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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:54:54 -0700 |
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diff --git a/30990-h/30990-h.htm b/30990-h/30990-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffef05f --- /dev/null +++ b/30990-h/30990-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18143 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson Volume XVI, by Robert Louis Stevenson. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body { text-align: justify; line-height: 1.4em; margin-left: 12%; margin-right: 12%; } + p { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 1em; } + p.noind { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 0; } + + h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; } + hr { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; width: 70%; height: 5px; background-color: #dcdcdc; border: none;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.short {width: 5em; height: 2px; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 4em} + hr.art { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 40%; height: 5px; background-color: #708090; + margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 5em } + hr.foot {text-align: left; margin-left: 2em; text-align: left; width: 16%; color: black; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0; height: 1px; } + + table.nobctr { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + table.reg { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both; } + table p { margin-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1.5em; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; } + + td.tc2 { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + td.tc2b { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + td.tc3 { padding-right: 2em; padding-left: 2.5em; text-indent: -2em; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;} + td.tc5b { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 0.75em; } + + a:link, a:visited, link {text-decoration: none} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal; } + .scs {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 85%; } + .rt {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} + + .sidenote { position: absolute; left: 5%; right: 85%; font-family: Arial;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 5%; text-align: right; font-size: 10pt; + background-color: #f5f5f5; color: #778899; text-indent: 0; + padding-left: 0.5em; padding-right: 0.5em; font-style: normal; } + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; font-size: 0.9em; } + .fn { position: absolute; left: 12%; text-align: left; background-color: #f5f5f5; + text-indent: 0; padding-left: 0.2em; padding-right: 0.2em; } + .sp {position: relative; bottom: 0.5em; font-size: 0.7em;} + .su {position: relative; top: 0.3em; font-size: 0.7em;} + span.correction {border-bottom: 1px dashed red;} + + .figcenter {text-align: center; padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + .center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + .center1 {text-align: center; text-indent: 0; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .f80 { font-size: 80% } + .f90 { font-size: 90% } + + div.body1 { margin-left: 5%; border-left: 3px solid #778899; padding-left: 0.5em;} + div.quote { margin-left: 2em; font-size: 90%; line-height: 1.4em; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em; } + div.quote p { margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em; } + + .pt05 {padding-top: 0.5em;} + .pt2 {padding-top: 2em;} + .pt3 {padding-top: 3em;} + + div.poemr {margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 90%;} + div.poemr p { margin-left: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; } + div.poemr p.i05 { margin-left: 0.4em; } + div.poemr p.i1 { margin-left: 1em; } + div.poemr p.i2 { margin-left: 2em; } + div.poemr p.i3 { margin-left: 3em; } + div.poemr p.s { padding-top: 1.5em; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 16 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. 16 (of 25) + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Other: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: January 16, 2010 [EBook #30990] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK R.L. STEVENSON - VOL 16 OF 25 *** + + + + +Produced by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #dcdcdc; color: #696969; " summary="TN"> +<tr> +<td style="width:25%; vertical-align:top"> +Transcriber's note:</td> + +<td>Two typographical errors have been corrected. They +appear in the text <span class="correction" title="explanation will pop up">like this</span>, and the +explanation will appear when the mouse pointer is moved over the marked +passage. +<br /><br /> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h4>THE WORKS OF</h4> + +<h3>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</h3> + +<h4>SWANSTON EDITION</h4> + +<h5>VOLUME XVI</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<p class="noind center"><i>Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five<br /> +Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS<br /> +STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies<br /> +have been printed, of which only Two Thousand<br /> +Copies are for sale.</i></p> + +<p class="noind center"><i>This is No. <span style="font-size: 60%;">............</span></i></p> +<div class="pt05"> </div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img style="border:0; width:620px; height:382px" + src="images/image1.jpg" + alt="" /> +<p class="f80">R. L. S. IN APEMAMA ISLAND: A DEVIL-PRIEST MAKING INCANTATIONS</p> +</div> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<h3>THE WORKS OF</h3> +<h2>ROBERT LOUIS</h2> +<h2>STEVENSON</h2> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h5>VOLUME SIXTEEN</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<h5>LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND<br /> +WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL<br /> +AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM<br /> +HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN<br /> +AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII</h5> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h6>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h6> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>RECORDS OF A FAMILY OF ENGINEERS</h5></td></tr> + +<tr style="font-size: 70%; "> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tc2">PAGE</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="scs tc3" colspan="2">Introduction: The Surname of Stevenson</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page3">3</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Domestic Annals</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page12">12</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Service of the Northern Lights</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page34">34</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Building of the Bell Rock</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page62">62</a></td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>ADDITIONAL MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS</h5></td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Random Memories</td> + <td> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="scs tc3" style="padding-left: 4em;">i. The Coast of Fife</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page155">155</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Random Memories</td> + <td> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="scs tc3" style="padding-left: 4em;">ii. The Education of an Engineer</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page167">167</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Chapter on Dreams</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page177">177</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Beggars</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page190">190</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">V.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Lantern-bearers</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page200">200</a></td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>LATER ESSAYS</h5></td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Fontainebleau: Village Communities of Painters</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page215">215</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Note on Realism</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page234">234</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">On some Technical Elements of Style in Literature</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page241">241</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Morality of the Profession of Letters</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page260">260</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">V.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Books which have Influenced Me</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page272">272</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Day after To-morrow</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page279">279</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Letter to t Young Gentleman who Proposes to Embrace the Career of Art</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page290">290</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Pulvis et Umbra</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page299">299</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Christmas Sermon</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page306">306</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">X.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Father Damien: An Open Letter to the Reverend Dr. Hyde of Honolulu</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page315">315</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">My First Book—“treasure Island”</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page331">331</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Genesis of “the Master of Ballantrae”</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page341">341</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XIII.</td> + <td class="tc3"><span class="scs">Random Memories</span>: <i>rosa Quo Locorum</i></td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page345">345</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XIV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Reflections and Remarks on Human Life</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page354">354</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Ideal House</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page370">370</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3" style="font-size: 80%; font-weight: bold; padding-top: 2em;" colspan="2">LAY MORALS</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page379">379</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc3" style="font-size: 80%; font-weight: bold; padding-top: 2em;" colspan="2">PRAYERS WRITTEN FOR FAMILY USE AT VAILIMA</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page431">431</a></td> </tr> +</table> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page1" id="page1"></a>1</span></p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>RECORDS OF<br /> +A FAMILY OF ENGINEERS</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2" id="page2"></a>2</span></p> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>3</span></p> +<h2>RECORDS OF<br /> +A FAMILY OF ENGINEERS</h2> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3> + +<h5>THE SURNAME OF STEVENSON</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">From</span> the thirteenth century onwards, the name, under +the various disguises of Stevinstoun, Stevensoun, Stevensonne, +Stenesone, and Stewinsoune, spread across Scotland +from the mouth of the Firth of Forth to the mouth of +the Firth of Clyde. Four times at least it occurs as a +place-name. There is a parish of Stevenston in Cunningham; +a second place of the name in the Barony of Bothwell +in Lanark; a third on Lyne, above Drochil Castle; the +fourth on the Tyne, near Traprain Law. Stevenson of +Stevenson (co. Lanark) swore fealty to Edward I. in 1296, +and the last of that family died after the Restoration. +Stevensons of Hirdmanshiels, in Midlothian, rode in the +Bishops’ Raid of Aberlady, served as jurors, stood bail +for neighbours—Hunter of Polwood, for instance—and +became extinct about the same period, or possibly earlier. +A Stevenson of Luthrie and another of Pitroddie make +their bows, give their names, and vanish. And by the +year 1700 it does not appear that any acre of Scots land +was vested in any Stevenson.<a name="FnAnchor_1" id="FnAnchor_1" href="#Footnote_1"><span class="sp">1</span></a></p> + +<p>Here is, so far, a melancholy picture of backward +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>4</span> +progress, and a family posting towards extinction. But +the law (however administered, and I am bound to aver +that, in Scotland “it couldna weel be waur”) acts as a +kind of dredge, and with dispassionate impartiality brings +up into the light of day, and shows us for a moment, in +the jury-box or on the gallows, the creeping things of the +past. By these broken glimpses we are able to trace the +existence of many other and more inglorious Stevensons, +picking a private way through the brawl that makes Scots +history. They were members of Parliament for Peebles, +Stirling, Pittenweem, Kilrenny, and Inverurie. We find +them burgesses of Edinburgh; indwellers in Biggar, Perth, +and Dalkeith. Thomas was the forester of Newbattle +Park, Gavin was a baker, John a maltman, Francis a +chirurgeon, and “Schir William” a priest. In the feuds +of Humes and Heatleys, Cunninghams, Montgomeries, +Mures, Ogilvies, and Turnbulls, we find them inconspicuously +involved, and apparently getting rather better than +they gave. Schir William (reverend gentleman) was cruellie +slaughtered on the Links of Kincraig in 1532; James (”in +the mill-town of Roberton”), murdered in 1590; Archibald +(“in Gallowfarren”), killed with shots of pistols and +hagbuts in 1608. Three violent deaths in about seventy +years, against which we can only put the case of Thomas, +servant to Hume of Cowden Knowes, who was arraigned +with his two young masters for the death of the Bastard +of Mellerstanes in 1569. John (“in Dalkeith”) stood +sentry without Holyrood while the banded lords were +despatching Rizzio within. William, at the ringing of +Perth bell, ran before Cowrie House “with ane sword, and, +entering to the yearde, saw George Craiggingilt with ane +twa-handit sword and utheris nychtbouris; at quilk time +James Boig cryit ower ane wynds, ‘Awa hame! ye will +all be hangit’”—a piece of advice which William took, +and immediately “depairtit.” John got a maid with +child to him in Biggar, and seemingly deserted her; she +was hanged on the Castle Hill for infanticide, June 1614; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" id="page5"></a>5</span> +and Martin, elder in Dalkeith, eternally disgraced the +name by signing witness in a witch trial, 1661. These are +two of our black sheep.<a name="FnAnchor_2" id="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></a> Under the Restoration, one +Stevenson was a bailie in Edinburgh, and another the +lessee of the Canonmills. There were at the same period +two physicians of the name in Edinburgh, one of whom, +Dr. Archibald, appears to have been a famous man in his +day and generation. The Court had continual need of +him; it was he who reported, for instance, on the state +of Rumbold; and he was for some time in the enjoyment +of a pension of a thousand pounds Scots (about eighty +pounds sterling) at a time when five hundred pounds is +described as “an opulent future.” I do not know if I +should be glad or sorry that he failed to keep favour; but +on 6th January 1682 (rather a cheerless New Year’s present) +his pension was expunged.<a name="FnAnchor_3" id="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></a> There need be no doubt, at +least, of my exultation at the fact that he was knighted +and recorded arms. Not quite so genteel, but still in +public life, Hugh was Under-Clerk to the Privy Council, +and liked being so extremely. I gather this from his conduct +in September 1681, when, with all the lords and +their servants, he took the woful and soul-destroying Test, +swearing it “word by word upon his knees.” And, behold! +it was in vain, for Hugh was turned out of his small post +in 1684.<a name="FnAnchor_4" id="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></a> Sir Archibald and Hugh were both plainly +inclined to be trimmers; but there was one witness of the +name of Stevenson who held high the banner of the +Covenant—John, “Land-Labourer,<a name="FnAnchor_5" id="FnAnchor_5" href="#Footnote_5"><span class="sp">5</span></a> in the parish of Daily, +in Carrick,” that “eminently pious man.” He seems to +have been a poor sickly soul, and shows himself disabled +with scrofula, and prostrate and groaning aloud with +fever; but the enthusiasm of the martyr burned high +within him. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" id="page6"></a>6</span></p> + +<p>“I was made to take joyfully the spoiling of my goods, +and with pleasure for His name’s sake wandered in deserts +and in mountains, in dens and caves of the earth. I lay +four months in the coldest season of the year in a haystack +in my father’s garden, and a whole February in the +open fields not far from Camragen, and this I did without +the least prejudice from the night air; one night, when +lying in the fields near to the Carrick-Miln, I was all +covered with snow in the morning. Many nights have I +lain with pleasure in the churchyard of Old Daily, and +made a grave my pillow; frequently have I resorted to +the old walls about the glen, near to Camragen, and there +sweetly rested.” The visible hand of God protected and +directed him. Dragoons were turned aside from the +bramble-bush where he lay hidden. Miracles were performed +for his behoof. “I got a horse and a woman to +carry the child, and came to the same mountain, where +I wandered by the mist before; it is commonly known by +the name of Kellsrhins: when we came to go up the +mountain, there came on a great rain, which we thought +was the occasion of the child’s weeping, and she wept so +bitterly, that all we could do could not divert her from +it, so that she was ready to burst. When we got to the +top of the mountain, where the Lord had been formerly +kind to my soul in prayer, I looked round me for a stone, +and espying one, I went and brought it. When the woman +with me saw me set down the stone, she smiled, and asked +what I was going to do with it. I told her I was going +to set it up as my Ebenezer, because hitherto, and in that +place, the Lord had formerly helped, and I hoped would +yet help. The rain still continuing, the child weeping +bitterly, I went to prayer, and no sooner did I cry to +God, but the child gave over weeping, and when we got +up from prayer, the rain was pouring down on every side, +but in the way where we were to go there fell not one +drop; the place not rained on was as big as an ordinary +avenue.” And so great a saint was the natural butt of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>7</span> +Satan’s persecutions. “I retired to the fields for secret +prayer about midnight. When I went to pray I was much +straitened, and could not get one request, but ‘Lord pity,’ +‘Lord help’; this I came over frequently; at length the +terror of Satan fell on me in a high degree, and all I could +say even then was—‘Lord help.’ I continued in the duty +for some time, notwithstanding of this terror. At length +I got up to my feet, and the terror still increased; then +the enemy took me by the arm-pits, and seemed to +lift me up by my arms. I saw a loch just before me, +and I concluded he designed to throw me there by +force; and had he got leave to do so, it might have +brought a great reproach upon religion.”<a name="FnAnchor_6" id="FnAnchor_6" href="#Footnote_6"><span class="sp">6</span></a> But it was +otherwise ordered, and the cause of piety escaped that +danger.<a name="FnAnchor_7" id="FnAnchor_7" href="#Footnote_7"><span class="sp">7</span></a></p> + +<p>On the whole, the Stevensons may be described as +decent, reputable folk, following honest trades—millers, +maltsters, and doctors, playing the character parts in the +Waverley Novels with propriety, if without distinction; +and to an orphan looking about him in the world for a +potential ancestry, offering a plain and quite unadorned +refuge, equally free from shame and glory. John, the land-labourer, +is the one living and memorable figure, and he, +alas! cannot possibly be more near than a collateral. It +was on August 12, 1678, that he heard Mr. John Welsh +on the Craigdowhill, and “took the heavens, earth, and +sun in the firmament that was shining on us, as also the +ambassador who made the offer, and <i>the clerk who raised +the psalms</i>, to witness that I did give myself away to the +Lord in a personal and perpetual covenant never to be +forgotten”; and already, in 1675, the birth of my direct +ascendant was registered in Glasgow. So that I have been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" id="page8"></a>8</span> +pursuing ancestors too far down; and John the land-labourer +is debarred me, and I must relinquish from the +trophies of my house his <i>rare soul-strengthening and comforting +cordial</i>. It is the same case with the Edinburgh +bailie and the miller of the Canonmills, worthy man! and +with that public character, Hugh the Under-Clerk, and +more than all, with Sir Archibald, the physician, who +recorded arms. And I am reduced to a family of inconspicuous +maltsters in what was then the clean and handsome +little city on the Clyde.</p> + +<p>The name has a certain air of being Norse. But the +story of Scottish nomenclature is confounded by a continual +process of translation and half-translation from the +Gaelic which in olden days may have been sometimes +reversed. Roy becomes Reid; Gow, Smith. A great +Highland clan uses the name of Robertson; a sept in +Appin that of Livingstone; Maclean in Glencoe answers +to Johnstone at Lockerby. And we find such hybrids as +Macalexander for Macallister. There is but one rule to +be deduced: that however uncompromisingly Saxon a +name may appear, you can never be sure it does not +designate a Celt. My great-grandfather wrote the name +<i>Stevenson</i> but pronounced it <i>Steenson</i>, after the fashion of +the immortal minstrel in “Redgauntlet”; and this elision +of a medial consonant appears a Gaelic process; and, +curiously enough, I have come across no less than two +Gaelic forms: <i>John Macstophane cordinerius in Crossraguel</i>, +1573, and <i>William M’Steen</i> in Dunskeith (co. Ross), 1605. +Stevenson, Steenson, Macstophane, M’Steen: which is the +original? which the translation? Or were these separate +creations of the patronymic, some English, some Gaelic? +The curiously compact territory in which we find them +seated—Ayr, Lanark, Peebles, Stirling, Perth, Fife, and +the Lothians—would seem to forbid the supposition.