It is the witch! it is\nthe witch!\"\n\nBut Gottlob heeded not the shouts of the crowd. Holding by one hand on\nthe trunk of a tree overhanging the water, in order to bear up against\nthe violence of the stream, he grasped with the other the dress of the\nfloating female before it again sank beneath the whirling eddy. He\npulled it towards him with force; and, after with difficulty struggling\nagainst the force of the current, at length succeeded in bearing the\nlifeless form of Magdalena under the gateway.\n\nStreaming himself with water, he laid the cold wet body down upon the\nstones, and bent over it, to see whether life had fled from it for ever.\nThe crown drew back with horror, uttering cries of vain expostulation.\n\n\"Thank Heaven! she still breathes,\" said Gottlob at last, as, after some\nmoments, a slight convulsive movement passed over the frame of the poor\nwoman. \"Aid me, my friends. She still lives. Help me to transport her to\nsome house.\" But the crowd drew back in horror. \"I will convey her to my\nown chamber close by. Send for a leech! Are ye without pity?\" he\ncontinued, as, instead of assisting him, the crowd held back, and\nanswered his entreaties only with exclamations of disgust and scorn.\n\"Are ye Christian men, that ye would see the poor woman die before your\neyes for want of aid? She is no witch. Good God! will no one show a\nheart of bare humanity?\" But the crowd still held back; and if they did\nnot still scoff at him, were silent.\n\nThe kind youth, finding all hope of assistance vain, from the miserable\nprejudices of the people, had at last contrived to raise the still\nsenseless Magdalena in his arms, with the intention of conveying her\ninto his own dwelling; and already murmurs began to arise among the\ncrowd, as if they intended to oppose his purpose; when a door,\ncommunicating from the palace-gardens with the narrow lane, opened, and\nthe stately form of an aged man, of benevolent aspect, stood between\nGottlob, who remained alone under the water-gate with the lifeless form\nof Magdalena on his arm, and the murmuring crowd which had drawn back\ninto the lane. He stood like a guardian spirit between the fair youth\nand the senseless mass of angry men. All snatched off their furred hats,\nand bowed their bodies with respect. It was their sovereign, the Prince\nBishop of Fulda. His attendants followed him to the threshold of the\ngarden gate.\n\n\"Thank God!\" was his first simple exclamation at the sight of Magdalena\nin Gottlob's arms. \"You have contrived to save her, have you? I was\nmyself hurrying hither to see what could be done. Does she still live?\"\n\nUpon an affirmative exclamation from Gottlob, he raised his eyes to\nheaven with a short thanksgiving; and then, turning to the crowd with a\nstern air, he asked--\n\n\"What were these cries and murmurs that I heard? Why were those\nthreatening looks I saw? Would ye oppose a Christian act of charity due\nto that unhappy woman, even were she the miserable criminal she is not?\nHave ye yet to be taught your Christian duties in this land? God forgive\nme; for then _I_ have much to answer for!\"\n\nAfter this meek self-rebuke, he again looked seriously upon the\nbystanders, and waved his hand to disperse the crowd, who slunk away\nbefore him; then, hastily giving orders that Magdalena should be\nconveyed into the palace, he himself stopped to see her borne into the\ngarden, and followed anxiously.\n\nEvery means with which the leech-craft of the times was acquainted for\nthe recovery of the apparently drowned, was applied in the case of\nMagdalena, and with some success; for, after a time, breath and warmth\nwere restored--her eyes opened. But the respiration was hurried and\nimpeded--the eyes glazed and dim--the sense of what was passing around\nher, confused and troubled. A nervous tremour ran through her whole\nframe. She lay upon a mattrass, propped up with a pile of cushions, in\na lower apartment of the palace. By her side knelt the kind Bishop of\nFulda, watching with evident solicitude the variation of the symptoms in\nthe unfortunate woman's frame. Behind her stood the stately form of the\nOber-Amtmann--every muscle of his usually stern face now struggling with\nemotion--his hands clenched together--his head bowed down; for he had\nlearned from his brother the Prince, that the female lying before\nhim--the woman whom he had himself condemned to the stake, was really\nthe mistress of his younger years--the seduced wife of the man whom he\nhad killed--his victim, Margaret Weilheim. On the other side of the\nprostrate form of Magdalena bent a grave personage in dark attire, who\nheld her wrist, and counted the beating of her pulse with an air of\nserious attention. In answer to an enquiring look from the Prince\nBishop, the physician shook his head.\n\n\"There is life, it is true,\" he said; \"but it is ebbing fast. The\nfatigue and emotions of the past day were in themselves too much for a\nframe already shattered by macerations, and privations, and grief; this\ncatastrophe has exhausted her last force of vitality. She cannot live\nlong.\"\n\nThe Ober-Amtmann wrung his hands with a still firmer gripe. The tears\ntrembled upon the good old bishop's eyelids.\n\n\"See!\" said the leech; \"she again opens her eyes. There is more sense in\nthem now.\"\n\nThe dying Magdalena in truth looked around her, as if she at length\nbecame conscious of the objects on which her vision fell. She seemed to\ncomprehend with difficulty where she was, and how she had come into the\nposition in which she lay. Feebly and with exertion she raised her\nemaciated arm, and passed her skinny hand over her brow and eyes. But at\nlength her gaze rested upon the mild face of the benevolent bishop, and\na faint smile passed over her sunken features.\n\n\"Where am I?\" she murmured lowly. \"Am I in paradise?--and you, reverend\nfather, are also with me?\"\n\nIn a few kind words, the bishop strove to recall her wandering senses,\nand explain to her what had happened. At last a consciousness of the\npast seemed to come over her; and she shuddered in every limb at the\nfearful recollection.\n\n\"And he! where is he?\" she asked with an imploring look. \"He! Karl!\"\n\nThe old man looked at her with surprise, as though he thought her senses\nwere still wavering.\n\n\"He carried me off, did he not?\" she continued feebly; \"or was it a\ndream? Was it only a strange dream? No, no! I remember all--how we flew\nthrough the air; and then the rushing waters. Oh! tell me; where is he?\"\n\nThe bishop now comprehended that she spoke of the witchfinder; and said,\n\"He is gone for ever, to his last great account.\"\n\nMagdalena groaned bitterly, and again closed her eyes. But it was\nevident that she still retained her consciousness; for her lips were\nmoving faintly, as if in prayer.\n\n\"Is there no hope?\" enquired the bishop in a whisper of the physician.\n\"Nothing can be done?\"\n\n\"No hope!\" replied the leech. \"I have done all that medical skill can\ndo; _I_ can do no more, your highness.\"\n\nAt a sign from the bishop, the physician withdrew.\n\nShortly after, the dying woman again unclosed her eyes, and looked\naround her at the strange room in which she lay. A recollection of the\npast seemed to come across her, slowly and painfully; and she again\npressed her feeble hand to her brow.\n\n\"Why am I here?\" she murmured. \"Why do I again see this scene of folly\nand sin? O Lord! why bring before my thus, in this last hour, the living\nmemory of my past transgressions?\"\n\nAs if to complete the painful illusion of the past, a voice now murmured\n\"Margaret\" in her ear. The poor woman started, turned her head with\ndifficulty, and saw, kneeling by her side, the heartless lover of her\nyouth. She gave him one look of fear and shame, and then turning again\nher eyes to the bishop's face, exclaimed, \"May God forgive me!--Pray for\nme, my father!\"\n\n\"It is I who seek for mercy, Margaret!\" cried the Ober-Amtmann. \"I who\nneed thy forgiveness for all the wrong I have done thee!\"\n\n\"Mercy and forgiveness are with God,\" said the dying woman solemnly.\n\"All the wrong thou hast done me I have long since forgiven, as far as\nsuch a sinner as myself can forgive. My time is short; my breath is fast\nleaving me. I feel that I am dying,\" she added after a pause. \"Father, I\nwould make my shrift; and, if God and your reverence permit one earthly\nthought to mingle with my last hopes of salvation, I would confide to\nyou a secret on which depends the happiness of her I love, and you\nperhaps might secure her peace of mind. Alas, I cannot speak! O God!\ngive me still breath.\"\n\nThese words were uttered in a low and feeble tone. With a hasty gesture\nthe bishop signed to his brother to retire, and bent his ear over the\nmouth of the gasping woman.\n\nAfter some time he rose, and first reassuring the dying mother that all\nhe could do for her child's welfare should be done, pronounced the\nsublime words of the church that give the promise of forgiveness and\nsalvation to the truly penitent sinner.\n\n\"Oh, might I look upon her once more!\" sobbed Magdalena with convulsive\neffort. \"One last look! not a word shall tell her--it is--her unhappy\nmother--who gives her--a last blessing!\"\n\nThe Ober-Amtmann left the room. In a few minutes he returned, leading\nBertha by the hand. But Magdalena was already speechless. The fair girl\nknelt by the side of the mattrass, sobbing bitterly--she herself\nscarcely knew why. Was it only the sight of death, of the last parting\nof the soul, that thus affected her? Was it affliction that her own\nerror should have contributed to hasten that unhappy woman's end? Or was\nnot there rather a powerful instinct within her, that, in that awful\nmoment, bound her by a sympathetic tie to her unknown mother, and\nconveyed a portion of that last agony of the departing woman to her own\nheart?\n\nMagdalena, although she could not speak, was evidently aware of the\npresence of the gentle girl. She still moved her lips, as if begging a\nblessing on her head, and fixed upon that mild face, now bathed in\ntears, the last look of her fading eyes. And now the eyes grew dim and\nsenseless, although the spirit seemed still to struggle within for\nsight; now they closed--the whole frame of the prostrate woman\nshuddered, and Margaret Weilheim--the repentant Magdalena--was a corpse.\n\nSome time after these events, the Ober-Amtmann retired from his high\noffice, and after a seclusion of some duration with his brother, at\nFulda, finally betook himself to a monastery, where he remained until\nhis death.\n\nBefore his retirement from the world, however, he had consented, not\nwithout some difficulty, to the union of Bertha and Gottlob. The Prince\nBishop, unforgetful of the claims of the unfortunate Magdalena, had\nurged upon his brother the duty of making this concession to the dying\nwishes of the wronged mother, as well as to the evident affection of\nBertha for the young artist, which, although unknown even to herself,\nwas no less powerful. As Gottlob, although of a ruined and impoverished\nfamily, was not otherwise than of noble birth, the greatest difficulty\nof these times was surmounted; and the Prince Bishop, by bestowing upon\nthe young man a post of honour and rank about his person, in which the\ngentle youth could still continue the pursuit of his glorious art, and\nmarch on unhindered in his progress to that eminence which he finally\nattained, smoothed the road to the Ober-Amtmann's consent.\n\nOn the day of Bertha's marriage, the good Prince Bishop promulgated an\nedict, that for the future no one should suffer the punishment of death\nfor the crime of witchcraft in his dominions. But, after his decease,\nthe edict again fell into disuse; and the town of Hammelburg, as if the\nspirit of Black Claus, the witchfinder, still hovered about its walls,\nagain commenced to assert its odious reputation, and maintain its\nhideous boast, of having burned more witches than any other town in\nGermany.\n\n\n\n\nMY LAST COURTSHIP; OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA.\n\n\nCHAPTER THE FIRST.\n\nA VOYAGE ON THE RED RIVER.\n\nIt was on a sultry sunny June morning that I stepped on board the Red\nRiver steamboat. The sun was blazing with unusual power out of its\nsetting of deep-blue enamel; no wind stirred, only the huge mass of\nwater in the Mississippi seemed to exhale an agreeable freshness. I gave\na last nod to Richards and his wife who had accompanied me to the shore,\nand then went down into the cabin.\n\nI was by no means in the most amiable of humours. Although I had pretty\nwell forgotten my New York disappointment, two months' contemplation of\nthe happiness enjoyed by Richards in the society of his young and\ncharming wife, had done little towards reconciling me to my\nbachelorship; and it was with small pleasure that I looked forward to a\nreturn to my solitary plantation, where I could reckon on no better\nwelcome than the cold, and perhaps scowling, glance of slaves and\nhirelings. In no very pleasant mood I walked across the cabin, without\neven looking at the persons assembled there, and leaned out of the open\nwindow. I had been some three or four minutes in this position, chewing\nthe cud of unpleasant reflections, when a friendly voice spoke close to\nmy ear--\n\n\"_Qu'est ce qu'il y a donc, Monsieur Howard? Etes-vous indispose? Allons\nvoir du monde._\"\n\nI turned round. The speaker was a respectable-looking elderly man; but\nhis features were entirely unknown to me, and I stared at him, a little\nastonished at the familiar tone of his address, and at his knowledge of\nmy name. I was at that moment not at all disposed to make new\nacquaintances; and, after a slight bow, I was about to turn my back upon\nthe old gentleman, when he took my hand, and drew me gently towards the\nladies' cabin.\n\n\"_Allons voir, Monsieur Howard._\"\n\n\"_Mais que voulez-vous donc?_ What do you want with me?\" said I somewhat\npeevishly to the importunate stranger.\n\n\"_Faire votre connaissance_,\" he replied with a benign smile, at the\nsame time opening the door of the ladies' saloon. \"Monsieur Howard,\"\nsaid he to two young girls who were occupied in tying up a bundle of\npine-apples and bananas to one of the cabin pillars, just as in the\nnorthern States, or in England, people hang up strings of onions, \"_Mes\nfilles, voici notre voisin, Monsieur Howard._\"\n\nThe damsels tripped lightly towards me, welcoming me as cordially as if\nI had been an old acquaintance, and hastened to offer me some of their\nfragrant and delicious fruit. Their greeting and manners were really\nhighly agreeable. Had they been two of my own dear countrywomen, I might\nhave lived ten years with them without being so well and frankly\nreceived, or invited to spoil my dinner in so agreeable a manner, as by\nthese fair Pomonas. I could not refuse an invitation so cordially given.\nI sat down, and, notwithstanding my dull and fretful humour, soon found\nmyself amused in my own despite by the lively chatter of the Creoles. An\nhour passed rapidly in this manner, and a second and third might\npossibly have been wiled away as agreeably, had not my stiff Virginian\nfeeling of etiquette made me apprehensive that a longer stay might be\ndeemed intrusive.\n\n\"You will come back and take tea with us?\" said the young ladies as I\nleft the cabin.\n\nI bowed a willing assent; and truly, on reaching the deck, I found\nreason to congratulate myself on having done so. The company there\nassembled was any thing but the best. A strange set of fellows! I could\nalmost have fancied myself in old Kentuck. Drovers and cattle-dealers\nfrom New Orleans proceeding to the north-western countries; half-wild\nhunters and trappers, on their way to the country beyond Nacogdoches,\nwith the laudable intention of civilizing, or, in other words, of\ncheating the Indians; traders and storekeepers from Alexandria and its\nneighbourhood; such was the respectable composition of the society on\nboard the steamer. A rough lot they were, thick-booted, hoarse-voiced,\nhard-fisted fellows, who walked up and down, chewing and smoking, and\nspitting with as much exactness of aim as if their throats had been\nrifle-barrels.\n\nWe were just coming in sight of a large clump of foliage. It was the\nmouth of the Red River, which is half overarched by the huge trees that\nincline forward over its waters from either bank. What a contrast to the\nMississippi, which flows along, broad, powerful, and majestic, like some\nbarbarian conqueror bursting forth at the head of his stinking hordes to\noverrun half a world! The Red River on the other hand, which we are\naccustomed to call the Nile of Louisiana--with about as much right and\npropriety as the Massachusetts cobbler who christened his son Alexander\nCaesar Napoleon--sneaks stealthily along through forest and plain, like\nsome lurking and venomous copper-snake. Cocytus would be a far better\nname for it. Here we are at the entrance of the first swamp, out of\nwhich the infernal scarlet ditch flows. It is any thing but a pleasant\nsight, that swamp, which is formed by the junction of the Tensaw, the\nWhite and Red Rivers, and at the first glance appears like a huge mirror\nof vivid green, apparently affording solid footing, and scattered over\nwith trees, from which rank creepers and a greasy slime hang in long\nfestoons. One would swear it was a huge meadow, until, on looking rather\nlonger, one sees the dark-green swamp lilies gently moving, while from\namongst them are protruded numerous snouts or jaws, of a sickly\ngreyish-brown, discoursing music which is any thing but sweet to a\nstranger's ears. These are thousands of alligators, darting out from\namongst the rank luxuriance of their marshy abode. It is their breeding\ntime, and the horrible bellowing they make is really hideous to listen\nto. One might fancy this swamp the headquarters of death, whence he\nshoots forth his envenomed darts in the thousand varied forms of fever\nand pestilence.\n\nWe had proceeded some distance up the Red River, when the friendly old\nCreole came to summon me to the tea-table. We found one of his daughters\nreading Bernardin de St Pierre's novel, a favourite study with Creole\nladies; while the other was chatting with her black-skinned,\nivory-toothed waiting-maid, with a degree of familiarity that would have\nthrown a New York _elegante_ into a swoon. They were on their way home,\ntheir father told me, from the Ursuline Convent at New Orleans, where\nthey had been educated. It can hardly have been from the holy sisters,\none would think, that they acquired the self-possessed and scrutinizing,\nalthough not immodest gaze, with which I at times observed them to be\nexamining me. The eldest is apparently about nineteen years of age,\nslightly inclined to _embonpoint_. It was really amusing to observe the\ncool, comfortable manner, in which she inspected me in a large mirror\nthat hangs opposite to us, as if she had been desirous of seeing how\nlong I could stand my ground and keep my countenance.\n\nIt would fill a book to enumerate all the items of baggage and effects\nwhich my new friends the Creoles had crowded into the state-cabin.\nLuckily, they were the only inmates of the latter, and had,\nconsequently, full power in their temporary dominions. Had there been\nco-occupants, a civil war must have been the inevitable result. The\nladies had a whole boat-load of citrons, oranges, bananas, and\npine-apples; and their father had at least three dozen cases of\nChambertin, Laffitte, and Medoc. I at first thought he must be a\nwine-merchant. At any rate he showed his good taste in stocking himself\nwith such elegant and salutary drinkables, instead of the gin, and\nwhisky, and Hollands to which many of my countrymen would have given the\npreference--those green and brown compounds, elixirs of sin and disease,\nconcocted by rascally distillers for the corruption and ruin of Brother\nJonathan.\n\nThe tea was now ready. Monsieur Menou (that was the name of my new\nfriend) seemed inclined to reject the sober beverage, and stick to his\nChambertin. I was disposed to try both. The young ladies were all that\nwas gay and agreeable. They were really charming girls, merry and\nlively, full of ready wit, and with bright eyes and pleasant voices,\nthat might have cheered the heart of the veriest misanthrope. But there\nare moments in one's life when the mind and spirits seem oppressed by a\nsort of dead dull calm, as enervating and disheartening as that which\nsucceeds a West Indian hurricane in the month of August. At those times\nevery thing loses its interest, and one appears to become as helpless as\nthe ship that lies becalmed and motionless on the glassy surface of a\ntropical sea. I was just in one of those moments. I had consulted any\nthing but my own inclination in leaving the hospitable roof and pleasant\ncompanionship of my friend Richards, to return to my own neglected and\nlong-unvisited plantation, where I should find no society, and should be\ncompelled to occupy myself with matters that for me had little or no\ninterest. Had I, as I hoped to do when in New York, taken back a partner\nof my joys and sorrows, some gentle creature who would have cheered my\nsolitude and sympathized with all my feelings, I should have experienced\nfar less repugnance or difficulty in returning to my home in the\nwilderness; but as it was, I felt oppressed by a sense of loneliness\nthat seemed to paralyse my energies, and that certainly rendered me any\nthing but fit society for the lively, talkative party of which I now\nfound myself a member. I strove to shake off the feeling, but in vain;\nand at last, abandoning the attempt, I left the cabin and went on deck.\n\nThe night was bright and starlight; the atmosphere perfectly clear, with\nthe exception of a slight white mist that hung over the river. The\nhollow blows of the steam-engine seemed to be echoed in the far distance\nby the bellowing of the alligators; while the plaintive tones of the\nwhip-poor-will were heard at intervals in the forest through which we\nwere passing. There was no sign of life on the banks of the river; it\nwas a desert; not a light to be seen, save that of millions of\nfireflies, which threw a magical kind of _chiaroscuro_ over the trees\nand bushes. At times we passed so near the shore that the branches\nrattled and snapped against the side of the boat. Our motion was rapid.\nTwelve hours more, and I should be in my Tusculum. Just then the captain\ncame up to me to say, that if I were disposed to retire to rest, the\nnoisy smokers and drinkers had discontinued their revels, and I might\nnow have some chance of sleeping. I had nothing better to do, so\ndescended the stairs and installed myself in my berth.\n\nWhen I rose the next morning, a breeze had sprung up, and we were\nproceeding merrily along under sail as well as steam. The first person I\nmet was Monsieur Menou, who wished me a _bon-jour_ in, as I thought, a\nsomewhat colder tone than he had hitherto used towards me, and looked me\nat the same time enquiringly in the face. It seemed as if he wished to\nread there whether his courtesy and kindness were likely to be requited\nby the same ungracious stiffness that I had shown him on the preceding\nday. Well, I will do my best to obliterate the bad impression I have\napparently made. They are good people, these Creoles--not particularly\nbashful or discreet; but yet I like their forwardness and volatility\nbetter than the sly smartness of the Yankees, in spite of their\nridiculous love of dancing, which even the first emigrants could not lay\naside, amidst all the difficulties of their settlement in America. It\nmust have been absurd enough to see them capering about, and dancing\nminuets and gavottes in blanket coats and moccasins.\n\nWhilst I was talking to the Menous, and doing my best to be amiable, the\nbell rang, the steam was let off, and we stopped to take in firing.\n\n\"_Monsieur, voila votre terre!_\" said the father pointing to the shore,\nupon which a large quantity of wood was stacked. I looked through the\ncabin window; the Creole was right. I had been chatting so diligently\nwith the young ladies that the hours had flown like minutes, and it was\nalready noon. During my absence, my overseer had established a depot of\nwood for the steamboats. So far so good. And yonder is the worthy Mr\nBleaks himself. The Creole seems inclined to accompany me to my house.\nI cannot hinder him certainly, but I sincerely hope he will not carry\nhis politeness quite so far. Nothing I dread more than such a visit,\nwhen I have been for years away from house and home. A bachelor's Lares\nand Penates are the most careless of all gods.\n\n\"Mr Bleaks,\" said I, stepping up to the overseer, who, in his Guernsey\nshirt, calico inexpressibles, and straw hat, his hands in his pockets\nand a cigar in his mouth, was lounging about, and apparently troubling\nhimself very little about his employer. \"Mr Bleaks, will you be so good\nas to have the gig and my luggage brought on shore?\"\n\n\"Ha! Mr Howard!\" said the man, \"is it you? Didn't expect ye so soon.\"\n\n\"I hope that, if unexpected, I am not unwelcome,\" replied I, a little\nvexed at this specimen of genuine Pennsylvanian dryness.\n\n\"You ain't come alone, are you?\" continued Bleaks, examining me at the\nsame time out of the corners of his eyes. \"Thought you'd have brought us\na dozen blackies. We want 'em bad enough.\"\n\n\"_Est-il permis, Monsieur?_\" now interposed the Creole, taking my hand,\nand pointing towards the house.\n\n\"And the steamer?\" said I, in a tone as drawling as I could make it, and\nwithout moving a pace in the direction indicated.\n\n\"Oh! that will wait,\" replied Menou, smiling.\n\nWhat could I do with such a persevering fellow? There was nothing for it\nbut to walk up with him to the house, however unpleasant I found it so\nto do. And unpleasant to me it certainly was, in the then state of my\nhabitation and domain. It was a melancholy sight--a perfect abomination\nof desolation. Every thing looked so ruined, decayed, and rotten, that I\nfelt sick and disgusted at the prospect before me. I had not expected to\nfind matters half so bad. Of the hedge round the garden only a few\nsticks were here and there standing; in the garden itself some\nunwholesome-looking pigs were rooting and grubbing. As to the house!\nMerciful heavens! Not a whole pane in the windows! all the frames\nstopped and crammed with old rags and bunches of Indian corn leaves! I\ncould not expect groves of orange and citron trees--I had planted none;\nbut this! no, it was really too bad. Every picture must have its shady\nside, but here there was no bright one; all was darkness and gloom. We\ndid not meet a living creature as we walked up from the shore, winding\nour way amongst the prostrate and decaying tree-trunks that encumbered\nthe ground. At last, near the house, we stumbled upon a trio of black\nlittle monsters, that were rolling in the mud with the dogs, half a\nshirt upon their bodies, and dirty as only the children of men possibly\ncan be. The quadrupeds, for such they looked, jumped up on our approach,\nstared at us with their rolling eyes, and then scuttled away to hide\nthemselves behind the house. Ha! Old Sybille! Is it you? She was\nstanding before a caldron, suspended, gipsy-fashion, from a triangle of\nsticks--looking, for all the world, like a dingy parody of one of\nMacbeth's witches. She, too, stared at us, but without moving. I must\nintroduce myself, I suppose. Now she has recognised me, and comes\ntowards us with her enormous spoon in her hand. I wonder that her\nshriveled old turkey's neck--which cost me seventy-five dollars, by the\nby--has not got twisted before now. She runs up to me, screaming and\ncrying for joy. There _is_ one creature, then, glad to see me. It is\namusing to observe the anxiety with which she looks at the caldron, and\nat three pans in which ham and dried buffalo are stewing and grizzling;\nshe is evidently quite unable to decide whether she shall abandon me to\nmy fate, or the fleshpots to theirs. She sets up her pipe and makes a\nmost awful outcry, but nobody answers the call. \"_Et les chambres_,\"\nhowls she, \"_et la maison, et tout, tout!_\" I could not make out what\nthe deuce she would be at. She looked at my companion, evidently much\nembarrassed.\n\n\"_Mais, mon Dieu!_\" croaked she, \"_pourrai-je seulement un moment? Tenez\nla_, Massa!\" she continued in an imploring tone, holding out the spoon\nto me, and making a movement as if she were stirring something, and\nthen again pointing to the house.\n\n\"_Que diable as tu?_\" cried I, out of all patience at this\nunintelligible pantomime.\n\nThe rooms wanted airing and sweeping, she said; they were not fit to\nreceive a stranger in. She only required a quarter of an hour to put\nevery thing to rights; and mean time, if I would be so good, for the\nsake of the honour of the house, just to stir the soup, and keep an eye\nupon the ham and buffalo flesh.\n\nMentally consigning the old Guinea-fowl to the keeping of the infernal\ndeities, I walked towards the house. My only consolation was, that\nprobably my companion's residence was not in a much better state than\nmine, if in so good a one; those Creoles above Alexandria still live\nhalf like Redskins. Monsieur Menou did not appear at all astonished at\nmy slovenly housekeeping. When we entered the parlour, we found, instead\nof sofas and chairs, a quantity of Mexican cotton-seed in heaps upon the\nfloor; in one corner was a dirty tattered blanket, in another a\nwashing-tub. The other rooms were in a still worse state: one of the\n<DW64>s had taken up his quarters in my bed-chamber, from which the\nmusquitto curtains had disappeared, having passed, probably, into the\npossession of the amiable Mrs Bleaks. I hastened to leave this scene of\ndisorder, and walked out into the court, my indignation and disgust\nraised to the highest pitch.\n\n\"_Mais tout cela est bien charmant!_\" exclaimed the Creole.\n\nI looked at the man; he appeared in sober earnest, but I could not\nbelieve that he was so; and I shook my head, for I was in no jesting\nhumour. The wearisome fellow again took my arm, and led me towards the\nhuts of my <DW64>s and the cotton-fields. The soil of the latter was of\nthe richest and best description, and in spite of negligent cultivation,\nits natural fertility and fatness had caused the plants to spring up\nalready nearly to the height of a man, though we were only in the month\nof June. The Creole looked around him with the air of a connoisseur, and\nin his turn shook his head. Just then, the bell on board the steamer\nrang out the signal for departure.\n\n\"Thank Heaven!\" thought I.\n\n\"_Monsieur_,\" said Menou, \"the plantation is _tres charmante, mais ce_\nMistere Bleak is nothing worth, and you--you are _trop gentilhomme_.\"\n\nI swallowed this equivocal compliment, nearly choking as I did so.\n\n\"_Ecoutez_,\" continued my companion; \"you shall go with me.\"\n\n\"Go with you!\" I repeated, in unbounded astonishment. \"Is the man mad,\"\nI thought, \"to make me such a proposition within ten minutes after my\nreturn home?\"\n\n\"_Oui, oui, Monsieur_, you shall go with me. I have some very important\nthings to communicate to you.\"\n\n\"_Mais, Monsieur_,\" replied I, pretty stiffly, \"I do not know what you\ncan have to communicate to me. I am a good deal surprised at so strange\na proposition\"----\n\n\"From a stranger,\" interrupted the Creole, smiling. \"But I am serious,\nMr Howard; you have come here without taking the necessary precautions.\nYour house is scarcely ready for your reception--the fever very\ndangerous--in short, you had better come with me.\"\n\nI looked at the man, astonished at his perseverance.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"yes or no?\"\n\nI stood hesitating and embarrassed.\n\n\"I accept your offer,\" I exclaimed at last, scarcely knowing what I\nsaid, and starting off at a brisk pace in the direction of the steamer.\nMr Bleaks looked on in astonishment. I bid him pay more attention to the\nplantation, and with that brief injunction was about to step on board,\nwhen my five-and-twenty <DW64>s came howling from behind the house.\n\n\"Massa, Gor-a-mighty! Massa, Massa, stop with us!\" cried the men.\n\n\"Massa, dear good Massa! Not go!--Mr Bleaks!\" yelled the women.\n\nI made sign to the captain to wait a moment.\n\n\"What do you want?\" said I, a little moved.\n\nOne of the slaves stepped forward and bared his shoulders. Two others\nfollowed his example. They were hideously scarred and seamed by the\nwhip.\n\nI cast stern glance at Bleaks, who grinned a cruel smile. It was a\nright fortunate thing for my honour and conscience that my poor <DW64>s\nhad thus appealed to me. In the thoughtlessness of my nature, I should\nhave followed the Creole, without troubling myself in the least about\nthe condition or treatment of the five-and-twenty human beings whom I\nhad left in such evil hands. I excused myself hastily to Monsieur Menou,\npromised an early visit, to hear whatever he might have to say to me,\nand bade him farewell. Without making me any answer, he hurried on\nboard, whispered something to the captain, and disappeared down the\ncabin-stairs. I thought no more about him, and was walking towards the\nhouse, surrounded by my blacks, when I heard the splashing of the\npaddles, and the steamer resumed its voyage. At the same instant,\nsomebody laid hold of my arm. I looked round--it was the Creole.\n\n\"This is insupportable!\" thought I. \"I wonder he did not bring his two\ndaughters with him. That would have completed my annoyance.\"\n\n\"You will want my assistance with that _coquin_,\" said Menou, quietly.\n\"We will arrange every thing to-day; to-morrow my son will be here; and\nthe day after you will go home with me.\"\n\nI said nothing. What would have been the use if I had? I was no longer\nmy own master. This unaccountable Creole had evidently taken the\ndirection of my affairs entirely into his own hands.\n\nMy poor <DW64>s and negresses were crying and laughing for joy, and\ngazing at me with expectant looks. I bid then go to their huts; that I\nwould have them called when I wanted them.\n\n\"D--n those blackies!\" said Mr Bleaks as they walked away: \"they want\nthe whip; it's too long since they've had it.\"\n\nWithout replying to his remark, I told old Sybille to fetch Beppo and\nMirza, and signed to the overseer to leave me. He showed no disposition\nto obey.\n\n\"This looks like an examination,\" said he sneeringly, \"and I shall take\nleave to be present at it.\"\n\n\"None of your insolence, Mr Bleaks,\" said I; \"be so good as to take\nyourself off and wait my orders.\"\n\n\"And none of your fine airs,\" replied the Mister. \"We're in a free\ncountry, and you ain't got a <DW65> afore ye.\"\n\nThis was rather more than I could stomach.\n\n\"Mr Bleaks,\" said I, \"from this hour you are no longer in my employment.\nYour engagement is out on the 1st of July; you shall be paid up to that\ndate.\"\n\n\"I don't set a foot over the threshold till I have received the amount\nof my salary and advances,\" replied the man dryly.\n\n\"Bring me your account,\" said I. My blood was beginning to boil at the\nfellow's cool impudence.\n\nBleaks called to his wife, who presently came to the room door. They\nexchanged a few words, and she went away again. Meanwhile I opened my\nportmanteau, and ran my eye over some accounts, letters, and receipts.\nBefore I had finished, Mrs Bleaks reappeared with the account-books,\nwhich she laid upon the table, and planting herself, with arms akimbo,\nin the middle of the room, seemed prepared to witness whatever passed.\nHer husband lounged into the next apartment and brought a couple of\nchairs, upon which he and his better half seated themselves. Truly,\nthought I, our much-cherished liberty and equality have sometimes their\ninconveniences and disagreeables.\n\n\"The 20th December, twenty-five bales cotton, four hogsheads tobacco in\nleaf, delivered to Mr Merton,\" began the overseer; \"the 24th January,\ntwenty-five bales cotton and one hogshead tobacco-leaves.