<a name="FnAnchor_8" id="FnAnchor_8" href="#Footnote_8"><span class="sp">8</span></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>9</span></p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Stevenson</span>—or according to tradition of one of the +proscribed of the clan MacGregor, who was born among +the willows or in a hill-side sheep-pen—‘Son of my love,’ +a heraldic bar sinister, but history reveals a reason for +the birth among the willows far other than the sinister +aspect of the name”: these are the dark words of Mr. +Cosmo Innes; but history or tradition, being interrogated, +tells a somewhat tangled tale. The heir of Macgregor of +Glenorchy, murdered about 1353 by the Argyll Campbells, +appears to have been the original “Son of my love”; +and his more loyal clansmen took the name to fight under. +It may be supposed the story of their resistance became +popular, and the name in some sort identified with the +idea of opposition to the Campbells. Twice afterwards, on +some renewed aggression, in 1502 and 1552, we find the +Macgregors again banding themselves into a sept of “Sons +of my love”; and when the great disaster fell on them +in 1603, the whole original legend re-appears, and we have +the heir of Alaster of Glenstrae born “among the willows” +of a fugitive mother, and the more loyal clansmen again +rallying under the name of Stevenson. A story would not +be told so often unless it had some base in fact; nor (if +there were no bond at all between the Red Macgregors +and the Stevensons) would that extraneous and somewhat +uncouth name be so much repeated in the legends of the +Children of the Mist.</p> + +<p>But I am enabled, by my very lively and obliging +correspondent, Mr. George A. Macgregor Stevenson of New +York, to give an actual instance. His grandfather, great-grandfather, +great-great-grandfather, and great-great-great-grandfather, +all used the names of Macgregor and Stevenson +as occasion served; being perhaps Macgregor by night +and Stevenson by day. The great-great-great-grandfather +was a mighty man of his hands, marched with the clan in +the ’Forty-five, and returned with <i>spolia opima</i> in the +shape of a sword, which he had wrested from an officer +in the retreat, and which is in the possession of my correspondent +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page10" id="page10"></a>10</span> +to this day. His great-grandson (the grandfather +of my correspondent), being converted to Methodism by +some wayside preacher, discarded in a moment his name, +his old nature, and his political principles, and with the +zeal of a proselyte sealed his adherence to the Protestant +Succession by baptising his next son George. This George +became the publisher and editor of the <i>Wesleyan Times</i>. +His children were brought up in ignorance of their Highland +pedigree; and my correspondent was puzzled to +overhear his father speak of him as a true Macgregor, +and amazed to find, in rummaging about that peaceful +and pious house, the sword of the Hanoverian officer. +After he was grown up and was better informed of +his descent, “I frequently asked my father,” he writes, +“why he did not use the name of Macgregor; his +replies were significant, and give a picture of the man: +‘It isn’t a good <i>Methodist</i> name. You can use it, but it +will do you no <i>good</i>.’ Yet the old gentleman, by way +of pleasantry, used to announce himself to friends as +‘Colonel Macgregor.’”</p> + +<p>Here, then, are certain Macgregors habitually using the +name of Stevenson, and at last, under the influence of +Methodism, adopting it entirely. Doubtless a proscribed +clan could not be particular; they took a name as a man +takes an umbrella against a shower; as Rob Roy took +Campbell, and his son took Drummond. But this case is +different; Stevenson was not taken and left—it was consistently +adhered to. It does not in the least follow that +all Stevensons are of the clan Alpin; but it does +follow that some may be. And I cannot conceal from +myself the possibility that James Stevenson in Glasgow, +my first authentic ancestor, may have had a Highland +<i>alias</i> upon his conscience and a claymore in his back +parlour.</p> + +<p>To one more tradition I may allude, that we are somehow +descended from a French barber-surgeon who came +to St. Andrews in the service of one of the Cardinal +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" id="page11"></a>11</span> +Beatons. No details were added. But the very name +of France was so detested in my family for three generations, +that I am tempted to suppose there may be something +in it.<a name="FnAnchor_9" id="FnAnchor_9" href="#Footnote_9"><span class="sp">9</span></a></p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FnAnchor_1"><span class="fn">1</span></a> An error: Stevensons owned at this date the barony of Dolphingston +in Haddingtonshire, Montgrennan in Ayrshire, and several +other lesser places.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></a> Pitcairn’s “Criminal Trials,” at large.—[R. L. S.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></a> Fountainhall’s “Decisions,” vol. i. pp. 56, 132, 186, 204, 368. +—[R. L. S.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></a> <i>Ibid.</i> pp. 158, 299.—[R. L. S.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5" href="#FnAnchor_5"><span class="fn">5</span></a> Working farmer: Fr. <i>laboureur</i>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6" href="#FnAnchor_6"><span class="fn">6</span></a> This John Stevenson was not the only “witness” of the name; +other Stevensons were actually killed during the persecutions, in +the Glen of Trool, on Pentland, etc.; and it is very possible that +the author’s own ancestor was one of the mounted party embodied +by Muir of Caldwell, only a day too late for Pentland.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7" href="#FnAnchor_7"><span class="fn">7</span></a> Wodrow Society’s “Select Biographies,” vol. ii.—[R. L. S.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8" href="#FnAnchor_8"><span class="fn">8</span></a> Though the districts here named are those in which the name +of Stevenson is most common, it is in point of fact far more wide-spread +than the text indicates, and occurs from Dumfries and +Berwickshire to Aberdeen and Orkney.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9" href="#FnAnchor_9"><span class="fn">9</span></a> Mr. J.H. Stevenson is satisfied that these speculations as to a +possible Norse, Highland, or French origin are vain. All we know +about the engineer family is that it was sprung from a stock of Westland +Whigs settled in the latter part of the seventeenth century in +the parish of Neilston, as mentioned at the beginning of the next +chapter. It may be noted that the Ayrshire parish of Stevenson, +the lands of which are said to have received the name in the twelfth +century, lies within thirteen miles south-west of this place. The +lands of Stevenson in Lanarkshire first mentioned in the next century, +in the Ragman Roll, lie within twenty miles east.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page12" id="page12"></a>12</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h5>DOMESTIC ANNALS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> is believed that in 1665, James Stevenson in Nether +Carsewell, parish of Neilston, county of Renfrew, and presumably +a tenant farmer, married one Jean Keir; and +in 1675, without doubt, there was born to these two a +son Robert, possibly a maltster in Glasgow. In 1710, +Robert married, for a second time, Elizabeth Cumming, +and there was born to them, in 1720, another Robert, +certainly a maltster in Glasgow. In 1742, Robert the +second married Margaret Fulton (Margret, she called herself), +by whom he had ten children, among whom were +Hugh, born February 1749, and Alan, born June 1752.</p> + +<p>With these two brothers my story begins. Their +deaths were simultaneous; their lives unusually brief and +full. Tradition whispered me in childhood they were the +owners of an islet near St. Kitts; and it is certain they +had risen to be at the head of considerable interests in +the West Indies, which Hugh managed abroad and Alan +at home, at an age when others are still curveting a clerk’s +stool. My kinsman, Mr. Stevenson of Stirling, has heard +his father mention that there had been “something +romantic” about Alan’s marriage: and, alas! he has +forgotten what. It was early at least. His wife was +Jean, daughter of David Lillie, a builder in Glasgow, and +several times “Deacon of the Wrights”: the date of the +marriage has not reached me: but on 8th June 1772, when +Robert, the only child of the union, was born, the husband +and father had scarce passed, or had not yet attained, his +twentieth year. Here was a youth making haste to give +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>13</span> +hostages to fortune. But this early scene of prosperity +in love and business was on the point of closing.</p> + +<p>There hung in the house of this young family, and +successively in those of my grandfather and father, an +oil painting of a ship of many tons burthen. Doubtless +the brothers had an interest in the vessel; I was told she +had belonged to them outright; and the picture was +preserved through years of hardship, and remains to this +day in the possession of the family, the only memorial of +my great-grandsire Alan. It was on this ship that he +sailed on his last adventure, summoned to the West Indies +by Hugh. An agent had proved unfaithful on a serious +scale; and it used to be told me in my childhood how +the brothers pursued him from one island to another in +an open boat, were exposed to the pernicious dews of the +tropics, and simultaneously struck down. The dates and +places of their deaths (now before me) would seem to +indicate a more scattered and prolonged pursuit: Hugh, +on the 16th April 1774, in Tobago, within sight of Trinidad; +Alan, so late as May 26th, and so far away as “Santt +Kittes,” in the Leeward Islands—both, says the family +Bible, “of a fiver” (!). The death of Hugh was probably +announced by Alan in a letter, to which we may refer the +details of the open boat and the dew. Thus, at least, in +something like the course of post, both were called away, +the one twenty-five, the other twenty-two; their brief +generation became extinct, their short-lived house fell with +them; and “in these lawless parts and lawless times”—the +words are my grandfather’s—their property was stolen +or became involved. Many years later, I understand some +small recovery to have been made; but at the moment +almost the whole means of the family seem to have perished +with the young merchants. On the 27th April, eleven days +after Hugh Stevenson, twenty-nine before Alan, died David +Lillie, the Deacon of the Wrights; so that mother and son +were orphaned in one month. Thus, from a few scraps +of paper bearing little beyond dates, we construct the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>14</span> +outlines of the tragedy that shadowed the cradle of +Robert Stevenson.</p> + +<p>Jean Lillie was a young woman of strong sense, well +fitted to contend with poverty, and of a pious disposition, +which it is like that these misfortunes heated. Like so +many other widowed Scotswomen, she vowed her son +should wag his head in a pulpit; but her means were +inadequate to her ambition. A charity school, and some +time under a Mr. M’Intyre, “a famous linguist,” were +all she could afford in the way of education to the would-be +minister. He learned no Greek; in one place he mentions +that the Orations of Cicero were his highest book in Latin; +in another that he had “delighted” in Virgil and Horace; +but his delight could never have been scholarly. This +appears to have been the whole of his training previous +to an event which changed his own destiny and moulded +that of his descendants—the second marriage of his +mother.</p> + +<p>There was a Merchant-Burgess of Edinburgh of the +name of Thomas Smith. The Smith pedigree has been +traced a little more particularly than the Stevensons’, +with a similar dearth of illustrious names. One character +seems to have appeared, indeed, for a moment at the +wings of history: a skipper of Dundee who smuggled +over some Jacobite big-wig at the time of the ’Fifteen, +and was afterwards drowned in Dundee harbour while +going on board his ship. With this exception, the generations +of the Smiths present no conceivable interest even +to a descendant; and Thomas, of Edinburgh, was the +first to issue from respectable obscurity. His father, a +skipper out of Broughty Ferry, was drowned at sea while +Thomas was still young. He seems to have owned a ship +or two—whalers, I suppose, or coasters—and to have been +a member of the Dundee Trinity House, whatever that +implies. On his death the widow remained in Broughty, +and the son came to push his future in Edinburgh. There +is a story told of him in the family which I repeat here +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>15</span> +because I shall have to tell later on a similar, but more +perfectly authenticated, experience of his stepson, Robert +Stevenson. Word reached Thomas that his mother was +unwell, and he prepared to leave for Broughty on the +morrow. It was between two and three in the morning, +and the early northern daylight was already clear, when +he awoke and beheld the curtains at the bed-foot drawn +aside and his mother appear in the interval, smile upon +him for a moment, and then vanish. The sequel is stereotype: +he took the time by his watch, and arrived at +Broughty to learn it was the very moment of her death. +The incident is at least curious in having happened to +such a person—as the tale is being told of him. In all +else, he appears as a man, ardent, passionate, practical, +designed for affairs and prospering in them far beyond +the average. He founded a solid business in lamps and +oils, and was the sole proprietor of a concern called the +Greenside Company’s Works—“a multifarious concern it +was,” writes my cousin, Professor Swan, “of tinsmiths, +coppersmiths, brassfounders, blacksmiths, and japanners.” +He was also, it seems, a shipowner and underwriter. He +built himself “a land”—Nos. 1 and 2 Baxter’s Place, then +no such unfashionable neighbourhood—and died, leaving +his only son in easy circumstances, and giving to his three +surviving daughters portions of five thousand pounds and +upwards. There is no standard of success in life; but in +one of its meanings, this is to succeed.</p> + +<p>In what we know of his opinions, he makes a figure +highly characteristic of the time. A high Tory and patriot, +a captain—so I find it in my notes—of Edinburgh Spearmen, +and on duty in the Castle during the Muir and Palmer +troubles, he bequeathed to his descendants a bloodless +sword and a somewhat violent tradition, both long preserved. +The judge who sat on Muir and Palmer, the +famous Braxfield, let fall from the bench the <i>obiter dictum</i>—“I +never liked the French all my days, but now I hate +them.” If Thomas Smith, the Edinburgh Spearman, were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>16</span> +in court, he must have been tempted to applaud. The +people of that land were his abhorrence; he loathed +Buonaparte like Antichrist. Towards the end he fell into +a kind of dotage; his family must entertain him with +games of tin soldiers, which he took a childish pleasure to +array and overset; but those who played with him must +be upon their guard, for if his side, which was always that +of the English against the French, should chance to be +defeated, there would be trouble in Baxter’s Place. For +these opinions he may almost be said to have suffered. +Baptised and brought up in the Church of Scotland, he +had, upon some conscientious scruple, joined the communion +of the Baptists. Like other Nonconformists, these +were inclined to the Liberal side in politics, and, at least +in the beginning, regarded Buonaparte as a deliverer. +From the time of his joining the Spearmen, Thomas +Smith became in consequence a bugbear to his brethren +in the faith. “They that take the sword shall perish with +the sword,” they told him; they gave him “no rest”; +“his position became intolerable”; it was plain he must +choose between his political and his religious tenets; and +in the last years of his life, about 1812, he returned to +the Church of his fathers.</p> + +<p>August 1786 was the date of his chief advancement, +when, having designed a system of oil lights to take the +place of the primitive coal fires before in use, he was dubbed +engineer to the newly-formed Board of Northern Lighthouses. +Not only were his fortunes bettered by the appointment, +but he was introduced to a new and wider field for +the exercise of his abilities, and a new way of life highly +agreeable to his active constitution. He seems to have +rejoiced in the long journeys, and to have combined them +with the practice of field sports. “A tall, stout man coming +ashore with his gun over his arm”—so he was described +to my father—the only description that has come down +to me—by a light-keeper old in the service. Nor did this +change come alone. On the 9th July of the same year, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>17</span> +Thomas Smith had been left for the second time a widower. +As he was still but thirty-three years old, prospering in +his affairs, newly advanced in the world, and encumbered +at the time with a family of children, five in number, it +was natural that he should entertain the notion of another +wife. Expeditious in business, he was no less so in his +choice; and it was not later than June 1787—for my +grandfather is described as still in his fifteenth year—that +he married the widow of Alan Stevenson.</p> + +<p>The perilous experiment of bringing together two +families for once succeeded. Mr. Smith’s two eldest +daughters, Jean and Janet, fervent in piety, unwearied in +kind deeds, were well qualified both to appreciate and to +attract the stepmother; and her son, on the other hand, +seems to have found immediate favour in the eyes of +Mr. Smith. It is, perhaps, easy to exaggerate the ready-made +resemblances; the tired woman must have done +much to fashion girls who were under ten; the man, +lusty and opinionated, must have stamped a strong impression +on the boy of fifteen. But the cleavage of the +family was too marked, the identity of character and +interest produced between the two men on the one hand, +and the three women on the other, was too complete to +have been the result of influence alone. Particular bonds +of union must have pre-existed on each side. And there +is no doubt that the man and the boy met with common +ambitions, and a common bent, to the practice of that +which had not so long before acquired the name of civil +engineering.</p> + +<p>For the profession which is now so thronged, famous, +and influential, was then a thing of yesterday. My grandfather +had an anecdote of Smeaton, probably learned from +John Clerk of Eldin, their common friend. Smeaton was +asked by the Duke of Argyll to visit the West Highland +coast for a professional purpose. He refused, appalled, it +seems, by the rough travelling. “You can recommend +some other fit person?” asked the Duke. “No,” said +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>18</span> +Smeaton, “I’m sorry I can’t.” “What!” cried the Duke, +“a profession with only one man in it! Pray, who taught +you?” “Why,” said Smeaton, “I believe I may say I +was self-taught, an’t please your grace.” Smeaton, at the +date of Thomas Smith’s third marriage, was yet living; +and as the one had grown to the new profession from his +place at the instrument-maker’s, the other was beginning +to enter it by the way of his trade. The engineer of to-day +is confronted with a library of acquired results; tables and +formulæ to the value of folios full have been calculated +and recorded; and the student finds everywhere in front +of him the footprints of the pioneers. In the eighteenth +century the field was largely unexplored; the engineer +must read with his own eyes the face of nature; he arose +a volunteer, from the workshop or the mill, to undertake +works which were at once inventions and adventures. It +was not a science then—it was a living art; and it visibly +grew under the eyes and between the hands of its practitioners.</p> + +<p>The charm of such an occupation was strongly felt by +stepfather and stepson. It chanced that Thomas Smith +was a reformer; the superiority of his proposed lamp and +reflectors over open fires of coal secured his appointment; +and no sooner had he set his hand to the task than the +interest of that employment mastered him. The vacant +stage on which he was to act, and where all had yet to +be created—the greatness of the difficulties, the smallness +of the means intrusted him—would rouse a man of his +disposition like a call to battle. The lad introduced by +marriage under his roof was of a character to sympathise; +the public usefulness of the service would appeal to his +judgment, the perpetual need for fresh expedients stimulate +his ingenuity. And there was another attraction +which, in the younger man at least, appealed to, and +perhaps first aroused a profound and enduring sentiment +of romance: I mean the attraction of the life. The seas +into which his labours carried the new engineer were still +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>19</span> +scarce charted, the coasts still dark; his way on shore was +often far beyond the convenience of any road; the isles +in which he must sojourn were still partly savage. He +must toss much in boats; he must often adventure on +horseback by the dubious bridle-track through unfrequented +wildernesses; he must sometimes plant his lighthouse in +the very camp of wreckers; and he was continually +enforced to the vicissitudes of outdoor life. The joy of +my grandfather in this career was strong as the love of +woman. It lasted him through youth and manhood, it +burned strong in age, and at the approach of death his +last yearning was to renew these loved experiences. What +he felt himself he continued to attribute to all around +him. And to this supposed sentiment in others I find him +continually, almost pathetically, appealing: often in vain.</p> + +<p>Snared by these interests, the boy seems to have +become almost at once the eager confidant and adviser of +his new connection; the Church, if he had ever entertained +the prospect very warmly, faded from his view; +and at the age of nineteen I find him already in a post +of some authority, superintending the construction of the +lighthouse on the isle of Little Cumbrae, in the Firth of +Clyde. The change of aim seems to have caused or been +accompanied by a change of character. It sounds absurd +to couple the name of my grandfather with the word +indolence; but the lad who had been destined from the +cradle to the Church, and who had attained the age of +fifteen without acquiring more than a moderate knowledge +of Latin, was at least no unusual student. And from +the day of his charge at Little Cumbrae he steps before +us what he remained until the end, a man of the most +zealous industry, greedy of occupation, greedy of knowledge, +a stern husband of time, a reader, a writer, unflagging +in his task of self-improvement. Thenceforward +his summers were spent directing works and ruling workmen, +now in uninhabited, now in half-savage islands; his +winters were set apart, first at the Andersonian Institution, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>20</span> +then at the University of Edinburgh to improve himself +in mathematics, chemistry, natural history, agriculture, +moral philosophy, and logic; a bearded student—although +no doubt scrupulously shaved. I find one reference to his +years in class which will have a meaning for all who have +studied in Scottish Universities. He mentions a recommendation +made by the professor of logic. “The high-school +men,” he writes, “and <i>bearded men like myself</i>, were +all attention.” If my grandfather were throughout life a +thought too studious of the art of getting on, much must +be forgiven to the bearded and belated student who looked +across, with a sense of difference, at “the high-school +men.” Here was a gulf to be crossed; but already he +could feel that he had made a beginning, and that must +have been a proud hour when he devoted his earliest +earnings to the repayment of the charitable foundation in +which he had received the rudiments of knowledge.</p> + +<p>In yet another way he followed the example of his +father-in-law, and from 1794 to 1807, when the affairs of +the Bell Rock made it necessary for him to resign, he +served in different corps of volunteers. In the last of +these he rose to a position of distinction, no less than +captain of the Grenadier Company, and his colonel, in +accepting his resignation, entreated he would do them +“the favour of continuing as an honorary member of a +corps which has been so much indebted for your zeal +and exertions.”</p> + +<p>To very pious women the men of the house are apt +to appear worldly. The wife, as she puts on her new +bonnet before church, is apt to sigh over that assiduity +which enabled her husband to pay the milliner’s bill. +And in the household of the Smiths and Stevensons the +women were not only extremely pious, but the men were +in reality a trifle worldly. Religious they both were; +conscious, like all Scots, of the fragility and unreality of +that scene in which we play our uncomprehended parts; +like all Scots, realising daily and hourly the sense of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>21</span> +another will than ours and a perpetual direction in the +affairs of life. But the current of their endeavours flowed +in a more obvious channel. They had got on so far; to +get on further was their next ambition—to gather wealth, +to rise in society, to leave their descendants higher than +themselves, to be (in some sense) among the founders of +families. Scott was in the same town nourishing similar +dreams. But in the eyes of the women these dreams +would be foolish and idolatrous.</p> + +<p>I have before me some volumes of old letters addressed +to Mrs. Smith and the two girls, her favourites, which +depict in a strong light their characters and the society +in which they moved.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“My very dear and much esteemed Friend,” writes one correspondent, +“this day being the anniversary of our acquaintance, +I feel inclined to address you; but where shall I find words to +express the fealings of a graitful <i>Heart</i>, first to the Lord who +graiciously inclined you on this day last year to notice an afflicted +Strainger providentially cast in your way far from any Earthly +friend?... Methinks I shall hear him say unto you, ‘Inasmuch +as ye shewed kindness to my afflicted handmaiden, ye did it unto +me.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>This is to Jean; but the same afflicted lady wrote +indifferently to Jean, to Janet, and to Mrs. Smith, whom +she calls “my Edinburgh mother.” It is plain the three +were as one person, moving to acts of kindness, like the +Graces, inarmed. Too much stress must not be laid on +the style of this correspondence; Clarinda survived, not +far away, and may have met the ladies on the Calton Hill; +and many of the writers appear, underneath the conventions +of the period, to be genuinely moved. But what +unpleasantly strikes a reader is that these devout unfortunates +found a revenue in their devotion. It is everywhere +the same tale: on the side of the soft-hearted ladies, +substantial acts of help; on the side of the correspondents, +affection, italics, texts, ecstasies, and imperfect spelling. +When a midwife is recommended, not at all for proficiency +in her important art, but because she has “a sister whom +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>22</span> +I [the correspondent] esteem and respect, and [who] is a +spiritual daughter of my Hon<span class="sp">d</span> Father in the Gosple,” the +mask seems to be torn off, and the wages of godliness +appear too openly. Capacity is a secondary matter in a +midwife, temper in a servant, affection in a daughter, and +the repetition of a shibboleth fulfils the law. Common +decency is at times forgot in the same page with the most +sanctified advice and aspiration. Thus I am introduced +to a correspondent who appears to have been at the time +the housekeeper at Invermay, and who writes to condole +with my grandmother in a season of distress. For nearly +half a sheet she keeps to the point with an excellent discretion +in language; then suddenly breaks out:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“It was fully my intention to have left this at Martinmass, but +the Lord fixes the bounds of our habitation. I have had more need +of patience in my situation here than in any other, partly from the +very violent, unsteady, deceitful temper of the Mistress of the +Family, and also from the state of the house. It was in a train +of repair when I came here two years ago, and is still in Confusion. +There is above six Thousand Pounds’ worth of Furniture come from +London to be put up when the rooms are completely finished; and +then, woe be to the Person who is Housekeeper at Invermay!”</p> +</div> + +<p>And by the tail of the document, which is torn, I see +she goes on to ask the bereaved family to seek her a new +place. It is extraordinary that people should have been +so deceived in so careless an impostor; that a few sprinkled +“God willings” should have blinded them to the essence +of this venomous letter; and that they should have been +at the pains to bind it in with others (many of them highly +touching) in their memorial of harrowing days. But the +good ladies were without guile and without suspicion; +they were victims marked for the axe, and the religious +impostors snuffed up the wind as they drew near.</p> + +<p>I have referred above to my grandmother; it was +no slip of the pen: for by an extraordinary arrangement, +in which it is hard not to suspect the managing hand of +a mother, Jean Smith became the wife of Robert Stevenson. +Mrs. Smith had failed in her design to make her son a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23" id="page23"></a>23</span> +minister, and she saw him daily more immersed in business +and worldly ambition. One thing remained that she +might do: she might secure for him a godly wife, that +great means of sanctification; and she had two under her +hand, trained by herself, her dear friends and daughters +both in law and love—Jean and Janet. Jean’s complexion +was extremely pale, Janet’s was florid; my grandmother’s +nose was straight, my great-aunt’s aquiline; but by the +sound of the voice, not even a son was able to distinguish +one from other. The marriage of a man of twenty-seven +and a girl of twenty who have lived for twelve years as +brother and sister, is difficult to conceive. It took place, +however, and thus in 1799 the family was still further +cemented by the union of a representative of the male or +worldly element with one of the female and devout.</p> + +<p>This essential difference remained unbridged, yet never +diminished the strength of their relation. My grandfather +pursued his design of advancing in the world with +some measure of success; rose to distinction in his calling, +grew to be the familiar of members of Parliament, judges +of the Court of Session, and “landed gentlemen”; learned +a ready address, had a flow of interesting conversation, +and when he was referred to as “a highly respectable +<i>bourgeois</i>,” resented the description. My grandmother +remained to the end devout and unambitious, occupied +with her Bible, her children, and her house; easily shocked, +and associating largely with a clique of godly parasites. +I do not know if she called in the midwife already referred +to; but the principle on which that lady was recommended, +she accepted fully. The cook was a godly woman, the +butcher a Christian man, and the table suffered. The scene +has been often described to me of my grandfather sawing +with darkened countenance at some indissoluble joint—“Preserve +me, my dear, what kind of a reedy, stringy beast +is this?”—of the joint removed, the pudding substituted +and uncovered; and of my grandmother’s anxious glance +and hasty, deprecatory comment, “Just mismanaged!” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>24</span> +Yet with the invincible obstinacy of soft natures, she would +adhere to the godly woman and the Christian man, or find +others of the same kidney to replace them. One of her +confidants had once a narrow escape; an unwieldy old +woman, she had fallen from an outside stair in a close of +the Old Town; and my grandmother rejoiced to communicate +the providential circumstance that a baker had been +passing underneath with his bread upon his head. “I +would like to know what kind of providence the baker +thought it!” cried my grandfather.</p> + +<p>But the sally must have been unique. In all else that +I have heard or read of him, so far from criticising, he was +doing his utmost to honour and even to emulate his wife’s +pronounced opinions. In the only letter which has come +to my hand of Thomas Smith’s, I find him informing his +wife that he was “in time for afternoon church “; similar +assurances or cognate excuses abound in the correspondence +of Robert Stevenson; and it is comical and pretty to see +the two generations paying the same court to a female +piety more highly strung: Thomas Smith to the mother +of Robert Stevenson—Robert Stevenson to the daughter +of Thomas Smith. And if for once my grandfather suffered +himself to be hurried, by his sense of humour and justice, +into that remark about the case of Providence and the +Baker, I should be sorry for any of his children who should +have stumbled into the same attitude of criticism. In the +apocalyptic style of the housekeeper of Invermay, woe be +to that person! But there was no fear; husband and sons +all entertained for the pious, tender soul the same chivalrous +and moved affection. I have spoken with one who remembered +her, and who had been the intimate and equal of her +sons, and I found this witness had been struck, as I had +been, with a sense of disproportion between the warmth of +the adoration felt and the nature of the woman, whether as +described or observed. She diligently read and marked her +Bible; she was a tender nurse; she had a sense of humour +under strong control; she talked and found some amusement +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>25</span> +at her (or rather at her husband’s) dinner-parties. It +is conceivable that even my grandmother was amenable +to the seductions of dress; at least I find her husband inquiring +anxiously about “the gowns from Glasgow,” and +very careful to describe the toilet of the Princess Charlotte, +whom he had seen in church “in a Pelisse and Bonnet of +the same colour of cloth as the Boys’ Dress jackets, trimmed +with blue satin ribbons; the hat or Bonnet, Mr. Spittal +said, was a Parisian slouch, and had a plume of three white +feathers.” But all this leaves a blank impression, and it +is rather by reading backward in these old musty letters, +which have moved me now to laughter and now to impatience, +that I glean occasional glimpses of how she seemed +to her contemporaries, and trace (at work in her queer +world of godly and grateful parasites) a mobile and responsive +nature. Fashion moulds us, and particularly women, +deeper than we sometimes think; but a little while ago, +and, in some circles, women stood or fell by the degree of +their appreciation of old pictures; in the early years of the +century (and surely with more reason) a character like that +of my grandmother warmed, charmed, and subdued, like +a strain of music, the hearts of the men of her own household. +And there is little doubt that Mrs. Smith, as she +looked on at the domestic life of her son and her step-daughter, +and numbered the heads in their increasing +nursery, must have breathed fervent thanks to her +Creator.</p> + +<p>Yet this was to be a family unusually tried; it was not +for nothing that one of the godly women saluted Miss Janet +Smith as “a veteran in affliction”; and they were all +before middle life experienced in that form of service. By +the 1st of January 1808, besides a pair of still-born twins, +five children had been born and still survived to the young +couple. By the 11th two were gone; by the 28th a third +had followed, and the two others were still in danger. In +the letters of a former nurserymaid—I give her name, Jean +Mitchell, <i>honoris causa</i>—we are enabled to feel, even at this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>26</span> +distance of time, some of the bitterness of that month of +bereavement.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“I have this day received,” she writes to Miss Janet, “the +melancholy news of my dear babys’ deaths. My heart is like to +break for my dear Mrs. Stevenson. O may she be supported on +this trying occasion! I hope her other three babys will be spared +to her. O, Miss Smith, did I think when I parted from my sweet +babys that I never was to see them more?” “I received,” she +begins her next, “the mournful news of my dear Jessie’s death. +I also received the hair of my three sweet babys, which I will preserve +as dear to their memorys and as a token of Mr. and Mrs. +Stevenson’s friendship and esteem. At my leisure hours, when the +children are in bed, they occupy all my thoughts, I dream of them. +About two weeks ago, I dreamed that my sweet little Jessie came +running to me in her usual way, and I took her in my arms. O my +dear babys, were mortal eyes permitted to see them in heaven, we +would not repine nor grieve for their loss.”</p> +</div> + +<p>By the 29th of February, the Reverend John Campbell, +a man of obvious sense and human value, but hateful to the +present biographer, because he wrote so many letters and +conveyed so little information, summed up this first period +of affliction in a letter to Miss Smith: “Your dear sister +but a little while ago had a full nursery, and the dear blooming +creatures sitting around her table filled her breast with +hope that one day they should fill active stations in society +and become an ornament in the Church below. But ah!”</p> + +<p>Near a hundred years ago these little creatures ceased +to be, and for not much less a period the tears have been +dried. And to this day, looking in these stitched sheaves +of letters, we hear the sound of many soft-hearted women +sobbing for the lost. Never was such a massacre of the +innocents; teething and chincough and scarlet fever and +small-pox ran the round; and little Lillies, and Smiths, +and Stevensons fell like moths about a candle; and nearly +all the sympathetic correspondents deplore and recall the +little losses of their own. “It is impossible to describe the +Heavnly looks of the Dear Babe the three last days of his +life,” writes Mrs. Laurie to Mrs. Smith. “Never—never, +my dear aunt, could I wish to eface the rememberance of +this Dear Child. Never, never, my dear aunt!” And so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>27</span> +soon the memory of the dead and the dust of the survivors +are buried in one grave.</p> + +<p>There was another death in 1812; it passes almost unremarked; +a single funeral seemed but a small event to +these “veterans in affliction”; and by 1816 the nursery +was full again. Seven little hopefuls enlivened the house; +some were growing up; to the elder girl my grandfather +already wrote notes in current hand at the tail of his letters +to his wife: and to the elder boys he had begun to print, +with laborious care, sheets of childish gossip and pedantic +applications. Here, for instance, under date of May 26th, +1816, is part of a mythological account of London, with a +moral for the three gentlemen, “Messieurs Alan, Robert, +and James Stevenson,” to whom the document is addressed:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“There are many prisons here like Bridewell, for, like other +large towns, there are many bad men here as well as many good +men. The natives of London are in general not so tall and strong +as the people of Edinburgh, because they have not so much pure +air, and instead of taking porridge they eat cakes made with sugar +and plums. Here you have thousands of carts to draw timber, +thousands of coaches to take you to all parts of the town, and +thousands of boats to sail on the river Thames. But you must +have money to pay, otherwise you can get nothing. Now the way +to get money is, become clever men and men of education, by +being good scholars.”</p> +</div> + +<p>From the same absence, he writes to his wife on a +Sunday:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“It is now about eight o’clock with me, and I imagine you to +be busy with the young folks, hearing the questions [<i>Anglicé</i>, catechism], +and indulging the boys with a chapter from the large Bible, +with their interrogations and your answers in the soundest doctrine. +I hope James is getting his verse as usual, and that Mary is not +forgetting her little <i>hymn</i>. While Jeannie will be reading Wotherspoon, +or some other suitable and instructive book, I presume +our friend, Aunt Mary, will have just arrived with the news of a +<i>throng kirk</i> [a crowded church] and a great sermon. You may +mention, with my compliments to my mother, that I was at St. +Paul’s to-day, and attended a very excellent service with Mr. James +Lawrie. The text was ‘Examine and see that ye be in the faith.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>A twinkle of humour lights up this evocation of the distant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>28</span> +scene—the humour of happy men and happy homes. +Yet it is penned upon the threshold of fresh sorrow. James +and Mary—he of the verse and she of the hymn—did not +much more than survive to welcome their returning father. +On the 25th, one of the godly women writes to Janet:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“My dearest beloved madam, when I last parted from you, +you was so affected with your affliction [you? or I?] could think +of nothing else. But on Saturday, when I went to inquire after +your health, how was I startled to hear that dear James was gone! +Ah, what is this? My dear benefactors, doing so much good to +many, to the Lord, suddenly to be deprived of their most valued +comforts? I was thrown into great perplexity, could do nothing +but murmur, why these things were done to such a family. I could +not rest, but at midnight, whether spoken [or not] it was presented +to my mind—‘Those whom ye deplore are walking with me in white.’ +I conclude from this the Lord saying to sweet Mrs. Stevenson: +‘I gave them to be brought up for me: well done, good and faithful! +they are fully prepared, and now I must present them to my +father and your father, to my God and your God.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>It would be hard to lay on flattery with a more sure and +daring hand. I quote it as a model of a letter of condolence; +be sure it would console. Very different, perhaps +quite as welcome, is this from a lighthouse inspector to my +grandfather:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“In reading your letter the trickling tear ran down my cheeks +in silent sorrow for your departed dear ones, my sweet little friends. +Well do I remember, and you will call to mind, their little innocent +and interesting stories. Often have they come round me and +taken me by the hand, but alas! I am no more destined to behold +them.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The child who is taken becomes canonised, and the looks +of the homeliest babe seem in the retrospect “heavenly the +three last days of his life.” But it appears that James and +Mary had indeed been children more than usually engaging; +a record was preserved a long while in the family of their +remarks and “little innocent and interesting stories,” and +the blow and the blank were the more sensible.</p> + +<p>Early the next month Robert Stevenson must proceed +upon his voyage of inspection, part by land, part by sea. +He left his wife plunged in low spirits; the thought of his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>29</span> +loss, and still more of her concern, was continually present +in his mind, and he draws in his letters home an interesting +picture of his family relations:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="rt">“<i>Windygates Inn, Monday (Postmark July 16th).</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">My dearest Jeannie</span>,—While the people of the inn are +getting me a little bit of something to eat, I sit down to tell you +that I had a most excellent passage across the water, and got to +Wemyss at mid-day. I hope the children will be very good, and +that Robert will take a course with you to learn his Latin lessons +daily; he may, however, read English in company. Let them +have strawberries on Saturdays.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Westhaven, 17th July.</i></p> + +<p>“I have been occupied to-day at the harbour of Newport, +opposite Dundee, and am this far on my way to Arbroath. You +may tell the boys that I slept last night in Mr. Steadman’s tent. +I found my bed rather hard, but the lodgings were otherwise +extremely comfortable. The encampment is on the Fife side of +the Tay, immediately opposite to Dundee. From the door of the +tent you command the most beautiful view of the Firth, both up +and down, to a great extent. At night all was serene and still, the +sky presented the most beautiful appearance of bright stars, and +the morning was ushered in with the song of many little birds.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Aberdeen, July 19th.</i></p> + +<p>“I hope, my dear, that you are going out of doors regularly +and taking much exercise. I would have you to <i>make the markets +daily</i>—and by all means to take a seat in the coach once or twice +in the week and see what is going on in town. [The family were +at the sea-side.] It will be good not to be too great a stranger to +the house. It will be rather painful at first, but as it is to be done, +I would have you not to be too strange to the house in town.