\"\n\n\"Right,\" said I.\n\n\"That was our whole crop,\" said the man.\n\n\"A tolerable falling off from the former year,\" I observed. \"There were\nninety-five bales and fifty hogsheads.\"\n\n\"If it doesn't please the gentleman, he ought to have stopped at home,\nand not gone wandering over half the world instead of minding his\naffairs,\" retorted Mr Bleaks.\n\n\"And leaving us to rot in this fever hole, without money or any thing\nelse,\" added his moiety.\n\n\"And further?\" said I to the man.\n\n\"That's all. I've received from Mr Merton 600 dollars: 300 more are\nstill comin' to me.\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\n\"And moreover,\" continued Bleaks, \"for Indian corn, meal, and hams, and\nsalt pork, and blankets, and cotton stuffs, I have laid out 400 dollars,\nmaking 700, and 4000 hedge-stakes for mending fences, makes a total of\n740 dollars.\"\n\nI ran into the next room, found a pen and ink upon my dilapidated\nwriting-table, wrote an order on my banker, and came back again. At any\nprice I was resolved to get rid of this man.\n\n\"Allow me,\" said the Creole, who had been a silent witness of all that\nhad passed, but who now attempted to take the paper from my hand.\n\n\"Pardon me, sir,\" said I, vexed at the man's meddling; \"on this occasion\nI wish to be my own counsellor and master.\"\n\n\"Wait but one moment, and allow me to ask a few questions of your\noverseer,\" continued the Creole, no way repulsed by my words or manner.\n\"Will Mr Bleaks be so good as to read over his account once more?\"\n\n\"Don't know why I should. Mind your own business,\" was the churlish\nanswer.\n\n\"Then I will do it for you,\" said Menou. \"The 20th December, twenty-five\nbales cotton, and four hogsheads tobacco-leaves, delivered to Mr Merton.\nIs it not so?\"\n\nMr Bleaks made no answer.\n\n\"The 23d December, twenty bales cotton, and one hogshead tobacco, to\nMessrs Goring. Is it not so?\"\n\nThe overseer cast a fierce but embarrassed look at the Creole. His wife\nchanged colour.\n\n\"The 24th January, twenty-five bales and one hogshead to Mr Groves, and\nagain, on the 10th February, twenty-two bales and seven hogsheads to\nMessrs Goring. Is not that the correct account?\"\n\n\"D----d lies!\" stammered the overseer.\n\n\"Which I shall soon prove to be truth,\" said the other. \"Mr Howard, you\nhave a claim on this man for upwards of 2000 dollars, of which he has\nshamefully cheated you. I shall also be able to point out another fraud\nto the extent of 500 dollars.\"\n\nMy faithless servants were pale with rage and confusion; I was struck\ndumb with surprise at this unexpected discovery, and at the way in which\nit was made.\n\n\"We must lose no time with these people,\" whispered the Creole to me,\n\"or they will be off before you can look round you. Send immediately to\nJustice T---- for a warrant, and give the sheriff and constables a hint\nto be on the look-out. He cannot well escape if he goes down stream, but\nhe will no doubt try to go up.\"\n\nI immediately took the needful measures, and sent off Bangor, one of my\nsmartest <DW64>s, to the justice of peace. \"We must write immediately to\nGoring's house,\" said the Creole.\n\nIn an hour all was ready. At the end of that time the Montezuma steamer\ncame smoking down the river. We got the captain to come on shore, told\nhim briefly what had happened, gave him our letters, and were just\naccompanying him back to his vessel, when we saw a figure creep\nstealthily along behind the hedge and wood-stack, and go on board the\nsteamer. It was Mr Bleaks, who had imagined that, under existing\ncircumstances, a trip to New Orleans might be of service to his health.\nWe found the worthy gentleman concealed amongst the crew, busily\nconverting himself into a <DW64> by the assistance of a handful of soot.\nHis intended excursion was, of course, put an end to, and he was\nconveyed back to his dwelling. We took precautions against a second\nattempt at flight; and the following morning he was placed in safe\ncustody of the authorities.\n\n\"But, my dear Monsieur Menou,\" said I to the Creole, as we sat after\ndinner discussing the second bottle of his Chambertin, of which the\nexcellent man had not forgotten to bring a provision on shore with\nhim--\"whence comes it that you have shown me so much, and such\nundeserved sympathy and interest?\"\n\n\"Ha, ha! You citizen aristocrats cannot understand that a man should\ntake an interest in any one, or any thing, but himself,\" replied Menou,\nhalf laughing, half in earnest. \"It is incomprehensible to your stiff,\nproud, republican egotism, which makes you look down upon us Creoles,\nand upon all the rest of the world, as beings of an inferior order. We,\non the other hand, take care of ourselves, but we also occasionally\nthink of our neighbours. Your affairs are perfectly well known to me,\nand I hope you do not think I have made a bad use of my knowledge of\nthem.\"\n\nI shook the worthy man heartily by the hand.\n\n\"We are not, in general, particularly fond of you northern gentlemen,\"\ncontinued he; \"but you form an exception. You have a good deal of our\nFrench _etourderie_ in your blood, and a good deal also of our\ngenerosity.\"\n\nI could not help smiling at the _naive_ frankness with which this sketch\nof my character was placed before me.\n\n\"You have stopped too long away from your own house, and from people who\nwould willingly be your friends; and if all that is said be true, you\nhave no particular reason to congratulate yourself upon the result of\nyour wanderings.\"\n\nI bit my lips. The allusion was pretty plainly to my misfortune at New\nYork.\n\n\"Better as it is,\" resumed the Creole, with a very slight and\ngood-humoured smile. \"A New York fine lady would be strangely out of her\nelement on a Red River plantation. But to talk of something else. My son\nwill be here to-morrow; your estate only wants attention, and a small\ncapital of seven or eight thousand dollars, to become in a year or two\nas thriving a one as any in Louisiana. My son will put it all in order\nfor you; and, meanwhile, you must come and stop a few months with me.\"\n\n\"But, Monsieur Menou\"----\n\n\"No _buts_, Monsieur Howard! You have got the money, you must buy a\nscore more <DW64>s; we will pick out some good ones for you. To-morrow\nevery thing shall be arranged.\"\n\nOn the morrow came young Menou, an active intelligent youth of twenty.\nThe day was passed in visiting the plantation, and in a very few hours\nthe young man had gained my full confidence. I recommended my interests\nand the <DW64>s to his care; and the same evening his father and myself\nwent on board the Ploughboy steamer, which was to convey us to the\nresidence of the Menous.\n\n\nCHAPTER THE SECOND.\n\nCREOLE LIFE.\n\nThe good Creole had certainly behaved to me in a more Christian-like\nmanner than most of my own countrymen would have done; and of this I had\nbefore long abundant proof. A little after nightfall, the steamboat\npaused opposite the house of the justice of peace; and I went on shore\nto communicate with him concerning my faithless steward. Although so\nearly, the functionary was already going to bed, and came out to me in\nhis nightshirt.\n\n\"Knew it all, dear Mr Howard,\" said he with the utmost _naivete_; \"saw\nevery bale that they stole from you, or tried to steal from you.\"\n\n\"And for Heaven's sake, man!\" I exclaimed, \"why did you not put a stop\nto it?\"\n\n\"It was nothing to me,\" was the dry answer.\n\n\"If you had only given information to my attorney!\"\n\n\"No business of mine,\" returned the man. Then fixing his eyes hard upon\nme, he commenced a sort of lecture, for which I was by no means\nprepared.\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, pushing his nightcap a little over his left ear, \"you\nyoung gentlemen come out of the north with your dozen blackies or so,\nlay out some two or three thousand dollars in house and land, and then\nthink you can play the absentee as much as you like, and that you do us\na deal of honour when you allow us to collect and remit your income, for\nyou to spend out of the country. I'm almost sorry, Mr Howard, that you\ndidn't come six months later.\"\n\n\"In order to leave the scoundrel time to secure his booty, eh?\"\n\n\"At any rate, he has worked, and has wife and child, and has been\nuseful to the land and country.\"\n\n\"The devil!\" I exclaimed, mighty indignant. \"Well--for a judge, you have\na singular idea of law!\"\n\n\"It mayn't be Bony's code, nor yet Livingston's, but I reckon it's\njustice,\" replied the man earnestly, tapping his forehead with his\nforefinger.\n\nI stared at him, but he returned my gaze with interest. There was a deal\nof backwoods justice in his rough reasoning, although its morality was\nindefensible. It was the law of property expounded _a la_ Lynch. What is\nvery certain is, that in a new country especially, absenteeism ought to\nbe scouted as a crime against the community. In my case my ramblings had\nbeen very near costing me three thousand hard dollars. As it was,\nhowever, they were saved--thanks to Menou--and the money still in the\nhands of Messrs Goring, whose standard of morality on such subjects was\nprobably not much more rigid than that of the worthy Squire Turnips, and\nwho would, I doubt not, have bought my cotton of the Evil One himself,\nif they could have got it half-a-cent a pound cheaper by so doing. I\ngave the squire the necessary papers and powers for the adjustment of my\naffairs with Bleaks; we shook hands, and I returned on board.\n\nIn the grey of the morning the steamboat stopped again. I accompanied\nMenou on shore, and we found a carriage waiting, which, in spite of its\nsingularly antique construction, set off with us at a brisk pace. I had\njust fallen asleep in my corner, when I was awakened by a musical voice\nnot ten paces off, exclaiming, \"_Les voila!_\" I looked up, rubbed my\neyes--it was Louise, the Creole's youngest daughter, who had come out\nunder the verandah to welcome us. Where should we find one of our\nnorthern beauties who would turn out of her warm bed at six in the\nmorning, to welcome her papa and a stranger guest, and to keep hot\ncoffee ready for them, to counteract the bad effects of the morning air\non the river? Monsieur Menou, however, did not seem to find any thing\nextraordinary in his daughter's early rising, but began enquiring if the\npeople had had their breakfasts, and were at work. On this and various\nother subjects, Louise was able to give him all the information he\ndesired. She must have made astonishingly good use of the twenty-four\nhours that had elapsed since her return home, to be versed in all\nparticulars concerning her sable liege subjects, and to be able to\nrelate so fluently how Cato had run a splinter into his foot, Pompey had\na touch of fever, and fifty other details, which, although doubtless\nvery interesting to Menou, made me gape a little. I amused myself by\nlooking round the dining-room, in which we then were, the furniture and\nappearance of which rather improved my opinion of Creole civilization\nand comfort. The matting that covered the floor was new and of an\nelegant design--the sideboard solid and handsome, although prodigiously\nold-fashioned--tables, chairs, and sofas were of French manufacture. On\nthe walls were suspended two or three engravings; not the fight at New\nOrleans, or Perry and Bainbridge's victories over the British on\nChamplain and Erie, but curiosities dating from the reigns of Louis the\nFifteenth and Sixteenth. There was a Frenchified air about the whole\nroom, nothing of the republic, the empire, or the restoration, but a\nsort of odour of the genuine old royalist days.\n\nBy the time I had completed my inspection, Louise had answered all her\nfather's enquiries; and we went out to take a look at the exterior of\nthe house. It was snugly situated at the foot of a conical hillock, the\nonly elevation of any kind to be found for miles around. South, east,\nand west, it was enclosed in a broad frame of acacia and cotton trees;\nbut to the north it lay open, the breath of Boreas being especially\nacceptable in our climate. A rivulet, very bright and clear, at least\nfor Louisiana, poured its waters from the elevation before mentioned,\nand supplied a tannery, which doubtless contributed much to the\nhealthiness of the neighbourhood. The house consisted of three parts,\nbuilt at different times by grandfather, father, and son, and now united\ninto one. The last and largest portion had been built by the present\nproprietor; and it would have been as easy, it struck me, to have\npulled down the earlier erections and have built one compact house. The\nreason the Creole gave for not having done so, did honour, I thought, to\nhis heart. \"I wish my children constantly to remember,\" said he, \"how\nhard their ancestors toiled, and how poorly they lived, in order to\nensure better days to those who should come after them.\"\n\n\"And they will remember it,\" said a voice close behind us. I turned\nround.\n\n\"_Madame Menou, j'ai l'honneur de vous presenter notre voisin, Monsieur\nHoward._\"\n\n\"_Qui restera longtems chez nous_,\" cried the two girls, skipping\nforward, and before I had time to make my bow to the lady, taking me by\nboth hands and dragging me into the house, and through half a dozen\nzigzag passages and corridors, to show me my room. This was a sexagonal\napartment, situated immediately over a small artificial lake, through\nwhich flowed the rivulet before mentioned. It was the coolest and most\nagreeable chamber in the house, on which account it had been allotted to\nme. After I had declared my unqualified approval of it, my fair\nconductresses took me down stairs again to papa and mamma, the latter of\nwhom I found to be a ladylike woman, with a countenance expressive of\ngood nature, and manners that at once made one feel quite at home. She\nreceived me as if she had known me for years, without compliments or\nceremonious speeches, and without even troubling herself to screw her\nfeatures into the sort of holiday expression which many persons think it\nnecessary to assume on first acquaintance. I was soon engaged in a\nconversation with her, in the middle of which a lady and two gentlemen\ncame out under the verandah and joined us. Their olive complexions and\nforeign appearance at once attracted my attention, and I set them down\nas Spaniards or of Spanish extraction. In this I was not mistaken. The\nmen were introduced to me as Senor Silveira and Don Pablo. The lady, who\nwas the wife of the former, was a remarkably lovely creature, tall and\nelegant in person, with dark eyes, an aquiline and delicately-formed\nnose, a beautiful mouth, enclosing pearl-like teeth. Hitherto I had held\nour American fair ones to be the prettiest women in the world; but I now\nalmost felt inclined to alter my opinion. I was so struck by the fair\nstranger's appearance that I could not take my eyes off her for some\nmoments; until a sharp glance from her husband, and (as I fancied) the\nsomewhat uneasy looks of the other ladies, made me aware that my gaze\nmight be deemed somewhat too free and republican in its duration. I\ntransferred my attention, therefore, to the breakfast, which, to my no\nsmall satisfaction, was now smoking on the table, and to which we at\nonce sat down. The strangers appeared grave and thoughtful, and ate\nlittle, although the steaks were delicious, the young quails\nincomparable, and the Chambertin worthy of an imperial table.\n\n\"Who are those foreigners?\" said I to Menou, when the meal was over, and\nwe were leaving the room.\n\n\"Mexicans,\" was the reply; \"but who they are I cannot tell you.\"\n\n\"What! do you not know them?\"\n\n\"I know them perfectly well,\" he answered, \"or they would not be in my\nhouse. But even my family,\" whispered he, \"does not know them.\"\n\nPoor wretches! thought I, some more sacrifices on freedom's altar;\ndriven from house and home by the internal commotions of their country.\nThings were going on badly enough in Mexico just then. On the one hand,\nGuerrero, Bustamente, Santa Anna; on the other, a race of men to whom,\nif one wished them their deserts, one could desire nothing better than\nan Austrian schlague or a Russian knout, to make them sensible of the\nvalue of that liberty which they do not know how to appreciate.\n\nMeanwhile Julie and Louise were busy, in the next room, passing in\nreview, for the third or fourth time at least, the thousand-and-one\npurchases they had made at New Orleans. It was a perfect picture of\nCreole comfort to see the mamma presiding at this examination of the\nlaces, gros de Naples, Indiennes, gauze, and other fripperies, which\nwere passed rapidly through the slender fingers of her daughters, and\nhanded to her for approval. She found every thing charming; every\nthing, too, had its destination; and my only wonder was, how it would be\npossible for those ladies to use the hundreds of ells of stuffs that\nwere soon spread out over chairs, tables, and sofas, and that, as it\nappeared to me, would have been sufficient to supply half the women of\nLouisiana with finery for the next five years. This Creole family was\nreally a model of a joyous innocent existence; nothing constrained or\nartificial; but a light and cheerful tone of conversation, which,\nhowever, never degenerated into license, or threatened to overstep the\nlimits of the strictest propriety. Each person fulfilled his or her\nallotted task thoroughly well, and without appearing to find it an\nexertion. The housekeeping was admirable; to that point the excellence\nof the breakfast had borne witness. I recollect once falling violently\nin love with a Massachusetts beauty, possessed of a charming face, a\nsylph-like figure, and as much sentimentality as would have stocked half\na dozen flaxen-haired Germans. It was my ninth serious attachment if I\nremember rightly, and desperately smitten I was and remained, until one\nunlucky day when the mamma of my _adorata_ invited me to a dinner _en\nfamille_. The toughness of the mutton-chops took the edge off my teeth\nfor forty-eight hours, and off my love for ever. As regards the Menous,\nhowever, I have hardly known them long enough to form a very decided\nopinion concerning them. In a few days I shall be able to judge better.\nMeanwhile we will leave the ladies, and accompany Monsieur Menou over\nhis plantation. It is in excellent order, admirably situated, and\ncapitally irrigated by trenches cut through the cotton and maize fields.\nThere are above three hundred acres in cultivation--the yearly crop two\nhundred and fifty bales: a very pretty income. Only three children, and\nthe plantation comprising nearly four thousand acres. Not so bad--might\nbe worth thinking of. But what would the world say to it? The\naristocratic Howard to marry a Creole, with, perhaps, a dash of Indian\nblood in her veins! Yet Menou has threescore <DW64>s and negresses,\nbesides a whole colony of ebony children, and the two girls are not so\nill to look at. Roses and lilies--especially Louise. Well, we will think\nabout it.\n\n\"Apropos!\" said the Creole, as we were walking along a field path. \"You\nhave three thousand dollars with Gorings?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"And eight thousand with Mr Richards?\"\n\n\"How do you know that, my dear M. Menou?\"\n\nI must observe, by way of parenthesis, that I had lent these eight\nthousand dollars to Richards some five years previously; and although,\non more than one occasion during that time, the money would have been of\nconsiderable use to me, I had been restrained from asking it back by my\nnatural indolence and laziness of character, added to the nonsensical\nnotion of generosity and devotion in friendship that I had picked out of\nwaggon-loads of novels. Richards, I must observe, had never hinted at\nreturning the money. I now felt rather vexed, I cannot exactly say why,\nat Menou's being acquainted with the fact of this debt, which I had\nfancied a secret between Richards and myself.\n\n\"And how do you know that, my dear M. Menou?\"\n\nMenou smiled at my question. \"You forget,\" said he, \"that I am only just\nreturned from New Orleans. One hears and learns many things when one\nopens one's ears to the gossip of the _haut-ton_ of the capital.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" said I, a little sarcastically, and glancing at the man's\nstraw hat, and unbleached trousers and jacket; \"Monsieur Menou--the\nplain and unsophisticated Monsieur Menou, also a _haut-ton_ man?\"\n\n\"My wife was a M----y; my grandfather was president of the Toulouse\nparliament,\" replied the Creole quietly, to my somewhat impertinent\nremark.\n\nI bowed. My suspicions concerning Indian blood were unfounded then.\n\n\"And have my proceedings and follies really served as tea-table talk to\nthe New Orleans' gossips?\" said I.\n\n\"Don't let that annoy you,\" replied Menou. \"Let the world talk; and you,\non your part, prove to it that you are a more sensible man than it\ntakes you for. Will you put yourself for a while entirely under my\nguidance?\"\n\n\"Very willingly,\" said I.\n\n\"And promise to abide by my advice.\"\n\n\"I promise to do so.\"\n\n\"Then,\" continued Menou, \"you must let me have, to use as I think\nproper, eight out of the eleven thousand dollars which you have lying\nidle.\"\n\n\"And Richards?\" said I.\n\n\"Can do without them better than you can. It is very well to be\ngenerous, but not to the extent of injuring yourself. Here is a receipt\nfor the sum in question. I will account to you for its expenditure.\"\n\nAnd with these words he handed me the receipt. He had evidently laid a\nlittle plot to force me to my own good. It went decidedly against the\ngrain with me to requite Richards' hospitality and friendship by\nclaiming back the money I had lent him, and for which he no doubt had\ngood use. At the same time, it would have been rather Quixotic to let my\nown plantation go to rack and ruin for want of the funds by which he was\nprofiting; and moreover, I had given Menou my word to be guided by him;\nso I put the receipt and my romantics in my pocket, and returned to the\nhouse to give my adviser an order for the money.\n\nJulie and Louise scarcely seemed to observe our entrance. Both had their\nhands full--the one with cookery and domestic matters, the other with\nthe ginghams and muslins, which she was rending and tearing with a\nvigour that caused the noise to be heard fifty yards off. At supper,\nhowever, they were as merry as ever, and there was no end to their mirth\nand liveliness. It seemed as if they had thrown off the burden of the\nday's toils, and awakened to a new and more joyous existence. The three\nMexicans, with their gravity and grandeur, did not seem to be the least\nrestraint upon the girls, who at last, however, towards eight o'clock,\nappeared to grow impatient at sitting so long still. They exchanged a\nwhisper, and then, rising from table, tripped into a adjoining room.\nPresently the harmonious tones of a pianoforte were audible.\n\n\"We must not linger here,\" said the Creole. \"_Les dames nous en\nvoudraient._\"\n\nAnd we all repaired to the drawing-room, an elegant apartment, where the\nMexican lady was already seated at the piano, while the two girls were\nonly waiting partners to begin the dance. Julie took possession of her\nfather, Silveira stood up with Madame Menou, Louise fell to my share;\nand a cotillon was danced with as much glee and spirit as if both\ndancers and lookers-on had been more numerous. Between dancing, music,\nand lively conversation, eleven o'clock came before we were aware of it.\n\n\"_Voici notre maniere Creole_,\" said Menou, as he left me at my bed-room\ndoor. \"With us every thing has its time; laughing, talking, working,\npraying, and dancing: each its appointed season. We endeavour so to\narrange our lives that no one occupation or amusement should interfere\nwith another. It is only by that means that our secluded domestic\nexistence can be rendered agreeable and happy. As it is, _nous ne nous\nennuyons jamais_. Good-night.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER THE THIRD.\n\nQUITE UNEXPECTED.\n\nEight weeks had flown by like so many hours. I had become domesticated\nin the family circle of the Menous, and was getting so frugal and\neconomical, that I scarcely knew what a dollar or a bank-note looked\nlike. Time passed so lightly and pleasantly, and there was something so\npatriarchal and delightful in this mode of life, that it was no\ndifficult matter to forget the world, with its excitements, its\npleasures, and its cares. I, at least, rarely bestowed a thought upon\nany thing but what was passing immediately around me; whole piles of\nnewspapers lay unread upon my table, and I became every day more and\nmore of a backwoodsman. I rose early, slipped into my linen jacket and\ntrousers, and accompanied M. Menou about his fields and cotton presses.\nThe afternoon passed in looking over accounts, or in reading and\nlaughing at the discussions and opinions of Colonel Stone and Major\nNoah, as set forth in the well-known papers, the _Morning Courier_ and\n_Commercial Gazette_, while the evening of each day was filled up by an\n_impromptu_ of some kind, a dance, or a merry chat.\n\nWe were sitting one night at supper, when M. Menou proposed a stag-hunt\nby torchlight. I caught eagerly at the idea, and he at once gave orders\nto make the needful preparations. The two Mexicans begged to be allowed\nto accompany us; but almost before they had proffered the request, the\nlady interfered to oppose it.\n\n\"Don Lop----!\" she exclaimed, and then checked herself in the middle of\nthe word she was about to utter. \"_Te suplico_,\" she continued in\nSpanish, after a momentary pause, \"I implore you not to go to-night.\"\n\nThere was something inexpressibly anxious and affectionate in her manner\nand tone. Her husband begged her not to make herself uneasy, and\npromised he would not go; at the same time, it was evident that he was\nvexed not to accompany us. I assured the lady there was no danger.\n\n\"No danger!\" repeated she, in her sonorous Castilian. \"No danger! Is\nnobody aware of the intended hunt?\" said she to Menou.\n\n\"Nobody,\" was the reply.\n\nIt just then occurred to me, that during the whole period of my\nresidence with the Menous, neither the Mexican nor his wife had ever\ngone out of the house and garden. This circumstance, in combination with\nthe anxiety now shown by the lady, struck me forcibly, and I gazed at\nSilveira, while I vainly endeavoured to conjecture whence arose the\nmystery that evidently environed him. He was a man of about thirty years\nof age, with handsome features, a high forehead, and a pale, but not\nunhealthy complexion. The expression of his eyes particularly struck me;\nat times there flashed from them a fire, indicative of high purposes and\nstrong resolution. There was a military and commanding air about him,\nwhich was very apparent, though he evidently did his utmost to conceal\nit; and it was this same manner which had hitherto caused me to treat\nhim rather coolly, and rendered me little disposed to cultivate his\nintimacy. His companion, Don Pablo, was a tolerably insignificant\nperson, who seemed to look up to Silveira and his wife with a respect\nand reverence almost amounting to idolatry. Beside him, their suite was\ncomposed of four attendants.\n\n\"And is there really no danger?\" said the Senora to Menou. The Creole\nassured her there was none. She whispered a few words to her husband,\nwho kissed her hand, and repeated his request to be of our party--this\ntime without any opposition on his wife's part.\n\nSupper over, we put on our shooting coats, took our guns, and mounted\nthe horses that had been prepared for us. Six <DW64>s with pitch-pans,\nand a couple of dogs, had gone on before. The clock struck ten as we set\nout. It was a dark sultry night; towards the south distant thunder was\nheard, betokening the approach of one of those storms that occur almost\ndaily at that season and in that country. During the first twenty\nminutes of our ride, the atmosphere became stiflingly oppressive; then\nsuddenly a strong wind rushed amongst the trees and bushes, the thunder\ndrew nearer, and from time to time a flash of forked lightning\nmomentarily illumined the forest. Again a flash, more vivid than the\npreceding ones, and a clap, compared to which our northern thunder would\nsound like the mere roll of a drum; the dogs began to whine, and kept as\nnear to the horses as they could. We pushed onward, and were close to a\nlaurel thicket, when the leading hound suddenly came to a stand, and\npricked up his ears. We dismounted, and walked forward--the <DW64>s\npreceding us with the pitch-pans. Some twenty pace before us we\nperceived four small stars, that glittered like diminutive\nfire-balls--they were the eyes of two stags that awaited our approach,\nin astonishment at the unusual spectacle offered to them. We took\naim--the Creole and myself at one, two Mexicans at the other. \"_Feu!_\"\ncried Menou. There was the crack of the four rifles, then a crashing\nnoise amongst the branches, and the clatter of hoofs, succeeded by cries\nof _Sacre!_ and Damn ye! and _Diabolo!_ and _San Jago!_ The six\npitch-pans lay smoking and flaring on the ground; the Creole and I had\nsprung on one side, the <DW64>s had thrown themselves on their faces in\ngreat terror, and the two Dons lay beside them, overthrown by the rush\nof one of the stags.\n\n\"_Santa Virgen!_\" shouted Don Pablo, mightily alarmed and angry;\n\"_Maldito bobo, Senor don Manuel!_\"\n\nAnd scrambling to his feet, he proceeded in desperate haste to raise his\ncompanion from the ground, on which he lay motionless, and apparently\nmuch hurt.\n\n\"_Maldito sea el dia! Nuestro Libertador! Santa Anna! Ay de mi!_\"\n\n\"_Calla te_--hold your tongue!\" said Silveira to his alarmed adherent.\n\nOn the first appearance of danger, M. Menou had jumped behind a tree,\nwhich had afforded a sufficient shelter against the mad rush of the\nterrified stag; but his cry of warning had come too late for the young\nMexican, who had less experience in this kind of chase, and who,\nstanding full in the path of the furious beast, was knocked down, and\nrun over. I pushed Pablo, who was howling and wringing his hands, on one\nside, and with Menou, proceeded to investigate the hurts which the other\nMexican had received. His coat was torn, and both legs were bleeding,\nhaving been rent by the deer's antlers. Fortunately the wounds were not\ndeep, or he might have had serious reason to regret the bad aim he had\ntaken. We placed him on his horse, and turned towards home.\n\nIt was midnight when we reached the house with the wounded man, and the\ncarcass of the deer that Menou and I had shot. The sight of a white\nfigure at the window of the apartment occupied by the Mexican, warned us\nthat his wife was watching for his arrival. At the sound of our horses'\nfeet, she came hurrying down stairs, and out of the house to meet us;\nand upon beholding her husband, pale, exhausted, and supported on his\nhorse by couple of <DW64>s, she uttered a shrill cry, and with the word\n\"_Perdido!_\" sank, almost fainting, on the door steps.\n\n\"Gracious God!\" cried a second female voice at that moment. \"A\nmisfortune! Is it Howard?\"\n\nIt was Louise, who at that moment made her appearance in her nightdress,\nbreathless with terror.\n\n\"_Mon Dieu_, it is only the Mexican! Thank God!\" lisped she, in an\naccent of infinite joy and relief.\n\n\"Thanks, dearest Louise! for those words,\" said I; \"they make me very\nhappy.\"\n\nI caught her in my arms, and pressed a kiss upon her lips. She struggled\nfrom my embrace, and, blushing deeply, hurried back into her chamber.\n\nI now followed Menou into the apartment of the Mexican, whose wife was\nhanging over him, speechless with grief and anxiety. Menou had much\ntrouble to get her away from him, in order that he might examine and\ndress his hurts. I do not know where the worthy Creole had learned his\nsurgery, but he was evidently no tyro in the healing art; and he cut out\nthe flesh injured by the antler, washed and bandaged the wounds, with a\ndexterity that really inspired me with confidence in him. The wounds\nwere not dangerous, but might easily have become so, taking into\nconsideration the heat of the weather, (the thermometer stood at\neighty-six,) and the circumstance of their having been inflicted by a\nstag's horn. In a short half hour the patient was comfortably put to\nbed, and the afflicted Donna Isabella consoled by Menou's positive\nassurance, that in a very few days her husband would be well again. She\nreceived this piece of comfort with such a thoroughly Roman Catholic\nuplifting of her magnificent eyes, that I could scarcely help envying\nthe saints for whom that look was intended.\n\nI had held the candle for Menou during the operation; and as I put it\ndown upon the table, my eyes fell upon a beautifully executed miniature\nof the Mexican set in brilliants. Beside it were lying letters addressed\nto Don Lopez di Santa Anna, Marischal de Campo; one or two had the\nsuperscription, Lieutenant-general. It was no other than the celebrated\nMexican leader, the second in rank in the would-be republic, who had\nbeen sojourning in Monsieur Menou's house under the assumed name of\nSilveira. This discovery afforded me matter for reflection as I repaired\nto my bed-chamber; reflections, however, which were soon forced to make\nway for other thoughts of a more personally interesting nature. It was\nthe graceful form of Louise that now glided forward out of the\nbackground of my imagination. She had watched, then, anxiously for our\nreturn; and the first rumour of a mishap had drawn from her lips the\nname of him for whom her heart felt most interested. During the whole\ntime of my residence with the Menous, I had never once dreamed of\nfalling in love with either of the sisters. There was so much activity\nand occupation in and out of the house, that I seemed to have had no\ntime to indulge in sentimental reveries. Now, however, they came\ncrowding upon me. It was so consolatory to an unlucky bachelor, only\njust recovering from a recent disappointment, to find himself an object\nof tender interest a lovely and innocent girl of seventeen.\n\nAt breakfast, the next morning, Louise did not dare to look me in the\nface. Without distressing her, however, I managed to look at her more\nthan I had ever before done; and I really wondered what I had been\nthinking about, during the preceding two months, not to have sooner\nfound out her manifold charms and perfections. Her elder sister was too\nstout for my taste, altogether on too large a scale, and with too little\nof the intellectual in the expression of her features; but Louise is\nunquestionably a charming creature, slender and graceful, with a sweet\narchness in her countenance, and hands and feet that might serve for\nmodels. In short, I began to think seriously that all past\ndisappointments would be more than compensated by the affection of such\na woman. I must see first about setting my house in order, thought I.\n\n\"Will you be so kind as to lend me your carriage to go as far as the\nriver?\" said I to the Creole.\n\n\"With much pleasure. A mere ride, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No; a little more. I wish to see how things are getting on at my\nplantation.\"\n\n\"You are going away?\" exclaimed Madame Menou and Julie. Louise said\nnothing, but she raised her eyes to mine for the first time that\nmorning.\n\n\"It is necessary that I should do so; but, if you will allow me, I will\npay you another visit before very long.\"\n\nThe roses had left the cheeks of poor Louise, and I fancied I saw a tear\nglittering in her eyes. Several minutes elapsed without any body's\nspeaking. At last the silence was broken by the Creole.\n\n\"You seemed very happy here, I thought,\" said he. \"Has any thing\nhappened?\"\n\n\"Yes; something of great importance to me. I must really leave you\nimmediately,\" was my answer.\n\nMean time, Louise had left the room. I hurried after her, and overtook\nher before she reached her chamber.\n\n\"Louise!\" said I. She was weeping. \"I leave you to-day.\"\n\n\"So I heard.\"\n\n\"In order to arrange my house.\"\n\n\"My brother is doing that already,\" said she. \"Why leave us?\"\n\n\"Because I would fain see with my own eyes if all is ready and fitting\nfor the reception of my Louise. When I have done so, will you follow me\nhome as my beloved wife?\"\n\nFor one second she looked in my face, her features lighted up with a\nbeam of confiding joy, and then her gaze fell in timid confusion on the\nground.\n\n\"Take her, dear Howard!\" said her father, who had followed us\nunperceived. \"She is the best of daughters, and will make as good a\nwife.\"\n\nLouise sank into my arms. An hour later I was on my way homewards.\n\nAt last, then, I was irrevocably pledged, and my bachelorship drew near\nits close. I felt that I had made a judicious choice. Louise was an\nexcellent girl, sensible, prudent, active, and cheerful--uniting, in\nshort, all the qualities desirable in a backwoodsman's wife. It was\nstrange enough that all this should only have occurred to me within a\nfew hours. I had been living two months under the same roof with her,\nand yet the idea of her becoming my wife had never entered my head till\nthe preceding night.\n\nIt was four in the afternoon when I reached my plantation, which I was\nvery near passing without recognising it, so great was the change that\nhad taken place since my last visit. The rubbish and tree-trunks that\nhad then encumbered the vicinity of the house had disappeared--the\ngarden had been increased in size, and surrounded by a new and elegant\nfence--a verandah, under which two <DW64> carpenters were at work, ran\nalong the front and sides of the house. As I walked up from the boat,\nyoung Menou came to meet me. I shook him heartily by the hand, and\nexpressed my gratitude for the trouble he had taken, and my wonder at\nthe astonishing progress the improvements of all kinds had made.\n\n\"How have you possibly managed to effect all these miracles?\" said I.\n\n\"Very easily,\" replied Menou. \"You sent us fifteen <DW64>s; my father\nlent me ten of his. With these, and the twenty-five you had before, we\nwere able to make progress. We are now putting the finishing-stroke to\nyour cotton press, which was fearfully out of order.\"\n\nI walked with a thankful heart through the garden, and stepped into the\nverandah. The rooms that looked out upon it were all fitted up in the\nmost comfortable manner. In the principal bedroom, a <DW64> girl was\nworking at the elegant musquitto curtains. Old Sybille, in a calico gown\nof the most glaring colours, her face shining with contentment, was\nbrushing away some invisible dust from the furniture in the parlour.\n\n\"By the by,\" said young Menou, opening a writing-desk, \"here are several\nletters that have come for you within the last few days, and that amidst\nmy various occupations I have quite forgotten to forward.\"\n\nI sat down and opened them. Two were from Richards, the earliest in\ndate, inviting me to go and stay with him again. The more recent one\nrenewed the invitation, and expressed the writer's surprise at my having\nbecome on a sudden so domestic a character. In a postscript he added, as\na sort of inducement to me to visit him, that he was daily expecting a\nfriend of his wife's, the beautiful Emily Warren. Not a syllable,\nhowever, about the eight thousand dollars, which surprised me not a\nlittle; for Richards was by no means a man to remain silent on a subject\naffecting his worldly interest, and I fully expected he would have felt\nand expressed some pique or resentment at my sudden withdrawal of my\nfunds. But, on the contrary, the letter I had given to Menou, in which I\nrequested Richards to pay over the money in question to the Creole, was\nnot even alluded to.\n\n\"There are matters in these letters,\" said I to young Menou, \"which\noblige me to return immediately to your father's house.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" cried the young man, much astonished.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied I. \"I hear a steamboat coming down the river--I will be\noff at once.\"\n\nHe looked at me in great surprise; Sybille shook her head. But my\ncharacter is so impatient and impetuous, that when I have resolved on\nany thing, I can never bear to defer its execution a moment. Besides,\nthere was really nothing to detain me at my plantation. The arrangements\nand improvements that I had reckoned on finding only half effected were\ncomplete; and every moment that now elapsed before I could welcome\nLouise as mistress of my house and heart, seemed to me worse than\nwasted. I hurried down to the river and hailed the steamer. It was the\nsame that had brought me home two months previously.\n\n\"Mr Howard,\" said the captain joyously, as I stepped on board the\nvessel, \"I am right glad to see you on my deck again. Your plantation\nlooks quite another thing. You are really a worker of wonders.\"\n\nI hardly knew how to accept this undeserved praise. One of the best\npoints in our American character is the universal respect paid to\nindustry and intellect. The wealthy idler who carries thousands in his\npocket-book, may, amongst us, look in vain for the respect and flattery\nwhich a tithe of his riches would procure him in many other countries;\nwhile the less fortunate man, who makes his way and earns his living by\nhand and head work, may always reckon on the consideration of his\nfellow-citizens. On my return to Louisiana I had been thought nothing\nof. I was a drone in the hive--with money, but without skill or\nperseverance. My overseer was more looked up to than myself; but the\nrecent change in the state of my plantation, attributed, however\nwrongly, to my presence, had caused a revolution in people's ideas; and\nI was now met on all sides with open hands and smiling countenances. The\nchange, I must confess, was a gratifying one for me.\n\nThe Menous were at breakfast the next morning, when I arrived, heated by\nmy walk from the river, opposite to the parlour window. I was received\nwith a cry of welcome.\n\n\"So soon back! Nothing wrong, I hope?\" said Menou.\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied I dryly; \"I have only forgotten something.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"My Louise,\" was my answer, as I seated myself beside the blushing girl.\n\"On arriving at my wilderness,\" I continued, \"I found it converted into\nso blooming a paradise, that I should really be heartbroken if it were\nto remain any longer without its Eve. To-morrow, please God, we will\nstart for New Orleans, to put in requisition the service of Pere Antoine\nand the worthy rector.\"\n\nThere was a cry of consternation from the papa and mamma.\n\n\"There is nothing ready--_point de trousseau_--nothing in the world. Do\nnot be so unreasonable, dear Howard.\"\n\n\"Our Yankee damsels,\" replied I, laughing, \"if they have only got a pair\nof shoes and a gown and a half, consider themselves perfectly ready to\nbe married.\"\n\n\"Well, let him have his way,\" said Menou. \"We can manage, I daresay, to\nequip the bride a little better than that.\"\n\n\"Apropos,\" said I to Menou, while the ladies were consulting together,\nand recovering from the flurry into which my precipitation had thrown\nthem--\"the eight thousand dollars? Richards says nothing about them.\"\n\n\"It was only an experiment I tried with you,\" replied my future\nfather-in-law, smiling. \"I wished to see if you have sufficient firmness\nof character to ensure your own happiness. Had you not come victoriously\nout of the little ordeal, Louise should never have been wife of yours,\nif all the plantations on the Mississippi had called you master. As to\nthe money, I advanced what was wanted. You can settle with Mr Richards\nin the way most agreeable to yourself.\"\n\nThe next morning we set off for New Orleans--Menou and Louise, Julie,\nwho was to act as bridesmaid, and myself. Madame Menou remained at home.\nI could have wished to have had young Menou as my bridesman; but his\npresence was necessary at the plantation, and we were obliged to content\nourselves with receiving his good wishes as we passed. After a twenty\nhours' voyage we reached the capital, and took up our quarters in the\nhouse of a sister of Menou's.\n\nI was hurrying to find Father Antoine, when, in turning the corner of\nthe cathedral, I ran bolt up against Richards. After the first greeting,\nand without giving him time to ask me questions--\n\n\"Wait for me at the Merchant's Coffeehouse,\" said I; \"in a quarter of an\nhour I will meet you there.\"\n\nAnd I left him in considerable astonishment at my desperate haste. I\nfound Father Antoine and the rector, and then hurried off to keep my\nappointment.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said I to Richards, as I dragged him through the streets,\n\"that I am thinking seriously of becoming a Benedict?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"you must come home with me then. Emily Warren is\narrived. She is a charming girl, and a great friend of my wife's. You\nwill be sure of Clara's good word, and I really think Emily will exactly\nsuit you.\"\n\n\"I am afraid not,\" replied I, as I turned into the church.\n\nRichards opened his eyes in amazement when he saw Louise, with her aunt,\nsister, and the whole of the bridal party, walking up the aisle, and\nFather Antoine standing at the altar in his robes.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" said he.\n\nI made no answer, but let matters explain themselves. Ten minutes after,\nLouise Menou was my wife.\n\n\n\n\nGREECE UNDER THE ROMANS.{A}\n\n\nWhat is called _Philosophical History_ we believe to be yet in its\ninfancy. It is the profound remark of Mr Finlay--profound as we\nourselves understand it, _i.e._, in relation to this philosophical\ntreatment, \"That history will ever remain inexhaustible.\" How\ninexhaustible? Are the _facts_ of history inexhaustible? In regard to\nthe _ancient_ division of history with which he is there dealing, this\nwould be in no sense true; and in any case it would be a lifeless truth.\nSo entirely have the mere facts of Pagan history been disinterred,\nransacked, sifted, that except by means of some chance medal that may be\nunearthed in the illiterate East, (as of late towards Bokhara,) or by\nmeans of some mysterious inscription, such as those which still mock the\nlearned traveller in Persia, northwards near Hamadan, (Ecbatana,) and\nsouthwards at Persepolis, or those which distract him amongst the\nshadowy ruins of Yucatan (Uxmal, suppose, and Palenque,)--once for all,\nbarring these pure godsends, it is hardly \"in the dice\" that any\ndownright novelty of fact should remain in reversion for this 19th\ncentury. The merest possibility exists, that in Armenia, or in a\nGraeco-Russian monastery on Mount Athos, or in Pompeii, &c., some authors\nhitherto +anekdotoi+ may yet be concealed; and by a channel in that\ndegree improbable, it is possible that certain new facts of history may\nstill reach us. But else, and failing these cryptical or subterraneous\ncurrents of communication, for us the record is closed. History in that\nsense is come to an end, and sealed up as by the angel in the\nApocalypse. What then? The facts _so_ understood are but the dry bones\nof the mighty past. And the question arises here also, not less than in\nthat sublimest of prophetic visions, \"Can these dry bones live?\" Not\nonly they can live, but by an infinite variety of life. The same\nhistoric facts, viewed in different lights, or brought into connexion\nwith other facts, according to endless diversities of permutation and\ncombination, furnish grounds for such eternal successions of new\nspeculations as make the facts themselves virtually new. The same Hebrew\nwords are read by different sets of vowel points, and the same\nhieroglyphics are deciphered by keys everlastingly varied.\n\nTo us we repeat that oftentimes it seems as though the _science_ of\nhistory were yet scarcely founded. There will be such a science, if at\npresent there is not; and in one feature of its capacities it will\nresemble chemistry. What is so familiar to the perceptions of man as the\ncommon chemical agents of water, air, and the soil on which we tread?\nYet each one of these elements is a mystery to this day; handled, used,\ntried, searched experimentally, in ten thousand ways--it is still\nunknown; fathomed by recent science down to a certain depth, it is still\nprobably by its destiny unfathomable. Even to the end of days, it is\npretty certain that the minutest particle of earth--that a dewdrop,\nscarcely distinguishable as a separate object--that the slenderest\nfilament of a plant will include within itself secrets inaccessible to\nman. And yet, compared with the mystery of man himself, these physical\nworlds of mystery are but as a radix of infinity. Chemistry is in this\nview mysterious and spinosistically sublime--that it is the science of\nthe latent in all things, of all things as lurking in all. Within the\nlifeless flint, within the silent pyrites, slumbers an agony of\npotential combustion. Iron is imprisoned in blood. With cold water (as\nevery child is now-a-days aware) you may lash a fluid into angry\nebullitions of heat; with hot water, as with the rod of Amram's son, you\nmay freeze a fluid down to the temperature of the Sarsar wind, provided\nonly that you regulate the pressure of the air. The sultry and\ndissolving fluid shall bake into a solid, the petrific fluid shall melt\ninto a liquid. Heat shall freeze, frost shall thaw; and wherefore?\nSimply because old things are brought together in new modes of\ncombination. And in endless instances beside we see the same Panlike\nlatency of forms and powers, which gives to the external world a\ncapacity of self-transformation, and of _polymorphosis_ absolutely\ninexhaustible.\n\nBut the same capacity belongs to the facts of history. And we do not\nmean merely that, from subjective differences in the minds reviewing\nthem, such facts assume endless varieties of interpretation and\nestimate, but that objectively, from lights still increasing in the\nscience of government and of social philosophy, all the primary facts of\nhistory become liable continually to new theories, to new combinations,\nand to new valuations of their moral relations. We have seen some kinds\nof marble, where the veinings happened to be unusually multiplied, in\nwhich human faces, figures, processions, or fragments of natural scenery\nseemed absolutely illimitable, under the endless variations or\ninversions of the order, according to which they might be combined and\ngrouped. Something analogous takes effect in reviewing the remote parts\nof history. Rome, for instance, has been the object of historic pens for\ntwenty centuries (dating from Polybius); and yet hardly so much as\ntwenty years have elapsed since Niebuhr opened upon us almost a new\nrevelation, by recombining the same eternal facts, according to a\ndifferent set of principles. The same thing may be said, though not with\nthe same degree of emphasis, upon the Grecian researches of the late\nOttfried Mueller. Egyptian history again, even at this moment, is seen\nstealing upon us through the dusky twilight in its first distinct\nlineaments. Before Young, Champollion, and the others who have followed\non their traces in this field of history, all was outer darkness; and\nwhatsoever we _do_ know or _shall_ know of Egyptian Thebes will now be\nrecovered as if from the unswathing of a mummy. Not until a flight of\nthree thousand years has left Thebes the Hekatompylos a dusky speck\nin the far distance, have we even _begun_ to read her annals, or to\nunderstand her revolutions.\n\nAnother instance we have now before us of this new historic faculty for\nresuscitating the buried, and for calling back the breath to the frozen\nfeatures of death, in Mr Finlay's work upon the Greeks as related to the\nRoman empire. He presents us with old facts, but under the purpose of\nclothing them with a new life. He rehearses ancient stories, not with\nthe humble ambition of better adorning them, of more perspicuously\nnarrating, or even of more forcibly pointing their moral, but of\nextracting from them some new meaning, and thus forcing them to arrange\nthemselves, under some latent connexion, with other phenomena now first\ndetected, as illustrations of some great principle or agency now first\nrevealing its importance. Mr Finlay's style of intellect is appropriate\nto such a task; for it is subtle and Machiavelian. But there is this\ndifficulty in doing justice to the novelty, and at times we may say with\ntruth to the profundity of his views, that they are by necessity thrown\nout in continued successions of details, are insulated, and in one word\n_sporadic_. This follows from the very nature of his work; for it is a\nperpetual commentary on the incidents of Grecian history, from the era\nof the Roman conquest to the commencement of what Mr Finlay, in a\npeculiar sense, calls the Byzantine empire. These incidents have nowhere\nbeen systematically or continuously recorded; they come forward by\ncasual flashes in the annals, perhaps, of some church historian, as they\nhappen to connect themselves with his momentary theme; or they betray\nthemselves in the embarrassments of the central government, whether at\nRome or at Constantinople, when arguing at one time a pestilence, at\nanother an insurrection, or an inroad of barbarians. It is not the fault\nof Mr Finlay, but his great disadvantage, that the affairs of Greece\nhave been thus discontinuously exhibited, and that its internal changes\nof condition have been never treated except obliquely, and by men _aliud\nagentibus_. The Grecian _race_ had a primary importance on our planet;\nbut the Grecian name, represented by Greece considered as a territory,\nor as the original seat of the Hellenic people, ceased to have much\nimportance, in the eyes of historians, from the time when it became a\nconquered province; and it declined into absolute insignificance after\nthe conquest of so many other provinces had degraded Hellas into an\narithmetical unit, standing amongst a total amount of figures, so vast\nand so much more dazzling to the ordinary mind. Hence it was that in\nancient times no complete history of Greece, through all her phases and\nstages, was ever attempted. The greatness of her later revolutions,\nsimply as changes, would have attracted the historian; but, as changes\nassociated with calamity and loss of power, they repelled his curiosity,\nand alienated his interest. It is the very necessity, therefore, of Mr\nFinlay's position, when coming into such an inheritance, that he must\nsplinter his philosophy into separate individual notices; for the\nrecords of history furnish no grounds for more. _Spartam, quam nactus\nest, ornavit._ But this does not remedy the difficulty for ourselves, in\nattempting to give a representative view of his philosophy. General\nabstractions he had no opportunity for presenting; consequently we have\nno opportunity for valuing; and, on the other hand, single cases\nselected from a succession of hundreds would not justify any\n_representative_ criticism, more than the single brick, in the anecdote\nof Hierocles, would serve representatively to describe or to appraise\nthe house.\n\nUnder this difficulty as to the possible for ourselves, and the just for\nMr Finlay, we shall adopt the following course. So far as the Greek\npeople connected themselves in any splendid manner with the Roman\nempire, they did so with the eastern horn of that empire, and in point\nof time from the foundation of Constantinople as an eastern Rome in the\nfourth century, to a period not fully agreed on; but for the moment we\nwill say with Mr Finlay, up to the early part of the eighth century. A\nreason given by Mr Finlay for this latter state is--that about that time\nthe Grecian blood, so widely diffused in Asia, and even in Africa,\nbecame finally detached by the progress of Mahometanism and Mahometan\nsystems of power from all further concurrence or coalition with the\nviews of the Byzantine Caesar. Constantinople was from that date thrown\nback more upon its own peculiar heritage and jurisdiction, of which the\nmain resources for war and peace lay in Europe and (speaking by the\nnarrowest terms) in Thrace. Henceforth, therefore, for the city and\nthrone of Constantine, resuming its old Grecian name of Byzantium, there\nsucceeded a theatre less diffusive, a population more concentrated, a\ncharacter of action more determinate and jealous, a style of courtly\nceremonial more elaborate as well as more haughtily repulsive, and\nuniversally a system of interests, as much more definite and selfish, as\nmight naturally be looked for in a nation now every where surrounded by\nnew thrones gloomy with malice, and swelling with the consciousness of\nyouthful power. This new and final state of the eastern Rome Mr Finlay\ndenominates the Byzantine empire. Possibly this use of the term may be\ncapable of justification; but more questions would arise in the\ndiscussion than Mr Finlay has thought it of importance to notice. And\nfor the present we shall take the word _Byzantine_ in its most ordinary\nacceptation, as denoting the local empire founded by Constantine in\nByzantium early in the fourth century, under the idea of a translation\nfrom the old western Rome, and overthrown by the Ottoman Turks in the\nyear 1453. In the fortunes and main stages of this empire, what are the\nchief arresting phenomena, aspects, or relations, to the greatest of\nmodern interests? We select by preference these.\n\nI. First, this was the earliest among the kingdoms of our planet _which\nconnected itself with Christianity_. In Armenia, there had been a\nprevious _state_ recognition of Christianity. But _that_ was neither\nsplendid nor distinct. Whereas the Byzantine Rome built avowedly upon\nChristianity as its own basis, and consecrated its own nativity by the\nsublime act of founding the first provision ever attempted for the\npoor, considered simply as poor, (_i.e._ as objects of pity, not as\ninstruments of ambition.)\n\nII. _Secondly, as the great aegis of western Christendom_, nay, the\nbarrier which made it possible that any Christendom should ever exist,\nthis Byzantine empire is entitled to a very different station in the\nenlightened gratitude of us western Europeans from any which it has yet\nheld. We do not scruple to say--that, by comparison with the services of\nthe Byzantine people to Europe, no nation on record has ever stood in\nthe same relation to any other single nation, much less to a whole\nfamily of nations, whether as regards the opportunity and means of\nconferring benefits, or as regards the astonishing perseverance in\nsupporting the succession of these benefits, or as regards the ultimate\nevent of these benefits. A great wrong has been done for ages; for we\nhave all been accustomed to speak of the Byzantine empire with scorn,{B}\nas chiefly known by its effeminacy; and the greater is the call for a\nfervent palinode.\n\nIII. _Thirdly._ In a reflex way, as the one great danger which\novershadowed Europe for generations, and against which the Byzantine\nempire proved the capital bulwark, Mahometanism may rank as one of the\nByzantine aspects or counterforces. And if there is any popular error\napplying to the history of that great convulsion, as a political effort\nfor revolutionizing the world, some notice of it will find a natural\nplace in connexion with these present trains of speculation.\n\nLet us, therefore, have permission to throw together a few remarks on\nthese three subjects--1st, on the remarkable distinction by which the\neldest of Christian rulers proclaimed and inaugurated the Christian\nbasis of his empire: 2dly, on the true but forgotten relation of this\ngreat empire to our modern Christendom, under which idea we comprehend\nEurope and the whole continent of America: 3dly, on the false\npretensions of Mahometanism, whether advanced by itself or by\ninconsiderate Christian speculators on its behalf. We shall thus obtain\nthis advantage, that some sort of unity will be given to our own glances\nat Mr Finlay's theme; and, at the same time, by gathering under these\ngeneral heads any dispersed comments of Mr Finlay, whether for\nconfirmation of our own views, or for any purpose of objection to his,\nwe shall give to those comments also that kind of unity, by means of a\nreference to a common purpose, which we could not have given them by\nciting each independently for itself.\n\nI. First, then, as to that memorable act by which Constantinople (_i.e._\nthe Eastern empire) connected herself for ever with Christianity; viz.\nthe recognition of pauperism as an element in the state entitled to the\nmaternal guardianship of the state. In this new principle, introduced by\nChristianity, we behold a far-seeing or proleptic wisdom, making\nprovision for evils before they had arisen; for it is certain that great\nexpansions of pauperism did not exist in the ancient world. A pauper\npopulation is a disease peculiar to the modern or Christian world.\nVarious causes latent in the social systems of the ancients prevented\nsuch developments of surplus people. But does not this argue a\nsuperiority in the social arrangements of these ancients? Not at all;\nthey were atrociously worse. They evaded this one morbid affection by\nmeans of others far more injurious to the moral advance of man. The case\nwas then every where as at this day it is in Persia. A Persian\nambassador to London or Paris might boast that, in his native Iran no\nsuch spectacles existed of hunger-bitten myriads as may be seen every\nwhere during seasons of distress in the crowded cities of Christian\nEurope. \"No,\" would be the answer, \"most certainly not; but why? The\nreason is, that your accursed form of society and government\n_intercepts_ such surplus people, does not suffer them to be born. What\nis the result? You ought, in Persia, to have three hundred millions of\npeople; your vast territory is easily capacious of that number. You\n_have_--how many have you? Something less than eight millions.\" Think of\nthis, startled reader. But, if _that_ be a good state of things, then\nany barbarous soldier who makes a wilderness, is entitled to call\nhimself a great philosopher and public benefactor. This is to cure the\nheadache by amputating the head. Now, the same principle of limitation\nto population _a parte ante_, though not in the same savage excess as in\nMahometan Persia, operated upon Greece and Rome. The whole Pagan world\nescaped the evils of a redundant population by vicious repressions of it\nbeforehand. But under Christianity a new state of things was destined to\ntake effect. Many protections and excitements to population were laid in\nthe framework of this new religion, which, by its new code of rules and\nimpulses, in so many ways extended the free-agency of human beings.\nManufacturing industry was destined first to arise on any great scale\nunder Christianity. Except in Tyre and Alexandria, (see the Emperor\nHadrian's account of this last,) there was no town or district in the\nancient world where the populace could be said properly to work. The\nrural labourers worked a little--not much; and sailors worked a little;\nnobody else worked at all. Even slaves had little more work distributed\namongst each ten than now settles upon one. And in many other ways, by\nprotecting the principle of life, as a mysterious sanctity, Christianity\nhas favoured the development of an excessive population. There it is\nthat Christianity, being answerable for the mischief, is answerable for\nits redress. Therefore it is that, breeding the disease, Christianity\nbreeds the cure. Extending the vast lines of poverty, Christianity it\nwas that first laid down the principle of a relief for poverty.\nConstantine, the first Christian potentate, laid the first stone of the\nmighty overshadowing institution since reared in Christian lands to\npoverty, disease, orphanage, and mutilation. Christian instincts, moving\nand speaking through that Caesar, first carried out that great idea of\nChristianity. Six years was Christianity in building Constantinople, and\nin the seventh she rested from her labours, saying, \"Henceforward let\nthe poor man have a haven of rest for ever; a rest from his work for one\nday in seven; a rest from his anxieties by a legal and a fixed relief.\"\nBeing legal, it could not be open to disturbances of caprice in the\ngiver; being fixed, it was not open to disturbances of miscalculation in\nthe receiver. Now, first, when first Christianity was installed as a\npublic organ of government, (and first owned a distinct political\nresponsibility,) did it become the duty of a religion which assumed, as\nit were, the _official_ tutelage of poverty, to proclaim and consecrate\nthat function by some great memorial precedent. And, accordingly, in\ntestimony of that obligation, the first Christian Caesar, on behalf of\nChristianity, founded the first system of relief for pauperism. It is\ntrue, that largesses from the public treasury, gratuitous coin, or corn\nsold at diminished rates, not to mention the _sportulae_ or stated doles\nof private Roman nobles, had been distributed amongst the indigent\ncitizens of Western Rome for centuries before Constantine; but all these\nhad been the selfish bounties of factious ambition or intrigue.\n\nTo Christianity was reserved the inaugural act of public charity in the\nspirit of charity. We must remember that no charitable or beneficent\ninstitutions of any kind, grounded on disinterested kindness, existed\namongst the Pagan Romans, and still less amongst the Pagan Greeks. Mr\nColeridge, in one of his lay sermons, advanced the novel doctrine--that\nin the Scriptures is contained all genuine and profound statesmanship.\nOf course he must be understood to mean--in its capital principles:\nfor, as to subordinate and executive rules for applying such principles,\nthese, doubtless, are in part suggested by the local circumstances in\neach separate case. Now, amongst the political theories of the Bible is\nthis--that pauperism is not an accident in the constitution of states,\nbut an indefeasible necessity; or, in the scriptural words, that \"the\npoor shall never cease out of the land.\" This theory, or great canon of\nsocial philosophy, during many centuries, drew no especial attention\nfrom philosophers. It passed for a truism, bearing no particular\nemphasis or meaning beyond some general purpose of sanction to the\nimpulses of charity. But there is good reason to believe, that it\nslumbered, and was meant to slumber, until Christianity arising and\nmoving forwards should call it into a new life, as a principle suited to\na new order of things. Accordingly, we have seen of late that this\nscriptural dictum--\"The poor shall never cease out of the land\"--has\nterminated its career as a truism, (that is, as a truth, either obvious\non one hand, or inert on the other,) and has wakened into a polemic or\ncontroversial life. People arose who took upon them utterly to deny this\nscriptural doctrine. Peremptorily they challenged the assertion that\npoverty must always exist. The Bible said that it was an affection of\nhuman society which could not be exterminated: the economists of 1800\nsaid that it was a foul disease, which must and should be exterminated.\nThe scriptural philosophy said, that pauperism was inalienable from\nman's social condition in the same way that decay was inalienable from\nhis flesh. \"I shall soon see _that_,\" said the economist of 1800, \"for\nas sure as my name is M----, I will have this poverty put down by law\nwithin one generation, if there's law to be had in the courts at\nWestminster.\" The Scriptures had left word--that, if any man should come\nto the national banquet declaring himself unable to pay his\ncontribution, that man should be accounted the guest of Christianity,\nand should be privileged to sit at the table in thankful remembrance of\nwhat Christianity had done for man. But Mr M---- left word with all the\nservants, that, if any man should present himself under those\ncircumstances, he was to be told, \"The table is full\"--(_his_ words, not\nours;) \"go away, good man.\" Go away! Mr M----? Where was he to go to?\nWhither? In what direction?--\"Why, if you come to _that_,\" said the man\nof 1800, \"to any ditch that he prefers: surely there's good choice of\nditches for the most fastidious taste.\" During twenty years, viz. from\n1800 to 1820, this new philosophy, which substituted a ditch for a\ndinner, and a paving-stone for a loaf, prevailed and prospered. At one\ntime it seemed likely enough to prove a snare to our own\naristocracy--the noblest of all ages. But that peril was averted, and\nthe further history of the case was this: By the year 1820, much\ndiscussion having passed to and fro, serious doubts had arisen in many\nquarters: scepticism had begun to arm itself against the sceptic: the\neconomist of 1800 was no longer quite sure of his ground. He was now\nsuspected of being fallible; and, what seemed of worse augury, he was\nbeginning himself to suspect as much. To one capital blunder he was\nobliged publicly to plead guilty. What it was, we shall have occasion to\nmention immediately. Meantime it was justly thought that, in a dispute\nloaded with such prodigious practical consequences, good sense and\nprudence demanded a more extended enquiry than had yet been instituted.\nWhether poverty would ever cease from the land, might be doubted by\nthose who balanced their faith in Scripture against their faith in the\nman of 1800. But this at least could not be doubted--that as yet poverty\n_had_ not ceased, nor indeed had made any sensible preparations for\nceasing, from any land in Europe. It was a clear case, therefore, that,\nhowsoever Europe might please to dream upon the matter when pauperism\nshould have reached that glorious euthanasy predicted by the alchemist\nof old and the economist of 1800, for the present she must deal actively\nwith her own pauperism on some avowed plan and principle, good or\nevil--gentle or harsh. Accordingly, in the train of years between 1820\nand 1830, enquiries were made of every separate state in Europe, what\n_were_ those plans and principles. For it was justly said--\"As one step\ntowards judging rightly of our own system, now that it has been so\nclamorously challenged for a bad system, let us learn what it is that\nother nations think upon the subject, but above all what it is that they\n_do_.\" The answers to our many enquiries varied considerably; and some\namongst the most enlightened nations appeared to have adopted the good\nold plan of _laissez faire_, giving nothing from any public fund to the\npauper, but authorizing him to levy contributions on that gracious\nallegoric lady, Private Charity, wherever he could meet her taking the\nair with her babes. This reference appeared to be the main one in reply\nto any application of the pauper; and for all the rest they referred him\ngenerally to the \"ditch,\" or to his own unlimited choice of ditches,\naccording to the approved method of public benevolence published in 4to\nand in 8vo by the man of 1800. But there were other and humbler states\nin Europe, whose very pettiness had brought more fully within their\nvision the whole machinery and watchwork of pauperism, as it acted and\nre-acted on the industrious poverty of the land, and on other interests,\nby means of the system adopted in relieving it. From these states came\nmany interesting reports, all tending to some good purpose. But at last,\nand before the year 1830, amongst other results of more or less value,\nthree capital points were established, not more decisive for the\njustification of the English system in administering national relief to\npaupers, and of all systems that reverenced the authority of Scripture,\nthan they were for the overthrow of Mr M----, the man of 1800. These\nthree points are worthy of being used as buoys in mapping out the true\nchannels, or indicating the breakers on this difficult line of\nnavigation; and we now rehearse them. They may seem plain almost to\nobviousness; but it is enough that they involve all the disputed\nquestions of the case.