</p> + +<p>“Tell the boys that I fell in with a soldier—his name is Henderson—who +was twelve years with Lord Wellington and other commanders. +He returned very lately with only eightpence-halfpenny +in his pocket, and found his father and mother both in life, though +they had never heard from him, nor he from them. He carried +my great-coat and umbrella a few miles.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Fraserburgh, July 20th.</i></p> + +<p>“Fraserburgh is the same dull place which [Auntie] Mary and +Jeannie found it. As I am travelling along the coast which they +are acquainted with, you had better cause Robert bring down the +map from Edinburgh: and it will be a good exercise in geography +for the young folks to trace my course. I hope they have entered +upon the writing. The library will afford abundance of excellent +books, which I wish you would employ a little. I hope you are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>30</span> +doing me the favour to go much out with the boys, which will do +you much good and prevent them from getting so very much over-heated.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center">[<i>To the Boys—Printed.</i>]</p> + +<p>“When I had last the pleasure of writing to you, your dear little +brother James and your sweet little sister Mary were still with us. +But it has pleased God to remove them to another and a better +world, and we must submit to the will of Providence. I must, +however, request of you to think sometimes upon them, and to +be very careful not to do anything that will displease or vex your +mother. It is therefore proper that you do not roamp [Scottish +indeed] too much about, and that you learn your lessons.</p> + +<p>“I went to Fraserburgh and visited Kinnaird Head Lighthouse, +which I found in good order. All this time I travelled upon good +roads, and paid many a toll-man by the way; but from Fraserburgh +to Banff there is no toll-bars, and the road is so bad that +I had to walk up and down many a hill, and for want of bridges +the horses had to drag the chaise up to the middle of the wheels +in water. At Banff I saw a large ship of 300 tons lying on the sands +upon her beam-ends, and a wreck for want of a good harbour. +Captain Wilson—to whom I beg my compliments—-will show you +a ship of 300 tons. At the towns of Macduff, Banff, and Portsoy, +many of the houses are built of marble, and the rocks on this part +of the coast or sea-side are marble. But, my dear Boys, unless +marble be polished and dressed, it is a very coarse-looking stone, +and has no more beauty than common rock. As a proof of this, +ask the favour of your mother to take you to Thomson’s Marble +Works in South Leith, and you will see marble in all its stages, +and perhaps you may there find Portsoy marble! The use I wish +to make of this is to tell you that, without education, a man is just +like a block of rough, unpolished marble. Notice, in proof of +this, how much Mr. Neill and Mr. M’Gregor [the tutor] know, and +observe how little a man knows who is not a good scholar. On +my way to Fochabers I passed through many thousand acres of +Fir timber, and saw many deer running in these woods.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center">[<i>To Mrs. Stevenson.</i>]</p> + +<p class="rt">“<i>Inverness, July 21st.</i></p> + +<p>“I propose going to church in the afternoon, and as I have +breakfasted late, I shall afterwards take a walk, and dine about +six o’clock. I do not know who is the clergyman here, but I shall +think of you all. I travelled in the mail-coach [from Banff] almost +alone. While it was daylight I kept the top, and the passing along +a country I had never before seen was a considerable amusement. +But, my dear, you are all much in my thoughts, and many are +the objects which recall the recollection of our tender and engaging +children we have so recently lost. We must not, however, repine. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>31</span> +I could not for a moment wish any change of circumstances in +their case; and in every comparative view of their state, I see +the Lord’s goodness in removing them from an evil world to an +abode of bliss; and I must earnestly hope that you may be enabled +to take such a view of this affliction as to live in the happy prospect +of our all meeting again to part no more—and that under such +considerations you are getting up your spirits. I wish you would +walk about, and by all means go to town, and do not sit much at +home.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Inverness, July 23rd.</i></p> + +<p>“I am duly favoured with your much-valued letter, and I am +happy to find that you are so much with my mother, because that +sort of variety has a tendency to occupy the mind, and to keep +it from brooding too much upon one subject. Sensibility and +tenderness are certainly two of the most interesting and pleasing +qualities of the mind. These qualities are also none of the least +of the many endearingments of the female character. But if that +kind of sympathy and pleasing melancholy, which is familiar to +us under distress, be much indulged, it becomes habitual, and takes +such a hold of the mind as to absorb all the other affections, and +unfit us for the duties and proper enjoyments of life. Resignation +sinks into a kind of peevish discontent. I am far, however, from +thinking there is the least danger of this in your case, my dear; +for you have been on all occasions enabled to look upon the fortunes +of this life as under the direction of a higher power, and have +always preserved that propriety and consistency of conduct in all +circumstances which endears your example to your family in particular, +and to your friends. I am therefore, my dear, for you to +go out much, and to go to the house up-stairs [he means to go +up-stairs in the house, to visit the place of the dead children], and +to put yourself in the way of the visits of your friends. I wish +you would call on the Miss Grays, and it would be a good thing +upon a Saturday to dine with my mother, and take Meggy and +all the family with you, and let them have their strawberries in +town. The tickets of one of the <i>old-fashioned coaches</i> would take +you all up, and if the evening were good, they could all walk down, +excepting Meggy and little David.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Inverness, July 25th, 11 p.m.</i></p> + +<p>“Captain Wemyss, of Wemyss, has come to Inverness to go +the voyage with me, and as we are sleeping in a double-bedded +room, I must no longer transgress. You must remember me the +best way you can to the children.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>On board of the Lighthouse Yacht, July 29th.</i></p> + +<p>“I got to Cromarty yesterday about mid-day, and went to +church. It happened to be the sacrament there, and I heard a +Mr. Smith at that place conclude the service with a very suitable +exhortation. There seemed a great concourse of people, but they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>32</span> +had rather an unfortunate day for them at the tent, as it rained +a good deal. After drinking tea at the inn, Captain Wemyss accompanied +me on board, and we sailed about eight last night. The +wind at present being rather a beating one, I think I shall have +an opportunity of standing into the bay of Wick, and leaving this +letter to let you know my progress and that I am well.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Lighthouse Yacht, Stornoway, August 4th</i></p> + +<p>“To-day we had prayers on deck as usual when at sea. I read +the 14th chapter, I think, of Job. Captain Wemyss has been in the +habit of doing this on board his own ship, agreeably to the Articles +of War. Our passage round the Cape [Cape Wrath] was rather a +cross one, and as the wind was northerly, we had a pretty heavy +sea, but upon the whole have made a good passage, leaving many +vessels behind us in Orkney. I am quite well, my dear; and Captain +Wemyss, who has much spirit, and who is much given to observation, +and a perfect enthusiast in his profession, enlivens the voyage greatly. +Let me entreat you to move about much, and take a walk with the +boys to Leith. I think they have still many places to see there, +and I wish you would indulge them in this respect. Mr. Scales +is the best person I know for showing them the sailcloth-weaving, +etc., and he would have great pleasure in undertaking this. My +dear, I trust soon to be with you, and that through the goodness +of God we shall meet all well.</p> + +<p>“There are two vessels lying here with emigrants for America, +each with eighty people on board, at all ages, from a few days to +upwards of sixty! Their prospects must be very forlorn to go with +a slender purse for distant and unknown countries.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Lighthouse Yacht, off Greenock, Aug. 18th.</i></p> + +<p>“It was after <i>church-time</i> before we got here, but we had prayers +upon deck on the way up the Clyde. This has, upon the whole, +been a very good voyage, and Captain Wemyss, who enjoys it +much, has been an excellent companion; we met with pleasure, +and shall part with regret.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Strange that, after his long experience, my grandfather +should have learned so little of the attitude and even the +dialect of the spiritually-minded; that after forty-four +years in a most religious circle, he could drop without sense +of incongruity from a period of accepted phrases to “trust +his wife was <i>getting up her spirits</i>,” or think to reassure her +as to the character of Captain Wemyss by mentioning that +he had read prayers on the deck of his frigate “<i>agreeably to +the Articles of War</i>”! Yet there is no doubt—and it is one +of the most agreeable features of the kindly series—that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>33</span> +he was doing his best to please, and there is little doubt +that he succeeded. Almost all my grandfather’s private +letters have been destroyed. This correspondence has not +only been preserved entire, but stitched up in the same +covers with the works of the godly women, the Reverend +John Campbell, and the painful Mrs. Ogle. I did not think +to mention the good dame, but she comes in usefully as +an example. Amongst the treasures of the ladies of my +family, her letters have been honoured with a volume to +themselves. I read about a half of them myself; then +handed over the task to one of stauncher resolution, with +orders to communicate any fact that should be found to +illuminate these pages. Not one was found; it was her +only art to communicate by post second-rate sermons at +second-hand; and such, I take it, was the correspondence +in which my grandmother delighted. If I am right, that +of Robert Stevenson, with his quaint smack of the contemporary +“Sandford and Merton,” his interest in the whole +page of experience, his perpetual quest, and fine scent of all +that seems romantic to a boy, his needless pomp of language, +his excellent good sense, his unfeigned, unstained, unwearied +human kindliness, would seem to her, in a comparison, dry +and trivial and worldly. And if these letters were by an +exception cherished and preserved, it would be for one or +both of two reasons—because they dealt with and were +bitter-sweet reminders of a time of sorrow; or because +she was pleased, perhaps touched, by the writer’s guileless +efforts to seem spiritually-minded.</p> + +<p>After this date there were two more births and two +more deaths, so that the number of the family remained +unchanged; in all five children survived to reach maturity +and to outlive their parents.</p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>34</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h5>THE SERVICE OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS</h5> + + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> were hard to imagine a contrast more sharply defined +than that between the lives of the men and women of this +family: the one so chambered, so centred in the affections +and the sensibilities; the other so active, healthy, and +expeditious. From May to November, Thomas Smith and +Robert Stevenson were on the mail, in the saddle, or at +sea; and my grandfather, in particular, seems to have been +possessed with a demon of activity in travel. In 1802, by +direction of the Northern Lighthouse Board, he had visited +the coast of England from St. Bees, in Cumberland, and +round by the Scilly Islands to some place undecipherable +by me; in all a distance of 2500 miles. In 1806 I find him +starting “on a tour round the south coast of England, from +the Humber to the Severn.” Peace was not long declared +ere he found means to visit Holland, where he was in time +to see, in the navy-yard at Helvoetsluys, “about twenty +of Bonaparte’s <i>English flotilla</i> lying in a state of decay, the +object of curiosity to Englishmen.” By 1834 he seems to +have been acquainted with the coast of France from Dieppe +to Bordeaux; and a main part of his duty as Engineer to +the Board of Northern Lights was one round of dangerous +and laborious travel.</p> + +<p>In 1786, when Thomas Smith first received the appointment, +the extended and formidable coast of Scotland was +lighted at a single point—the Isle of May, in the jaws of the +Firth of Forth, where, on a tower already a hundred and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>35</span> +fifty years old, an open coal-fire blazed in an iron chauffer. +The whole archipelago, thus nightly plunged in darkness, +was shunned by sea-going vessels, and the favourite courses +were north about Shetland and west about St. Kilda. When +the Board met, four new lights formed the extent of their +intentions—Kinnaird Head, in Aberdeenshire, at the eastern +elbow of the coast; North Ronaldsay, in Orkney, to keep +the north and guide ships passing to the south’ard of Shetland; +Island Glass, on Harris, to mark the inner shore of +the Hebrides and illuminate the navigation of the Minch; +and the Mull of Kintyre. These works were to be attempted +against obstacles, material and financial, that might have +staggered the most bold. Smith had no ship at his command +till 1791; the roads in those outlandish quarters +where his business lay were scarce passable when they +existed, and the tower on the Mull of Kintyre stood eleven +months unlighted while the apparatus toiled and foundered +by the way among rocks and mosses. Not only had towers +to be built and apparatus transplanted, the supply of +oil must be maintained, and the men fed, in the same +inaccessible and distant scenes; a whole service, with its +routine and hierarchy, had to be called out of nothing; and +a new trade (that of lightkeeper) to be taught, recruited, and +organised. The funds of the Board were at the first laughably +inadequate. They embarked on their career on a loan +of twelve hundred pounds, and their income in 1789, after +relief by a fresh Act of Parliament, amounted to less than +three hundred. It must be supposed that the thoughts of +Thomas Smith, in these early years, were sometimes coloured +with despair; and since he built and lighted one tower after +another, and created and bequeathed to his successors the +elements of an excellent administration, it may be conceded +that he was not after all an unfortunate choice for +a first engineer.</p> + +<p>War added fresh complications. In 1794 Smith came +“very near to be taken” by a French squadron. In 1813 +Robert Stevenson was cruising about the neighbourhood of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>36</span> +Cape Wrath in the immediate fear of Commodore Rogers. +The men, and especially the sailors, of the lighthouse service +must be protected by a medal and ticket from the brutal +activity of the press-gang. And the zeal of volunteer +patriots was at times embarrassing.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“I set off on foot,” writes my grandfather, “for Marazion, a +town at the head of Mount’s Bay, where I was in hopes of getting +a boat to freight. I had just got that length, and was making the +necessary inquiry, when a young man, accompanied by several idle-looking +fellows, came up to me, and in a hasty tone said, ‘Sir, in +the king’s name I seize your person and papers.’ To which I +replied that I should be glad to see his authority, and know the +reason of an address so abrupt. He told me the want of time prevented +his taking regular steps, but that it would be necessary for +me to return to Penzance, as I was suspected of being a French +spy. I proposed to submit my papers to the nearest Justice of +Peace, who was immediately applied to, and came to the inn where +I was. He seemed to be greatly agitated, and quite at a loss how +to proceed. The complaint preferred against me was ‘that I had +examined the Longships Lighthouse with the most minute attention, +and was no less particular in my inquiries at the keepers of the +lighthouse regarding the sunk rocks lying off the Land’s End, with +the sets of the currents and tides along the coast: that I seemed +particularly to regret the situation of the rocks called the Seven +Stones, and the loss of a beacon which the Trinity Board had caused +to be fixed on the Wolf Rock; that I had taken notes of the bearings +of several sunk rocks, and a drawing of the lighthouse, and of Cape +Cornwall. Further, that I had refused the honour of Lord Edgecombe’s +invitation to dinner, offering as an apology that I had some +particular business on hand.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>My grandfather produced in answer his credentials and +letter of credit; but the justice, after perusing them, “very +gravely observed that they were ‘musty bits of paper,’” +and proposed to maintain the arrest. Some more enlightened +magistrates at Penzance relieved him of suspicion +and left him at liberty to pursue his journey,—“which +I did with so much eagerness,” he adds, “that I gave +the two coal lights on the Lizard only a very transient +look.”</p> + +<p>Lighthouse operations in Scotland differed essentially +in character from those in England. The English coast is +in comparison a habitable, homely place, well supplied with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>37</span> +towns; the Scottish presents hundreds of miles of savage +islands and desolate moors. The Parliamentary committee +of 1834, profoundly ignorant of this distinction, insisted +with my grandfather that the work at the various stations +should be let out on contract “in the neighbourhood,” +where sheep and deer, and gulls and cormorants, and a few +ragged gillies, perhaps crouching in a bee-hive house, made +up the only neighbours. In such situations repairs and +improvements could only be overtaken by collecting (as +my grandfather expressed it) a few “lads,” placing them +under charge of a foreman, and despatching them about +the coast as occasion served. The particular danger of +these seas increased the difficulty. The course of the +lighthouse tender lies amid iron-bound coasts, among tide-races, +the whirlpools of the Pentland Firth, flocks of +islands, flocks of reefs, many of them uncharted. The aid +of steam was not yet. At first in random coasting sloop, +and afterwards in the cutter belonging to the service, the +engineer must ply and run amongst these multiplied +dangers, and sometimes late into the stormy autumn. +For pages together my grandfather’s diary preserves a +record of these rude experiences; of hard winds and rough +seas; and of “the try-sail and storm-jib, those old friends +which I never like to see.” They do not tempt to +quotation, but it was the man’s element, in which he +lived, and delighted to live, and some specimen must be +presented. On Friday, September 10th, 1830, the <i>Regent</i> +lying in Lerwick Bay, we have this entry: “The gale increases, +with continued rain.” On the morrow, Saturday, +11th, the weather appeared to moderate, and they put to +sea, only to be driven by evening into Levenswick. There +they lay, “rolling much,” with both anchors ahead and +the square yard on deck, till the morning of Saturday, 18th. +Saturday and Sunday they were plying to the southward +with a “strong breeze and a heavy sea,” and on Sunday +evening anchored in Otterswick. “Monday, 20th, it blows +so fresh that we have no communication with the shore. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>38</span> +We see Mr. Rome on the beach, but we cannot communicate +with him. It blows ‘mere fire,’ as the sailors express it.” +And for three days more the diary goes on with tales of +davits unshipped, high seas, strong gales from the southward, +and the ship driven to refuge in Kirkwall or Deer +Sound. I have many a passage before me to transcribe, in +which my grandfather draws himself as a man of minute +and anxious exactitude about details. It must not be forgotten +that these voyages in the tender were the particular +pleasure and reward of his existence; that he had in him +a reserve of romance which carried him delightedly over +these hardships and perils; that to him it was “great gain” +to be eight nights and seven days in the savage bay of +Levenswick—to read a book in the much agitated cabin—to +go on deck and hear the gale scream in his ears, and see +the landscape dark with rain, and the ship plunge at her +two anchors—and to turn in at night and wake again at +morning, in his narrow berth, to the clamorous and continued +voices of the gale.</p> + +<p>His perils and escapes were beyond counting. I shall +only refer to two: the first, because of the impression made +upon himself; the second, from the incidental picture it +presents of the north islanders. On the 9th October 1794 +he took passage from Orkney in the sloop <i>Elizabeth</i> of +Stromness. She made a fair passage till within view of +Kinnaird Head, where, as she was becalmed some three +miles in the offing, and wind seemed to threaten from the +south-east, the captain landed him, to continue his journey +more expeditiously ashore. A gale immediately followed, +and the <i>Elizabeth</i> was driven back to Orkney and lost with +all hands. The second escape I have been in the habit of +hearing related by an eye-witness, my own father, from +the earliest days of childhood. On a September night, the +<i>Regent</i> lay in the Pentland Firth in a fog and a violent and +windless swell. It was still dark, when they were alarmed +by the sound of breakers, and an anchor was immediately +let go. The peep of dawn discovered them swinging in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>39</span> +desperate proximity to the Isle of Swona<a name="FnAnchor_10" id="FnAnchor_10" href="#Footnote_10"><span class="sp">10</span></a> and the surf +bursting close under their stern. There was in this place +a hamlet of the inhabitants, fisher-folk and wreckers; their +huts stood close about the head of the beach. All slept; +the doors were closed, and there was no smoke, and the +anxious watchers on board ship seemed to contemplate a +village of the dead. It was thought possible to launch a +boat and tow the <i>Regent</i> from her place of danger; and +with this view a signal of distress was made and a gun +fired with a red-hot poker from the galley. Its detonation +awoke the sleepers. Door after door was opened, and in +the grey light of the morning fisher after fisher was seen to +come forth, yawning and stretching himself, nightcap on +head. Fisher after fisher, I wrote, and my pen tripped; for +it should rather stand wrecker after wrecker. There was +no emotion, no animation, it scarce seemed any interest; +not a hand was raised; but all callously awaited the +harvest of the sea, and their children stood by their side +and waited also. To the end of his life, my father remembered +that amphitheatre of placid spectators on the beach, +and with a special and natural animosity, the boys of his +own age. But presently a light air sprang up, and filled +the sails, and fainted, and filled them again; and little by +little the <i>Regent</i> fetched way against the swell, and clawed +off shore into the turbulent firth.