\n\n_First_, That, in spite of the assurances from economists, no progress\nwhatever had been made by England or by any state which lent any\nsanction to the hope of ever eradicating poverty from society.\n\n_Secondly_, That, in absolute contradiction of the whole hypothesis\nrelied on by M---- and his brethren, in its most fundamental doctrine, a\nlegal provision for poverty did _not_ act as a bounty on marriage. The\nexperience of England, where the trial had been made on the largest\nscale, was decisive on this point; and the opposite experience of\nIreland, under the opposite circumstances, was equally decisive. And\nthis result had made itself so clear by 1820, that even M---- (as we have\nalready noticed by anticipation) was compelled to publish a recantation\nas to this particular error, which in effect was a recantation of his\nentire theory.\n\n_Thirdly_, That, according to the concurring experience of all the most\nenlightened states of Christendom, the public suffered least, (not\nmerely in molestation but in money,) pauperism benefited most, and the\ngrowth of pauperism was retarded most, precisely as the provision for\nthe poor had been legalized as to its obligation, and fixed as to its\namount. Left to individual discretion the burden was found to press most\nunequally; and, on the other hand, the evil itself of pauperism, whilst\nmuch less effectually relieved, nevertheless through the irregular\naction of this relief was much more powerfully stimulated.\n\nSuch is the abstract of our latest public warfare on this great question\nthrough a period of nearly fifty years. And the issue is this--starting\nfrom the contemptuous defiance of the scriptural doctrine upon the\nnecessity of making provision for poverty as an indispensable element in\ncivil communities, the economy of the age has lowered its tone by\ngraduated descents, in each one successively of the four last\n_decennia_. The philosophy of the day as to this point at least is at\nlength in coincidence with Scripture. And thus the very extensive\nresearches of this nineteenth century, as to pauperism, have re-acted\nwith the effect of a full justification upon Constantine's attempt to\nconnect the foundation of his empire with that new theory of\nChristianity upon the imperishableness of poverty, and upon the duties\ncorresponding to it.\n\nMeantime Mr Finlay denies that Christianity had been raised by\nConstantine into the religion of the state; and others have denied that,\nin the extensive money privileges conceded to Constantinople, he\ncontemplated any but political principles. As to the first point, we\napprehend that Constantine will be found not so much to have shrunk back\nin fear from installing Christianity in the seat of supremacy, as to\nhave diverged in policy from our modern _methods_ of such an\ninstallation. Our belief is, that according to _his_ notion of a state\nreligion, he supposed himself to have conferred that distinction upon\nChristianity. With respect to the endowments and privileges of\nConstantinople, they were various; some lay in positive donations,\nothers in immunities and exemptions; some again were designed to attract\nstrangers, others to attract nobles from old Rome. But, with fuller\nopportunities for pursuing that discussion, we think it would be easy to\nshow, that in more than one of his institutions and his decrees he had\ncontemplated the special advantage of the poor as such; and that, next\nafter the august distinction of having founded the first Christian\nthrone, he had meant to challenge and fix the gaze of future ages upon\nthis glorious pretension--that he first had executed the scriptural\ninjunction to make a provision for the poor, as an order of society that\nby laws immutable should \"never cease out of the land.\"\n\n_Secondly_, Let us advert to the value and functions of Constantinople\nas the tutelary genius of western or dawning Christianity.\n\nThe history of Constantinople, or more generally of the Eastern Roman\nempire, wears a peculiar interest to the children of Christendom; and\nfor two separate reasons--_first_, as being the narrow isthmus or bridge\nwhich connects the two continents of ancient and modern history, and\n_that_ is a philosophic interest; but, _secondly_ which in the very\nhighest degree is a practical interest, as the record of our earthly\nsalvation from Mahometanism. On two horns was Europe assaulted by the\nMoslems; first, last, and through the largest tract of time, on the horn\nof Constantinople; there the contest raged for more than eight hundred\nyears, and by the time that the mighty bulwark fell (1453,) Vienna and\nother cities upon or near the Danube had found leisure for growing up;\nso that, if one range of Alps had slowly been surmounted, another had\nnow slowly reared and embattled itself against the westward progress of\nthe Crescent. On the western horn, _in_ France, but _by_ Germans, once\nfor all Charles Martel had arrested the progress of the fanatical Moslem\nalmost in a single battle; certainly a single generation saw the whole\ndanger dispersed, inasmuch as within that space the Saracens were\neffectually forced back into their original Spanish lair. This\ndemonstrates pretty forcibly the difference of the Mahometan resources\nas applied to the western and the eastern struggle. To throw the whole\nweight of that difference, a difference in the result as between eight\ncenturies and thirty years, upon the mere difference of energy in German\nand Byzantine forces, as though the first did, by a rapturous fervour,\nin a few revolutions of summer what the other had protracted through\nnearly a millennium, is a representation which defeats itself by its own\nextravagance. To prove too much is more dangerous than to prove too\nlittle. The fact is, that vast armies and mighty nations were\ncontinually disposable for the war upon the city of Constantine; nations\nhad time to arise in juvenile vigour, to grow old and superannuated, to\nmelt away, and totally to disappear, in that long struggle on the\nHellespont and Propontis. It was a struggle which might often intermit\nand slumber; armistices there might be, truces, or unproclaimed\nsuspensions of war out of mutual exhaustion, but peace there could _not_\nbe, because any resting from the duty of hatred towards those who\nreciprocally seemed to lay the foundations of their creed in a\ndishonouring of God, was impossible to aspiring human nature. Malice and\nmutual hatred, we repeat, became a duty in those circumstances. Why had\nthey _begun_ to fight? Personal feuds there had been none between the\nparties. For the early caliphs did not conquer Syria and other vast\nprovinces of the Roman empire, because they had a quarrel with the\nCaesars who represented Christendom; but, on the contrary, they had a\nquarrel with the Caesars because they had conquered Syria, or, at the\nmost, the conquest and the feud (if not always lying in that exact\nsuccession as cause and effect) were joint effects from a common cause,\nwhich cause was imperishable as death, or the ocean, and as deep as are\nthe fountains of animal life. Could the ocean be altered by a sea fight?\nor the atmosphere be tainted for ever by an earthquake? As little could\nany single reign or its events affect the feud of the Moslem and the\nChristian; a feud which could not cease unless God could change, or\nunless man (becoming careless of spiritual things) should sink to the\nlevel of a brute.\n\nThese are considerations of great importance in weighing the value of\nthe Eastern Empire. If the cause and interest of Islamism, as against\nChristianity, were undying--then we may be assured that the Moorish\ninfidels of Spain did not reiterate their trans-Pyrenean expeditions\nafter one generation--simply because they _could_ not. But we know that\non the south-eastern horn of Europe they _could_, upon the plain\nargument that for many centuries they _did_. Over and above this, we are\nof opinion that the Saracens were unequal to the sort of hardships bred\nby cold climates; and there lay another repulsion for Saracens from\nFrance, &c., and not merely the Carlovingian sword. We children of\nChristendom show our innate superiority to the children of the Orient\nupon this scale or tariff of acclimatizing powers. We travel as wheat\ntravels through all reasonable ranges of temperature; they, like rice,\ncan migrate only to warm latitudes. They cannot support our cold, but we\n_can_ support the countervailing hardships of their heat. This cause\nalone would have weatherbound the Mussulmans for ever within the\nPyrenean cloisters. Mussulmans in cold latitudes look as blue and as\nabsurd as sailors on horseback. Apart from which cause, we see that the\nfine old Visigothic races in Spain found them full employment up to the\nreign of Ferdinand and Isabella, which reign first created a kingdom of\nSpain; in that reign the whole fabric of their power thawed away, and\nwas confounded with forgotten things. Columbus, according to a local\ntradition, was personally present at some of the latter campaigns in\nGrenada: he saw the last of them. So that the discovery of America may\nbe used as a convertible date with that of extinction for the Saracen\npower in western Europe. True that the overthrow of Constantinople had\nforerun this event by nearly half a century. But then we insist upon the\ndifferent proportions of the struggle. Whilst in Spain a province had\nfought against a province, all Asia militant had fought against the\neastern Roman empire. Amongst the many races whom dimly we descry in\nthose shadowy hosts, tilting for ages in the vast plains of Angora, are\nseen, latterly pressing on to the van, two mighty powers, the children\nof Persia and the Ottoman family of the Turks. Upon these nations, both\nnow rapidly decaying, the faith of Mahomet has ever leaned as upon her\neldest sons; and these powers the Byzantine Caesars had to face in every\nphasis of their energy, as it revolved from perfect barbarism, through\nsemi-barbarism, to that crude form of civilization which Mahometans can\nsupport. And through all these transmigrations of their power we must\nremember that they were under a martial training and discipline, never\nsuffered to become effeminate. One set of warriors after another _did_,\nit is true, become effeminate in Persia: but upon that advantage\nopening, always another set stepped in from Torkistan or from the Imaus.\nThe nation, the individuals melted away; the Moslem armies were\nimmortal.\n\nHere, therefore, it is, and standing at this point of our review, that\nwe complain of Mr Finlay's too facile compliance with historians far\nbeneath himself. He has a fine understanding: oftentimes his\ncommentaries on the past are ebullient with subtlety; and his fault\nstrikes us as lying even in the excess of his sagacity applying itself\ntoo often to a basis of facts, quite insufficient for supporting the\nsuperincumbent weight of his speculations. But in this instance he\nsurrenders himself too readily to the ordinary current of history. How\nwould _he_ like it, if he happened to be a Turk himself, finding his\nnation thus implicitly undervalued? For clearly, in undervaluing the\nByzantine resistance, he _does_ undervalue the Mahometan assault.\nAdvantages of local situation cannot _eternally_ make good the\ndeficiencies of man. If the Byzantines (being as weak as historians\nwould represent them) yet for ages resisted the whole impetus of\nMahometan Asia, then it follows, either that the Crescent was\ncorrespondingly weak, or that, not being weak, she must have found the\nCross pretty strong. The _facit_ of history does not here correspond\nwith the numerical items.\n\nNothing has ever surprised us more, we will frankly own, than this\ncoincidence of authors in treating the Byzantine empire as feeble and\ncrazy. On the contrary, to us it is clear that some secret and\npreternatural strength it must have had, lurking where the eye of man\ndid not in those days penetrate, or by what miracle did it undertake our\nuniversal Christian cause, fight for us all, keep the waters open from\nfreezing us up, and through nine centuries prevent the ice of\nMahometanism from closing over our heads for ever? Yet does Mr Finlay\n(p. 424) describe this empire as labouring, in A.D. 623, equally with\nPersia, under \"internal weakness,\" and as \"equally incapable of offering\nany popular or national resistance to an active or enterprising enemy.\"\nIn this Mr Finlay does but agree with other able writers; but he and\nthey should have recollected, that hardly had that very year 623\ndeparted, even yet the knell of its last hour was sounding upon the\nwinds, when this effeminate empire had occasion to show that she could\nclothe herself with consuming terrors, as a belligerent both defensive\nand aggressive. In the absence of her great emperor, and of the main\nimperial forces, the golden capital herself, by her own resources,\nrouted and persecuted into wrecks a Persian army that had come down upon\nher by stealth and a fraudulent circuit. Even at that same period, she\nadvanced into Persia more than a thousand miles from her own metropolis\nin Europe, under the blazing ensigns of the cross, kicked the crown of\nPersia to and fro like a tennis-ball, upset the throne of Artaxerxes,\ncountersigned haughtily the elevation of a new _Basileus_ more friendly\nto herself, and then recrossed the Tigris homewards, after having torn\nforcibly out of the heart and palpitating entrails of Persia, whatever\ntrophies that idolatrous empire had formerly wrested from herself. These\nwere not the acts of an effeminate kingdom. In the language of\nWordsworth we may say--\n\n    \"All power was giv'n her in the dreadful trance;\n    Infidel kings she wither'd like a flame.\"\n\nIndeed, no image that we remember can do justice to the first of these\nacts, except that Spanish legend of the Cid, which assures us that, long\nafter the death of the mighty cavalier, when the children of those Moors\nwho had fled from his face whilst living, were insulting the marble\nstatue above his grave, suddenly the statue raised its right arm,\nstretched out its marble lance, and drifted the heathen dogs like snow.\nThe mere sanctity of the Christian champion's sepulchre was its own\nprotection; and so we must suppose, that, when the Persian hosts came by\nsurprise upon Constantinople--her natural protector being absent by\nthree months' march--simply the golden statues of the mighty Caesars,\nhalf rising on their thrones, must have caused that sudden panic which\ndissipated the danger. Hardly fifty years later, Mr Finlay well knows\nthat Constantinople again stood an assault--not from a Persian hourrah,\nor tempestuous surprise, but from a vast expedition, armaments by land\nand sea, fitted out elaborately in the early noontide of Mahometan\nvigour--and that assault, also, in the presence of the caliph and the\ncrescent, was gloriously discomfited. Now if, in the moment of triumph,\nsome voice in the innumerable crowd had cried out, \"How long shall this\ngreat Christian breakwater, against which are shattered into surge and\nfoam all the mountainous billows of idolaters and misbelievers, stand up\non behalf of infant Christendom?\" and if from the clouds some trumpet of\nprophecy had replied, \"Even yet for eight hundred years!\" could any man\nhave persuaded himself that such a fortress against such\nantagonists--such a monument against a millennium of fury--was to be\nclassed amongst the weak things of this earth? This oriental Rome, it is\ntrue, equally with Persia, was liable to sudden inroads and incursions.\nBut the difference was this--Persia was strongly protected in all ages\nby the wilderness on her main western frontier; if this were passed, and\na hand-to-hand conflict succeeded, where light cavalry or fugitive\narchers could be of little value, the essential weakness of the Persian\nempire then betrayed itself. Her sovereign was assassinated, and peace\nwas obtained from the condescension of the invader. But the enemies of\nConstantinople, Goths, Avars, Bulgarians, or even Persians, were strong\nonly by their weakness. Being contemptible, they were neglected; being\nchased, they made no stand; and _thus_ only they escaped. They entered\nlike thieves by means of darkness, and escaped like sheep by means of\ndispersion. But, if caught, they were annihilated. No; we resume our\nthesis; we close this head by reiterating our correction of history; we\nre-affirm our position--that in Eastern Rome lay the salvation of\nWestern and Central Europe; in Constantinople and the Propontis lay the\n_sine-qua-non_ condition of any future Christendom. Emperor and people\n_must_ have done their duty; the result, the vast extent of generations\nsurmounted, furnish the triumphant argument. Finally, indeed, they fell,\nking and people, shepherd and flock; but by that time their mission was\nfulfilled. And doubtless, as the noble Palaeologus lay on heaps of\ncarnage, with his noble people, as life was ebbing away, a voice from\nheaven sounded in his ears the great words of the Hebrew prophet,\n\"Behold! YOUR WORK IS DONE; your warfare is accomplished.\"\n\nIII. Such, then, being the unmerited disparagement of the Byzantine\ngovernment, and so great the ingratitude of later Christendom to that\nsheltering power under which themselves enjoyed the leisure of a\nthousand years for knitting and expanding into strong nations; on the\nother hand, what is to be thought of the Saracen revolutionists? Every\nwhere it has passed for a lawful postulate, that the Saracen conquests\nprevailed, half by the feebleness of the Roman government at\nConstantinople, and half by the preternatural energy infused into the\nArabs by their false prophet and legislator. In either of its faces,\nthis theory is falsified by a steady review of facts. With regard to the\nSaracens, Mr Finlay thinks as we do, and argues that they prevailed\nthrough the _local_, or sometimes the _casual_, weakness of their\nimmediate enemies, and rarely through any strength of their own. We must\nremember one fatal weakness of the Imperial administration in those\ndays, not due to men or to principles, but entirely to nature and the\nslow growth of scientific improvements--viz. the difficulties of\nlocomotion. As respected Syria, Egypt, Cyrenaica, and so on to the most\nwestern provinces of Africa, the Saracens had advantages for moving\nrapidly which the Caesar had not. But is not a water movement speedier\nthan a land movement, which for an army never has much exceeded fourteen\nmiles a-day? Certainly it is; but in this case there were two desperate\ndefects in the Imperial control over that water service. To use a fleet,\nyou must have a fleet; but their whole naval interest had been starved\nby the intolerable costs of the Persian war. Immense had been the\nexpenses of Heraclius, and annually decaying had been his Asiatic\nrevenues. Secondly, the original position of the Arabs had been better\nthan that of the emperor, in every stage of the warfare which so\nsuddenly arose. In Arabia they stood nearest to Syria, in Syria nearest\nto Egypt, in Egypt nearest to Cyrenaica. What reason had there been for\nexpecting a martial legislator at that moment in Arabia, who should fuse\nand sternly combine her distracted tribes? What blame, therefore, to\nHeraclius, that Syria--the first object of assault, being also by much\nthe weakest part of the empire, and immediately after the close of a\ndesolating war--should in four campaigns be found indefensible? We must\nremember the unexampled abruptness of the Arabian revolution. The year\n622, by its very name of Hegira, does not record a triumph but a\nhumiliation. In that year, therefore, and at the very moment when\nHeraclius was entering upon his long Persian struggle, Mahomet was yet\nprostrate, and his destiny was doubtful. Eleven years after, viz. in\n633, the prophet was dead and gone; but his first successor was already\nin Syria as a conqueror. Such had been the velocity of events. The\nPersian war had then been finished by three years, but the exhaustion of\nthe empire had perhaps, at that moment, reached its maximum. We are\nsatisfied, that ten years' repose from this extreme state of collapse\nwould have shown us another result. Even as it was, and caught at this\nenormous disadvantage, Heraclius taught the robbers to tremble, and\nwould have exterminated them, if not baffled by two irremediable\ncalamities, neither of them due to any act or neglect of his own. The\nfirst lay in the treason of his lieutenants. The governors of Damascus,\nof Aleppo, of Emesa, of Bostra, of Kinnisrin, all proved traitors. The\nroot of this evil lay, probably, in the disorders following the Persian\ninvasion, which had made it the perilous interest of the emperor to\nappoint great officers from amongst those who had a local influence.\nSuch persons it might have been ruinous too suddenly to set aside, as,\nin the event, it proved ruinous to employ them. A dilemma of this kind,\noffering but a choice of evils, belonged to the nature of any Persian\nwar; and that particular war was bequeathed to Heraclius by the\nmismanagement of his predecessors. But the second calamity was even more\nfatal; it lay in the composition of the Syrian population, and its\noriginal want of vital cohesion. For no purpose could this population be\nunited: they formed a rope of sand. There was the distraction of\nreligion, (Jacobites, Nestorians, &c.;) there was the distraction of\nraces--slaves and masters, conquered and conquerors, modern intruders\nmixed, but not blended with, aboriginal mountaineers. Property became\nthe one principle of choice between the two governments. Where was\nprotection to be had for _that_? Barbarous as were the Arabs, they saw\ntheir present advantage. Often it would happen from the position of the\narmies, that they could, whilst the emperor could not, guarantee the\ninstant security of land or of personal treasures; the Arabs could also\npromise, sometimes, a total immunity from taxes, very often a diminished\nscale of taxation, always a remission of arrears; none of which demands\ncould be listened to by the emperor, partly on account of the public\nnecessities, partly from jealousy of establishing operative precedents.\nFor religion, again, protection was more easily obtained in that day\nfrom the Arab, who made war on Christianity, than from the Byzantine\nemperor, who was its champion. What were the different sects and\nsubdivisions of Christianity to the barbarian? Monophysite, Monothelite,\nEutychian, or Jacobite, all were to him as the scholastic disputes of\nnoble and intellectual Europe to the camps of gypsies. The Arab felt\nhimself to be the depository of one sublime truth, the unity of God. His\nmission therefore, was principally against idolaters. Yet even to _them_\nhis policy was to sell toleration for tribute. Clearly, as Mr Finlay\nhints, this was merely a provisional moderation, meant to be laid aside\nwhen sufficient power was obtained; and it _was_ laid aside, in after\nages, by many a wretch like Timour or Nadir Shah. Religion, therefore,\nand property once secured, what more had the Syrians to seek? And if to\nthese advantages for the Saracens we add the fact, that a considerable\nArab population was dispersed through Syria, who became so many\nemissaries, spies, and decoys for their countrymen, it does great honour\nto the emperor, that through so many campaigns he should at all have\nmaintained his ground, which at last he resigned only under the\ndespondency caused by almost universal treachery.\n\nThe Saracens, therefore, had no great merit even in their earliest\nexploits; and the _impetus_ of their movement forwards, that principle\nof proselytism which carried them so strongly \"ahead\" through a few\ngenerations, was very soon brought to a stop. Mr Finlay, in our mind,\ndoes right to class these barbarians as \"socially and politically little\nbetter than the Gothic, Hunnish, and Avar monarchies.\" But, on\nconsideration, the Gothic monarchy embosomed the germs of a noble\ncivilization; whereas the Saracens have never propagated great\nprinciples of any kind, nor attained even a momentary grandeur in their\ninstitutions, except where coalescing with a higher or more ancient\ncivilization.\n\nMeantime, ascending from the earliest Mahometans to their prophet, what\nare we to think of _him_? Was Mahomet a great man? We think not. The\ncase was thus: the Arabian tribes had long stood ready, like dogs held\nin a leash, for a start after distant game. It was not Mahomet who gave\nthem that impulse. But next, what was it that had hindered the Arab\ntribes from obeying the impulse? Simply this, that they were always in\nfeud with each other; so that their expeditions, beginning in harmony,\nwere sure to break up in anger on the road. What they needed was, some\none grand compressing and unifying principle, such as the Roman found in\nthe destinies of his city. True; but this, you say, they found in the\nsublime principle that God was one, and had appointed them to be the\nscourges of all who denied it. Their mission was to cleanse the earth\nfrom Polytheism; and, as ambassadors from God, to tell the nations--\"Ye\nshall have no other gods but me.\" That was grand; and _that_ surely they\nhad from Mahomet? Perhaps so; but where did he get it? He stole it from\nthe Jewish Scriptures, and from the Scriptures no less than from the\ntraditions of the Christians. Assuredly, then, the first projecting\nimpetus was not impressed upon Islamism by Mahomet. This lay in a\nrevealed truth; and by Mahomet it was furtively translated to his own\nuse from those oracles which held it in keeping. But possibly, if not\nthe _principle_ of motion, yet at least the steady conservation of this\nmotion was secured to Islamism by Mahomet. Granting (you will say) that\nthe launch of this religion might be due to an alien inspiration, yet\nstill the steady movement onwards of this religion through some\ncenturies, might be due exclusively to the code of laws bequeathed by\nMahomet in the Koran. And this has been the opinion of many European\nscholars. They fancy that Mahomet, however worldly and sensual as the\nfounder of a pretended revelation, was wise in the wisdom of this world;\nand that, if ridiculous as a prophet, he was worthy of veneration as a\nstatesman. He legislated well and presciently, they imagine, for the\ninterests of a remote posterity. Now, upon that question let us hear Mr\nFinlay. He, when commenting upon the steady resistance offered to the\nSaracens by the African Christians of the seventh and eighth\ncenturies--a resistance which terminated disastrously for both\nsides--the poor Christians being exterminated, and the Moslem invaders\nbeing robbed of an indigenous working population, naturally enquires\nwhat it was that led to so tragical a result? The Christian natives of\nthose provinces were, in a political condition, little favourable to\nbelligerent efforts; and there cannot be much doubt, that, with any\nwisdom or any forbearance on the part of the intruders, both parties\nmight soon have settled down into a pacific compromise of their feuds.\nInstead of this, the cimeter was invoked and worshipped as the sole\npossible arbitrator; and truce there was none until the silence of\ndesolation brooded over those once fertile fields. How savage was the\nfanaticism, and how blind the worldly wisdom, which could have\nco-operated to such a result! The cause must have lain in the\nunaccommodating nature of the Mahometan institutions, in the bigotry of\nthe Mahometan leaders, and in the defect of expansive views on the part\nof their legislator. He had not provided even for other climates than\nthat of his own sweltering sty in the Hedjas, or for manners more\npolished, or for institutions more philosophic, than those of his own\nsun-baked Ishmaelites. \"The construction of the political government of\nthe Saracen empire\"--says Mr Finlay, (p. 462-3)--\"was imperfect, and\nshows that Mahomet had neither contemplated extensive foreign conquests,\nnor devoted the energies of his powerful mind to the consideration of\nthe questions of administration which would arise out of the difficult\ntask of ruling a numerous and wealthy population, possessed of property,\nbut deprived of civil rights.\" He then shows how the whole power of the\nstate settled into the hands of a chief priest--systematically\nirresponsible. When, therefore, that momentary state of responsibility\nhad passed away, which was created (like the state of martial law) \"by\nnational feelings, military companionship, and exalted enthusiasm,\" the\nadministration of the caliphs became \"far more oppressive than that of\nthe Roman empire.\" It is in fact an insult to the majestic Romans, if we\nshould place them seriously in the balance with savages like the\nSaracens. The Romans were essentially the leaders of civilization,\naccording to the possibilities then existing; for their earliest usages\nand social forms involved a high civilization, whilst promising a\nhigher: whereas all Moslem nations have described a petty arch of\nnational civility--soon reaching its apex, and rapidly barbarizing\nbackwards. This fatal gravitation towards decay and decomposition in\nMahometan institutions, which, at this day, exhibits to the gaze of\nmankind one uniform spectacle of Mahometan ruins, all the great Moslem\nnations being already in a _Strulbrug_ state, and held erect only by the\ncolossal support of Christian powers, could not, as a _reversionary_\nevil, have been healed by the Arabian prophet. His own religious\nprinciples would have prevented _that_, for they offer a permanent\nbounty on sensuality; so that every man who serves a Mahometan state\nfaithfully and brilliantly at twenty-five, is incapacitated at\nthirty-five for any further service, by the very nature of the rewards\nwhich he receives from the state. Within a very few years, every public\nservant is usually emasculated by that unlimited voluptuousness which\nequally the Moslem princes and the common Prophet of all Moslems\ncountenance as the proper object of human pursuit. Here is the mortal\nulcer of Islamism, which can never cleanse itself from death and the\nodour of death. A political ulcer would or might have found restoration\nfor itself; but this ulcer is higher and deeper:--it lies in the\nreligion, which is incapable of reform: it is an ulcer reaching as high\nas the paradise which Islamism promises, and deep as the hell which it\ncreates. We repeat, that Mahomet could not effectually have neutralized\na poison which he himself had introduced into the circulation and\nlife-blood of his Moslem economy. The false prophet was forced to reap\nas he had sown. But an evil which is certain, may be retarded; and\nravages which tend finally to confusion, may be limited for many\ngenerations. Now, in the case of the African provincials which we have\nnoticed, we see an original incapacity of Islamism, even in its palmy\ncondition, for amalgamating with any _superior_ culture. And the\nspecific action of Mahometanism in the African case, as contrasted with\nthe Roman economy which it supplanted, is thus exhibited by Mr Finlay in\na most instructive passage, where every negation on the Mahometan side\nis made to suggest the countervailing usage positively on the side of\nthe Romans. O children of Romulus! how noble do you appear when thus\nfiercely contrasted with the wild boars who desolated your vineyards!\n\"No local magistrates elected by the people, and no parish priests\nconnected by their feelings and interests both with their superiors and\ninferiors, bound society together by common ties; and no system of legal\nadministration, independent of the military and financial authorities,\npreserved the property of the people from the rapacity of the\ngovernment.\"\n\nSuch, we are to understand, was _not_ the Mahometan system: such _had_\nbeen the system of Rome. \"Socially and politically,\" proceeds the\npassage, \"the Saracen empire was little better than the Gothic, Hunnish,\nand Avar monarchies; and that it proved more durable, with almost equal\noppression, is to be attributed to the powerful enthusiasm of Mahomet's\nreligion, which tempered for some time its avarice and tyranny.\" The\nsame sentiment is repeated still more emphatically at p. 468--\"The\npolitical policy of the Saracens was of itself utterly barbarous; and it\nonly caught a passing gleam of justice from the religious feeling of\ntheir prophet's doctrines.\"\n\nThus far, therefore, it appears that Mahometanism is not much indebted\nto its too famous founder: it owes to him a principle, viz. the unity of\nGod, which, merely through a capital blunder, it fancies peculiar to\nitself. Nothing but the grossest ignorance in Mahomet, nothing but the\ngrossest non-acquaintance with Greek authors on the part of the Arabs,\ncould have created or sustained the delusion current amongst that\nilliterate people--that it was themselves only who rejected Polytheism.\nHad but one amongst the personal enemies of Mahomet been acquainted with\nGreek, _there_ was an end of the new religion in the first moon of its\nexistence. Once open the eyes of Arabs to the fact, that Christians had\nanticipated them in this great truth of the divine unity, and\nMahometanism could only have ranked as a subdivision of Christianity.\nMahomet would have ranked only as a Christian heresiarch or schismatic;\nsuch as Nestorius or Marcian at one time, such as Arius or Pelagius at\nanother. In his character of _theologian_, therefore, Mahomet was simply\nthe most memorable of blunderers, supported in his blunders by the most\nunlettered of nations. In his other character of _legislator_, we have\nseen, that already the earliest stages of Mahometan experience exposed\ndecisively his ruinous imbecility. Where a rude tribe offered no\nresistance to his system, for the simple reason that their barbarism\nsuggested no motive for resistance, it could be no honour to prevail.\nAnd where, on the other hand, a higher civilization had furnished strong\npoints of repulsion to his system, it appears plainly that this\npretended apostle of social improvement had devised or hinted no readier\nmode of conciliation than by putting to the sword all dissentients. He\nstarts as a theological reformer, with a fancied defiance to the world\nwhich was no defiance at all, being exactly what Christians had believed\nfor six centuries, and Jews for six-and-twenty. He starts as a political\nreformer, with a fancied conciliation to the world which was no\nconciliation at all, but was sure to provoke imperishable hostility\nwheresoever it had any effect at all.\n\nWe have thus reviewed some of the more splendid aspects connected with\nMr Finlay's theme; but that theme, in its entire compass, is worthy of a\nfar more extended investigation than our own limits will allow, or than\nthe historical curiosity of the world (misdirected here as in so many\nother cases) has hitherto demanded. The Greek race, suffering a long\noccultation under the blaze of the Roman empire, into which for a time\nit had been absorbed, but again emerging from this blaze and reassuming\na distinct Greek agency and influence, offers a subject great by its own\ninherent attractions, and separately interesting by the unaccountable\nneglect which it has suffered. To have overlooked this subject, is one\namongst the capital oversights of Gibbon. To have rescued it from utter\noblivion, and to have traced an outline for its better illumination, is\nthe peculiar merit of Mr Finlay. His greatest fault is to have been\ncareless or slovenly in the niceties of classical and philological\nprecision. His greatest praise, and a very great one indeed, is--to have\nthrown the light of an _original_ philosophic sagacity upon a neglected\nprovince of history, indispensable to the _arrondissement_ of Pagan\narchaeology.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n{A} _Greece under the Romans._ BY GEORGE FINLAY, K.R.G. William Blackwood\n& Sons. Edinburgh and London. 1844.\n\n{B} \"_With scorn._\"--This has arisen from two causes: one is the habit of\nregarding the whole Roman empire as in its \"decline\" from so early a\nperiod as that of Commodus; agreeably to which conceit, it would\nnaturally follow that, during its latter stages, the Eastern empire must\nhave been absolutely in its dotage. If already declining in the second\ncentury, then, from the tenth to the fifteenth it must have been\nparalytic and bed-ridden. The other cause may be found in the accidental\nbut reasonable hostility of the Byzantine court to the first Crusaders,\nas also in the disadvantageous comparison with respect to manly virtues\nbetween the simplicity of these western children, and the refined\ndissimulation of the Byzantines.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work._\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume\n56, Number 348, by Various\n\n*** "