</p> + +<p>The purpose of these voyages was to effect a landing on +open beaches or among shelving rocks, not for persons +only, but for coals and food, and the fragile furniture of +light-rooms. It was often impossible. In 1831 I find my +grandfather “hovering for a week“ about the Pentland +Skerries for a chance to land; and it was almost always +difficult. Much knack and enterprise were early developed +among the seamen of the service; their management of +boats is to this day a matter of admiration; and I find my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>40</span> +grandfather in his diary depicting the nature of their excellence +in one happily descriptive phrase, when he remarks +that Captain Soutar had landed “the small stores and nine +casks of oil <i>with all the activity of a smuggler</i>.” And it was +one thing to land, another to get on board again. I have +here a passage from the diary, where it seems to have been +touch-and-go. “I landed at Tarbetness, on the eastern +side of the point, in <i>a mere gale or blast of wind</i> from west-south-west, +at 2 p.m. It blew so fresh that the captain, +in a kind of despair, went off to the ship, leaving myself +and the steward ashore. While I was in the lightroom, +I felt it shaking and waving, not with the tremor of the +Bell Rock, but with the <i>waving of a tree</i>! This the lightkeepers +seemed to be quite familiar to, the principal keeper +remarking that ‘it was very pleasant,’ perhaps meaning +interesting or curious. The captain worked the vessel into +smooth water with admirable dexterity, and I got on board +again about 6 p.m. from the other side of the point.” +But not even the dexterity of Soutar could prevail always; +and my grandfather must at times have been left in strange +berths and with but rude provision. I may instance the +case of my father, who was storm-bound three days upon +an islet, sleeping in the uncemented and unchimneyed +houses of the islanders, and subsisting on a diet of nettlesoup +and lobsters.</p> + +<p>The name of Soutar has twice escaped my pen, and I +feel I owe him a vignette. Soutar first attracted notice as +mate of a praam at the Bell Rock, and rose gradually to be +captain of the <i>Regent</i>. He was active, admirably skilled in +his trade, and a man incapable of fear. Once, in London, +he fell among a gang of confidence-men, naturally deceived +by his rusticity and his prodigious accent. They plied him +with drink—a hopeless enterprise, for Soutar could not be +made drunk; they proposed cards, and Soutar would not +play. At last, one of them, regarding him with a formidable +countenance, inquired if he were not frightened? “I’m +no’ very easy fleyed,” replied the captain. And the rooks +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>41</span> +withdrew after some easier pigeon. So many perils shared, +and the partial familiarity of so many voyages, had given +this man a stronghold in my grandfather’s estimation; and +there is no doubt but he had the art to court and please +him with much hypocritical skill. He usually dined on +Sundays in the cabin. He used to come down daily after +dinner for a glass of port or whisky, often in his full rig of +sou’-wester, oilskins, and long boots; and I have often heard +it described how insinuatingly he carried himself on these +appearances, artfully combining the extreme of deference +with a blunt and seamanlike demeanour. My father and +uncles, with the devilish penetration of the boy, were far +from being deceived; and my father, indeed, was favoured +with an object-lesson not to be mistaken. He had crept +one rainy night into an apple-barrel on deck, and from this +place of ambush overheard Soutar and a comrade conversing +in their oilskins. The smooth sycophant of the cabin had +wholly disappeared, and the boy listened with wonder to a +vulgar and truculent ruffian. Of Soutar, I may say <i>tantum +vidi</i>, having met him in the Leith docks now more than +thirty years ago, when he abounded in the praises of my +grandfather, encouraged me (in the most admirable manner) +to pursue his footprints, and left impressed for ever on my +memory the image of his own Bardolphian nose. He died +not long after.</p> + +<p>The engineer was not only exposed to the hazards of the +sea; he must often ford his way by land to remote and scarce +accessible places, beyond reach of the mail or the post-chaise, +beyond even the tracery of the bridle-path, and +guided by natives across bog and heather. Up to 1807 my +grandfather seems to have travelled much on horseback; +but he then gave up the idea—“such,” he writes with +characteristic emphasis and capital letters, “is the Plague +of Baiting.” He was a good pedestrian; at the age of +fifty-eight I find him covering seventeen miles over the +moors of the Mackay country in less than seven hours, and +that is not bad travelling for a scramble. The piece of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>42</span> +country traversed was already a familiar track, being that +between Loch Eriboll and Cape Wrath; and I think I can +scarce do better than reproduce from the diary some traits +of his first visit. The tender lay in Loch Eriboll; by five +in the morning they sat down to breakfast on board; by +six they were ashore—my grandfather, Mr. Slight an assistant, +and Soutar of the jolly nose, and had been taken in +charge by two young gentlemen of the neighbourhood and +a pair of gillies. About noon they reached the Kyle of +Durness and passed the ferry. By half-past three they +were at Cape Wrath—not yet known by the emphatic +abbreviation of “The Cape”—and beheld upon all sides +of them unfrequented shores, an expanse of desert moor, +and the high-piled Western Ocean. The site of the tower +was chosen. Perhaps it is by inheritance of blood, but I +know few things more inspiriting than this location of a +lighthouse in a designated space of heather and air, through +which the sea-birds are still flying. By 9 p.m. the return +journey had brought them again to the shores of the Kyle. +The night was dirty, and as the sea was high and the ferry-boat +small, Soutar and Mr. Stevenson were left on the far +side, while the rest of the party embarked and were received +into the darkness. They made, in fact, a safe though an +alarming passage; but the ferryman refused to repeat the +adventure; and my grandfather and the captain long paced +the beach, impatient for their turn to pass, and tormented +with rising anxiety as to the fate of their companions. At +length they sought the shelter of a shepherd’s house. “We +had miserable up-putting,” the diary continues, “and on +both sides of the ferry much anxiety of mind. Our beds +were clean straw, and but for the circumstance of the boat, +I should have slept as soundly as ever I did after a walk +through moss and mire of sixteen hours.”</p> + +<p>To go round the lights, even to-day, is to visit past +centuries. The tide of tourists that flows yearly in Scotland, +vulgarising all where it approaches, is still defined by +certain barriers. It will be long ere there is a hotel at Sumburgh +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>43</span> +or a hydropathic at Cape Wrath; it will be long +ere any <i>char-à-banc</i>, laden with tourists, shall drive up to +Barra Head or Monach, the Island of the Monks. They +are farther from London than St. Petersburg, and except +for the towers, sounding and shining all night with fog-bells +and the radiance of the light-room, glittering by day with +the trivial brightness of white paint, these island and moorland +stations seem inaccessible to the civilisation of to-day, +and even to the end of my grandfather’s career the isolation +was far greater. There ran no post at all in the Long +Island; from the lighthouse on Barra Head a boat must +be sent for letters as far as Tobermory, between sixty and +seventy miles of open sea; and the posts of Shetland, which +had surprised Sir Walter Scott in 1814, were still unimproved +in 1833, when my grandfather reported on the +subject. The group contained at the time a population of +30,000 souls, and enjoyed a trade which had increased in +twenty years sevenfold, to between three and four thousand +tons. Yet the mails were despatched and received by +chance coasting vessels at the rate of a penny a letter; six +and eight weeks often elapsed between opportunities, and +when a mail was to be made up, sometimes at a moment’s +notice, the bellman was sent hastily through the streets of +Lerwick. Between Shetland and Orkney, only seventy +miles apart, there was “no trade communication whatever.”</p> + +<p>Such was the state of affairs, only sixty years ago, with +the three largest clusters of the Scottish Archipelago; and +forty-seven years earlier, when Thomas Smith began his +rounds, or forty-two, when Robert Stevenson became conjoined +with him in these excursions, the barbarism was +deep, the people sunk in superstition, the circumstances of +their life perhaps unique in history. Lerwick and Kirkwall, +like Guam or the Bay of Islands, were but barbarous +ports where whalers called to take up and to return experienced +seamen. On the outlying islands the clergy lived +isolated, thinking other thoughts, dwelling in a different +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>44</span> +country from their parishioners, like missionaries in the +South Seas. My grandfather’s unrivalled treasury of anecdote +was never written down; it embellished his talk while +he yet was, and died with him when he died; and such as +have been preserved relate principally to the islands of +Ronaldsay and Sanday, two of the Orkney group. These +bordered on one of the water-highways of civilisation; a +great fleet passed annually in their view, and of the shipwrecks +of the world they were the scene and cause of a proportion +wholly incommensurable to their size. In one year, +1798, my grandfather found the remains of no fewer than +five vessels on the isle of Sanday, which is scarcely twelve +miles long.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“Hardly a year passed,” he writes, “without instances of this +kind; for, owing to the projecting points of this strangely formed +island, the lowness and whiteness of its eastern shores, and the +wonderful manner in which the scanty patches of land are intersected +with lakes and pools of water, it becomes, even in daylight, +a deception, and has often been fatally mistaken for an open sea. +It had even become proverbial with some of the inhabitants to +observe that ‘if wrecks were to happen, they might as well be sent +to the poor isle of Sanday as anywhere else.’ On this and the +neighbouring islands the inhabitants had certainly had their share +of wrecked goods, for the eye is presented with these melancholy +remains in almost every form. For example, although quarries +are to be met with generally in these islands, and the stones are +very suitable for building dykes (<i>Anglicé</i>, walls), yet instances occur +of the land being enclosed, even to a considerable extent, with ship-timbers. +The author has actually seen a park (<i>Anglicé</i>, meadow) +paled round chiefly with cedar-wood and mahogany from the wreck +of a Honduras-built ship; and in one island, after the wreck of a +ship laden with wine, the inhabitants have been known to take claret +to their barley-meal porridge. On complaining to one of the pilots +of the badness of his boat’s sails, he replied to the author with some +degree of pleasantry, ‘Had it been His will that you camena’ here +wi’ your lights, we might a’ had better sails to our boats, and more +o’ other things.’ It may further be mentioned that when some of +Lord Dundas’s farms are to be let in these islands a competition +takes place for the lease, and it is <i>bona fide</i> understood that a much +higher rent is paid than the lands would otherwise give were it not +for the chance of making considerably by the agency and advantages +attending shipwrecks on the shores of the respective farms.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The people of North Ronaldsay still spoke Norse, or, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>45</span> +rather, mixed it with their English. The walls of their huts +were built to a great thickness of rounded stones from the +sea-beach; the roof flagged, loaded with earth, and perforated +by a single hole for the escape of smoke. The grass +grew beautifully green on the flat house-top, where the +family would assemble with their dogs and cats, as on a +pastoral lawn; there were no windows, and in my grandfather’s +expression, “there was really no demonstration of +a house unless it were the diminutive door.” He once +landed on Ronaldsay with two friends. “The inhabitants +crowded and pressed so much upon the strangers that the +bailiff, or resident factor of the island, blew with his ox-horn, +calling out to the natives to stand off and let the gentlemen +come forward to the laird; upon which one of the +islanders, as spokesman, called out, ‘God ha’e us, man! +thou needsna mak’ sic a noise. It’s no’ every day we ha’e +<i>three hatted men</i> on our isle.’” When the Surveyor of +Taxes came (for the first time, perhaps) to Sanday, and +began in the King’s name to complain of the unconscionable +swarms of dogs, and to menace the inhabitants with +taxation, it chanced that my grandfather and his friend, +Dr. Patrick Neill, were received by an old lady in a Ronaldsay +hut. Her hut, which was similar to the model described, +stood on a Ness, or point of land jutting into the sea. They +were made welcome in the firelit cellar, placed “in <i>casey</i> +or straw-worked chairs, after the Norwegian fashion, with +arms, and a canopy overhead,” and given milk in a wooden +dish. These hospitalities attended to, the old lady turned +at once to Dr. Neill, whom she took for the Surveyor of +Taxes. “Sir,” said she, “gin ye’ll tell the King that I canna +keep the Ness free o’ the Bangers (sheep) without twa hun’s, +and twa guid hun’s too, he’ll pass me threa the tax on dugs.”</p> + +<p>This familiar confidence, these traits of engaging simplicity, +are characters of a secluded people. Mankind—and, +above all, islanders—come very swiftly to a bearing, +and find very readily, upon one convention or another, a +tolerable corporate life. The danger is to those from without, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>46</span> +who have not grown up from childhood in the islands, +but appear suddenly in that narrow horizon, life-sized +apparitions. For these no bond of humanity exists, no +feeling of kinship is awakened by their peril; they will +assist at a shipwreck, like the fisher-folk of Lunga, as spectators, +and when the fatal scene is over, and the beach strewn +with dead bodies, they will fence their fields with mahogany, +and, after a decent grace, sup claret to their porridge. It +is not wickedness: it is scarce evil; it is only, in its highest +power, the sense of isolation and the wise disinterestedness +of feeble and poor races. Think how many viking ships +had sailed by these islands in the past, how many vikings +had landed, and raised turmoil, and broken up the barrows +of the dead, and carried off the wines of the living; and +blame them, if you are able, for that belief (which may be +called one of the parables of the devil’s gospel) that a man +rescued from the sea will prove the bane of his deliverer. +It might be thought that my grandfather, coming there +unknown, and upon an employment so hateful to the inhabitants, +must have run the hazard of his life. But this +were to misunderstand. He came franked by the laird and +the clergyman; he was the King’s officer; the work was +“opened with prayer by the Rev. Walter Trail, minister +of the parish”; God and the King had decided it, and the +people of these pious islands bowed their heads. There +landed, indeed, in North Ronaldsay, during the last decade +of the eighteenth century, a traveller whose life seems really +to have been imperilled. A very little man of a swarthy +complexion, he came ashore, exhausted and unshaved, from +a long boat passage, and lay down to sleep in the home of +the parish schoolmaster. But he had been seen landing. +The inhabitants had identified him for a Pict, as, by some +singular confusion of name, they called the dark and dwarfish +aboriginal people of the land. Immediately the obscure +ferment of a race-hatred, grown into a superstition, began +to work in their bosoms, and they crowded about the house +and the room-door with fearful whisperings. For some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>47</span> +time the schoolmaster held them at bay, and at last despatched +a messenger to call my grandfather. He came: he +found the islanders beside themselves at this unwelcome +resurrection of the dead and the detested; he was shown, +as adminicular of testimony, the traveller’s uncouth and +thick-soled boots; he argued, and finding argument unavailing, +consented to enter the room and examine with +his own eyes the sleeping Pict. One glance was sufficient: +the man was now a missionary, but he had been before that +an Edinburgh shopkeeper with whom my grandfather had +dealt. He came forth again with this report, and the folk +of the island, wholly relieved, dispersed to their own houses. +They were timid as sheep and ignorant as limpets; that was +all. But the Lord deliver us from the tender mercies of a +frightened flock!</p> + +<p>I will give two more instances of their superstition. +When Sir Walter Scott visited the Stones of Stennis, my +grandfather put in his pocket a hundred-foot line, which +he unfortunately lost.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“Some years afterwards,” he writes, “one of my assistants on +a visit to the Stones of Stennis took shelter from a storm in a cottage +close by the lake; and seeing a box-measuring-line in the bole or +sole of the cottage window, he asked the woman where she got this +well-known professional appendage. She said: ‘O sir, ane of the +bairns fand it lang syne at the Stanes; and when drawing it out we +took fright, and thinking it had belanged to the fairies, we threw +it into the bole, and it has layen there ever since.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>This is for the one; the last shall be a sketch by the +master hand of Scott himself:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“At the village of Stromness, on the Orkney main island, called +Pomona, lived, in 1814, an aged dame called Bessie Millie, who +helped out her subsistence by selling favourable winds to mariners. +He was a venturous master of a vessel who left the roadstead of +Stromness without paying his offering to propitiate Bessie Millie! +Her fee was extremely moderate, being exactly sixpence, for which +she boiled her kettle and gave the bark the advantage of her prayers, +for she disclaimed all unlawful acts. The wind thus petitioned for +was sure, she said, to arrive, though occasionally the mariners had +to wait some time for it. The woman’s dwelling and appearance +were not unbecoming her pretensions. Her house, which was on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>48</span> +the brow of the steep hill on which Stromness is founded, was only +accessible by a series of dirty and precipitous lanes, and for exposure +might have been the abode of Eolus himself, in whose commodities +the inhabitant dealt. She herself was, as she told us, nearly one +hundred years old, withered and dried up like a mummy. A clay-coloured +kerchief, folded round her neck, corresponded in colour to +her corpse-like complexion. Two light blue eyes that gleamed +with a lustre like that of insanity, an utterance of astonishing +rapidity, a nose and chin that almost met together, and a ghastly +expression of cunning, gave her the effect of Hecate. Such was +Bessie Millie, to whom the mariners paid a sort of tribute with a +feeling between jest and earnest.”</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>From about the beginning of the century up to 1807 +Robert Stevenson was in partnership with Thomas Smith. +In the last-named year the partnership was dissolved; +Thomas Smith returning to his business, and my grandfather +becoming sole engineer to the Board of Northern +Lights.</p> + +<p>I must try, by excerpts from his diary and correspondence, +to convey to the reader some idea of the ardency and +thoroughness with which he threw himself into the largest +and least of his multifarious engagements in this service. +But first I must say a word or two upon the life of lightkeepers, +and the temptations to which they are more particularly +exposed. The lightkeeper occupies a position +apart among men. In sea-towers the complement has +always been three since the deplorable business in the +Eddystone, when one keeper died, and the survivor, +signalling in vain for relief, was compelled to live for days +with the dead body. These usually pass their time by the +pleasant human expedient of quarrelling; and sometimes, +I am assured, not one of the three is on speaking terms with +any other. On shore stations, which on the Scottish coast +are sometimes hardly less isolated, the usual number is +two, a principal and an assistant. The principal is dissatisfied +with the assistant, or perhaps the assistant keeps +pigeons, and the principal wants the water from the roof. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>49</span> +Their wives and families are with them, living cheek by +jowl. The children quarrel; Jockie hits Jimsie in the eye, +and the mothers make haste to mingle in the dissension. +Perhaps there is trouble about a broken dish; perhaps Mrs. +Assistant is more highly born than Mrs. Principal and gives +herself airs; and the men are drawn in and the servants +presently follow. “Church privileges have been denied +the keeper’s and the assistant’s servants,” I read in one case, +and the eminently Scots periphrasis means neither more +nor less than excommunication, “on account of the discordant +and quarrelsome state of the families. The cause, +when inquired into, proves to be <i>tittle-tattle</i> on both sides.” +The tender comes round; the foremen and artificers go +from station to station; the gossip flies through the whole +system of the service, and the stories, disfigured and exaggerated, +return to their own birthplace with the returning +tender. The English Board was apparently shocked by +the picture of these dissensions. “When the Trinity +House can,” I find my grandfather writing at Beachy +Head, in 1834, “they do not appoint two keepers, they +disagree so ill. A man who has a family is assisted by his +family; and in this way, to my experience and present +observation, the business is very much neglected. One +keeper is, in my view, a bad system. This day’s visit to +an English lighthouse convinces me of this, as the lightkeeper +was walking on a staff with the gout, and the business +performed by one of his daughters, a girl of thirteen +or fourteen years of age.” This man received a hundred a +year! It shows a different reading of human nature, +perhaps typical of Scotland and England, that I find in +my grandfather’s diary the following pregnant entry: +<i>”The lightkeepers, agreeing ill, keep one another to their duty.”</i> +But the Scottish system was not alone founded on this +cynical opinion. The dignity and the comfort of the northern +lightkeeper were both attended to. He had a uniform +to “raise him in his own estimation, and in that of his +neighbour, which is of consequence to a person of trust. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>50</span> +The keepers,” my grandfather goes on, in another place, +“are attended to in all the detail of accommodation in the +best style as shipmasters; and this is believed to have a +sensible effect upon their conduct, and to regulate their +general habits as members of society.” He notes, with the +same dip of ink, that “the brasses were not clean, and the +persons of the keepers not <i>trig</i>”; and thus we find him +writing to a culprit: “I have to complain that you are +not cleanly in your person, and that your manner of speech +is ungentle, and rather inclines to rudeness. You must +therefore take a different view of your duties as a lightkeeper.” +A high ideal for the service appears in these +expressions, and will be more amply illustrated further on. +But even the Scottish lightkeeper was frail. During the +unbroken solitude of the winter months, when inspection +is scarce possible, it must seem a vain toil to polish the brass +hand-rail of the stair, or to keep an unrewarded vigil in the +lightroom; and the keepers are habitually tempted to the +beginnings of sloth, and must unremittingly resist. He +who temporises with his conscience is already lost. I must +tell here an anecdote that illustrates the difficulties of inspection. +In the days of my uncle David and my father +there was a station which they regarded with jealousy. +The two engineers compared notes and were agreed. The +tower was always clean, but seemed always to bear traces +of a hasty cleansing, as though the keepers had been suddenly +forewarned. On inquiry, it proved that such was +the case, and that a wandering fiddler was the unfailing +harbinger of the engineer. At last my father was storm-stayed +one Sunday in a port at the other side of the island. +The visit was quite overdue, and as he walked across upon +the Monday morning he promised himself that he should +at last take the keepers unprepared. They were both waiting +for him in uniform at the gate; the fiddler had been +there on Saturday!</p> + +<p>My grandfather, as will appear from the following extracts, +was much a martinet, and had a habit of expressing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>51</span> +himself on paper with an almost startling emphasis. Personally, +with his powerful voice, sanguine countenance, and +eccentric and original locutions, he was well qualified to +inspire a salutary terror in the service.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“I find that the keepers have, by some means or another, got +into the way of cleaning too much with rotten-stone and oil. I +take the principal keeper to <i>task</i> on this subject, and make him bring +a clean towel and clean one of the brazen frames, which leaves +the towel in an odious state. This towel I put up in a sheet of +paper, seal, and take with me to confront Mr. Murdoch, who has +just left the station.” “This letter”—a stern enumeration of +complaints—“to lie a week on the lightroom book-place, and to +be put in the Inspector’s hands when he comes round.” “It is +the most painful thing that can occur for me to have a correspondence +of this kind with any of the keepers; and when I come to +the Lighthouse, instead of having the satisfaction to meet them +with approbation, it is distressing when one is obliged to put on a +most angry countenance and demeanour; but from such culpable +negligence as you have shown there is no avoiding it. I hold it as +a fixed maxim that, when a man or a family put on a slovenly +appearance in their houses, stairs, and lanterns, I always find their +reflectors, burners, windows, and light in general, ill attended to; +and, therefore, I must insist on cleanliness throughout.” “I find +you very deficient in the duty of the high tower. You thus place +your appointment as Principal Keeper in jeopardy; and I think +it necessary, as an old servant of the Board, to put you upon your +guard once for all at this time. I call upon you to recollect what +was formerly and is now said to you. The state of the backs of +the reflectors at the high tower was disgraceful, as I pointed out +to you on the spot. They were as if spitten upon, and greasy finger-marks +upon the back straps. I demand an explanation of this state +of things.” “The cause of the Commissioners dismissing you is +expressed in the minute; and it must be a matter of regret to you +that you have been so much engaged in smuggling, and also that +the Reports relative to the cleanliness of the Lighthouse, upon being +referred to, rather added to their unfavourable opinion.” “I do +not go into the dwelling-house, but severely chide the lightkeepers +for the disagreement that seems to subsist among them.” “The +families of the two lightkeepers here agree very ill. I have effected +a reconciliation for the present.” “Things are in a very <i>humdrum</i> +state here. There is no painting, and in and out of doors no taste +or tidiness displayed. Robert’s wife <i>greets</i> and M’Gregor’s scolds; +and Robert is so down-hearted that he says he is unfit for duty. +I told him that if he was to mind wives’ quarrels, and to take them +up, the only way was for him and M’Gregor to go down to the point +like Sir G. Grant and Lord Somerset.” “I cannot say that I have +experienced a more unpleasant meeting than that of the lighthouse +folks this morning, or ever saw a stronger example of unfeeling +barbarity than the conduct which the ——s exhibited. These two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>52</span> +cold-hearted persons, not contented with having driven the daughter +of the poor nervous woman from her father’s house, <i>both</i> kept +<i>pouncing</i> at her, lest she should forget her great misfortune. Write +me of their conduct. Do not make any communication of the state +of these families at Kinnaird Head, as this would be like <i>Tale-bearing</i>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>There is the great word out. Tales and Tale-bearing, +always with the emphatic capitals, run continually in his +correspondence. I will give but two instances:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“Write to David [one of the lightkeepers] and caution him to +be more prudent how he expresses himself. Let him attend his +duty to the Lighthouse and his family concerns, and give less heed +to Tale-bearers.” “I have not your last letter at hand to quote +its date; but, if I recollect, it contains some kind of tales, which +nonsense I wish you would lay aside, and notice only the concerns +of your family and the important charge committed to you.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Apparently, however, my grandfather was not himself +inaccessible to the Tale-bearer, as the following indicates:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“In-walking along with Mr. ——, I explain to him that I should +be under the necessity of looking more closely into the business here +from his conduct at Buddonness, which had given an instance of +weakness in the Moral principle which had staggered my opinion of +him. His answer was, ‘That will be with regard to the lass?’ I +told him I was to enter no farther with him upon the subject.” +“Mr. Miller appears to be master and man. I am sorry about this +foolish fellow. Had I known his train, I should not, as I did, have +rather forced him into the service. Upon finding the windows in +the state they were, I turned upon Mr. Watt, and especially upon +Mr. Stewart. The latter did not appear for a length of time to have +visited the lightroom. On asking the cause—did Mr. Watt and him +(<i>sic</i>) disagree; he said no; but he had got very bad usage from the +assistant, ‘who was a very obstreperous man.’ I could not bring +Mr. Watt to put in language his objections to Miller; all I could +get was that, he being your friend, and saying he was unwell, he +did not like to complain or to push the man; that the man seemed +to have no liking to anything like work; that he was unruly; that, +being an educated man, he despised them. I was, however, determined +to have out of these <i>unwilling</i> witnesses the language alluded +to. I fixed upon Mr. Stewart as chief; he hedged. My curiosity +increased, and I urged. Then he said, ‘What would I think, just +exactly, of Mr. Watt being called an Old B——?’ You may judge +of my surprise. There was not another word uttered. This was +quite enough, as coming from a person I should have calculated upon +quite different behaviour from. It spoke a volume of the man’s +mind and want of principle.” “Object to the keeper keeping a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>53</span> +Bull-Terrier dog of ferocious appearance. It is dangerous, as we +land at all times of the night.” “Have only to complain of the +storehouse floor being spotted with oil. Give orders for this being +instantly rectified, so that on my return to-morrow I may see things +in good order.” “The furniture of both houses wants much rubbing. +Mrs. ——’s carpets are absurd beyond anything I have seen. I +want her to turn the fenders up with the bottom to the fireplace: +the carpets, when not likely to be in use, folded up and laid as a +hearthrug partly under the fender.”</p> +</div> + +<p>My grandfather was king in the service to his fingertips. +All should go in his way, from the principal lightkeeper’s +coat to the assistant’s fender, from the gravel in +the garden-walks to the bad smell in the kitchen, or the +oil-spots on the store-room floor. It might be thought +there was nothing more calculated to awake men’s resentment, +and yet his rule was not more thorough than it was +beneficent. His thought for the keepers was continual, and +it did not end with their lives. He tried to manage their +successions; he thought no pains too great to arrange +between a widow and a son who had succeeded his father; +he was often harassed and perplexed by tales of hardship; +and I find him writing, almost in despair, of their improvident +habits and the destitution that awaited their families +upon a death. “The house being completely furnished, +they come into possession without necessaries, and they +go out <span class="sc">NAKED</span>. The insurance seems to have failed, and +what next is to be tried?” While they lived he wrote +behind their backs to arrange for the education of their +children, or to get them other situations if they seemed +unsuitable for the Northern Lights. When he was at a +lighthouse on a Sunday he held prayers and heard the +children read. When a keeper was sick, he lent him his +horse and sent him mutton and brandy from the ship. +“The assistant’s wife having been this morning confined, +there was sent ashore a bottle of sherry and a few rusks—a +practice which I have always observed in this service,” +he writes. They dwelt, many of them, in uninhabited isles +or desert forelands, totally cut off from shops. Many of +them were, besides, fallen into a rustic dishabitude of life, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>54</span> +so that even when they visited a city they could scarce be +trusted with their own affairs, as (for example) he who +carried home to his children, thinking they were oranges, a +bag of lemons. And my grandfather seems to have acted, +at least in his early years, as a kind of gratuitous agent for +the service. Thus I find him writing to a keeper in 1806, +when his mind was already pre-occupied with arrangements +for the Bell Rock: “I am much afraid I stand very unfavourably +with you as a man of promise, as I was to +send several things of which I believe I have more than +once got the memorandum. All I can say is that in this +respect you are not singular. This makes me no better; +but really I have been driven about beyond all example in +my past experience, and have been essentially obliged to +neglect my own urgent affairs.” No servant of the Northern +Lights came to Edinburgh but he was entertained at +Baxter’s Place to breakfast. There, at his own table, my +grandfather sat down delightedly with his broad-spoken, +homespun officers. His whole relation to the service was, +in fact, patriarchal; and I believe I may say that throughout +its ranks he was adored. I have spoken with many +who knew him; I was his grandson, and their words may +have very well been words of flattery; but there was one +thing that could not be affected, and that was the look +and light that came into their faces at the name of Robert +Stevenson.</p> + +<p>In the early part of the century the foreman builder +was a young man of the name of George Peebles, a native +of Anstruther. My grandfather had placed in him a very +high degree of confidence, and he was already designated +to be foreman at the Bell Rock, when, on Christmas-day +1806, on his way home from Orkney, he was lost in the +schooner <i>Traveller</i>. The tale of the loss of the <i>Traveller</i> is +almost a replica of that of the <i>Elizabeth</i> of Stromness; like +the <i>Elizabeth</i> she came as far as Kinnaird Head, was then +surprised by a storm, driven back to Orkney, and bilged +and sank on the island of Flotta. It seems it was about +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>55</span> +the dusk of the day when the ship struck, and many of the +crew and passengers were drowned. About the same hour, +my grandfather was in his office at the writing-table; and +the room beginning to darken, he laid down his pen and fell +asleep. In a dream he saw the door open and George +Peebles come in, “reeling to and fro, and staggering like a +drunken man,” with water streaming from his head and +body to the floor. There it gathered into a wave which, +sweeping forward, submerged my grandfather. Well, no +matter how deep; versions vary; and at last he awoke, +and behold it was a dream! But it may be conceived how +profoundly the impression was written even on the mind +of a man averse from such ideas, when the news came of +the wreck on Flotta and the death of George.</p> + +<p>George’s vouchers and accounts had perished with himself; +and it appeared he was in debt to the Commissioners. +But my grandfather wrote to Orkney twice, collected +evidence of his disbursements, and proved him to be +seventy pounds ahead. With this sum, he applied to +George’s brothers, and had it apportioned between their +mother and themselves. He approached the Board and +got an annuity of £5 bestowed on the widow Peebles; and +we find him writing her a long letter of explanation and +advice, and pressing on her the duty of making a will. +That he should thus act executor was no singular instance. +But besides this we are able to assist at some of the stages +of a rather touching experiment: no less than an attempt +to secure Charles Peebles heir to George’s favour. He is +despatched, under the character of “a fine young man”; +recommended to gentlemen for “advice, as he’s a stranger +in your place, and indeed to this kind of charge, this being +his first outset as Foreman”; and for a long while after, +the letter-book, in the midst of that thrilling first year of +the Bell Rock, is encumbered with pages of instruction and +encouragement. The nature of a bill, and the precautions +that are to be observed about discounting it, are expounded +at length and with clearness. “You are not, I hope, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>56</span> +neglecting, Charles, to work the harbour at spring-tides; +and see that you pay the greatest attention to get the well +so as to supply the keeper with water, for he is a very helpless +fellow, and so unfond of hard work that I fear he could +do ill to keep himself in water by going to the other side +for it.”—“With regard to spirits, Charles, I see very little +occasion for it.” These abrupt apostrophes sound to me +like the voice of an awakened conscience; but they would +seem to have reverberated in vain in the ears of Charles. +There was trouble in Pladda, his scene of operations; his +men ran away from him, there was at least a talk of calling +in the Sheriff. “I fear,” writes my grandfather, “you +have been too indulgent, and I am sorry to add that men +do not answer to be too well treated, a circumstance which +I have experienced, and which you will learn as you go +on in business.” I wonder, was not Charles Peebles himself +a case in point? Either death, at least, or disappointment +and discharge, must have ended his service in the +Northern Lights; and in later correspondence I look in +vain for any mention of his name—Charles, I mean, not +Peebles: for as late as 1839 my grandfather is patiently +writing to another of the family: “I am sorry you took +the trouble of applying to me about your son, as it lies +quite out of my way to forward his views in the line of his +profession as a Draper.”</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>III</h5> + +<p>A professional life of Robert Stevenson has been already +given to the world by his son David, and to that I would +refer those interested in such matters. But my own design, +which is to represent the man, would be very ill carried +out if I suffered myself or my reader to forget that he was, +first of all and last of all, an engineer. His chief claim to +the style of a mechanical inventor is on account of the Jib +or Balance Crane of the Bell Rock, which are beautiful contrivances. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>57</span> +But the great merit of this engineer was not +in the field of engines. He was above all things a projector +of works in the face of nature, and a modifier of nature +itself. A road to be made, a tower to be built, a harbour +to be constructed, a river to be trained and guided in its +channel—these were the problems with which his mind +was continually occupied; and for these and similar ends +he travelled the world for more than half a century, like +an artist, note-book in hand.</p> + +<p>He once stood and looked on at the emptying of a +certain oil-tube; he did so watch in hand, and accurately +timed the operation; and in so doing offered the perfect +type of his profession. The fact acquired might never be +of use: it was acquired: another link in the world’s huge +chain of processes was brought down to figures and placed +at the service of the engineer. “The very term mensuration +sounds <i>engineer-like</i>,” I find him writing; and in truth +what the engineer most properly deals with is that which +can be measured, weighed, and numbered. The time of +any operation in hours and minutes, its cost in pounds, +shillings, and pence, the strain upon a given point in foot-pounds—these +are his conquests, with which he must continually +furnish his mind, and which, after he has acquired +them, he must continually apply and exercise. They must +be not only entries in note-books, to be hurriedly consulted; +in the actor’s phrase, he must be <i>stale</i> in them; +in a word of my grandfather’s, they must be “fixed in the +mind like the ten fingers and ten toes.”</p> + +<p>These are the certainties of the engineer; so far he finds +a solid footing and clear views. But the province of +formulas and constants is restricted. Even the mechanical +engineer comes at last to an end of his figures, and must +stand up, a practical man, face to face with the discrepancies +of nature and the hiatuses of theory. After the +machine is finished, and the steam turned on, the next is +to drive it; and experience and an exquisite sympathy +must teach him where a weight should be applied or a nut +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>58</span> +loosened. With the civil engineer, more properly so called +(if anything can be proper with this awkward coinage), the +obligation starts with the beginning. He is always the +practical man. The rains, the winds and the waves, the +complexity and the fitfulness of nature, are always before +him. He has to deal with the unpredictable, with those +forces (in Smeaton’s phrase) that “are subject to no calculation”; +and still he must predict, still calculate them, at +his peril. His work is not yet in being, and he must foresee +its influence: how it shall deflect the tide, exaggerate the +waves, dam back the rain-water, or attract the thunderbolt. +He visits a piece of sea-board: and from the inclination +and soil of the beach, from the weeds and shell-fish, +from the configuration of the coast and the depth of soundings +outside, he must deduce what magnitude of waves is +to be looked for. He visits a river, its summer water +babbling on shallows; and he must not only read, in a +thousand indications, the measure of winter freshets, but +be able to predict the violence of occasional great floods. +Nay, and more: he must not only consider that which is, +but that which may be. Thus I find my grandfather +writing, in a report on the North Esk Bridge: “A less +waterway might have sufficed, but <i>the valleys may come to +be meliorated by drainage</i>.” One field drained after another +through all that confluence of vales, and we come to a time +when they shall precipitate, by so much a more copious +and transient flood, as the gush of the flowing drain-pipe +is superior to the leakage of a peat.