    },
    {
        "short_book_title": "A Hundred Years by Post by J. Wilson Hyde",
        "publication_date": 1891,
        "url": "http:\/\/www.gutenberg.org\/ebooks\/27688",
        "text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Adrian Mastronardi, Martin Pettit, The\nPhilatelic Digital Library Project at http:\/\/www.tpdlp.net\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp:\/\/www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA Hundred Years by Post\n\nA JUBILEE RETROSPECT\n\nBY\n\nJ. WILSON HYDE\n\nAUTHOR OF 'THE ROYAL MAIL: ITS CURIOSITIES AND ROMANCE'\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLONDON\n\nSAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND CO., LIM.\nSt. Dunstan's House\nFETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.\n\n1891\n\n[_All rights reserved_]\n\n\nPrinted by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty, at the\nEdinburgh University Press.\n\n\nTO\n\nTHE RIGHT HONOURABLE\n\nHENRY CECIL RAIKES, M.P.\n\nHER MAJESTY'S POSTMASTER-GENERAL,\n\nTHE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE,\n\nBY PERMISSION,\n\nRESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe following pages give some particulars of the changes that have taken\nplace in the Post Office service during the past hundred years; and the\nmatter may prove interesting, not only on account of the changes\nthemselves, but in respect of the influence which the growing usefulness\nof the Postal Service must necessarily have upon almost every relation\nof political, educational, social, and commercial life. More especially\nmay the subject be found attractive at the close of the present year,\nwhen the country has been celebrating the Jubilee of the Penny Post.\n\nEDINBURGH,\n\n_December 1890._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                                                     PAGE\n\n_Frontispiece_--MAIL-COACH IN THUNDERSTORM.\n\nPAST AND PRESENT CONTRASTED,                            1\n\nLIBERTY OF SUBJECT AND PUBLIC OPINION,                  5\n\nABUSES OF POWER,                                        7\n\nSLOW DIFFUSION OF NEWS,                                17\n\n_Illustration_--ANALYSIS OF LONDON TO EDINBURGH\n    MAIL OF 2D MARCH 1838,                    _facing_ 22\n\nSTATE OF ROADS AND INSECURITY OF TRAVELLING,           27\n\nFOOT AND HORSE POSTS,                                  33\n\n_Illustration_--THE MAIL, 1803,               _facing_ 40\n\nTHE MAIL-COACH ERA,                                    40\n\n_Illustration_--THE MAIL, 1824,               _facing_ 46\n\n_Illustration_--MODERN MAIL \"APPARATUS\" FOR\n    EXCHANGE OF MAILS,                        _facing_ 58\n\n_Illustration_--THE MAIL-COACH GUARD,         _facing_ 74\n\nDEAR POSTAGE,                                          80\n\n_Diagrams_--ROUNDABOUT COMMUNICATIONS,             84, 85\n\nSTREETS FIRST NUMBERED,                                88\n\nPOSTMASTERS AS NEWS COLLECTORS,                        91\n\n_Illustration_--THE BELLMAN,                  _facing_ 92\n\nMAIL-PACKET SERVICE,                                   96\n\n_Illustration_--HOLYHEAD AND KINGSTOWN PACKET\n    \"PRINCE ARTHUR,\"                         _facing_ 102\n\nPENNY POSTAGE,                                        111\n\n_Illustration_--HANDBILL USED IN PENNY POSTAGE\n    AGITATION,                               _facing_ 112\n\nVARIOUS BUSINESS OF THE POST OFFICE,                  119\n\nSTAFF OF THE POST OFFICE,                             123\n\n_Illustration_--TONTINE READING-ROOMS\n    GLASGOW,                                 _facing_ 126\n\nVALUE OF EARLY NEWS BY POST,                          130\n\nDIFFUSION OF PARLIAMENTARY NEWS BY THE TELEGRAPH\n    AND PRESS,                                        136\n\nRESULTS OF RAPID COMMUNICATIONS,                      139\n\n\n[Illustration: _Frontispiece._ MAIL-COACH IN THUNDERSTORM.\n(_From a print, 1827._)]\n\n\n\n\nA HUNDRED YEARS BY POST.\n\n\nWere a former inhabitant of this country who had quitted the stage of\nlife towards the close of last century to reappear in our midst, he\ncould not fail to be struck with the wonderful changes which have taken\nplace in the aspect of things; in the methods of performing the tasks of\ndaily life; and in the character of our social system generally. Nor is\nit too much to say that he would see himself surrounded by a world full\nof enchantment, and that his senses of wonder and admiration would rival\nthe feelings excited in youthful minds under the spell of books like\nJules Verne's _Journey to the Moon_, or the ever-entertaining stories of\nthe _Arabian Nights_. It is true that he would find the operations of\nnature going on as before. The dewdrop and the blade of grass, sunshine\nand shower, the movements of the tides, and the revolutions of the\nheavenly bodies; these would still appear to be the same. But almost\neverything to which man had been wont to put his hand would appear to\nbear the impress of some other hand; and a hundred avenues of thought\nopening to his bewildered sense would consign his inward man to the\neducation of a second childhood.\n\nSo fruitful has been the nineteenth century in discovery and invention,\nand so astounding the advancement made, that it is only by stopping in\nour madding haste and looking back that we can realise how different the\npresent is from the past. Yet to our imaginary friend's astonished\nperception, nothing, we venture to think, would come with greater force\nthan the contrast between the means available for keeping up\ncommunications in his day and in our own. We are used to see trains\ncoursing on the iron way at a speed of fifty or sixty miles an hour;\nsteamships moving on every sea, defiant of tide and wind, at the rate of\nfifteen or twenty miles an hour; and the electric telegraph\noutstripping all else, and practically annihilating time and space.\n\nBut how different was the state of things at the close of the eighteenth\ncentury! The only means then available for home communications--that is\nfor letters, etc.--were the Foot Messenger, the Horse Express, and the\nMail Coach; and for communication with places beyond the sea,\nsailing-ships.\n\nThe condition of things as then existing, and as reflected upon society,\nis thus summed up by Mackenzie in his _History of the Nineteenth\nCentury_: \"Men had scarcely the means to go from home beyond such\ntrivial distance as they were able to accomplish on foot. Human society\nwas composed of a multitude of little communities, dwelling apart,\nmutually ignorant, and therefore cherishing mutual antipathies.\"\n\nAnd when persons did venture away from home, in the capacity of\ntravellers, the entertainment they received in the hostelries, even in\nsome of the larger towns, seems now rather remarkable. If anything\nsurprises the traveller of these latter days, in regard to hotel\naccommodation, when business or pleasure takes him from the bosom of his\nfamily, it is the sumptuous character of the palaces in all the\nprincipal towns of all civilised countries wherein he may be received,\nand where he may make his temporary abode. To persons used to such\ncomforts, the accommodation of the last century would excite surprise in\nquite another direction. Here is a description of the inn accommodation\nof Edinburgh, furnished by Captain Topham, who visited Edinburgh in\n1774: \"On my first arrival, my companion and self, after the fatigue of\na long day's journey, were landed at one of these stable-keepers (for\nthey have modesty enough to give themselves no higher denomination) in a\npart of the town called the Pleasance; and, on entering the house, we\nwere conducted by a poor devil of a girl, without shoes or stockings,\nand with only a single linsey-woolsey petticoat which just reached\nhalf-way to her ankles, into a room where about twenty Scotch drovers\nhad been regaling themselves with whisky and potatoes. You may guess our\namazement when we were informed that this was the best inn in the\nmetropolis--that we could have no beds unless we had an inclination to\nsleep together, and in the same room with the company which a\nstage-coach had that moment discharged.\"\n\nBefore proceeding further, let us look at some of the circumstances\nwhich were characteristic of the period with which we are dealing.\nLiberty of the subject and public opinion are inseparably wedded\ntogether, and this seems inevitable in every country whose government\npartakes largely of the representative system. For in such States,\nunlike the conditions which obtain under despotic governments, the laws\nare formulated and amended in accordance with the views held for the\ntime being by _the people_, the Government merely acting as the agency\nthrough which the people's will is declared. And this being so, what is\ncalled the Liberty of the subject must be that limited and circumscribed\nfreedom allowed by the people collectively, as expressed in the term\n\"public opinion,\" to the individual man. In despotic States the\ncircumstances are necessarily different, and such States may be excluded\nfrom the present consideration.\n\nWherever there is wanting a quick and universal exchange of thought\nthere can be no sound public opinion. Where hindrances are placed upon\nthe free exchange of views, either by heavy duties on newspapers, by\ndear postage, or by slow communications, public opinion must be a plant\nof low vitality and slow growth. Consequently, in the age preceding that\nof steam, so far as applied to locomotion, and to the telegraph, which\nage extended well into the present century, there was no rapid exchange\nof thought; new ideas were of slow propagation; there was little of that\nintellectual friction so productive of intellectual light among the\nmasses. In these circumstances it is not surprising to read of things\nexisting within the last hundred years which to-day could have no place\nin our national existence. Lord Cockburn, in the _Memorials of his\nTime_, gives the following instance. \"I knew a case, several years\nafter 1800,\" says he, \"where the seat-holders of a town church applied\nto Government, which was the patron, for the promotion of the second\nclergyman, who had been giving great satisfaction for many years, and\nnow, on the death of the first minister, it was wished that he should\nget the vacant place. The answer, written by a Member of the Cabinet,\nwas that the single fact of the people having interfered so far as to\nexpress a wish was conclusive against what they desired; and another\nappointment was instantly made.\" Going back a little more than a hundred\nyears, the following are specimens of the abuses then in full vigour.\nThey are referred to in Trevelyan's _Early History of Charles James\nFox_, the period in question being about 1750-60: \"One nobleman had\neight thousand a year in sinecures, and the colonelcies of three\nregiments. Another, an Auditor of the Exchequer, inside which he never\nlooked, had L8000 in years of peace, and L20,000 in years of war. A\nthird, with nothing to recommend him except his outward graces, bowed\nand whispered himself into four great employments, from which thirteen\nto fourteen hundred British guineas flowed month by month into the lap\nof his Parisian mistress.\"... \"George Selwyn, who returned two members,\nand had something to say in the election of a third, was at one and the\nsame time Surveyor-General of Crown Lands, which he never surveyed,\nRegistrar in Chancery at Barbadoes, which he never visited, and Surveyor\nof the Meltings and Clerk of the Irons in the Mint, where he showed\nhimself once a week in order to eat a dinner which he ordered, but for\nwhich the nation paid.\"\n\nThe shameful waste of the public money in the shape of hereditary\npensions was still in vigour within the period we are dealing with; one\nsmall party in the State \"calling the tune,\" and the great mass of the\npeople, practically unrepresented, being left \"to pay the piper.\" During\nthe reign of George III., who occupied the throne from 1760 to 1820, the\nfollowing hereditary pensions were granted:--To Trustees for the use of\nWilliam Penn, and his heirs and descendants for ever, in consideration\nof his meritorious services and family losses from the American war\nL4000. To Lord Rodney, and every the heirs-male to whom the title of\nLord Rodney shall descend, L2000. To Earl Morley and John Campbell,\nEsq., and their heirs and assignees for ever, upon trust for the\nrepresentatives of Jeffrey Earl Amherst, L3000. To Viscount Exmouth and\nthe heirs-male to whom the title shall descend L2000. To Earl Nelson and\nthe heirs-male to whom the title of Earl Nelson shall descend, with\npower of settling jointures out of the annuity, at no time exceeding\nL3000 a year, L5000. In addition to this pension of L5000, Parliament\nalso granted to trustees on behalf of Earl Nelson a sum of L90,000 for\nthe purchase of an estate and mansion-house to be settled and entailed\nto the same persons as the annuity of L5000.\n\nWithin the Post Office too very strange things happened in connection\nwith money paid to certain persons supposed to be in its service. Here\nis a case, in the form of a remonstrance, referring to the period close\nupon the end of last century, which explains itself. \"Mr. Bushe observes\nthat the Government wished to reward his father, Gervas Parker Bushe\n(who was one of the Commissioners), for his services, and particularly\nfor having increased the revenue L20,000 per annum; but that he\npreferred a place for his son to any emolument for himself, in\nconsequence of which he was appointed Resident Surveyor. He expressed\nhis astonishment to find in the Patent (which he never looked into\nbefore) that it is there mentioned 'during good behaviour,' and not for\nlife, upon which condition alone his father would have accepted it. He\nadds that it was given to him as totally and absolutely a sinecure, and\nthat his appointment took place at so early a period of life that it\nwould be impossible for him to do any duty.\"\n\nAgain, the following evidence was given before a Commission on oath in\n1791, by Mr. Johnson, a letter-carrier in London: \"He receives at\npresent a salary as a letter-carrier of 14s. per week, making L36, 19s.\nper annum; he likewise receives certain perquisites, arising from such\npence as are collected in the evening by letters delivered to him after\nthe Receiving Houses are shut, amounting in 1784 to L38, 11s., also from\nacknowledgments from the public for sending letters by another\nletter-carrier not immediately within his walk, amounting in the same\nyear to L5. He likewise receives in Christmas boxes L20,--the above\nsums, making together L100, was the whole of his receipts of every kind\nwhatever by virtue of his office in 1784 (312 candles and a limited\nallowance of stationery excepted), out of which he pays a person for\nexecuting his duty as a letter-carrier, at the rate of 8s. a week, being\nL20, 16s. per annum, and retains the remainder for his own use\nentirely.\"\n\nIn a report made by a Commission which inquired into the state of the\nPost Office in 1788, the following statement appears respecting abuses\nexisting in the department; and in reflecting upon that period the Post\nOffice servants of to-day might almost entertain feelings of regret that\nthey did not live in the happy days of feasts, coals, and candles. Here\nis the statement of the Commissioners: \"The custom of giving certain\nannual feasts to the officers and clerks of this office (London) at the\npublic expense ought to be abolished; as also what is called the feast\nand drink money; and, as the Inland Office now shuts at an early hour,\nthe allowances of lodging money to some of the officers, and of\napartments to others, ought to be discontinued.\" But of all allowances,\nthose of coals and candles are the most enormous; for, besides those\nconsumed in the official apartments, there are allowed to sundry\nofficers for their private use in town or country above three hundred\nchaldrons of coals, and twenty thousand pounds of candles, which several\nof them commute with the tradesmen for money or other articles; the\namount of the sums paid for these two articles in the year 1784 was\nL4418, 4s. 1d.\n\nIn the year 1792 a payment was being made of L26 a year to a Mrs.\nCollier, who was servant to the Bye and Cross Road Office in the London\nPost Office; but she did not do the work herself. She employed a servant\nto whom she paid L6, putting L20 into her own pocket.\n\nWhat a splendid field this would have been for the Comptroller and\nAuditor General, and for questioners in the Houses of Parliament!\n\nAn abuse that had its origin no doubt in the fact that the nation was\nnot represented at large,[1] but by Members of Parliament who were\nreturned by a very limited class, and who could not understand or\nreflect the views of the masses, was that of the franking privilege.\n\nThe privilege of franking letters enjoyed by Members of Parliament was a\nsad burden upon the Revenue of the Post Office, and it continued in\nvigour down to the establishment of the Penny Post. Some idea of the\nmagnitude of this arrangement, which would now be called a gross abuse,\nwill be gathered from the state of things existing in the first quarter\nof the present century. Looking at the regulations of 1823, we find that\neach Member of Parliament was permitted to receive as many as fifteen\nand to send as many as ten letters in each day, such letters not\nexceeding one ounce in weight. At the then rates of postage this was a\nmost handsome privilege. In the year 1827 the Peers enjoying this extent\nof free postage numbered over four hundred, and the Commons over six\nhundred and fifty. In addition to these, certain Members of the\nGovernment and other high officials had the privilege of sending free\nany number of letters without restriction as to weight. These persons\nwere, in 1828, nearly a hundred in number.\n\nHow the privilege was turned to commercial account is explained in\nMackenzie's, _Reminiscences of Glasgow_. Referring to the Ship Bank of\nthat city, which had its existence in the first quarter of our century,\nand to one of the partners, Mr. John Buchanan of Ardoch, who was also\nMember of Parliament for Dumbartonshire, the author makes the following\nstatement: \"From his position as Member of Parliament, he enjoyed the\nprivilege of franking the letters of the bank to the extent of fourteen\nper diem. This was a great boon; it saved the bank some hundreds of\npounds per annum for postages. It was, moreover, regarded as a mighty\nhonour.\"\n\nGreat abuses were perpetrated even upon the abuse itself. Franks were\ngiven away freely to other persons for their use, they were even sold,\nand, moreover, they were forged. Senex, in his notes on _Glasgow Past\nand Present_, describes how this was managed in Ireland. \"I remember,\"\nsays he, \"about sixty years ago, an old Irish lady told me that she\nseldom paid any postage for letters, and that her correspondence never\ncost her friends anything. I inquired how she managed that. 'Oh,' said\nshe, 'I just wrote \"Free, J. Suttie,\" in the corner of the cover of the\nletter, and then, sure, nothing more was charged for it.' I said, 'Were\nyou not afraid of being hanged for forgery?' 'Oh, dear me, no,' she\nreplied; 'nobody ever heard of a lady being hanged in Ireland, and\ntroth, I just did what everybody else did.'\" But the spirit of inquiry\nwas beginning to assert itself in the first half of the century, and the\nfranking privilege disappeared with the dawn of cheap postage.\n\nPublic opinion had as yet no active existence throughout our\nCommonwealth, nor had the light spread so as to show up all the abuses.\nAnd how true is Buckle's observation in his _History of Civilisation_\nthat all recent legislation is the undoing of bad laws made in the\ninterest of certain classes. How could there be an active public opinion\nin the conditions of the times? Everybody was shut off from everybody\nelse. Hear further what Mackenzie says in his _History of the Nineteenth\nCentury_, referring to the end of last century: \"The seclusion resulting\nfrom the absence of roads rendered it necessary that every little\ncommunity, in some measure every family, should produce all that it\nrequired to consume. The peasant raised his own food; he grew his own\nflax or wool; his wife or daughter spun it; and a neighbour wove it\ninto cloth. He learned to extract dyes from plants which grew near his\ncottage. He required to be independent of the external world from which\nhe was effectively shut out. Commerce was impossible until men could\nfind the means of transferring commodities from the place where they\nwere produced to the place where there were people willing to make use\nof them.\" So much for the difficulty of exchanging ordinary produce. The\nexchange of thought suffered in a like fashion.\n\nIn the first half of the present century severe restrictions were placed\nupon the spread of news, not only by the heavy postage for letter\ncorrespondence, but by the equally heavy newspaper tax. Referring to\nthis latter hindrance to the spread of light Mackenzie says: \"The\nnewspaper is the natural enemy of despotic government, and was treated\nas such in England. Down to 1765 the duty imposed was only one penny,\nbut as newspapers grew in influence the restraining tax was increased\nfrom time to time, until in 1815 it reached the maximum of fourpence.\"\nAt this figure the tax seems to have continued many years, for under the\nyear 1836 Mackenzie refers to it as such, and remarks, \"that this\nrendered the newspaper a very occasional luxury to the working man; that\nthe annual circulation of newspapers in the United Kingdom was no more\nthan thirty-six million copies, and that these had only three hundred\nthousand readers.\"\n\nAt the present time the combined annual circulation of a couple of the\nleading newspapers in Scotland would equal the entire newspaper\ncirculation of the kingdom little more than fifty years ago. In the year\n1799, which is less than a hundred years ago, the _Edinburgh Evening\nCourant_ and the _Glasgow Courier_, two very small newspapers, were sold\nat sixpence a copy, each bearing a Government stamp of the value of\nthreehalf-pence. Is it surprising, under these conditions, that few\nnewspapers should circulate, and that news should travel slowly\nthroughout the country?\n\nBut the growth of newspapers to their present magnificent proportions is\na thing of quite recent times, for even so lately as 1857 the\n_Scotsman_, then sold unstamped for a penny, weighed only about\nthree-quarters of an ounce, while to-day the same paper, which continues\nto be sold for a penny, weighs fully four and a half ounces. And other\nnewspapers throughout the country have no doubt swelled their columns to\na somewhat similar degree.\n\nA very good instance of the small amount of personal travelling indulged\nin by the people a century ago is given by Cleland in his _Annals of\nGlasgow_. Writing in the year 1816, he says: \"It has been calculated\nthat, previous to the erection of steamboats, not more than fifty\npersons passed and repassed from Glasgow to Greenock in one day, whereas\nit is now supposed that there are from four to five hundred passes and\nrepasses in the same period.\" In the present day a single steamboat\nsailing from the Broomielaw, Glasgow, will often carry far more\npassengers to Greenock, or beyond Greenock, than the whole passengers\ntravelling between the towns named in one day in 1816. For example, the\ntourist steamer _Columba_ is certificated to carry some 1800 passengers.\n\nIn 1792 the principal mails to and from London were carried by\nmail-coaches, which were then running between the Metropolis and some\nscore of the chief towns in the country at the speed of seven or eight\nmiles an hour; and so far as direct mails were concerned the towns in\nquestion kept up relations with London under the conditions of speed\njust described. But the cross post service--that is, the service between\nplaces not lying in the main routes out of London--was not yet\ndeveloped, and these cross post towns were beyond the reach of anything\nlike early information of what was going on, not, let us say, in the\nworld at large, but in their own country. The people in these towns had\nto patiently await the laggard arrival of news from the greater centres\nof activity; and when it did arrive it probably came to hand in a very\nimperfect form, or so late as to be useless for any purpose of combined\naction or criticism.\n\nDr. James Russell, in his _Reminiscences of Yarrow_, describes how tardy\nand uncertain the mail service by post was in the early years of the\npresent century; and what he says is a severe contrast to the service of\nthe present time, which provides for the delivery of letters, generally\ndaily, in every hamlet in the country. Dr. Russell writes:--\n\n\"Since I remember (unless there was a chance hand on a Wednesday) our\nletters reached us only once a week, along with our bread and butcher\nmeat, by the weekly carrier, Robbie Hogg. His arrival used to be a great\nevent, the letter-bag being turned out, and a rummage made for our own.\nAfterwards the Moffat carriers gave more frequent opportunities of\ngetting letters; but they were apt to carry them on to Moffat and bring\nthem back the following week.\"\n\nAnother instance of the slow communications is given in a letter written\nfrom Brodick Castle, Arran, by Lord Archibald Campbell, on the 25th\nSeptember 1820.\n\nThe letter was addressed to a correspondent in Glasgow, and proceeds\nthus: \"Your letter of the 18th did not reach me till this morning, as,\nin consequence of the rough state of the weather, there has been no\npostal communication with this island for several days.\" The time\nconsumed in getting this letter forward from Glasgow to Brodick was\nexactly a week, and when so much time was required in the case of an\nisland lying in the Firth of Clyde, what time would be necessary to make\ncommunication with the Outer Hebrides?\n\nEven between considerable towns, as representing important centres in\nthe country, the amount of correspondence by letter was small. Thus the\nmail from Inverness to Edinburgh of the 5th October 1808 contained no\nmore than 30 letters. The total postage on these was L2, 9s. 6d., the\ncharges ranging from 11d. to 14s. 8d. per letter. At the present time\nthe letters from Inverness to Edinburgh are probably nearly a thousand a\nday; but this is no fair comparison, because many letters that would\nformerly pass through Edinburgh now reach their destinations in direct\nbags--London itself being an instance.\n\n[Illustration: ANALYSIS OF THE LONDON TO EDINBURGH MAIL OF THE 2D MARCH\n1838. (_After a print lent by Lady Cole from the collection of the late\nSir Henry Cole, K.C.B._)]\n\nBut coming down to a much later date, and looking at what was going on\nbetween London and Edinburgh, the capital towns of Great Britain, what\ndo we find? An analysis of the London to Edinburgh mail of the 2d March\n1838 gives the following figures; and let it not be forgotten that in\nthese days the Edinburgh mail contained the correspondence for a large\npart of Scotland:--\n\n2296 Newspapers, weighing 273 lbs., and going free.\n\n484 Franked Letters, weighing 47 lbs., and going free.\n\nParcels of stamps going free.\n\n1555 Letters, weighing 34 lbs., and bearing postage to the value of L93.\n\nThese figures represent the exchange of thought between the two capitals\nfifty years ago. These were truly the days of darkness, when abuses were\nkept out of sight and were rampant.\n\nDown to much later times the bonds of privilege remained untied. In the\nCivil Service itself what changes have taken place! The doors have been\nthrown open to competition and to capacity and worth, and probably they\nwill never be closed again. The author of these lines had an experience\nin 1867--not very long ago--which may be worthy of note. He had been\nthen several years in the Post Office service, and desired to obtain a\nnomination to compete for a higher position--a clerkship in the\nSecretary's office. He took the usual step through the good offices of a\nMember of Parliament, and the following rebuff emanated from\nheadquarters. It shall be its own monument, and may form a shot in the\nhistorical web of our time:--\n\n\"I wrote to ---- (the Postmaster-General) about the Mr. J. W. Hyde, who\ndesires to be permitted to compete for a clerkship in the London Post\nOffice, described as a cousin of ----.\n\n\"(The Postmaster-General) has to-day replied that nominations to the\nSecretary's office are not now given except to candidates who are\nactually gentlemen, that is, sons of officers, clergymen, or the like.\nIf I cannot satisfy (the Postmaster-General) on this point, I fear Mr.\nHyde's candidature will go to the wall.\"[2]\n\nNow one of the chief obstacles in the way of rapid communication in our\nown country was the very unsatisfactory state of the roads. Down to the\ntime of the introduction of mail-coaches, just about a hundred years\nago, the roads were in a deplorable state, and travellers have left upon\nrecord some rather strong language on the subject. It was only about\nthat time that road-making came to be understood; but the obvious need\nfor smooth roads to increase the speed of the mail gave an impetus to\nthe subject, and by degrees matters were greatly improved. It is not our\npurpose to pursue the inquiry as to roads, though the subject might be\nattractive, and we must be content with the general assertion as to\ntheir condition.\n\nBut not only were the roads bad, but they were unsafe. Travellers could\nhardly trust themselves to go about unarmed, and even the mail-coaches,\nin which (besides the driver and guard) some passengers generally\njourneyed, had to carry weapons of defence placed in the hands of the\nguard. Many instances of highway robbery by highwaymen who made a\nprofession of robbery might be given; but one or two cases may repay\ntheir perusal. On the 4th March 1793 the Under-Sheriff of Northampton\nwas robbed at eight o'clock in the evening near Holloway turnpike by two\nhighwaymen, who carried off a trunk containing the Sheriff's commission\nfor opening the assizes at Northampton.\n\nIn the Autobiography of Mary Hewitt the following encounter is recorded,\nreferring to the period between 1758-96: \"Catherine (Martin), wife of a\npurser in the navy, and conspicuous for her beauty and impulsive,\nviolent temper, having quarrelled with her excellent sister, Dorothea\nFryer, at whose house in Staffordshire she was staying, suddenly set off\nto London on a visit to her great-uncle, the Rev. John Plymley, prebend\nof the Collegiate Church at Wolverhampton, and Chaplain of Morden\nCollege, Blackheath. She journeyed by the ordinary conveyance, the\nGee-Ho, a large stage-waggon drawn by a team of six horses, and which,\ndriven merely by day, took a week from Wolverhampton to the Cock and\nBell, Smithfield.\n\n\"Arrived in London, Catherine proceeded on foot to Blackheath. There,\nnight having come on, and losing her way, she was suddenly accosted by a\nhorseman with, 'Now, my pretty girl, where are you going?' Pleased by\nhis gallant address, she begged him to direct her to Morden College. He\nassured her that she was fortunate in having met with him instead of one\nof his company, and inducing her to mount before him, rode across the\nheath to the pile of buildings which had been erected by Sir Christopher\nWren for decayed merchants, the recipients of Sir John Morden's bounty.\nAssisting her to alight, he rang the bell, then remounted his steed and\ngalloped away, but not before the alarmed official, who had answered\nthe summons, had exclaimed, 'Heavens! Dick Turpin on Black Bess!' My\nmother always said 'Dick Turpin.' Another version in the family runs\n'Captain Smith.'\"\n\nThe _Annual Register_ of the 3d October 1792 records the following case\nof highway robbery:--\n\n\"The daily messenger, despatched from the Secretary of State's office\nwith letters to His Majesty at Windsor, was stopped near Langley Broom\nby three footpads, who took from him the box containing the despatches,\nand his money, etc. The same men afterwards robbed a gentleman in a\npostchaise of a hundred guineas, a gold watch, etc. Some light dragoons,\nwho received information of the robberies, went in pursuit of the\nthieves, but were not successful. They found, however, a quantity of the\npapers scattered about the heath.\"\n\nWe will quote one more instance, as showing the frequency of these\nrobberies on the road. It is mentioned in the _Annual Register_ of the\n28th March 1793.\n\n\"Martin (the mail robber), condemned at Exeter Assizes, was executed on\nHaldown, near the spot where the robbery was committed. He had been well\neducated, and had visited most European countries. At the end of the\nyear 1791 he was at Paris, and continued there till the end of August\n1792. He said he was very active in the bloody affair of the 10th\nAugust, at the Palace of the Tuilleries, when the Swiss Guards were\nslaughtered, and Louis XVI. and his family fled to the National Assembly\nfor shelter. He said he did not enter with this bloody contest as a\nvolunteer, but, happening to be in that part of the city of Paris, he\nwas hurried on by the mob to take part in that sanguinary business. Not\nspeaking good French, he said he was suspected to be a Swiss, and on\nthat account, finding his life often in danger, he left Paris, and,\nembarking for England at Havre de Grace, arrived at Weymouth in\nSeptember last, and then came to Exeter. He said that being in great\ndistress in October he committed the mail robbery.\"\n\nA rather good anecdote is told of an encounter between a poor tailor\nand one of these knights of the road. The tailor, on being overtaken by\nthe highwayman, was at once called upon to stand and deliver, the\nsalutation being accompanied by the presentation of two pistols at the\npedestrian's head. \"I'll do that with pleasure,\" was the meek reply; and\nforthwith the poor victim transferred to the outstretched hands of the\nrobber all the money he possessed. This done, the tailor proceeded to\nask a favour. \"My friends would laugh at me,\" said he, \"were I to go\nhome and tell them I was robbed with as much patience as a lamb. Suppose\nyou fire your two bull-dogs right through the crown of my hat; it will\nlook something like a show of resistance.\" Taken with the fancy, the\nrobber good-naturedly complied with the request; but hardly had the\nsmoke from the weapons cleared away, when the tailor pulled out a rusty\nold horse pistol, and in turn politely requested the highwayman to shell\nout everything of value about him--his pistols not excepted. So the\nhighwayman had the worst of the meeting on that occasion. The incident\nwill perhaps help to dispel the sad reproach of the craft, that a tailor\nis but the ninth part of a man.\n\nIt should not be forgotten that these perils of the road had their\neffect in preventing intercourse between different parts of the country.\n\nIn such outlying districts as were blessed with postal communication a\nhundred years ago, the service was kept up by foot messengers, who often\ntravelled long distances in the performance of their duty. Thus in 1799\na post-runner travelled from Inverness to Loch Carron--a distance across\ncountry, as the crow flies, of about fifty miles--making the journey\nonce a week, for which he was paid 5s. Another messenger at the same\nperiod made the journey from Inverness to Dunvegan in Skye--a much\ngreater distance--also once a week, and for this service he received 7s.\n6d. The rate at which the messengers travelled seems not to have been\nvery great, if we may judge from the performances of the post from\nDumbarton to Inveraray. In the year 1805 the Surveyor of the district\nthus describes it: \"I have sometimes observed these mails at leaving\nDumbarton about three stones or 48 lbs. weight, and they are generally\nabove two stones. During the course of last winter horses were obliged\nto be occasionally employed; and it is often the case that a strong\nhighlander, with so great a weight upon him, cannot travel more than two\nmiles an hour, which greatly <DW44>s the general correspondence of this\nextensive district of country.\"\n\nThese humble servants of the post office, travelling over considerable\ntracts of country, would naturally become the means of conveying local\ngossip from stage to stage, and of spreading hearsay news as they went\nalong. In this way, and as being the bearers of welcome letters, they\nwere no doubt as gladly received at the doors of our forefathers as are\nthe postmen at our own doors to-day. Indeed, complaint was made of the\ndelays that took place on the route, probably from this very cause. Here\nis an instance referring to the year 1800. \"I found,\" wrote the\nSurveyor, \"that it had been the general practice for the post from\nBonaw to Appin to lodge regularly all night at or near the house of\nArdchattan, and did not cross Shien till the following morning, losing\ntwelve hours to the Appin, Strontian, and Fort-William districts of\ncountry; and I consider it an improvement of itself to remove such\nprivate lodgings or accommodations out of the way of posts, which, as I\nhave been informed, is sometimes done for the sake of perusing\nnewspapers as well as answering or writing letters.\"\n\nExposed to the buffetings of the tempest, to the rigours of wintry\nweather, and considering the rough unkept roads of the time, it is easy\nto imagine how seductive would be the fireside of the country house; and\nbearing in mind the desire on the part of the inmates to learn the\nlatest news, it is not surprising that the poor post-runner occasionally\ndeparted from the strict line of duty.\n\nBut immediately prior to the introduction of mail-coaches, and for a\nlong time before that, the mails over the longer distances were\nconveyed on horseback, the riders being known as \"post-boys.\" These were\nsometimes boys of fourteen or sixteen years of age, and sometimes old\nmen. Mr. Palmer, at whose instance mail-coaches were first put upon the\nroad, writing in 1783, thus describes the post-boy service. The picture\nis not a very creditable one to the Post Office. \"The post at present,\"\nsays he, \"instead of being the swiftest, is almost the slowest\nconveyance in the country; and though, from the great improvement in our\nroads, other carriers have proportionably mended their speed, the post\nis as slow as ever. It is likewise very unsafe. The mails are generally\nintrusted to some idle boy without character, and mounted on a worn-out\nhack, and who, so far from being able to defend himself or escape from a\nrobber, is much more likely to be in league with him.\" There is perhaps\nroom for suspicion that Mr. Palmer was painting the post-boy service as\nblack as possible, for he was then advocating another method of\nconveying the mails; but he was not alone in his adverse criticism. An\nofficial in Scotland thus described the service in 1799: \"It is\nimpossible to obtain any other contractors to ride the mails at 3d. out,\nor 1 1\/2d. per mile each way. On this account we are so much distressed\nwith mail riders that we have often to submit to the mails being\nconveyed by mules and such species of horses as are a disgrace to any\nservice.\" This is evidence from within the Post Office itself. While\nyoung boys were suited for the work in some respects, they were\nthoughtless and unpunctual; yet when older men were employed they\nfrequently got into liquor, and thus endangered the mails. The records\nof the service are full of the troubles arising from the conduct of\nthese servants. The public were doubtless much to blame for this. For\nthe post-boys were, as we may suppose, ever welcome at the house and\nball, where refreshment, in the shape of strong drink, would be offered\nto them, and they thus fell into trouble through a too common instance\nof mistaken kindness.\n\nIn the year 1763 the mail leaving London on Tuesday night (in the\nwinter season) was not in the hands of the people of Edinburgh until the\nafternoon of Sunday. This does not betoken a very rapid rate of\nprogression; but it appears that in many cases the post-boy's speed did\nnot rise above three or four miles an hour. The Post Office took severe\nmeasures with these messengers, through parliamentary powers granted;\nand even the public were called upon to keep an eye upon their\nbehaviour, and to report any misconduct to the authorities.\n\nMention has already been made of the unsafety of the roads for ordinary\ntravellers; but the roads were in no way safer for the post-boys. In\n1798 a post-boy carrying certain Selby mails was robbed near that place,\nbeing threatened with his life, and the mail-pouch which he then carried\nwas recovered under very strange circumstances in 1876.\n\nBut to come nearer home. On the early morning of the 1st of August 1802\nthe mail from Glasgow for Edinburgh was robbed by two men at a place\nnear Linlithgow, when a sum of L1300 or L1400 was stolen. The robbers\nhad previously been soldiers. They hurried into Edinburgh with their\nbooty, got drunk, were discovered, and, when subsequently tried, were\nsentenced to be executed. The law was severe in those days; and the Post\nOffice has the distinction of having obtained judgment against a robber\nwho was the last criminal hung in chains in Scotland. According to\nRogers, in his _Social Life of Scotland_, this was one Leal, who, in\n1773, was found guilty of robbing the mail near Elgin. A curious fact\ncame out in connection with the trial of this man Leal, showing what may\nbe termed the momentum of evil. It happened that some time previously\nLeal and a companion had been to see the execution of a man for robbing\nthe mail, and, on returning, they had to pass through a dark and narrow\npart of the road. At this point Leal observed to his companion that the\nsituation was one well suited for a robbery. And it was here that he\nafterwards carried the suggestion then made into effect.\n\nWhen such robberies took place the post-boys sometimes came off without\nserious mishap, but at other times they were badly injured. On Wednesday\nthe 23d October 1816, a post-boy near Exeter was assaulted (as the\nreport says) in \"a most desperate and inhuman manner,\" when his skull\nwas fractured, and he shortly afterwards died.\n\nThe post-boys were exposed to all the inclemency of the weather both by\nday and night. Sometimes they were overtaken by snow-storms, when they\nwould have to struggle on for their lives. Sometimes, after riding a\nstage in severe frost, they would have to be lifted from their saddles\nbenumbed with cold and unable to dismount. At other times accidents of a\ndifferent kind happened to them, and, as has been shown, they sometimes\nlost their lives.\n\nMail-coaches were first put upon the road on the 8th of August 1784. The\nterm of about sixty years, during which they were the means of conveying\nthe principal mails throughout the country, must ever seem to us a\nperiod of romantic interest. There is something stirring even in the\npicture of a mail-coach bounding along at the heels of four well-bred\nhorses; and we know by experience how exhilarating it is to be carried\nalong the highway at a rapid rate in a well-appointed coach.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAIL, 1803. (_From a contemporary print._)]\n\nWe cannot well separate the service given to the Post Office by\nmail-coaches from the passengers who made use of that means of\nconveyance, and we may linger a little to endeavour to realise what a\njourney was like from accounts left us by travellers. The charm of day\ntravelling could no doubt be conjured up even now by any one who would\ntake time to reflect upon the subject. But other phases of the matter\ncould hardly be so dealt with.\n\nDe Quincey, in his _Confessions of an English Opium Eater_, gives a\npleasing description of the easy motion and soothing influence of a\nwell-equipped mail-coach running upon an even and kindly road. The\nperiod he refers to was about 1803, and the coach was that carrying the\nBristol mail--which enjoyed unusual advantages owing to the superior\ncharacter of the road, and an extra allowance for expenses subscribed by\nthe Bristol merchants. He thus describes his feelings: \"It was past\neight o'clock when I reached the Gloucester Coffee-House, and, the\nBristol mail being on the point of going off, I mounted on the outside.\nThe fine fluent motion of the mail soon laid me asleep. It is somewhat\nremarkable that the first easy or refreshing sleep which I had enjoyed\nfor some months was on the outside of a mail-coach....\n\n\"For the first four or five miles from London I annoyed my\nfellow-passenger on the roof by occasionally falling against him when\nthe coach gave a lurch to his side; and, indeed, if the road had been\nless smooth and level than it is I should have fallen off from weakness.\nOf this annoyance he complained heavily, as, perhaps, in the same\ncircumstances, most people would.... When I next woke for a minute from\nthe noise and lights of Hounslow (for in spite of my wishes and efforts\nI had fallen asleep again within two minutes from the time I had spoken\nto him), I found that he had put his arm round me to protect me from\nfalling off; and for the rest of my journey he behaved to me with the\ngentleness of a woman, so that, at length, I almost lay in his arms....\nSo genial and refreshing was my sleep that the next time, after leaving\nHounslow, that I fully awoke was upon the pulling up of the mail\n(possibly at a post-office), and, on inquiry, I found that we had\nreached Maidenhead--six or seven miles, I think, ahead of Salthill. Here\nI alighted, and for the half-minute that the mail stopped I was\nentreated by my friendly companion (who, from the transient glimpse I\nhad had of him in Piccadilly, seemed to me to be a gentleman's butler,\nor person of that rank) to go to bed without delay.\"\n\nNight journeys might be very well, in a way, during the balmy days of\nsummer, when light airs and sweet exhalations from flower and leaf gave\npleasing features to the scenes, but in the cold nights of winter, in\nlashing rain, in storms of wind and snow, the unfortunate passengers\nand the guard and coachman must have had terrible times of it. It is\nsaid of the guards and coachmen that they had sometimes, when passing\nover the Fells, to be strapped to their seats, in order to keep their\nplaces against the fierce assaults of the mountain blast.\n\nThe winter experience of travelling by mail-coach in one of its phases\nis thus described by a writer in connection with a severe snow-storm\nwhich occurred in March 1827: \"The night mail from Edinburgh to Glasgow\nleft Edinburgh in the afternoon, but was stopped before reaching\nKirkliston. The guard with the mail-bags set forward on horseback, and\nthe driver rode back to Edinburgh with a view, it was understood, to get\nfresh horses. The passengers, four in number, entreated him to use all\ndiligence, and meanwhile were compelled to wait in the coach, which had\nstuck at a very solitary part of the road. There they remained through a\ndark and stormy night, with a broken pane of glass, through which the\nwind blew bitterly cold. It was nine o'clock next morning when the\ndriver came, bringing with him another man and a pair of horses. Having\ntaken away some articles, he jestingly asked the passengers what they\nmeant to do, and was leaving them to shift for themselves, but was\npersuaded at length to aid one who was faint, and unable to struggle\nthrough the snow. He was allowed to mount behind one of the riders; the\nother passengers were left to extricate themselves as best they could.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE MAIL, 1824. (_From a contemporary print._)]\n\nMany instances might be given of the stoppage of the coaches on account\nof snow, and of the efforts made by the guards to push on the mails. In\n1836 a memorable snow-storm took place which disorganised the service,\nand the occasion is one on which the guards and coachmen distinguished\nthemselves. The strain thrown upon the horses in a like situation is\nwell described by Cowper, if we change one word in his lines, which are\nas follows:--\n\n\n     \"The _coach_ goes heavily, impeded sore\n     By congregated loads adhering close\n     To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace\n     Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow.\n\n     The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,\n     While every breath, by respiration strong\n     Forced downward, is consolidated soon\n     Upon their jutting chests.\"\n\n\nA melancholy result followed upon a worthy endeavour to carry the mails\nthrough the snow on the 1st February 1831. The Dumfries coach had\nreached Moffat, where it became snowed up. The driver and guard procured\nsaddle-horses, and proceeded; but they had not gone far when they found\nthe roads impracticable for horses, and these were sent back to Moffat.\nThe two men then continued on foot; but they did not get beyond a few\nmiles on the road when they succumbed, and some days afterwards their\ndead bodies were found on the high ground near the \"Deil's Beef-Tub,\"\nthe bags being found attached to a post at the roadside, and not far\nfrom where the men fell. They perished in a noble attempt to perform\ntheir humble duties. The incident recalls the lines of Thomson:--\n\n\n                  \"And down he sinks\n     Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,\n     Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,\n     Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots\n     Through the wrung bosom of the dying man.\n     His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.\n                  On every nerve\n     The deadly winter seizes; shuts up sense;\n     And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold\n     Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse,\n     Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast.\"\n\n\nWe have little conception of the labour that had to be expended, during\nperiods of snow, in the endeavour to keep the roads open. In places the\nsnow would be found lying thirty or forty feet deep, and the road\ntrustees were obliged to spend large sums of money in clearing it away.\nHundreds of the military were called out in certain places to assist,\nand snow-ploughs were set to work in order to force a passage.\n\nThe inconvenience to the country caused by such interruptions is well\ndescribed in the _Annual Register_ of the 15th February 1795: \"My letter\nof two days ago is still here; for, though I have made an effort twice,\nI have been obliged to return, not having reached half the first stage.\nTwo mails are due from London, three from Glasgow, and four from\nEdinburgh. Neither the last guard that went hence for Glasgow on\nThursday, nor he that went on Wednesday, have since been heard of; this\ncountry was never so completely blocked up in the memory of the oldest\nperson, or that they ever heard of. I understand the road is ten feet\ndeep with snow from this to Hamilton. I have had it cut through once,\nbut this third fall makes an attempt impossible. Heaven only knows when\nthe road will be open, nothing but a thaw can do it--it is now an\nintense frost.\"\n\nBut the guards and coachmen were put upon their mettle on other\noccasions than when snow made further progress impossible.\n\nThe following incident, showing the courage and devotion to duty of a\nmail guard and coachman, is related by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, Bart., in\nhis account of the floods which devastated the province of Moray in\nAugust 1829. Referring to the state of things in the town of Banff, Sir\nThomas proceeds: \"The mail-coach had found it impracticable to proceed\nsouth in the morning by its usual route, and had gone round by the\nBridge of Alva. It was therefore supposed that the mail for Inverness,\nwhich reaches Banff in the afternoon, would take the same road. But what\nwas the astonishment of the assembled population when the coach\nappeared, within a few minutes of the usual time, at the further end of\nthe Bridge of Banff. The people who were standing there urged both the\nguard and coachman not to attempt to pass where their danger was so\ncertain. On hearing this the passengers left the coach; but the guard\nand coachman, scouting the idea of danger in the very streets of Banff,\ndisregarded the advice they received, and drove straight along the\nbridge. As they turned the corner of the butcher-market, signals were\nmade, and loud cries were uttered from the nearest houses to warn them\nof the danger of advancing; yet still they kept urging the horses\nonwards. But no sooner had they reached the place where the wall had\nburst, than coach and horses were at once borne away together by the\nraging current, and the vehicle was dashed violently against the corner\nof Gillan's Inn. The whole four horses immediately disappeared, but\nrose and plunged again, and dashed and struggled hard for their lives.\nLoud were the shrieks of those who witnessed this spectacle. A boat came\nalmost instantaneously to the spot, but as the rowers pushed up to try\nto disengage the horses, the poor animals, as they alternately reached\nthe surface, made desperate exertions to get into the boat, so that\nextreme caution was necessary in approaching them. They did succeed in\nliberating one of them, which immediately swam along the streets, amidst\nthe cheering of the population; but the other three sank to rise no\nmore. By this time the coach, with the coachman and guard, had been\nthrown on the pavement, where the depth of water was less; and there the\nguard was seen clinging to the top, and the coachman hanging by his\nhands to a lamp-post, with his toes occasionally touching the box. In\nthis perilous state they remained till another boat came and relieved\nthem, when the guard and the mails were landed in safety. Great\nindignation was displayed against the obstinacy which had produced this\naccident. But much is to be said in defence of the servants of the Royal\nMail, who are expected to persevere in their endeavours to forward the\npublic post in defiance of risk, though in this case their zeal was\nunfortunately proved to have been mistaken.\"[3]\n\nAlthough, as already stated, robberies were frequent from the\nmail-coaches, and the guard carried formidable weapons of defence, it\ndoes not appear that the coaches were often openly attacked. At any rate\nthere do not seem to be many records of such incidents referring to the\nlater days of the mail-coach service.\n\nAn old guard, now retired, but still or quite recently living in\nCarlisle, relates that only on one occasion did he require to draw his\narms for actual defence. This happened at a hamlet called Chance Inn, in\nthe county of Forfar, where the coach had stopped as usual. Both the\ninside and outside places were occupied by passengers, and no additional\ntravellers could be taken. A number of sailors, however, who were\nproceeding to join their ship at a seaport, wished to get upon the\ncoach; and though they were told that they could not travel by this\nmeans, they plainly showed by their looks and demeanour that they were\ndetermined to do so. One of them was overheard to say that, when the\nproper moment arrived, they would make short work of the guard, who, as\nit happened, was a youngish man. The passengers too were alarmed at the\nappearances, and appealed to the guard to keep a sharp eye upon the\nsailors. Under these conditions the guard directed the coachman, the\nmoment the word was given, to put the horses to a gallop, so as to leave\nthe seamen behind and avoid attack. The start was signalled as arranged,\nthe guard sprang into his place and faced round to the sailors, one of\nwhom was now in the act of preparing to throw a huge stone at his head\nwith both hands. Instantly the guard drew one of his pistols and covered\nthe ringleader, who thereupon dropped on his knees imploring pardon,\nwhile his companions, previously so aggressive, scampered off in all\ndirections like a set of scared rabbits.\n\nThe apparatus by which in the present day bags of letters are dropped\nfrom and taken up by the travelling post-office while the trains are\nrunning at high speed had its prototype in the days of the mail-coaches.\nIn the one case as in the other the object was to get rid of stoppages,\nand so to save time. In the coaching days the apparatus was of a most\nprimitive kind, consisting of a pointed stick rather less than four feet\nlong, whose sharpened end was put in behind the string around the neck\nof the mail-bag, and on the end of the stick the bag was held up to be\nclutched by the mail guard as the coach went hurriedly by. We are\nindebted to the sub-postmaster of Liberton, a village a few miles out of\nEdinburgh, for a description of the arrangement. He describes how the\nguards, some fifty years ago, would playfully deal with the youngsters\nwho worked the \"apparatus,\" by not only seizing the bag but also the\nstick, and causing the young people to run long distances after the\ncoach in order to recover it. The fun was all very well, says the\nsub-postmaster, in the genial nights of summer; \"but when the cold\nnights of winter came round, it was our turn to play a trick upon the\nguard, when both he and the driver were numbed with cold and fast\nasleep, and the four horses going at full speed. It was not easy to\narouse the guard to take the bag; and just fancy the rare gift of\nChristian charity that caused us youngsters to run and roar after the\nfast-running mail-coach to get quit of the bag. It used to be a weary\nbusiness waiting the mail-coach coming along from the south when the\nroads were stormed up with snow or otherwise delayed. It required some\ntact to hold up the bag, as the glare of the lamps prevented us from\nseeing the guard as he came up with his red coat and blowing a long tin\nhorn.\"\n\nSome curious notions were prevalent of the effect of travelling by\nmail-coach--the rate being about eight or ten miles an hour. Lord\nCampbell was frequently warned against the danger of journeying this\nway, and instances were cited to him of passengers dying of apoplexy\ninduced by the rapidity with which the vehicles travelled. In 1791\nthe Postmaster-General gave directions that the public should be warned\nagainst sending any cash by post, partly, as he stated, \"from the\nprejudice it does to the coin by the friction it occasions from the\ngreat expedition with which it is conveyed.\" After all, speed is merely\na relative thing.\n\n[Illustration: MODERN MAIL \"APPARATUS\" FOR EXCHANGE OF MAIL-BAGS:\nSETTING THE POUCH--EARLY MORNING.]\n\nAlthough, as previously stated, open attacks were not often made upon\nthe coaches, robberies of the bags conveyed by them were quite\ncommon--chiefly at night--and we may assume that they were made possible\nthrough the carelessness of the guards. It would be a long story to go\nfully into this matter. Let a couple of instances suffice. On the last\nday of February 1810, in the evening, a mail-coach at Barnet was robbed\nof sixteen bags for provincial towns by the wrenching off the lock while\nthe horses were changing. And on the 19th November of the same year\nseven bags for London were stolen from the coach at Bedford about nine\no'clock in the evening.\n\nThe authorities had a good deal of trouble with the mail guards and\ncoachmen, and the records of the period are full of warnings against\ntheir irregularities. Now they are admonished for stopping at ale-houses\nto drink; now the guards are threatened for sleeping upon duty. Then\nthey are cautioned against conveying fish, poultry, etc., on their own\naccount. A guard is fined L5 for suffering a man to ride on the roof of\nthe coach; a driver is fined L5 for losing time; another driver, for\nintoxication and impertinence to passengers, is fined L10 and costs. The\nguards are entreated to be attentive to their arms, to see that they are\nclean, well loaded, and hung handy; they are forbidden to blow their\nhorns when passing through the streets during the hours of divine\nservice on Sundays; they are enjoined to keep a watch upon French\nprisoners of war attempting to break their parole; and to sum up, an\nInspector despairingly writes that \"half his time is employed in\nreceiving and answering letters of complaint from passengers respecting\nthe improper conduct and impertinent language of guards.\" A story is\ntold of a passenger who, being drenched inside a coach by water coming\nthrough an opening in the roof, complained of the fact to the guard, but\nthe only answer he got was, \"Ay, mony a ane has complained o' that\nhole,\" and the guard quietly passed on to other duties.\n\nRailway travellers are familiar with an official at the principal\nthrough stations whose duty it seems to be to ring a bell and loudly\ncall out \"Take your seats!\" the moment hungry passengers enter the\nrefreshment-rooms. How far his zeal engenders dyspepsia and heart\ndisease it is impossible to say.\n\nIn the mail-coach days similar pressure was put upon passengers; for\nevery effort was made to hurry forward the mails. In a family letter\nwritten by Mendelssohn in 1829, he describes a mail-coach journey from\nGlasgow to Liverpool. Among other things he mentions that the changing\nof horses was done in about forty seconds. This was not the language of\nmere hyperbole, for where the stoppage was one for the purpose of\nchanging horses only the official time allowed was one minute.\n\nIt is perhaps a pity that we have not fuller records of the scenes\nenacted at the stopping-places; they would doubtless afford us some\namusement. There is the old story of the knowing passenger who,\nunobserved, placed all the silver spoons in the coffee-pot in order to\ncool the coffee and delay the coach, while the other passengers, already\nin their places, were being searched.\n\nThere is another story which may be worth repeating. A hungry passenger\nhad just commenced to taste the quality of a stewed fowl when he was\nperemptorily ordered by the guard to take his place. Unwilling to lose\neither his meal or his passage, he hastily rolled the fowl in his\nhandkerchief, and mounted the coach. But the landlord, unused to such\nliberties, was soon after him with the ravished dish. The coach was\nalready on the move, and the only revenge left to the landlord was to\ncall out jeeringly to the passenger, \"Won't you have the gravy, sir?\"\nThe other passengers had a laugh at the expense of their companion; but\nwe know that a hungry man is a tenacious man, and a man with a full\nstomach can afford to laugh. At any rate the proverb says, \"Who laughs\nlast laughs best.\"\n\nThe differences arising between passengers and the landlords at the\nstopping-places were sometimes, however, of a much more prosaic and\nsolemn character. Charles Lamb has given us such a scene. \"I was\ntravelling,\" he says, \"in a stage-coach with three male Quakers,\nbuttoned up in the straitest nonconformity of their sect. We stopped to\nbait at Andover, where a meal, partly tea apparatus, partly supper, was\nset before us. My friends confined themselves to the tea-table. I in my\nway took supper. When the landlady brought in the bill, the eldest of my\ncompanions discovered that she had charged for both meals. This was\nresisted. Mine hostess was very clamorous and positive. Some mild\narguments were used on the part of the Quakers, for which the heated\nmind of the good lady seemed by no means a fit recipient. The guard\ncame in with his usual peremptory notice. The Quakers pulled out their\nmoney and formally tendered it--so much for tea--I, in humble situation,\ntendering mine, for the supper which I had taken. She would not relax in\nher demand. So they all three quietly put up their silver, as did\nmyself, and marched out of the room, the eldest and gravest going first,\nwith myself closing up the rear, who thought I could not do better than\nfollow the example of such grave and warrantable personages. We got in.\nThe steps went up. The coach drove off. The murmurs of mine hostess, not\nvery indistinctly or ambiguously pronounced, became after a time\ninaudible, and now my conscience, which the whimsical scene had for a\nwhile suspended, beginning to give some twitches, I waited, in the hope\nthat some justification would be offered by these serious persons for\nthe seeming injustice of their conduct. To my surprise, not a syllable\nwas dropped on the subject. They sat as mute as at a meeting. At length\nthe eldest of them broke silence by inquiring of his next neighbour,\n'Hast thee heard how indigos go at the India House?' and the question\noperated as a soporific on my moral feelings as far as Exeter.\"\n\nA Frenchman was once a traveller by mail-coach, who, although he knew\nthe English language fairly well, was not familiar with the finer shades\nof meaning attached to set expressions when applied in particular\nsituations. An Englishman, who was his companion inside the coach, had\noccasion to direct his attention to some object in the passing\nlandscape, and requested him to \"look out.\" This the Frenchman promptly\ndid, putting his head and shoulders out of the window, and the view\nobtained proved highly pleasing to the stranger. A stage further on in\nthe journey, when the coach was approaching a narrow part of the road\nbordered and overhung by dense foliage, the driver, as was his custom,\ncalled out to the company, \"Look out!\" to which the Frenchman again\nquickly responded by thrusting head and shoulders out of the window;\nbut this time with the result that his hat was brushed off, and his face\nbadly scratched from contact with the neighbouring branches. This\ncurious contradiction in the use of the very same words enraged the\nFrenchman, who said hard things of our language; for he had discovered\nthat when told to \"look out\" he was to look out, and that again when\ntold to \"look out\" he was to be careful not to look out.\n\nMackenzie graphically describes the part mail-coaches took in the\ndistribution of news over the country in the early years of the century.\nReferring to the news of the battle of Waterloo, he says: \"By day and\nnight these coaches rolled along at their pace of seven or eight miles\nan hour. At all cross roads messengers were waiting to get a newspaper\nor a word of tidings from the guard. In every little town, as the hour\napproached for the arrival of the mail, the citizens hovered about their\nstreets waiting restlessly for the expected news. In due time the coach\nrattled into the market-place, hung with branches, the now familiar\ntoken that a great battle had been fought and a victory won. Eager\ngroups gathered. The guard, as he handed out his mail-bags, told of the\ndecisive victory which had crowned and completed our efforts. And then\nthe coachman cracked his whip, the guard's horn gave forth once more its\nnotes of triumph, and the coach rolled away, bearing the thrilling news\ninto other districts.\"\n\nThe writer of the interesting work called _Glasgow, Past and Present_,\ngives the following realistic account of the arrival of the London mail\nin Glasgow in war-time:--\n\n\"During the time of the French war it was quite exhilarating to observe\nthe arrival of the London mail-coach in Glasgow, when carrying the first\nintelligence of a great victory, like the battle of the Nile, or the\nbattle of Waterloo. The mail-coach horses were then decorated with\nlaurels, and a red flag floated on the roof of the coach. The guard,\ndressed in his best scarlet coat and gold ornamented hat, came galloping\nat a thundering pace along the stones of the Gallowgate, sounding his\nbugle amidst the echoings of the streets; and when he arrived at the\nfoot of Nelson Street he discharged his blunderbuss in the air. On these\noccasions a general run was made to the Tontine Coffee-room to hear the\ngreat news, and long before the newspapers were delivered the public\nwere advertised by the guard of the particulars of the great victory,\nwhich fled from mouth to mouth like wildfire.\"\n\nThe mail-guards, and also the coachmen, were a race of men by\nthemselves, modelled and fashioned by the circumstances of their\nemployment--in fact, receiving character, like all other sets of people,\nfrom their peculiar environment. There are now very few of them\nremaining, and these very old men. These officers of the Post Office\nmixed with all sorts of people, learned a great deal from the\npassengers, and were full of romance and anecdote. We remember one guard\nwhose conversation and accounts of funny things were so continuous that\nhis hearers were kept in a constant state of ecstasy whenever he was\nset agoing. His fund of story seemed inexhaustible, and we can imagine\nhow hilariously would pass away the hours on the outside of a mail-coach\nwith such a companion. The guard of whom we are speaking was a north\ncountryman, possessed of a stalwart frame and iron constitution, a man\nwith whom a highwayman would rather avoid getting into grips. He used to\ntell of an occasion on which the driver, being drunk, fell from his box,\nand the horses bolted. He himself was seated in his place at the rear of\nthe coach. The state of things was serious. He however scrambled over\nthe top of the coach, let himself down between the wheelers, stole along\nthe pole of the coach, recovered the reins, and saved the mail from\nwreck and the passengers from impending death. For this he received a\nspecial letter of thanks from the Postmaster-General.\n\nIt was the custom of this guard, as no doubt of others of his class, to\ntake charge of parcels of value for conveyance between places on his\nroad. On one occasion he had charge of a parcel of L1500 in bank notes,\nwhich was in course of transmission to a bank at headquarters. It\nhappened that the driver had been indulging rather freely, and at one of\nthe stopping-places the coachman started off with the coach leaving the\nguard behind. The latter did not discover this till the coach was out of\nsight, and realising the responsibility he was under in respect of the\nmoney, which for safety he had placed in a holster below one of his\npistols, he was in a great fright. There was nothing for it but to start\non foot and endeavour to overtake the coach; but this he did not succeed\nin doing till he had run a whole stage, at the end of which the\nperspiration was oozing through his scarlet coat. At the completion of\nthe journey he sponged himself all over with whisky, and did not then\nfeel any ill effects from the great strain he had placed himself under,\nthough later in life he believed his heart had suffered damage from the\nexertions of that memorable day.