</p> + +<p>It is plain there is here but a restricted use for formulas. +In this sort of practice, the engineer has need of some +transcendental sense. Smeaton, the pioneer, bade him +obey his “feelings”; my father, that “power of estimating +obscure forces which supplies a coefficient of its own to +every rule.” The rules must be everywhere indeed; but +they must everywhere be modified by this transcendental +coefficient, everywhere bent to the impression of the trained +eye and the <i>feelings</i> of the engineer. A sentiment of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>59</span> +physical laws and of the scale of nature, which shall have +been strong in the beginning and progressively fortified by +observation, must be his guide in the last recourse. I had +the most opportunity to observe my father. He would +pass hours on the beach, brooding over the waves, counting +them, noting their least deflection, noting when they broke. +On Tweedside, or by Lyne or Manor, we have spent together +whole afternoons; to me, at the time, extremely wearisome; +to him, as I am now sorry to think, bitterly mortifying. +The river was to me a pretty and various spectacle; +I could not see—I could not be made to see—it otherwise. +To my father it was a chequer-board of lively forces, which +he traced from pool to shallow with minute appreciation +and enduring interest. “That bank was being undercut,” +he might say; “why? Suppose you were to put a groin +out here, would not the <i>filum fluminis</i> be cast abruptly off +across the channel? and where would it impinge upon the +other shore? and what would be the result? Or suppose +you were to blast that boulder, what would happen? +Follow it—use the eyes God has given you—can you not +see that a great deal of land would be reclaimed upon this +side?” It was to me like school in holidays; but to him, +until I had worn him out with my invincible triviality, a +delight. Thus he pored over the engineer’s voluminous +handy-book of nature; thus must, too, have pored my +grandfather and uncles.</p> + +<p>But it is of the essence of this knowledge, or this knack +of mind, to be largely incommunicable. “It cannot be +imparted to another,” says my father. The verbal casting-net +is thrown in vain over these evanescent, inferential +relations. Hence the insignificance of much engineering +literature. So far as the science can be reduced to formulas +or diagrams, the book is to the point; so far as the art +depends on intimate study of the ways of nature, the +author’s words will too often be found vapid. This fact—engineering +looks one way, and literature another—was +what my grandfather overlooked. All his life long, his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>60</span> +pen was in his hand, piling up a treasury of knowledge, +preparing himself against all possible contingencies. Scarce +anything fell under his notice but he perceived in it some +relation to his work, and chronicled it in the pages of his +journal in his always lucid, but sometimes inexact and +wordy, style. The Travelling Diary (so he called it) was +kept in fascicles of ruled paper, which were at last bound +up, rudely indexed, and put by for future reference. Such +volumes as have reached me contain a surprising medley: +the whole details of his employment in the Northern Lights +and his general practice; the whole biography of an enthusiastic +engineer. Much of it is useful and curious; much +merely otiose; and much can only be described as an +attempt to impart that which cannot be imparted in words. +Of such are his repeated and heroic descriptions of reefs; +monuments of misdirected literary energy, which leave upon +the mind of the reader no effect but that of a multiplicity +of words and the suggested vignette of a lusty old gentleman +scrambling among tangle. It is to be remembered +that he came to engineering while yet it was in the egg and +without a library, and that he saw the bounds of that +profession widen daily. He saw iron ships, steamers, and +the locomotive engine, introduced. He lived to travel from +Glasgow to Edinburgh in the inside of a forenoon, and to +remember that he himself had “often been twelve hours +upon the journey, and his grandfather (Lillie) two days”! +The profession was still but in its second generation, and +had already broken down the barriers of time and space. +Who should set a limit to its future encroachments? And +hence, with a kind of sanguine pedantry, he pursued his +design of “keeping up with the day” and posting himself +and his family on every mortal subject. Of this unpractical +idealism we shall meet with many instances; there +was not a trade, and scarce an accomplishment, but he +thought it should form part of the outfit of an engineer; +and not content with keeping an encyclopædic diary himself, +he would fain have set all his sons to work continuing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>61</span> +and extending it. They were more happily inspired. My +father’s engineering pocket-book was not a bulky volume; +with its store of pregnant notes and vital formulas, it served +him through life, and was not yet filled when he came +to die. As for Robert Stevenson and the Travelling Diary, +I should be ungrateful to complain, for it has supplied me +with many lively traits for this and subsequent chapters; +but I must still remember much of the period of my study +there as a sojourn in the Valley of the Shadow.</p> + +<p>The duty of the engineer is twofold—to design the work, +and to see the work done. We have seen already something +of the vociferous thoroughness of the man, upon the cleaning +of lamps and the polishing of reflectors. In building, +in road-making, in the construction of bridges, in every +detail and byway of his employments, he pursued the same +ideal. Perfection (with a capital P and violently underscored) +was his design. A crack for a penknife, the waste of +“six-and-thirty shillings,” “the loss of a day or a tide,” in +each of these he saw and was revolted by the finger of the +sloven; and to spirits intense as his, and immersed in vital +undertakings, the slovenly is the dishonest, and wasted +time is instantly translated into lives endangered. On this +consistent idealism there is but one thing that now and then +trenches with a touch of incongruity, and that is his love +of the picturesque. As when he laid out a road on Hogarth’s +line of beauty; bade a foreman be careful, in quarrying, +not “to disfigure the island”; or regretted in a report +that “the great stone, called the <i>Devil in the Hole</i>, was +blasted or broken down to make road-metal, and for other +purposes of the work.”</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10" href="#FnAnchor_10"><span class="fn">10</span></a> This is only a probable hypothesis; I have tried to identify my +father’s anecdote in my grandfather’s diary, and may very well +have been deceived.—R. L. S.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>62</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h5>THE BUILDING OF THE BELL ROCK</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Off</span> the mouths of the Tay and the Forth, thirteen miles +from Fifeness, eleven from Arbroath, and fourteen from +the Red Head of Angus, lies the Inchcape or Bell Rock. +It extends to a length of about fourteen hundred feet, but +the part of it discovered at low water to not more than four +hundred and twenty-seven. At a little more than half-flood +in fine weather the seamless ocean joins over the reef, +and at high-water springs it is buried sixteen feet. As the +tide goes down, the higher reaches of the rock are seen to +be clothed by <i>Conferva rupestris</i> as by a sward of grass; +upon the more exposed edges, where the currents are most +swift and the breach of the sea heaviest, Baderlock or Henware +flourishes; and the great Tangle grows at the depth +of several fathoms with luxuriance. Before man arrived, +and introduced into the silence of the sea the smoke and +clangour of a blacksmith’s shop, it was a favourite +resting-place of seals. The crab and lobster haunt in +the crevices; and limpets, mussels, and the white buckie +abound.</p> + +<p>According to a tradition, a bell had been once hung +upon this rock by an abbot of Arbroath,<a name="FnAnchor_11" id="FnAnchor_11" href="#Footnote_11"><span class="sp">11</span></a> “and being taken +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>63</span> +down by a sea-pirate, a year thereafter he perished upon +the same rock, with ship and goods, in the righteous judgment +of God.” From the days of the abbot and the sea-pirate +no man had set foot upon the Inchcape, save fishers +from the neighbouring coast, or perhaps—for a moment, +before the surges swallowed them—the unfortunate victims +of shipwreck. The fishers approached the rock with an +extreme timidity; but their harvest appears to have been +great, and the adventure no more perilous than lucrative. +In 1800, on the occasion of my grandfather’s first landing, +and during the two or three hours which the ebb-tide and +the smooth water allowed them to pass upon its shelves, +his crew collected upwards of two hundredweight of old +metal: pieces of a kedge anchor and a cabin stove, crow-bars, +a hinge and lock of a door, a ship’s marking-iron, a +piece of a ship’s caboose, a soldier’s bayonet, a cannon ball, +several pieces of money, a shoe-buckle, and the like. Such +were the spoils of the Bell Rock. But the number of vessels +actually lost upon the reef was as nothing to those that were +cast away in fruitless efforts to avoid it. Placed right in +the fairway of two navigations, and one of these the entrance +to the only harbour of refuge between the Downs and the +Moray Firth, it breathed abroad along the whole coast an +atmosphere of terror and perplexity; and no ship sailed +that part of the North Sea at night, but what the ears of +those on board would be strained to catch the roaring of +the seas on the Bell Rock.</p> + +<p>From 1794 onward, the mind of my grandfather had +been exercised with the idea of a light upon this formidable +danger. To build a tower on a sea rock, eleven miles from +shore, and barely uncovered at low water of neaps, appeared +a fascinating enterprise. It was something yet unattempted, +unessayed; and even now, after it has been lighted +for more than eighty years, it is still an exploit that has +never been repeated.<a name="FnAnchor_12" id="FnAnchor_12" href="#Footnote_12"><span class="sp">12</span></a> My grandfather was, besides, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>64</span> +a young man, of an experience comparatively restricted, +and a reputation confined to Scotland; and when he prepared +his first models, and exhibited them in Merchants’ +Hall, he can hardly be acquitted of audacity. John Clerk +of Eldin stood his friend from the beginning, kept the key +of the model room, to which he carried “eminent strangers,” +and found words of counsel and encouragement beyond +price. “Mr. Clerk had been personally known to Smeaton, +and used occasionally to speak of him to me,” says my +grandfather; and again: “I felt regret that I had not the +opportunity of a greater range of practice to fit me for such +an undertaking; but I was fortified by an expression of my +friend Mr. Clerk in one of our conversations. ‘This work,’ +said he, ‘is unique, and can be little forwarded by experience +of ordinary masonic operations. In this case Smeaton’s +“Narrative” must be the text-book, and energy and perseverance +the pratique.’”</p> + +<p>A Bill for the work was introduced into Parliament and +lost in the Lords in 1802-3. John Rennie was afterwards, +at my grandfather’s suggestion, called in council, with the +style of chief engineer. The precise meaning attached to +these words by any of the parties appears irrecoverable. +Chief engineer should have full authority, full responsibility, +and a proper share of the emoluments; and there were none +of these for Rennie. I find in an appendix a paper which +resumes the controversy on this subject; and it will be +enough to say here that Rennie did not design the Bell +Rock, that he did not execute it, and that he was not paid +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>65</span> +for it.<a name="FnAnchor_13" id="FnAnchor_13" href="#Footnote_13"><span class="sp">13</span></a> From so much of the correspondence as has come +down to me, the acquaintance of this man, eleven years his +senior, and already famous, appears to have been both +useful and agreeable to Robert Stevenson. It is amusing +to find my grandfather seeking high and low for a brace of +pistols which his colleague had lost by the way between +Aberdeen and Edinburgh; and writing to Messrs. Dollond, +“I have not thought it necessary to trouble Mr. Rennie +with this order, but <i>I beg you will see to get two minutes of +him as he passes your door</i>”—a proposal calculated rather +from the latitude of Edinburgh than from London, even in +1807. It is pretty, too, to observe with what affectionate +regard Smeaton was held in mind by his immediate successors. +“Poor old fellow,” writes Rennie to Stevenson, +“I hope he will now and then take a peep at us, and inspire +you with fortitude and courage to brave all difficulties +and dangers to accomplish a work which will, if successful, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>66</span> +immortalise you in the annals of fame.” The style might +be bettered, but the sentiment is charming.</p> + +<p>Smeaton was, indeed, the patron saint of the Bell Rock. +Undeterred by the sinister fate of Winstanley, he had +tackled and solved the problem of the Eddystone; but his +solution had not been in all respects perfect. It remained +for my grandfather to outdo him in daring, by applying +to a tidal rock those principles which had been already +justified by the success of the Eddystone, and to perfect +the model by more than one exemplary departure. Smeaton +had adopted in his floors the principle of the arch; each +therefore exercised an outward thrust upon the walls, which +must be met and combated by embedded chains. My +grandfather’s flooring-stones, on the other hand, were flat, +made part of the outer wall, and were keyed and dovetailed +into a central stone, so as to bind the work together and be +positive elements of strength. In 1703 Winstanley still +thought it possible to erect his strange pagoda, with its +open gallery, its florid scrolls and candlesticks: like a +rich man’s folly for an ornamental water in a park. Smeaton +followed; then Stevenson in his turn corrected such flaws +as were left in Smeaton’s design; and with his improvements, +it is not too much to say the model was made perfect. +Smeaton and Stevenson had between them evolved +and finished the sea-tower. No subsequent builder has +departed in anything essential from the principles of their +design. It remains, and it seems to us as though it must +remain for ever, an ideal attained. Every stone in the +building, it may interest the reader to know, my grandfather +had himself cut out in the model; and the manner +in which the courses were fitted, joggled, trenailed, wedged, +and the bond broken, is intricate as a puzzle and beautiful +by ingenuity.</p> + +<p>In 1806 a second Bill passed both Houses, and the preliminary +works were at once begun. The same year the +Navy had taken a great harvest of prizes in the North Sea, +one of which, a Prussian fishing dogger, flat-bottomed and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>67</span> +rounded at the stem and stern, was purchased to be a +floating lightship, and re-named the <i>Pharos</i>. By July 1807 +she was overhauled, rigged for her new purpose, and turned +into the lee of the Isle of May. “It was proposed that the +whole party should meet in her and pass the night; but +she rolled from side to side in so extraordinary a manner, +that even the most seahardy fled. It was humorously +observed of this vessel that she was in danger of making a +round turn and appearing with her keel uppermost; and +that she would even turn a halfpenny if laid upon deck.” +By two o’clock on the morning of the 15th July this purgatorial +vessel was moored by the Bell Rock.</p> + +<p>A sloop of forty tons had been in the meantime built +at Leith, and named the <i>Smeaton</i>: by the 7th of August +my grandfather set sail in her—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“carrying with him Mr. Peter Logan, foreman builder, and five +artificers selected from their having been somewhat accustomed to +the sea, the writer being aware of the distressing trial which the +floating light would necessarily inflict upon landsmen from her rolling +motion. Here he remained till the 10th, and, as the weather was +favourable, a landing was effected daily, when the workmen were +employed in cutting the large seaweed from the sites of the lighthouse +and beacon, which were respectively traced with pickaxes upon the +rock. In the meantime the crew of the <i>Smeaton</i> was employed in +laying down the several sets of moorings within about half a mile of +the rock for the convenience of vessels. The artificers, having, +fortunately, experienced moderate weather, returned to the workyard +of Arbroath with a good report of their treatment afloat; when +their comrades ashore began to feel some anxiety to see a place of +which they had heard so much, and to change the constant operations +with the iron and mallet in the process of hewing for an occasional +tide’s work on the rock, which they figured to themselves as a state +of comparative ease and comfort.”</p> +</div> + +<p>I am now for many pages to let my grandfather speak +for himself, and tell in his own words the story of his +capital achievement. The tall quarto of 533 pages from +which the following narrative has been dug out is practically +unknown to the general reader, yet good judges have perceived +its merit, and it has been named (with flattering wit) +“The Romance of Stone and Lime” and “The Robinson +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>68</span> +Crusoe of Civil Engineering.” The tower was but four +years in the building; it took Robert Stevenson, in the +midst of his many avocations, no less than fourteen to +prepare the <i>Account</i>. The title-page is a solid piece of +literature of upwards of a hundred words; the table of +contents runs to thirteen pages; and the dedication (to +that revered monarch, George IV) must have cost him no +little study and correspondence. Walter Scott was called +in council, and offered one miscorrection which still blots +the page. In spite of all this pondering and filing, there +remain pages not easy to construe, and inconsistencies not +easy to explain away. I have sought to make these disappear, +and to lighten a little the baggage with which my +grandfather marches; here and there I have rejointed and +rearranged a sentence, always with his own words, and all +with a reverent and faithful hand; and I offer here to the +reader the true Monument of Robert Stevenson with a +little of the moss removed from the inscription, and the +Portrait of the artist with some superfluous canvas cut +away.</p> + + + +<hr class="short" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>69</span></p> +<h5>I</h5> + +<h5>OPERATIONS OF 1807</h5> + +<div class="body1"> +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />16th Aug.</div> + +<p>Everything being arranged for sailing to the rock on Saturday +the 15th, the vessel might have proceeded on the Sunday; but +understanding that this would not be so agreeable to the artificers +it was deferred until Monday. Here we cannot help observing that +the men allotted for the operations at the rock seemed to enter upon +the undertaking with a degree of consideration which fully marked +their opinion as to the hazardous nature of the undertaking on which +they were about to enter. They went in a body to church on Sunday, +and whether it was in the ordinary course, or designed for the occasion, +the writer is not certain, but the service was, in many respects, suitable +to their circumstances.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />17th Aug.</div> + +<p>The tide happening to fall late in the evening of Monday the +17th, the party, counting twenty-four in number, embarked on board +of the <i>Smeaton</i> about ten o’clock p.m., and sailed from Arbroath with +a gentle breeze at west. Our ship’s colours having been flying all +day in compliment to the commencement of the work, the other +vessels in the harbour also saluted, which made a very gay appearance. +A number of the friends and acquaintances of those on board +having been thus collected, the piers, though at a late hour, were +perfectly crowded, and just as the <i>Smeaton</i> cleared the harbour, all +on board united in giving three hearty cheers, which were returned +by those on shore in such good earnest, that, in the still of the evening, +the sound must have been heard in all parts of the town, reechoing +from the walls and lofty turrets of the venerable Abbey of +Aberbrothwick. The writer felt much satisfaction at the manner +of this parting scene, though he must own that the present rejoicing +was, on his part, mingled with occasional reflections upon the responsibility +of his situation, which extended to the safety of all who +should be engaged in this perilous work. With such sensations he +retired to his cabin; but as the artificers were rather inclined to +move about the deck than to remain in their confined berths below, +his repose was transient, and the vessel being small every motion +was necessarily heard. Some who were musically inclined occasionally +sung; but he listened with peculiar pleasure to the sailor at the +helm, who hummed over Dibdin’s characteristic air:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“They say there’s a Providence sits up aloft,</p> +<p class="i05">To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>70</span></p> +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, 18th Aug.</div> + +<p>The weather had been very gentle all night, and, about four in +the morning of the 18th, the <i>Smeaton</i> anchored. Agreeably to an +arranged plan of operations, all hands were called at five o’clock a.m., +just as the highest part of the Bell Rock began to show its sable head +among the light breakers, which occasionally whitened with the +foaming sea. The two boats belonging to the floating light attended +the <i>Smeaton</i>, to carry the artificers to the rock, as her boat could +only accommodate about six or eight sitters. Every one was more +eager than his neighbour to leap into the boats, and it required a +good deal of management on the part of the coxswains to get men +unaccustomed to a boat to take their places for rowing and at the +same time trimming her properly. The landing-master and foreman +went into one boat, while the writer took charge of another, and +steered it to and from the rock. This became the more necessary in +the early stages of the work, as places could not be spared for more +than two, or at most three, seamen to each boat, who were always +stationed, one at the bow, to use the boat-hook in fending or pushing +off, and the other at the aftermost oar, to give the proper time in +rowing, while the middle oars were double-banked, and rowed by +the artificers.