\n\nBefore leaving this branch of our subject it may be well to note that\nwhile the mail guards received but nominal pay--ten and sixpence a\nweek--they earned considerable sums in gratuities from passengers, and\nfor executing small commissions for the public. In certain cases as much\nas L300 a year was thus received; and the heavy fines that were\ninflicted upon them were therefore not so severe as might at first sight\nseem. Unhappily these men were given to take drink, if not wisely, at\nany rate too often. The weaknesses of the mail guard are very cleverly\nportrayed in some verses on the _Mail-Coach Guard_, quoted in Larwood\nand Hotten's work on the _History of Signboards_; and while these\nfrailties are the burden of the song, it will be observed how cleverly\nthe names of inns or alehouses are introduced into the song:--\n\n\n     \"At each inn on the road I a welcome could find;\n       At the Fleece I'd my skin full of ale;\n     The Two Jolly Brewers were just to my mind;\n       At the Dolphin I drank like a whale.\n     Tom Tun at the Hogshead sold pretty good stuff;\n       They'd capital flip at the Boar;\n     And when at the Angel I'd tippled enough,\n       I went to the Devil for more.\n     Then I'd always a sweetheart so snug at the Car;\n       At the Rose I'd a lily so white;\n     Few planets could equal sweet Nan at the Star;\n       No eyes ever twinkled so bright.\n     I've had many a hug at the sign of the Bear;\n       In the Sun courted morning and noon;\n     And when night put an end to my happiness there,\n       I'd a sweet little girl in the Moon.\n     To sweethearts and ale I at length bid adieu,\n       Of wedlock to set up the Sign;\n     Hand-in-Hand the Good-Woman I look for in you,\n       And the Horns I hope ne'er will be mine.\n     Once guard to the mail, I'm now guard to the fair,\n       But though my commission's laid down,\n     Yet while the King's Arms I'm permitted to bear,\n       Like a Lion I'll fight for the Crown.\"\n\n\nA good loyal subject to the last.\n\nOne of the changes that time and circumstances have brought into the\npostal service is this, that the country post-offices have passed out of\nthe hands of innkeepers, and into those of more desirable persons. In\nformer times, and down to the period of the mail-coaches, the\npost-offices in many of the provincial towns were established at the inn\nof the place. In those days the conveyance of the mails being to a large\nextent by horse, it was convenient to have the office established where\nthe relays of horses were maintained; and the term \"postmaster\" then\napplied in a double sense--to the person intrusted with the receipt and\ndespatch of letters, and with the providing of horses to convey the\nmails. The two duties are now no longer combined, and the word\n\"postmaster\" has consequently become applicable to two totally different\nclasses of persons. The innkeepers were not very assiduous in matters\npertaining to the post, and the duty of receiving and despatching\nletters, being frequently left to waiters and chambermaids, was very\nbadly done. Often there was no separate room provided for the\ntransaction of post-office business, and visitors at the inn and others\nhad opportunities for scrutinising the correspondence that ought not to\nhave existed. The postmaster was assisted by his ostler, as chief\nadviser in the postal work, which, however, was neglected; the worst\nhorses, instead of the best, were hired out for the mails; and for\nriders the service was graced with the dregs of the stable-yard. At the\nsame time the innkeepers were alive to their own interests, for they\nsometimes attracted travellers to their houses by granting them franks\nfor the free transmission of their letters. The salaries of the\npostmasters were not cast in a liberal mould, and what they did receive\nwas subject to the charge of providing candles, wax, string, etc.,\nnecessary for making up the mails.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAIL-COACH GUARD.]\n\nThe following are examples of the salaries of postmasters about a\nhundred years ago:--\n\n\n     Paisley, 1790 to 1800,        L33\n     Dundee, 1800,                  50\n     Arbroath, 1763 to 1794,        20\n     Aberdeen, 1763 to 1793, about  90\n     Glasgow, 1789                 140\n       and Clerk                    30\n\n\nConstant appeals reached headquarters for \"an augmentation,\" which was\nthe term then applied to an increase of salary, and in the circumstances\nit is not surprising that the post-office work was indifferently done.\nAttendance had to be given to the public during the day, and when the\nmail passed through a town in the dead hours of night some one had to be\nup to despatch or receive the mail. Sometimes the postmaster, when awoke\nby the post-boy's horn, would get up and drop the mail-bag by a hook\nand line from his bedroom window. An instance of such a proceeding is\ngiven by Williams in his history of Watford, where the destinies of the\npost were at the time presided over by a postmistress. \"In response,\"\nsays he, \"to the thundering knock of the conductor, the old lady left\nher couch, and thrusting her head, covered with a wide-bordered\nnight-cap, out of the bedroom window, let down the mail-bag by a string,\nand quickly returned to her bed again.\" Coming thus nightly to the open\nwindow must have been a risky duty as regards health for a postmistress.\n\nA hundred years ago the chief post-office in London was situated in\nLombard Street. The scene, if we may judge by a print of the period,\nwould appear to have been one of quietude and waiting for something to\nturn up. In 1829 the General Post Office was transferred to St. Martin's\nle Grand, and the departure of the evening mails (when mail-coaches were\nin full swing) became one of the sights of London.\n\nLiving in an age of cheap postage as we do, we look back upon the rates\ncharged a century ago with something akin to amazement. In the following\ntable will be seen some of the inland and foreign postage charges which\nwere current in the period from 1797 to 1815:--\n\n\n     --------------------------------------------------------------\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |                          | Single| Double | Treble | 1 oz. |\n     |     ENGLAND, 1797.       | Letter| Letter | Letter |       |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |Distance not exceeding in +-------+--------+--------+-------+\n     |Miles--                   | s.  d.| s.  d. | s.  d. | s. d. |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |15,                       | 0   3 | 0   6  | 0   9  | 1  0  |\n     |15 to 30,                 | 0   4 | 0   8  | 1   0  | 1  4  |\n     |30 \"  60,                 | 0   5 | 0  10  | 1   3  | 1  8  |\n     |60 \" 100,                 | 0   6 | 1   0  | 1   6  | 2  0  |\n     |100 \" 150,                | 0   7 | 1   2  | 1   9  | 2  4  |\n     |150 and upwards,          | 0   8 | 1   4  | 2   0  | 2  8  |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |For Scotland these rates  |       |        |        |       |\n     |were increased by         | 0   1 | 0   2  | 0   3  | 0  4  |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |        FOREIGN.          |       |        |        |       |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |From any part in Great    |       |        |        |       |\n     |Britain to any part in--  |       |        |        |       |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |Portugal,                 | 1   0 | 2   0  | 3   0  | 4  0  |\n     |British Dominions in  }   |       |        |        |       |\n     |America,              }   | 1   0 | 2   0  | 3   0  | 4  0  |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |          1806.           |       |        |        |       |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |From any part in Great    |       |        |        |       |\n     |Britain to--              |       |        |        |       |\n     |                          |       |        |        |       |\n     |Gibraltar,                | 1   9 | 3   6  | 5   3  | 7  0  |\n     |Malta,                    | 2   1 | 4   2    6   3  | 8  4  |\n     --------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n     ---------------------------------------------------------\n     |                       |       |       |       |       |\n     |        1808.          |Single |Double |Treble | 1 oz. |\n     |                       |Letter.|Letter.|Letter.|       |\n     |From any part in Great |       |       |       |       |\n     |  Britain to--         +-------+-------+-------+-------+\n     |                       | s.  d.| s.  d.|  s. d.|  s. d.|\n     |    Madeira,           | 1   6 | 3   0 |  4  6 |  6  0 |\n     |    South America, }   |       |       |       |       |\n     |    Portuguese     }   | 2   5 | 4  10 |  7  3 |  9  8 |\n     |      Possessions, }   |       |       |       |       |\n     |                       |       |       |       |       |\n     |        1815.          |       |       |       |       |\n     |                       |       |       |       |       |\n     |From any part in Great |       |       |       |       |\n     |  Britain to--         |       |       |       |       |\n     |                       |       |       |       |       |\n     |    Cape of Good Hope,}|       |       |       |       |\n     |    Mauritius,        }| 3   6 | 7   0 | 10  6 | 14  0 |\n     |    East Indies,      }|       |       |       |       |\n     |                       |       |       |       |       |\n     ---------------------------------------------------------\n\n\nOver and above these foreign rates, the full inland postage in England\nand Scotland, according to the distance the letters had to be conveyed\nto the port of despatch, was levied.\n\nMany persons remember how old-fashioned letters were made up--a single\nsheet of paper folded first at the top and bottom, then one side slipped\ninside the folds of the other, then a wafer or seal applied, and the\naddress written on the back. That was a _single_ letter. If a cheque,\nbank-bill, or other document were enclosed, the letter became a double\nletter. Two enclosures made the letter a treble letter. The officers of\nthe Post Office examined the letters in the interest of the Revenue, the\nletters being submitted to the test of a strong light, and the officers,\npeeping in at the end, used the feather end of a quill to separate the\nfolds of the letter for better inspection. Envelopes were not then used.\n\nThese high rates of postage gave rise to frequent attempts to defraud\nthe Revenue, and many plans were adopted to circumvent the Post Office\nin this matter. Sometimes a series of words in the print of a newspaper\nwere pricked with a pin, and thus conveyed a message to the person for\nwhom the newspaper was intended. Sometimes milk was used as an invisible\nink upon a newspaper, the receiver reading the message sent by holding\nthe paper to the fire. At other times soldiers took the letters of their\nfriends, and sent them under franks written by their officers. Letters\nwere conveyed by public carriers, against the statute, sometimes tied up\nin brown paper, to disguise them as parcels. The carriers seem to have\nbeen conspicuous offenders, for one of them was convicted at Warwick in\n1794, when penalties amounting to L1500 were incurred, though only L10\nand costs were actually exacted. The Post Office maintained a staff of\nmen called \"Apprehenders of Letter Carriers,\" whose business it was to\nhunt down persons illegally carrying letters.\n\nNor must we omit to mention how far short of perfection were the means\nafforded for cross-post communication between one town and another.\nWhile along the main lines of road radiating from London there might be\na fairly good service according to the ideas of the times, the\ncross-country connections were bad and inadequate. Here are one or two\ninstances:--\n\nIn 1792 there was no direct post between Thrapstone and Wellingborough,\nthough they lay only nine miles apart. Letters could circulate between\nthese towns by way of Stilton, Newark, Nottingham, and Northampton,\nperforming a circuit of 148 miles, or they could be sent by way of\nLondon, 74 up and 68 1\/2 down,--in which latter case they reached their\ndestination one day sooner than by the northern route.\n\n[Illustrations: Diagrams--ROUNDABOUT COMMUNICATIONS]\n\nAgain, from Ipswich to Bury St. Edmunds, two important towns of about\n11,000 and 7000 inhabitants respectively, and distant from each other\nonly twenty-two miles, there was no direct post. Letters had to be\nforwarded either through Norwich and Newmarket, or by way of London, the\ndistance to be covered in the one case being 105 miles, and in the other\n143 1\/2 miles. According to a time-table of the period, a letter posted at\nIpswich for Bury St. Edmunds on Monday would be despatched to Norwich at\n5.30 A.M. on Tuesday. Reaching this place six hours thereafter, it would\nbe forwarded thence at 4 P.M. to Newmarket, where it was due at 11 P.M.\nAt Newmarket it would lie all night and the greater part of next day,\nand would only arrive at Bury at 5.40 P.M. on Wednesday. Thus three days\nwere consumed in the journey of a letter from Ipswich to Bury by the\nnearest postal route, and nothing was to be gained by adopting the\nalternative route _via_ London.\n\nIn 1781 the postal staff in Edinburgh was composed of twenty-three\npersons, of whom six were letter-carriers. The indoor staff of the\nGlasgow Post Office in 1789 consisted of the postmaster and one clerk,\nand as ten years later there were only four postmen employed, the\noutdoor force in 1789 was probably only four men.\n\nLiverpool, in the year 1792, when its population stood at something like\n60,000, had only three postmen, whose wages were 7s. a week each. One of\nthe men, however, was assisted by his wife, and for this service the\nPost Office allowed her from L10 to L12 a year. Their duties seem to\nhave been carried out in an easy-going, deliberate fashion. The men\narranged the letters for distribution in the early morning, then they\npartook of breakfast, and started on their rounds about 9 A.M.,\ncompleting their delivery about the middle of the afternoon. It would\nthus seem that a hundred years ago there was but one delivery daily in\nLiverpool.\n\nDuring the same period there were only three letter-carriers employed at\nManchester, four at Bristol, and three or four at Birmingham. In our own\ntimes the number of postmen serving these large towns may be counted by\nthe hundreds, or, I might almost say, thousands.\n\nThe delivery of letters in former times was necessarily a slow affair,\nfor two reasons, namely:--that prepayment was not compulsory, and the\nsenders of letters thoughtfully left the receivers to pay for them, when\nthe postmen would often be kept waiting for the money. And secondly,\nstreets were not named and numbered systematically as they now are, and\nconcise addresses were impossible.\n\nIt is no doubt the case that order and method in laying out the streets\nand in regulating generally the buildings of towns are things of quite\nmodern growth. In old-fashioned towns we find the streets running at all\nangles to one another, and describing all sorts of curves, without any\nregard whatever to general harmony. And will it be believed that the\nnumbering of the houses in streets is comparatively a modern\narrangement! Walter Thornbury tells us in his _Haunted London_ that\n\"names were first put on doors in 1760 (some years before the street\nsigns were removed). In 1764 houses were first numbered, the numbering\ncommencing in New Burleigh Street, and Lincoln's-Inn-Fields being the\nsecond place numbered.\" While in our own time the addresses of letters\nare generally brief and direct, it is not to be wondered at that, under\nthe conditions above stated, the superscriptions were often such as now\nseem to us curious. Here is one given in a printed notice issued at\nEdinburgh in 1714:--\n\n\n     \"The Stamp office at Edinburgh\n     in Mr. William Law, Jeweller,\n     his hands, off the Parliament close,\n     down the market stairs, opposite\n     to the Excise office.\"\n\n\nHere is another old-fashioned address, in which one must admit the\nspirit of filial regard with which it is inspired:--\n\n\n     \"These for his honoured Mother,\n     Mrs. Hester Stryp, widow,\n     dwelling in Petticoat Lane, over\n     against the Five Inkhorns,\n               without Bishopgate,\n                  in London.\"\n\n\nYet one more specimen, referring to the year 1702:--\n\n\n             \"For\n     Mr. Archibald Dunbarr\n     of Thunderstoune, to be\n     left at Capt. Dunbar's\n     writing chamber at the\n     Iron Revell, third storie\n     below the cross, north end\n     of the close at Edinburgh.\"\n\n\nUnder the circumstances of the time it was necessary thus to define at\nlength where letters should be delivered; and the same circumstances\nwere no doubt the _raison-d'etre_ of the corps of caddies in Edinburgh,\nwhose business it was to execute commissions of all sorts, and in whom\nthe paramount qualification was to know everybody in the town, and where\neverybody lived.\n\nAll this is changed in our degenerate days, and it is now possible for\nany one to find any other person with the simple key of street and\nnumber.\n\nThe irregular way in which towns grew up in former times is brought out\nin an anecdote about Kilmarnock. Early in the present century the\nstreets of that town were narrow, winding, and intricate. An English\ncommercial traveller, having completed some business there, mounted his\nhorse, and set out for another town. He was making for the outskirts of\nKilmarnock, and reflecting upon its apparent size and importance, when\nhe suddenly found himself back at the cross. In the surprise of the\nmoment he was heard to exclaim that surely his \"sable eminence\" must\nhave had a hand in the building of it, for it was a town very easily got\ninto, but there was no getting out of it.\n\nA duty that the changed circumstances of the times now renders\nunnecessary was formerly imposed upon postmasters, of which there is\nhardly a recollection remaining among the officials carrying on the work\nof the post to-day. The duty is mentioned in an order of May 1824, to\nthe following effect: \"An old instruction was renewed in 1812, that all\npostmasters should transmit to me (the Secretary), for the information\nof His Majesty's Postmaster-General, an immediate account of all\nremarkable occurrences within their districts, that the same may be\ncommunicated, if necessary, to His Majesty's principal Secretaries of\nState. This has not been invariably attended to, and I am commanded by\nHis Lordship to say, that henceforward it will be expected of every\nDeputy.\" This gathering of news from all quarters is now adequately\nprovided for by the _Daily Press_, and no incident of any importance\noccurs which is not immediately distributed through that channel, or\nflashed by the telegraph, to every corner of the kingdom.\n\nA custom, which would now be looked upon as a curiosity, and the origin\nof which would have to be sought for in the remote past, was in\noperation in the larger towns of the kingdom until about the year 1859.\nThe custom was that of ringing the town for letters to be despatched;\ncertain of the postmen being authorised to go over apportioned\ndistricts, after the ordinary collections of letters from the receiving\noffices had been made, to gather in late letters for the mail. Until the\nyear above mentioned the arrangement was thus carried out in Dublin. The\nletter-box at the chief office, and those at the receiving offices,\nclosed two hours before the despatch of the night mail. Half an hour\nafter this closing eleven postmen started to scour the town, collecting\non their way letters and newspapers. Each man carried a locked leather\nwallet, into which, through an opening, letters and other articles were\nplaced, the postmen receiving a fee of a penny on every letter, and a\nhalfpenny on every newspaper. This was a personal fee to the men over\nand above the ordinary postage. To warn the public of the postman's\napproach each man carried a large bell, which he rang vigorously as he\nwent his rounds. These men, besides taking up letters for the public,\ncalled also at the receiving offices for any letters left for them upon\nwhich the special fee had been paid, and the \"ringers\" had to reach the\nchief office one hour before the despatch of the night mail. This custom\nseems to have yielded considerable emolument to the men concerned, for\nwhen it was abolished compensation was given for the loss of fees, the\nannual payments ranging from L10 8s., to L36 8s. Increased posting\nfacilities, and the infusion of greater activity into the performance of\npost-office work, were no doubt the things which \"rang the parting\nknell\" of these useful servants of the period.\n\n[Illustration: THE BELLMAN COLLECTING LETTERS FOR DESPATCH.]\n\nThe slow and infrequent conveyance of mails by the ordinary post in\nformer times gave rise to the necessity for \"Expresses.\" By this term is\nmeant the despatch of a single letter by man and horse, to be passed on\nfrom stage to stage without delay to its destination. In an official\ninstruction of 1824 the speed to be observed was thus described: \"It is\nexpected that all Expresses shall be conveyed at the rate of seven\nmiles, at least, within the hour.\" The charge made was 11d. per mile,\narising as follows, viz.:--7 1\/2d. per mile for the horse, 2d. per mile for\nthe rider, and 1 1\/2d. per mile for the post-horse duty. The postmaster who\ndespatched the Express, and the postmaster who received it for delivery,\nwere each entitled to 2s. 6d. for their trouble.\n\nIt will perhaps be convenient to look at the packet service apart from\nthe land service, though progress is as remarkable in the one as in the\nother. During the wars of the latter half of the last century, the\npackets, small as they were, were armed packets. But we almost smile in\nrecording the armaments carried. Here is an account of the arms of the\n_Roebuck_ packet as inventoried in 1791:--\n\n\n     2 Carriage guns.\n     4 Muskets and bayonets.\n     4 Brass Blunderbusses.\n     4 Cutlasses.\n     4 Pair of Pistols.\n     3 old Cartouch-boxes.\n\n\nIn our own estuaries and seas the packets were not free from\nmolestation, and were in danger of being taken. In 1779 the Carron\nCompany were running vessels from the Forth to London, and the following\nnotice was issued by them as an inducement to persons travelling between\nthese places:--\n\n\"The Carron vessels are fitted out in the most complete manner for\ndefence, at a very considerable expense, and are well provided with\nsmall arms. All mariners, recruiting parties, soldiers upon furlow, and\nall other steerage passengers who have been accustomed to the use of\nfirearms, and who will engage to assist in defending themselves, will be\naccommodated with their passage to and from London upon satisfying the\nmasters for their provisions, which in no instance shall exceed 10s. 6d.\nsterling.\" This was the year in which Paul Jones visited the Firth of\nForth, and was spreading terror all round the coasts. The following was\nthe service of the packets in the year 1780. Five packets were employed\nbetween Dover and Ostend and Calais, the despatches being made on\nWednesdays and Saturdays. Between Harwich and Holland three were\nemployed, the sailings in this case also taking place on Wednesdays and\nSaturdays. For New York and the West India Service twelve packets were\nengaged, sailing from Falmouth on the first Wednesday of every month.\nFour packets performed the duty between Falmouth and Lisbon, sailing\nevery Saturday; and five packets kept up the Irish communication,\nsailing daily between Holyhead and Dublin. In the year 1798, a mail\nservice seems to have been kept up by packets sailing from Yarmouth to\nCuxhaven, at the mouth of the Elbe, respecting which the following\nparticulars may be interesting. They are taken from an old letter-book.\n\"The passage-money to the office is 12s. 6d. for whole passengers, and\n6s. 6d. for half passengers, either to or from England; 6d. of which is\nto be paid to the Captain for small beer, which both the whole and half\npassengers are to be informed of their being entitled to when they\nembark.\n\n\"1s. 6d. is allowed as a perquisite on each whole passenger, 1s. of\nwhich to the agent at Cuxhaven for every whole passenger embarking for\nEngland, and the other 6d. to the agent at Yarmouth; and in like manner\n1s. to the agent at Yarmouth on every whole passenger embarking for the\nContinent, and 6d. to the agent at Cuxhaven; but no fee whatever is to\nbe taken on half passengers, so that 10s. 6d. must be accounted for to\nthe Revenue on each whole passenger, and 6s. on each half passenger.\"\n\nHalf passengers were servants, young children, or persons in low\ncircumstances.\n\nWhile touching upon passage-money, it may be noted that in 1811 the fare\nfrom Weymouth to Jersey or Guernsey, for cabin passengers, was, to the\ncaptain, 15s. 6d. and to the office 10s. 6d.--or L1, 6s. in all.\n\nThe mail packets performing the service between England and Ireland in\nthe first quarter of the present century were not much to boast of.\nAccording to a survey taken at Holyhead in July 1821, the vessels\nemployed to carry the mails between that port and Dublin were of very\nsmall tonnage, as will be seen by the following table:--\n\n\n     Uxbridge,                93 tons.\n     Pelham,                  98  \"\n     Duke of Montrose,        98  \"\n     Chichester,             102  \"\n     Union,                  104  \"\n     Countess of Liverpool,  114  \"\n\n\nThe valuation of these crafts, including rigging, furniture, and\nfitting, ranged from L1600 to L2400.\n\nThe failures or delays in making the passage across the Channel are thus\ndescribed by Cleland in his _Annals of Glasgow_: \"It frequently\nhappens,\" says he, \"that the mail packet is windbound at the mouth of\nthe Liffey for several days together\"; and we have seen it stated in a\nnewspaper article that the packets crossing to Ireland by the\nPortpatrick route were sometimes delayed a couple of weeks by contrary\nwinds.\n\nA few years previously an attempt had been made to introduce\nsteam-packets for the Holyhead and Dublin service; but this improved\nservice was not at that time adopted. Referring to the year 1816,\nCleland writes: \"The success of steamboats on the Clyde induced some\ngentlemen in Dublin to order two vessels to be made to ply as packets in\nthe Channel between Dublin and Holyhead, with a view of ultimately\ncarrying the mail. The dimensions are as follows:--viz., keel 65 feet,\nbeam 18 feet, with 9 feet draught of water--have engines of 20\nhorse-power, and are named the 'Britannia' and 'Hibernia.'\" These were\nthe modest ideas then held as to the power of steam to develop and\nexpedite the packet service. In the period from 1850-60, when steam had\nbeen adopted upon the Holyhead and Dublin route, one of the first\ncontract vessels was the _Prince Arthur_, having a gross tonnage of 400,\nand whose speed was thirteen or fourteen knots an hour. The latest\naddition to this line of packets is the _Ireland_ a magnificent ship of\n2095 tons gross, and of 7000 horse-power. Its rate of speed is\ntwenty-two knots an hour.\n\nAs regards the American packet service perhaps greater strides than\nthese even have been achieved. Prior to 1840 the vessels carrying the\nmails across the Atlantic were derisively called \"coffin brigs,\" whose\ntonnage was probably about 400. At any rate, as will be seen later on, a\npacket in which Harriet Martineau crossed the Atlantic in 1836 was one\nof only 417 tons. On the 4th July 1840, a company, which is now the\nCunard Company, started a contract service for the mails to America, the\nsteamers employed having a tonnage burden of 1154 and indicated\nhorse-power of 740. Their average speed was 8 1\/2 knots. In 1853 the\npackets had attained to greater proportions and higher speed, the\naverage length of passage from Liverpool to New York being twelve days\none hour fourteen minutes. As years rolled on competition and the\nexigencies of the times called for still more rapid transit, and at\nthe present day the several companies performing the American Mail\nService have afloat palatial ships of 7000 to 10,000 tons, bringing\nAmerica within a week's touch of Great Britain.\n\n[Illustration: HOLYHEAD AND KINGSTOWN MAIL PACKET \"PRINCE ARTHUR\"--400\nTONS--PERIOD 1850-60.\n(_From a painting, the property of the City of Dublin Steam Packet\nCompany._)]\n\nGoing back a little more than a hundred years, it is of interest to see\nhow irregular were the communications to and from foreign ports by mail\npacket. Benjamin Franklin, writing of the period 1757, mentions the\nfollowing circumstances connected with a voyage he made from New York to\nEurope in that year. The packets were at the disposition of General Lord\nLoudon, then in charge of the army in America; and Franklin had to\ntravel from Philadelphia to New York to join the packet, Lord Loudon\nhaving preceded him to the port of despatch. The General told Franklin\nconfidentially, that though it had been given out that the packet would\nsail on Saturday next, still it would not sail till Monday. He was,\nhowever, advised not to delay longer. \"By some accidental hindrance at a\nferry,\" writes Franklin, \"it was Monday noon before I arrived, and I\nwas much afraid she might have sailed, as the wind was fair; but I was\nsoon made easy by the information that she was still in the harbour, and\nwould not leave till the next day. One would imagine that I was now on\nthe very point of departing for Europe. I thought so; but I was not then\nso well acquainted with his Lordship's character, of which indecision\nwas one of the strongest features. It was about the beginning of April\nthat I came to New York, and it was near the end of June before we\nsailed. There were then two of the packet-boats which had long been in\nport, but were detained for the General's letters, which were always to\nbe ready _to-morrow_. Another packet arrived; she, too, was detained;\nand, before we sailed, a fourth was expected. Ours was the first to be\ndespatched, as having been there longest. Passengers were engaged in\nall, and some extremely impatient to be gone, and the merchants uneasy\nabout their letters, and the orders they had given for insurance (it\nbeing war-time) for fall goods; but their anxiety availed nothing; his\nLordship's letters were not ready; and yet, whoever waited on him found\nhim always at his desk, pen in hand, and concluded he must needs write\nabundantly.\"\n\nApart from the manifest inconvenience of postal service conducted in the\nway described, one cannot wonder that the affairs of the American\nColonies should get into a bad way when conducted under a policy of so\nmanifest vacillation and indecision.\n\nBut the irregular transmission of mails between America and Europe was\nnot a thing referring merely to the year 1757, for Franklin, writing\nfrom Passy, near Paris, in the year 1782, again dwells upon the\nuncertainty of the communication. \"We are far from the sea-ports,\" he\nsays, \"and not well informed, and often misinformed, about the sailing\nof the vessels. Frequently we are told they are to sail in a week or\ntwo, and often they lie in the ports for months after with our letters\non board, either waiting for convoy or for other reasons. The\npost-office here is an unsafe conveyance; many of the letters we receive\nby it have evidently been opened, and doubtless the same happens to\nthose we send; and, at this time particularly, there is so violent a\ncuriosity in all kinds of people to know something relating to the\nnegotiations, and whether peace may be expected, or a continuance of the\nwar, that there are few private hands or travellers that we can trust\nwith carrying our despatches to the sea-coast; and I imagine that they\nmay sometimes be opened and destroyed, because they cannot be well\nsealed.\"\n\nHarriet Martineau gives an insight into the way in which mails were\ntreated on board American packets in the year 1836, which may be held to\nbe almost in recent times; yet the treatment is such that a\nPostmaster-General of to-day would be roused to indignation at the\noutrage perpetrated upon them. She thus writes: \"I could not leave such\na sight, even for the amusement of hauling over the letter-bags. Mr.\nEly put on his spectacles; Mrs. Ely drew a chair; others lay along on\ndeck to examine the superscriptions of the letters from Irish emigrants\nto their friends. It is wonderful how some of these epistles reach their\ndestinations; the following, for instance, begun at the top left-hand\ncorner, and elaborately prolonged to the bottom right one:--Mrs. A. B.\nile of Man douglas wits sped England. The letter-bags are opened for the\npurpose of sorting out those which are for delivery in port from the\nrest. A fine day is always chosen, generally towards the end of the\nvoyage, when amusements become scarce and the passengers are growing\nweary. It is pleasant to sit on the rail and see the passengers gather\nround the heap of letters, and to hear the shouts of merriment when any\nexceedingly original superscription comes under notice.\" Such liberties\nwith the mails in the present day would excite consternation in the\nheadquarters of the Post Office Department. Nor is this all. Miss\nMartineau makes the further remark--\"The two Miss O'Briens appeared\nto-day on deck, speaking to nobody, sitting on the same seats, with\ntheir feet _on the same letter-bag_, reading two volumes of the same\nbook, and dressed alike,\" etc. The mail-bags turned into footstools,\nforsooth! It is interesting to note the size of the packet in which this\nlady crossed the Atlantic. It was the _Orpheus_, Captain Bursley, a\nvessel of 417 tons. In looking back on these times, and knowing what\ndreadful storms our huge steamers encounter between Europe and America,\nwe cannot but admire the courage which must have inspired men and women\nto embark for distant ports in crafts so frail.[4] It is well also to\nnote that the transit from New York occupied the period from the 1st to\nthe 26th August, the better part of four weeks.\n\nReference has been made to the fact that a century ago the little\npackets, to which the mails and passengers were consigned, were built\nfor fighting purposes. It was no uncommon thing for them to fall into\nthe hands of an enemy; but they did not always succumb without doing\nbattle, and sometimes they had the honours of the day. In 1793 the\n_Antelope_ packet fought a privateer off the coast of Cuba and captured\nit, after 49 of the 65 men the privateer carried had been killed or\ndisabled. The _Antelope_ had only two killed and three wounded--one\nmortally. In 1803 the _Lady Hobart_, a vessel of 200 tons, sailing from\nNova Scotia for England, fell in with and captured a French schooner;\nbut the _Lady Hobart_ a few days later ran into an iceberg, receiving\nsuch damage that she shortly thereafter foundered. The mails were loaded\nwith iron and thrown overboard, and the crew and passengers, taking to\nthe boats, made for Newfoundland, which they reached after enduring\ngreat hardships.\n\nThe introduction of the uniform Penny Postage, under the scheme with\nwhich Sir Rowland Hill's name is so intimately associated, and the\nJubilee of which occurs in the present year, marks an important epoch in\nthe review which is now under consideration. To enter into a history of\nthe Penny Postage agitation would be beyond the scope of these pages.\nLike all great schemes, the idea propounded was fought against inch by\ninch, and the battle, so far as the objectors are concerned, remains a\nmemorial of the incapacity of a great portion of mankind to think out\nany scheme on its merits. Whatever is new is sure to be opposed,\napparently on no other ground than that of novelty, and in this bearing\nmen are often not unlike some of the lower creatures in the scale of\nanimated nature, that start and fly from things which they have not seen\nbefore, though they may have no more substance than that of a shadow.\nHowever this may be, the Penny Postage measure has produced stupendous\nresults. In 1839, the year before the reduction of postage, the letters\npassing through the post in the United Kingdom were 82,500,000. In 1840,\nunder the Penny Postage Scheme, the number immediately rose to nearly\n169,000,000. That is to say, the letters were doubled in number. Ten\nyears later the number rose to 347,000,000, and in last year (1889)\nthe total number of letters passing through the Post Office in this\ncountry was 1,558,000,000. In addition to the letters, however, the\nfollowing articles passed through the post last year--Book Packets and\nCirculars, 412,000,000; Newspapers 152,000,000; Post Cards 201,000,000.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Form of Petition used in agitation for the Uniform Penny Postage._\n\nUNIFORM PENNY POSTAGE.\n\n(FORM OF A PETITION.)\n\nTO THE HONOURABLE THE LORDS SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL [_or_, THE COMMONS,\n_as the case may be_] IN PARLIAMENT ASSEMBLED:--\n\nThe humble Petition of the Undersigned [_to be filled up with the name\nof Place, Corporation, &c._]\n\nSHEWETH,\n\nThat your Petitioners earnestly desire an Uniform Penny Post, payable in\nadvance, as proposed by Rowland Hill, and recommended by the Report of\nthe Select Committee of the House of Commons.\n\nThat your Petitioners intreat your Honourable House to give speedy\neffect to this Report. And your Petitioners will ever pray.\n\n                       *       *       *\n\nMOTHERS AND FATHERS that wish to hear from their absent children!\n\nFRIENDS who are parted, that wish to write to each other!\n\nEMIGRANTS that do not forget their native homes!\n\nFARMERS that wish to know the best Markets!\n\nMERCHANTS AND TRADESMEN that wish to receive Orders and Money quickly\nand cheaply!\n\nMECHANICS AND LABOURERS that wish to learn where good work and high\nwages are to be had! _support_ the Report of the House of Commons with\nyour Petitions for an UNIFORM PENNY POST. Let every City and Town and\nVillage, every Corporation, every Religious Society and Congregation,\npetition, and let every one in the kingdom sign a Petition with his name\nor his mark.\n\nTHIS IS NO QUESTION OF PARTY POLITICS.\n\nLord Ashburton, a Conservative, and one of the richest Noblemen in the\ncountry, spoke these impressive words before the House of Commons\nCommittee--\"Postage is one of the worst of our Taxes; it is, in fact,\ntaxing the conversation of people who live at a distance from each\nother. The communication of letters by persons living at a distance is\nthe same as a communication by word of mouth between persons living in\nthe same town.\"\n\n\"Sixpence,\" says Mr. Brewin, \"is the third of a poor man's income; if a\ngentleman, who had 1,000_l._ a year, or 3_l._ a day, had to pay\none-third of his daily income, a sovereign, for a letter, how often\nwould he write letters of friendship! Let a gentleman put that to\nhimself, and then he will be able to see how the poor man cannot be able\nto pay Sixpence for his Letter.\"\n\n                       *       *       *\n\nREADER!\n\nIf you can get any Signatures to a Petition, make two Copies of the\nabove on two half sheets of paper; get them signed as numerously as\npossible; fold each up separately; put a slip of paper around, leaving\nthe ends open; direct one to a Member of the House of Lords, the other\nto a Member of the House of Commons, LONDON, and put them into the Post\nOffice.\n\n                       *       *       *\n\n_Reproduced from a handbill in the collection of the late Sir Henry\nCole, K.C.B. By permission of Lady Cole._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShould any reader desire to inform himself with some degree of fulness\nof the stages through which the Penny Postage agitation passed, he\ncannot do better than peruse Sir Henry Cole's _Fifty Years of Public\nWork_.\n\nThe Postmaster-General, speaking at the Jubilee Meeting at the London\nGuildhall, on the 16th May last, thus contrasted the work of 1839 with\nthat of 1889: \"Although I would not to-night weary an assemblage like\nthis with tedious and tiresome figures, it may be at least permitted to\nme to remind you that, whereas in the year immediately preceding the\nestablishment of the Penny Postage the number of letters delivered in\nthe United Kingdom amounted to[5] 76,000,000, the number of letters\ndelivered in this country last year was nearly 1,600,000,000--twenty\ntimes the number of letters which passed through the post fifty years\nago. To these letters must be added the 652,000,000 of post-cards and\nother communications by the halfpenny post, and the enormous number of\nnewspapers, which bring the total number of communications passing\nthrough the post to considerably above two billions. I venture to say\nthat this is the most stupendous result of any administrative change\nwhich the world has witnessed. If you estimate the effect of that upon\nour daily life; if you pause for a moment to consider how trade and\nbusiness have been facilitated and developed; how family relations have\nbeen maintained and kept together; if you for a moment allow your mind\nto dwell upon the change which is implied in that great fact to which I\nhave called attention, I think you will see that the establishment of\nthe penny post has done more to change--and change for the better--the\nface of Old England than almost any other political or social project\nwhich has received the sanction of Legislature within our history.\"\n\nAmong the Penny Postage literature issued in the year 1840 there are\nseveral songs. One of these was published at Leith, and is given below.\nIt is entitled \"Hurrah for the Postman, the great Roland Hill.\" The\nleaflet is remarkable for this, that it is headed by a picture of\npostmen rushing through the streets delivering letters on roller skates.\nIt is generally believed that roller skates are quite a modern\ninvention, and in the absence of proof to the contrary it may be fair to\nassume that the author of the song anticipated the inventor in this mode\nof progression. So there really seems to be nothing new under the sun!\n\n\nHURRAH FOR THE POSTMAN, THE GREAT ROLAND HILL.[6]\n\n\n     \"Come, send round the liquor, and fill to the brim\n     A bumper to Railroads, the Press, Gas, and Steam;\n     To rags, bags, and nutgalls, ink, paper, and quill,\n     The Post, and the Postman, the gude Roland Hill!\n     By steam we noo travel mair quick than the eagle,\n     A sixty mile trip for the price o' a sang!\n     A prin it has powntit--th' Atlantic surmountit,\n     We'll compass the globe in a fortnight or lang.\n     The gas bleezes brightly, you witness it nightly,\n     Our ancestors lived unca lang in the dark;\n     Their wisdom was folly, their sense melancholy\n     When compared wi' sic wonderfu' modern wark.\n     Neist o' rags, bags, and size then, let no one despise them,\n     Without them whar wad a' our paper come frae?\n     The dark flood o' ink too, I'm given to think too,\n     Could as ill be wanted at this time o' day.\n     The Quill is a queer thing, a cheap and a dear thing,\n     A weak-lookin' object, but gude kens how strang,\n     Sometimes it is ceevil, sometimes it's the deevil.\n     Tak tent when you touch it, you haudna it wrang.\n     The Press I'll next mention, a noble invention,\n     The great mental cook with resources so vast;\n     It spreads on bright pages the knowledge o' ages,\n     And tells to the future the things of the past.\n     Hech, sirs! but its awfu' (but ne'er mind it's lawfu')\n     To saddle the Postman wi' sic meikle bags;\n     Wi' epistles and sonnets, love billets and groan-ets,\n     Ye'll tear the poor Postie to shivers and rags.\n     Noo Jock sends to Jenny, it costs but ae penny,\n     A screed that has near broke the Dictionar's back,\n     Fu' o' dove-in and dear-in, and _thoughts_ on the shearin'!!\n     Nae need noo o' whisp'rin' ayont a wheat stack.\n     Auld drivers were lazy, their mail-coaches crazy,\n     At ilk public-house they stopt for a gill;\n     But noo at the gallop, cheap mail-bags maun wallop.\n     Hurrah for our Postman, the great Roland Hill.\n                        \"Then send round the liquor,\" etc.\n\n\nThe advantages resulting from a rapid and cheap carriage of letters must\nreadily occur to any ordinary mind; but perhaps the following would\nhardly suggest itself as one of those advantages. Dean Alford thus\nwrote about the usefulness of post-cards, introduced on the 1st October\n1870: \"You will also find a new era in postage begun. The halfpenny\ncards have become a great institution. Some of us make large use of them\nto write short Latin epistles on, and are brushing up our Cicero and\nPliny for that purpose.\"\n\nUnlike some of the branches of post-office work, other than the\ndistribution of news, either by letter or newspaper, the money order\nsystem dates from long before the introduction of penny postage--namely\nfrom the year 1792.\n\nIt was set on foot by some of the post-office clerks on their own\naccount; but it was not till 1838 that it became a recognised business\nof the Department. Owing to high rates of commission, and to high\npostage, little business was done in the earlier years. In 1839 less\nthan 190,000 orders were issued of the value of L313,000, while last\nyear the total number of transactions within the United Kingdom was\n9,228,183, representing a sum of nearly L23,000,000 sterling.\n\nIn the year 1861 the Post Office entered upon the business of banking by\nthe establishment of the Post Office Savings Banks. At the present time\nthere are upwards of 9000 offices within the kingdom at which Post\nOffice Savings Bank business is transacted. The number of persons having\naccounts with these banks is now 4,220,927, and the annual deposits\nrepresent a gross sum of over L19,000,000.\n\nIn order of time the next additional business taken up by the Department\nwas that of the telegraphs. Before 1870 the telegraph work for the\npublic was carried on by several commercial companies and by the railway\ncompanies; but in that year this business became a monopoly, like the\ntransmission of letters, in the hands of the Post Office. The work of\ntaking over these various telegraphs, and, consolidating them into a\nharmonious whole, was one of gigantic proportions, requiring indomitable\ncourage and unwearying energy, as well as consummate ability; and when\nthe history of this enterprise comes to be written, it will perhaps be\nfound that the undertaking, in magnitude and importance, comes in no\nmeasure short of the Penny Postage scheme of Sir Rowland Hill.\n\nIn the first year of the control of the telegraphs by the Post Office\nthe number of messages sent was nearly 9,472,000, excluding 700,000\npress messages. At that time the minimum charge was 1s. per message. In\n1885 the minimum was reduced to 6d., and under this rate the number of\nmessages rose last year to 62,368,000.\n\nThe most recent addition of importance to the varied work of the Post\nOffice is that of the Parcel Post. This business was started in 1883. In\nthe first year of its operation the number of inland parcels transmitted\nwas upwards of 22,900,000. Last year the number, including a proportion\nof foreign and colonial parcels, rose to 39,500,000, earning a gross\npostage of over L878,547. The uniform rates in respect of distance, the\nvast number of offices where parcels are received and delivered, and the\nextensive machinery at the command of the Post Office for the work,\nrender this business one of extreme accommodation to the public. Not\nonly is the Parcel Post taken advantage of for the transmission of\nordinary business or domestic parcels, but it is made the channel for\nthe exchange of all manner of out-of-the-way articles. The following are\nsome instances of the latter class observed at Edinburgh: Scotch oatmeal\ngoing to Paris, Naples, and Berlin; bagpipes for the Lower Congo, and\nfor native regiments in the Punjaub; Scotch haggis for Ontario, Canada,\nand for Caebar, India; smoked haddocks for Rome; the great puzzle \"Pigs\nin Clover\" for Bavaria, and for Wellington, New Zealand, and so on. At\nhome, too, curious arrangements come under notice. A family, for\nexample, in London find it to their advantage to have a roast of beef\nsent to them by parcel post twice a week from a town in Fife. And a\ngentleman of property, having his permanent residence in Devonshire,\nfinds it convenient, when enjoying the shooting season in the far\nnorth-west of Scotland, to have his vegetables forwarded by parcel post\nfrom his home garden in Devonshire to his shooting lodge in Scotland.\nThe postage on these latter consignments sometimes amounts to about\nfifteen shillings a day, a couple of post-office parcel hampers being\nrequired for their conveyance.\n\nAnd we should not omit to mention here the number of persons employed in\nthe Post by whom this vast amount of most diverse business is carried on\nfor the nation. Of head and sub-postmasters and letter receivers, each\nof whom has a post-office under his care, there are 17,770. The other\nestablished offices of the Post Office number over 40,500, and there\nare, besides, persons employed in unestablished positions to the number\nof over 50,000. Thus there is a great army of no less than 108,000\npersons serving the public in the various domains of the postal service.\n\nA century ago, and indeed down to a period only fifty years ago, the\nworld, looked at from the present vantage-ground, must appear to have\nbeen in a dull, lethargic state, with hardly any pulse and a low\ncirculation. As for nerve system it had none. The changes which the Post\nOffice has wrought in the world, but more particularly in our own\ncountry, are only to be fully perceived and appreciated by the\nthoughtful. Now the heart of the nation throbs strongly at the centre,\nwhile the current of activity flows quickly and freely to the remotest\ncorners of the state. The telegraph provides a nervous system unknown\nbefore. By its means every portion of the country is placed in immediate\ncontact with every other part; the thrill of joy and the moan of\ndesolation are no longer things of locality; they are shared fully and\nimmediately by the whole; and the interest of brotherhood, extending to\nparts of the country which, under other conditions, must have remained\nunknown and uncared for, makes us realise that all men are but members\nof one and the same family.\n\nThe freedom and independence now enjoyed by the individual, as a result\nof the vast influence exercised by society through the rapid exchange of\nthought, is certainly a thing of which the people of our own country\nmay well be proud. Right can now assert itself in a way which was\nentirely beyond the reach of our predecessors of a hundred years ago;\nand wrong receives summary judgment at the hands of a whole people. Yet\nthere is a growing danger that this great liberty of the individual may\nbecome, in one direction, a spurious liberty, and that the elements of\nphysical force, exerting themselves under the aegis of uncurbed freedom,\nmay enter into conspiracy against intellect, individual effort, and\nthrift in such a way as to produce a tyranny worse than that existing in\nthe most despotic states.\n\nThe introduction of the telegraph, and the greater facilities afforded\nby the press for the general distribution of news, have greatly changed\nthe nature of commercial speculation. Formerly, when news came from\nabroad at wide intervals, it was of the utmost consequence to obtain\nearly command of prices and information as to movements in the markets,\nand whoever gained the news first had the first place in the race.\nNowadays the telegraph, and the newspapers by the help of the\ntelegraph, give all an equal start, and the whole world knows at once\nwhat is going on in every capital of the globe. The thirst for the first\npossession of news in commercial life is happily described in _Glasgow\nPast and Present_, wherein the author gives an account of a practice\nprevailing in the Tontine Reading Rooms at the end of last century.\n\"Immediately on receiving the bag of papers from the post-office,\" says\nthe writer, \"the waiter locked himself up in the bar, and after he had\nsorted the different papers and had made them up in a heap, he unlocked\nthe door of the bar, and making a sudden rush into the middle of the\nroom, he then tossed up the whole lot of newspapers as high as the\nceiling of the room. Now came the grand rush and scramble of the\nsubscribers, every one darting forward to lay hold of a falling\nnewspaper. Sometimes a lucky fellow got hold of five or six newspapers\nand ran off with them to a corner, in order to select his favourite\npaper; but he was always hotly pursued by some half-dozen of the\ndisappointed scramblers, who, without ceremony, pulled from his hands\nthe first paper they could lay hold of, regardless of its being torn in\nthe contest. On these occasions I have often seen a heap of gentlemen\nsprawling on the floor of the room and riding upon one another's backs\nlike a parcel of boys. It happened, however, unfortunately, that a\ngentleman in one of these scrambles got two of his teeth knocked out of\nhis head, and this ultimately brought about a change in the manner of\ndelivering the newspapers.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE TONTINE READING-ROOMS, GLASGOW--ARRIVAL OF THE\nMAIL--PERIOD: END OF LAST CENTURY. (_After an old print._)]\n\nAnother instance of the anxiety for early news is exhibited in a\npractice which prevailed in Glasgow about fifty years ago. The Glasgow\nmerchants were deeply interested in shipping and other news coming from\nLiverpool. The mail at that period arrived in Glasgow some time in the\nafternoon during business hours. A letter containing quotations from\nLiverpool for the Royal Exchange was due in the mail daily. This letter\nwas enclosed in a conspicuously bright red cover, and it was the\nbusiness of the post-office clerk, immediately he opened the Liverpool\nbag, to seize this letter and hand it to a messenger from the Royal\nExchange who was in attendance at the Post Office to receive it. This\nmessenger hastened to the Exchange, rang a bell to announce the arrival\nof the news, and forthwith the contents of the letter were posted up in\nthe Exchange. The merchants who had offices within sound of the bell\nwere then seen hurrying to the Exchange buildings, to be cheered or\ndepressed as the case might be by the information which the mail had\nbrought them.\n\nA clever instance of how the possession of early news could be turned to\nprofitable account in the younger days of the century is recorded of Mr.\nJohn Rennie, a nephew of his namesake the great engineer, and an\nextensive dealer in corn and cattle. His headquarters at the time were\nat East Linton, near Dunbar. \"At one period of his career Mr. Rennie\nhabitually visited London either for business or pleasure, or both\ncombined. One day, when present at the grain market, in Mark Lane,\nsudden war news arrived, in consequence of which the price of wheat\nimmediately bounded up 20s., 25s., and even 30s. per quarter. At once he\nsaw his opportunity and left for Scotland by the next mail. He knew, of\ncourse, that the mail carried the startling war news to Edinburgh, but\nhe trusted to his wit to outdo it by reaching the northern capital\nfirst. As the coach passed the farm of Skateraw, some distance east of\nDunbar, it was met by the farmer, old Harry Lee, on horseback. Rennie,\nwho was an outside passenger, no sooner recognised Lee than he sprang\nfrom his seat on the coach to the ground. Coming up to Lee, Rennie\nhurriedly whispered something to him, and induced him to lend his horse\nto carry Rennie on to East Linton. Rennie, who was an astonishingly\nactive man, vaulted into the saddle, and immediately rode off at full\ngallop westwards. The day was a Wednesday, and, as it was already 11\no'clock forenoon, he knew that he had no time to lose; but he was not\nthe stamp of man to allow the grass to grow under his feet on such an\nimportant occasion. Ere he reached Dunbar the mail was many hundred\nyards behind. At his own place at East Linton he drew up, mounted his\nfavourite horse \"Silvertail,\" which for speed and endurance had no rival\nin the county, and again proceeded at the gallop. When he reached the\nGrassmarket, Edinburgh--a full hour before the mail,--the grain-selling\nwas just starting, and before the alarming war news had got time to\nspread Rennie had every peck of wheat in the market bought up. He must\nhave coined an enormous profit by this smart transaction; but to him it\nseemed to matter nothing at all. He was one of the most careless of the\nharum-scarum sons of Adam, and if he made money easily, so in a like\nmanner did he let it slip his grip.\"\n\nThe two following instances of the expedients to which merchants\nresorted, before the introduction of the telegraph, in cases of urgency,\nand when the letter post would not serve them, are given by the author\nof _Glasgow Past and Present_, to whose work reference has already been\nmade:--\n\n\"During the French War the premiums of insurance upon running ships\n(ships sailing without convoy) were very high, in consequence of which\nseveral of our Glasgow ship-owners who possessed quick-sailing vessels\nwere in the practice of allowing the expected time of arrival of their\nships closely to approach before they effected insurance upon them, thus\ntaking the chance of a quick passage being made, and if the ships\narrived safe the insurance was saved.\n\n\"Mr. Archibald Campbell, about this time an extensive Glasgow merchant,\nhad allowed one of his ships to remain uninsured till within a short\nperiod of her expected arrival; at last, getting alarmed, he attempted\nto effect insurance in Glasgow, but found the premium demanded so high\nthat he resolved to get his ship and cargo insured in London.\nAccordingly, he wrote a letter to his broker in London, instructing him\nto get the requisite insurance made on the best terms possible, but, at\nall events, to get the said insurance effected. This letter was\ndespatched through the post-office in the ordinary manner, the mail at\nthat time leaving Glasgow at two o'clock p.m. At seven o'clock the same\nnight Mr. Campbell received an express from Greenock announcing the safe\narrival of his ship. Mr. Campbell, on receiving this intelligence,\ninstantly despatched his head clerk in pursuit of the mail, directing\nhim to proceed by postchaises-and-four with the utmost speed until he\novertook it, and then to get into it; or, if he could not overtake it,\nhe was directed to proceed to London, and to deliver a letter to the\nbroker countermanding the instructions about insurance. The clerk,\nnotwithstanding of extra payment to the postilions, and every exertion\nto accelerate his journey, was unable to overtake the mail; but he\narrived in London on the third morning shortly after the mail, and\nimmediately proceeded to the residence of the broker, whom he found\npreparing to take his breakfast, and before delivery of the London\nletters. The order for insurance written for was then countermanded, and\nthe clerk had the pleasure of taking a comfortable breakfast with the\nbroker. The expenses of this express amounted to L100; but it was said\nthat the premium of insurance, if it had been effected, would have\namounted to L1500, so that Mr. Campbell was reported to have saved L1400\nby his promptitude.\"\n\n\"At the period in question a rise had taken place in the cotton-market,\nand there was a general expectancy among the cotton-dealers that there\nwould be a continued and steady advance of prices in every description\nof cotton. Acting upon this belief Messrs. James Finlay & Co. had sent\nout orders by post to their agent in India to make extensive purchases\nof cotton on their account, to be shipped by the first vessels for\nEngland. It so happened, however, shortly after these orders had been\ndespatched, that cotton fell in price, and a still greater fall was\nexpected to take place. Under these circumstances Messrs. Finlay & Co.\ndespatched an overland express to India countermanding their orders to\npurchase cotton. This was the first, and, I believe, the only overland\nexpress despatched from Glasgow to India by a private party on\ncommercial purposes.\"\n\nOne of the greatest achievements of our own time, yet too often\noverlooked, is the marvellously rapid diffusion of parliamentary news\nthroughout the country. Important debates are frequently protracted in\nthe House of Commons into the early hours of the morning. The speeches\nare instantly reported by the shorthand writers in the gallery, who dog\nthe lips of the speakers and commit their every word to paper. Thus\nseized in the fleet lines of stenography, the words and phrases are then\ntranscribed into long-hand. Relays of messengers carry the copy to the\ntelegraph office, where the words are punched in the form of a\nmysterious language on slips of paper like tape, which are run through\nthe Wheatstone telegraph transmitter, the electric current carrying the\nnews to distant stations at the rate of several hundred words a minute.\nAt these stations the receiving-machine pours out at an equal rate,\nanother tape, bearing a record in a different character, from which\nrelays of clerks, attending the oracle, convert the weighty sayings\nagain into ordinary language. The news thus received is carried\nforthwith by a succession of messengers to the newspaper office; the\ncompositors set the matter up in type; it is reviewed and edited by the\nmen appointed to the duty; the columns are stereotyped, and in that form\nare placed in the printing-machines. The machines are set in motion at\nastonishing speed, turning out the newspapers cut and folded and ready\nfor the reader. A staff is in attendance to place under cover the copies\nof subscribers for despatch by the early mails. These are carried to the\npost-office, and so transmitted to their destinations. Taking Edinburgh\nas a point for special consideration, all that has been stated applies\nto this city. For the first despatches to the north, the _Scotsman_ and\n_Leader_ newspapers are conveyed to certain trains as early as 4 A.M.;\nand by the breakfast-hour, or early in the forenoon, the parliamentary\ndebates of the previous night are being discussed over the greater part\nof Scotland. And all this hurry and intellectual activity is going on\nwhile the nation at large is wrapped in sleep, and probably not one\nperson in a hundred ever thinks or concerns himself to know how it is\ndone.\n\nThe frequency and rapidity of communication between different parts of\nthe world seems to have brought the whole globe into a very small focus,\nfor obscure places, which would be unknown, one would think, beyond\ntheir own immediate neighbourhoods, are frequently well within the\ncognisance of persons living in far-distant quarters. An instance of\nthis is given by the postmaster of Epworth, a village near to Doncaster.\n\"We have,\" says the postmaster, \"an odd place in this parish known as\nNineveh Farm. Some years ago a letter was received here which had been\nposted somewhere in the United States of America, and was addressed\nmerely\n\n\n     Mr. ----\n       NINEVEH.\n\n\nI have always regarded its delivery to the proper person as little less\nthan a miracle, but it happened.\"\n\nIt is impossible to say how far the influence of this great revolution\nin the mail service on land and sea may extend. That the change has\nbeen, on the whole, to the advantage of mankind goes without saying. One\ncontrast is here given, and the reader can draw his own conclusions in\nother directions. The peace of 1782, which followed the American War of\nIndependence, was only arrived at after negotiations extending over more\nthan two years. Prussia and Austria were at war in 1866. The campaign\noccupied seven days; and from the declaration of war to the formal\nconclusion of peace only seven weeks elapsed. Is it to be doubted that\nthe difference in the two cases was, in large measure, due to the fact\nthat news travelled slowly in the one case and fast in the other?\n\nWe may look back on the past with very mixed feelings,--dreaming of the\neasy-going methods of our forefathers, which gave them leisure for study\nand reflection, or esteeming their age as an age of lethargy, of\nlumbering and slumbering.\n\nWe are proud of our own era, as one full of life and activity, full of\nhurry and bustle, and as existing under the spell of high electrical\ntension. But too many of us know to our cost that this present whirl of\ndaily life has one most serious drawback, summed up in the commonplace,\nbut not the less true, saying,--\n\n\n     \"It's the pace that kills.\"\n\n\nYet one more thought remains. Will the pace be kept up in the next\nhundred years? There is no reason to suppose it will not, and the world\nis hardly likely to go to sleep. Our successors who live a hundred years\nhence will doubtless learn much that man has not yet dreamt of. Time\nwill produce many changes and reveal deep secrets; but as to what these\nshall be, let him prophesy who knows.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] See Note A in Appendix.\n\n[2] See Note D in Appendix.\n\n[3] See Note B in Appendix.\n\n[4] See Note C in Appendix.\n\n[5] Exclusive of franked letters.\n\n[6] From the collection of the late Sir Henry Cole in the Edinburgh\nInternational Exhibition, 1890.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nA.\n\nAs to the representation in Parliament, the freeholders in the whole of\nthe Counties of Scotland, who had the power of returning the County\nMembers, were, in 1823, for example, just under three thousand in\nnumber. These were mostly gentlemen of position living on their estates,\nwith a sprinkling of professional men; the former being, from their want\nof business training, ill suited, one would suppose, for conducting the\nbusiness of a nation. The Town Councils were self-elective--hotbeds of\ncorruption; and the members of these Town Councils were intrusted with\nthe power of returning the Members for the boroughs. The people at large\nwere not directly represented, if in strictness represented at all.\n\n\nB.\n\nFrancis, afterwards Lord Jeffrey, in a letter of the 20th September\n1799, describes the discomfort of a journey by mail from Perth to\nEdinburgh, when the coach had broken down, and he was carried forward by\nthe guard by special conveyance. His graphic description is as\nfollows:--\"I was roused carefully half an hour before four yesterday\nmorning, and passed two delightful hours in the kitchen waiting for the\nmail. There was an enormous fire, and a whole household of smoke. The\nwaiter was snoring with great vehemency upon one of the dressers, and\nthe deep regular intonation had a very solemn effect, I can assure you,\nin the obscurity of that Tartarean region, and the melancholy silence of\nthe morning. An innumerable number of rats were trottin and gibberin in\none end of the place, and the rain clattered freshly on the windows. The\ndawn heavily in clouds brought on the day, but not, alas! the mail; and\nit was long past five when the guard came galloping into the yard, upon\na smoking horse, with all the wet bags lumbering beside him (like\nScylla's water-dogs), roaring out that the coach was broken down\nsomewhere near Dundee, and commanding another steed to be got ready for\nhis transportation. The noise he made brought out the other two sleepy\nwretches that had been waiting like myself for places, and we at length\npersuaded the heroic champion to order a postchaise instead of a horse,\ninto which we crammed ourselves all four, with a whole mountain of\nleather bags that clung about our legs like the entrails of a fat cow\nall the rest of the journey. At Kinross, as the morning was very fine,\nwe prevailed with the guard to go on the outside to dry himself, and got\non to the ferry about eleven, after encountering various perils and\nvexations, in the loss of horse-shoes and wheel-pins, and in a great gap\nin the road, over which we had to lead the horses, and haul the carriage\nseparately. At this place we supplicated our agitator for leave to eat a\nlittle breakfast; but he would not stop an instant, and we were obliged\nto snatch up a roll or two apiece and gnaw the dry crusts during our\npassage to keep soul and body together. We got in soon after one, and I\nhave spent my time in eating, drinking, sleeping, and other recreations,\ndown to the present hour.\"\n\nOn going north from Edinburgh, on the same tour apparently, Jeffrey had\nprevious experience of the difficulties of travel, as described in a\nletter from Montrose, date 26th August 1799.\n\n\"We stopped,\" says he, \"for two days at Perth, hoping for places in the\nmail, and then set forward on foot in despair. We have trudged it now\nfor fifty miles, and came here this morning very weary, sweaty, and\nfilthy. Our baggage, which was to have left Perth the same day that we\ndid, has not yet made its appearance, and we have received the\ncomfortable information that it is often a week before there is room in\nthe mail to bring such a parcel forward.\"\n\nWriting from Kendal, in 1841, Jeffrey refers to a journey he made fifty\nyears before--that is, about 1791--when he slept a night in the town.\nHis description of the circumstances is as follows:--\n\n\"And an admirable dinner we have had in the Ancient King's Arms, with\ngreat oaken staircases, uneven floors, and very thin oak panels,\nplaster-filled outer walls, but capital new furniture, and the brightest\nglass, linen, spoons, and china you ever saw. It is the same house in\nwhich I once slept about fifty years ago, with the whole company of an\nancient stage-coach, which bedded its passengers on the way from\nEdinburgh to London, and called them up by the waiter at six o'clock in\nthe morning to go five slow stages, and then have an hour to breakfast\nand wash. It is the only vestige I remember of those old ways, and I\nhave not slept in the house since.\"\n\n\nC.\n\nThe discomfort of a long voyage in a vessel of this class is well set\nforth in the correspondence of Jeffrey. In 1813 he crossed to New York\nin search of a wife; and in describing the miseries of the situation on\nboard, he gives a long list of his woes, the last being followed by this\ndeclaration: \"I think I shall make a covenant with myself, that if I get\nback safe to my own place from this expedition, I shall never willingly\ngo out of sight of land again in my life.\"\n\n\nD.\n\nA notable instance of an attempt to shut the door in the face of an able\nman is recorded in the Life of Sir James Simpson, who has made all the\nworld his debtors through the discovery and application of chloroform\nfor surgical operations. Plain Dr. Simpson was a candidate for a\nprofessorship in the University of Edinburgh, and had his supporters for\nthe honour; but there was among the men with whom rested the selection a\nconsiderable party opposed to him, whose ground of opposition was that,\non account of his parents being merely tradespeople, Dr. Simpson would\nbe unable to maintain the dignity of the chair. To their eternal\ndiscredit, the persons referred to did not look to the quality and ring\nof the \"gowd,\" but were guided by the superficial \"guinea stamp.\" The\nspread of public opinion is gradually putting such distinctions, which\nhave their root and being in privilege and selfishness, out of court.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPrinted by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty, at the\nEdinburgh University Press.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's A Hundred Years by Post, by J. Wilson Hyde\n\n*** "
    }
]