</p> + +<p>As the weather was extremely fine, with light airs of wind from +the east, we landed without difficulty upon the central part of the +rock at half-past five, but the water had not yet sufficiently left it +for commencing the work. This interval, however, did not pass +unoccupied. The first and last of all the principal operations at the +Bell Rock were accompanied by three hearty cheers from all hands, +and, on occasions like the present, the steward of the ship attended, +when each man was regaled with a glass of rum. As the water left +the rock about six, some began to bore the holes for the great bats +or holdfasts, for fixing the beams of the Beacon-house, while the +smith was fully attended in laying out the site of his forge, upon a +somewhat sheltered spot of the rock, which also recommended itself +from the vicinity of a pool of water for tempering his irons. These +preliminary steps occupied about an hour, and as nothing further +could be done during this tide towards fixing the forge, the workmen +gratified their curiosity by roaming about the rock, which they investigated +with great eagerness till the tide overflowed it. Those +who had been sick picked dulse (<i>Fucus palmatus</i>), which they ate +with much seeming appetite; others were more intent upon collecting +limpets for bait, to enjoy the amusement of fishing when they returned +on board of the vessel. Indeed, none came away empty-handed, +as everything found upon the Bell Rock was considered +valuable, being connected with some interesting association. Several +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>71</span> +coins and numerous bits of shipwrecked iron, were picked up, of +almost every description; and, in particular, a marking-iron lettered +<span class="sc">James</span>—a circumstance of which it was thought proper to give notice +to the public, as it might lead to the knowledge of some unfortunate +shipwreck, perhaps unheard of till this simple occurrence led to the +discovery. When the rock began to be overflowed, the landing-master +arranged the crews of the respective boats, appointing +twelve persons to each. According to a rule which the writer had +laid down to himself, he was always the last person who left the +rock.</p> + +<p>In a short time the Bell Rock was laid completely under water, +and the weather being extremely fine, the sea was so smooth that its +place could not be pointed out from the appearance of the surface—a +circumstance which sufficiently demonstrates the dangerous nature +of this rock, even during the day, and in the smoothest and calmest +state of the sea. During the interval between the morning and the +evening tides, the artificers were variously employed in fishing and +reading; others were busy in drying and adjusting their wet clothes, +and one or two amused their companions with the violin and German +flute.</p> + +<p>About seven in the evening the signal bell for landing on the rock +was again rung, when every man was at his quarters. In this service +it was thought more appropriate to use the bell than to <i>pipe</i> to +quarters, as the use of this instrument is less known to the mechanic +than the sound of the bell. The landing, as in the morning, was at +the eastern harbour. During this tide the seaweed was pretty well +cleared from the site of the operations, and also from the tracks +leading to the different landing-places; for walking upon the rugged +surface of the Bell Rock, when covered with seaweed, was found to +be extremely difficult and even dangerous. Every hand that could +possibly be occupied was now employed in assisting the smith to fit +up the apparatus for his forge. At 9 p.m. the boats returned to the +tender, after other two hours’ work, in the same order as formerly—perhaps +as much gratified with the success that attended the work +of this day as with any other in the whole course of the operations. +Although it could not be said that the fatigues of this day had been +great, yet all on board retired early to rest. The sea being calm, +and no movement on deck, it was pretty generally remarked in the +morning that the bell awakened the greater number on board from +their first sleep; and though this observation was not altogether +applicable to the writer himself, yet he was not a little pleased to +find that thirty people could all at once become so reconciled to a +night’s quarters within a few hundred paces of the Bell Rock. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>72</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />19th Aug.</div> + +<p>Being extremely anxious at this time to get forward with fixing +the smith’s forge, on which the progress of the work at present +depended, the writer requested that he might be called at daybreak +to learn the landing-master’s opinion of the weather from the appearance +of the rising sun, a criterion by which experienced seamen can +generally judge pretty accurately of the state of the weather for the +following day. About five o’clock, on coming upon deck, the sun’s +upper limb or disc had just begun to appear as if rising from the +ocean, and in less than a minute he was seen in the fullest splendour; +but after a short interval he was enveloped in a soft cloudy sky, +which was considered emblematical of fine weather. His rays had +not yet sufficiently dispelled the clouds which hid the land from view, +and the Bell Rock being still overflowed, the whole was one expanse +of water. This scene in itself was highly gratifying; and, when the +morning bell was tolled, we were gratified with the happy forebodings +of good weather and the expectation of having both a morning and +an evening tide’s work on the rock.</p> + +<p>The boat which the writer steered happened to be the last which +approached the rock at this tide; and, in standing up in the stern, +while at some distance, to see how the leading boat entered the creek, +he was astonished to observe something in the form of a human +figure, in a reclining posture, upon one of the ledges of the rock. +He immediately steered the boat through a narrow entrance to the +eastern harbour, with a thousand unpleasant sensations in his mind. +He thought a vessel or boat must have been wrecked upon the rock +during the night; and it seemed probable that the rock might be +strewed with dead bodies, a spectacle which could not fail to deter +the artificers from returning so freely to their work. In the midst +of these reveries the boat took the ground at an improper landing-place +but, without waiting to push her off, he leapt upon the rock, +and making his way hastily to the spot which had privately given +him alarm, he had the satisfaction to ascertain that he had only been +deceived by the peculiar situation and aspect of the smith’s anvil and +block, which very completely represented the appearance of a lifeless +body upon the rock. The writer carefully suppressed his feelings, +the simple mention of which might have had a bad effect upon the +artificers, and his haste passed for an anxiety to examine the apparatus +of the smith’s forge, left in an unfinished state at evening +tide.</p> + +<p>In the course of this morning’s work two or three apparently +distant peals of thunder were heard, and the atmosphere suddenly +became thick and foggy. But as the <i>Smeaton</i>, our present tender, +was moored at no great distance from the rock, the crew on board +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>73</span> +continued blowing with a horn, and occasionally fired a musket, so +that the boats got to the ship without difficulty.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />20th Aug.</div> + +<p>The wind this morning inclined from the north-east, and the sky +had a heavy and cloudy appearance, but the sea was smooth, though +there was an undulating motion on the surface, which indicated +easterly winds, and occasioned a slight surf upon the rock. But the +boats found no difficulty in landing at the western creek at half-past +seven, and, after a good tide’s work, left it again about a quarter +from eleven. In the evening the artificers landed at half-past seven, +and continued till half-past eight, having completed the fixing of +the smith’s forge, his vice, and a wooden board or bench, which were +also batted to a ledge of the rock, to the great joy of all, under a +salute of three hearty cheers. From an oversight on the part of the +smith, who had neglected to bring his tinder-box and matches from +the vessel, the work was prevented from being continued for at least +an hour longer.</p> + +<p>The smith’s shop was, of course, in <i>open space</i>: the large bellows +were carried to and from the rock every tide, for the serviceable condition +of which, together with the tinder-box, fuel, and embers of +the former fire, the smith was held responsible. Those who have +been placed in situations to feel the inconveniency and want of this +useful artisan, will be able to appreciate his value in a case like the +present. It often happened, to our annoyance and disappointment, +in the early state of the work, when the smith was in the middle of a +<i>favourite heat</i> in making some useful article, or in sharpening the +tools, after the flood-tide had obliged the pickmen to strike work, +a sea would come rolling over the rocks, dash out the fire, and endanger +his indispensable implement, the bellows. If the sea was +smooth, while the smith often stood at work knee-deep in water, +the tide rose by imperceptible degrees, first cooling the exterior of +the fireplace, or hearth, and then quietly blackening and extinguishing +the fire from below. The writer has frequently been amused at the +perplexing anxiety of the blacksmith when coaxing his fire and endeavouring +to avert the effects of the rising tide.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />21st Aug.</div> + +<p>Everything connected with the forge being now completed, the +artificers found no want of sharp tools, and the work went forward +with great alacrity and spirit. It was also alleged that the rock had +a more habitable appearance from the volumes of smoke which +ascended from the smith’s shop and the busy noise of his anvil, the +operations of the masons, the movements of the boats, and shipping +at a distance—all contributed to give life and activity to the scene. +This noise and traffic had, however, the effect of almost completely +banishing the herd of seals which had hitherto frequented the rock +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>74</span> +as a resting-place during the period of low water. The rock seemed +to be peculiarly adapted to their habits, for, excepting two or three +days at neap-tides, a part of it always dries at low water—at least, +during the summer season—and as there was good fishing-ground +in the neighbourhood, without a human being to disturb or molest +them, it had become a very favourite residence of these amphibious +animals, the writer having occasionally counted from fifty to sixty +playing about the rock at a time. But when they came to be disturbed +every tide, and their seclusion was broken in upon by the +kindling of great fires, together with the beating of hammers and +picks during low water, after hovering about for a time, they changed +their place, and seldom more than one or two were to be seen about +the rock upon the more detached outlayers which dry partially, +whence they seemed to look with that sort of curiosity which is +observable in these animals when following a boat.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />22nd Aug.</div> + +<p>Hitherto the artificers had remained on board the <i>Smeaton</i>, which +was made fast to one of the mooring buoys at a distance only of +about a quarter of a mile from the rock, and, of course, a very great +conveniency to the work. Being so near, the seamen could never +be mistaken as to the progress of the tide, or state of the sea upon +the rock, nor could the boats be much at a loss to pull on board of +the vessel during fog, or even in very rough weather; as she could +be cast loose from her moorings at pleasure, and brought to the lee +side of the rock. But the <i>Smeaton</i> being only about forty register +tons, her accommodations were extremely limited. It may, therefore, +be easily imagined that an addition of twenty-four persons to +her own crew must have rendered the situation of those on board +rather uncomfortable. The only place for the men’s hammocks on +board being in the hold, they were unavoidably much crowded: and +if the weather had required the hatches to be fastened down, so great +a number of men could not possibly have been accommodated. To +add to this evil, the <i>co-boose</i> or cooking-place being upon deck, it +would not have been possible to have cooked for so large a company +in the event of bad weather.</p> + +<p>The stock of water was now getting short, and some necessaries +being also wanted for the floating light, the <i>Smeaton</i> was despatched +for Arbroath; and the writer, with the artificers, at the same time +shifted their quarters from her to the floating light.</p> + +<p>Although the rock barely made its appearance at this period of +the tides till eight o’clock, yet, having now a full mile to row from +the floating light to the rock, instead of about a quarter of a mile +from the moorings of the <i>Smeaton</i>, it was necessary to be earlier astir, +and to form different arrangements; breakfast was accordingly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>75</span> +served up at seven o’clock this morning. From the excessive motion +of the floating light, the writer had looked forward rather with +anxiety to the removal of the workmen to this ship. Some among +them, who had been congratulating themselves upon having become +sea-hardy while on board the <i>Smeaton</i>, had a complete relapse upon +returning to the floating light. This was the case with the writer. +From the spacious and convenient berthage of the floating light, the +exchange to the artificers was, in this respect, much for the better. +The boats were also commodious, measuring sixteen feet in length +on the keel, so that, in fine weather, their complement of sitters was +sixteen persons for each, with which, however, they were rather +crowded, but she could not stow two boats of larger dimensions. +When there was what is called a breeze of wind, and a swell in the +sea, the proper number for each boat could not, with propriety, be +rated at more than twelve persons.</p> + +<p>When the tide-bell rung the boats were hoisted out, and two +active seamen were employed to keep them from receiving damage +alongside. The floating light being very buoyant, was so quick in +her motions that when those who were about to step from her gunwale +into a boat, placed themselves upon a cleat or step on the ship’s +side, with the man or rail ropes in their hands, they had often to +wait for some time till a favourable opportunity occurred for stepping +into the boat. While in this situation, with the vessel rolling from +side to side, watching the proper time for letting go the man-ropes, it +required the greatest dexterity and presence of mind to leap into the +boats. One who was rather awkward would often wait a considerable +period in this position: at one time his side of the ship would be so +depressed that he would touch the boat to which he belonged, while +the next sea would elevate him so much that he would see his comrades +in the boat on the opposite side of the ship, his friends in the +one boat calling to him to “Jump,” while those in the boat on the +other side, as he came again and again into their view, would jocosely +say, “Are you there yet? You seem to enjoy a swing.” In this +situation it was common to see a person upon each side of the ship +for a length of time, waiting to quit his hold.</p> + +<p>On leaving the rock to-day a trial of seamanship was proposed +amongst the rowers, for by this time the artificers had become tolerably +expert in this exercise. By inadvertency some of the oars provided +had been made of fir instead of ash, and although a considerable +stock had been laid in, the workmen, being at first awkward in the +art, were constantly breaking their oars; indeed it was no uncommon +thing to see the broken blades of a pair of oars floating +astern, in the course of a passage from the rock to the vessel. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>76</span> +men, upon the whole, had but little work to perform in the course +of a day; for though they exerted themselves extremely hard while +on the rock, yet, in the early state of the operations, this could not +be continued for more than three or four hours at a time, and as +their rations were large—consisting of one pound and a half of beef, +one pound of ship biscuit, eight ounces oatmeal, two ounces barley, +two ounces butter, three quarts of small beer, with vegetables and +salt—they got into excellent spirits when free of sea-sickness. The +rowing of the boats against each other became a favourite amusement, +which was rather a fortunate circumstance, as it must have +been attended with much inconvenience had it been found necessary +to employ a sufficient number of sailors for this purpose. The writer, +therefore, encouraged this spirit of emulation, and the speed of their +respective boats became a favourite topic. Premiums for boat-races +were instituted, which were contended for with great eagerness, and +the respective crews kept their stations in the boats with as much +precision as they kept their beds on board of the ship. With these +and other pastimes, when the weather was favourable, the time +passed away among the inmates of the forecastle and waist of the +ship. The writer looks back with interest upon the hours of solitude +which he spent in this lonely ship with his small library.</p> + +<p>This being the first Saturday that the artificers were afloat, all +hands were served with a glass of rum and water at night, to drink +the sailors’ favourite toast of “Wives and Sweethearts.” It was +customary, upon these occasions, for the seamen and artificers to +collect in the galley, when the musical instruments were put in +requisition: for, according to invariable practice, every man must +play a tune, sing a song, or tell a story.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />23rd Aug.</div> + +<p>Having, on the previous evening, arranged matters with the landing-master +as to the business of the day, the signal was rung for all +hands at half-past seven this morning. In the early state of the +spring-tides the artificers went to the rock before breakfast, but as +the tides fell later in the day, it became necessary to take this meal +before leaving the ship. At eight o’clock all hands were assembled +on the quarter-deck for prayers, a solemnity which was gone through +in as orderly a manner as circumstances would admit. When the +weather permitted, the flags of the ship were hung up as an awning +or screen, forming the quarter-deck into a distinct compartment; +the pendant was also hoisted at the mainmast, and a large ensign +flag was displayed over the stern; and lastly, the ship’s companion, +or top of the staircase, was covered with the <i>flag proper</i> of the Lighthouse +Service, on which the Bible was laid. A particular toll of the +bell called all hands to the quarter-deck, when the writer read a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>77</span> +chapter of the Bible, and, the whole ship’s company being uncovered, +he also read the impressive prayer composed by the Reverend Dr. +Brunton, one of the ministers of Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>Upon concluding this service, which was attended with becoming +reverence and attention, all on board retired to their respective berths +to breakfast, and, at half-past nine, the bell again rung for the +artificers to take their stations in their respective boats. Some +demur having been evinced on board about the propriety of working +on Sunday, which had hitherto been touched upon as delicately as +possible, all hands being called aft, the writer, from the quarter-deck, +stated generally the nature of the service, expressing his hopes that +every man would feel himself called upon to consider the erection of +a lighthouse on the Bell Rock, in every point of view, as a work of +necessity and mercy. He knew that scruples had existed with some, +and these had, indeed, been fairly and candidly urged before leaving +the shore; but it was expected that, after having seen the critical +nature of the rock, and the necessity of the measure, every man would +now be satisfied of the propriety of embracing all opportunities of +landing on the rock when the state of the weather would permit. +The writer further took them to witness that it did not proceed from +want of respect for the appointments and established forms of religion +that he had himself adopted the resolution of attending the Bell +Rock works on the Sunday; but, as he hoped, from a conviction +that it was his bounden duty, on the strictest principles of morality. +At the same time it was intimated that, if any were of a different +opinion, they should be perfectly at liberty to hold their sentiments +without the imputation of contumacy or disobedience; the only +difference would be in regard to the pay.</p> + +<p>Upon stating this much, he stepped into his boat, requesting all +who were so disposed to follow him. The sailors, from their habits, +found no scruple on this subject, and all of the artificers, though +a little tardy, also embarked, excepting four of the masons, who, +from the beginning, mentioned that they would decline working on +Sundays. It may here be noticed that throughout the whole of the +operations it was observable that the men wrought, if possible, with +more keenness upon the Sundays than at other times, from an impression +that they were engaged in a work of imperious necessity, +which required every possible exertion. On returning to the floating +light, after finishing the tide’s work, the boats were received by the +part of the ship’s crew left on board with the usual attention of +handing ropes to the boats and helping the artificers on board; but +the four masons who had absented themselves from the work did +not appear upon deck. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>78</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />24th Aug.</div> + +<p>The boats left the floating light at a quarter-past nine o’clock +this morning, and the work began at three-quarters past nine; but +as the neap-tides were approaching the working time at the rock +became gradually shorter, and it was now with difficulty that two +and a half hours’ work could be got. But so keenly had the workmen +entered into the spirit of the Beacon-house operations, that they +continued to bore the holes in the rock till some of them were knee-deep +in water.</p> + +<p>The operations at this time were entirely directed to the erection +of the beacon, in which every man felt an equal interest, as at this +critical period the slightest casualty to any of the boats at the rock +might have been fatal to himself individually, while it was perhaps +peculiar to the writer more immediately to feel for the safety of the +whole. Each log or upright beam of the beacon was to be fixed to +the rock by two strong and massive bats or stanchions of iron. These +bats, for the fixture of the principal and diagonal beams and bracing +chains, required fifty-four holes, each measuring two inches in +diameter and eighteen inches in depth. There had already been so +considerable a progress made in boring and excavating the holes +that the writer’s hopes of getting the beacon erected this year began +to be more and more confirmed, although it was now advancing +towards what was considered the latter end of the proper working +season at the Bell Rock. The foreman joiner, Mr. Francis Watt, +was accordingly appointed to attend at the rock to-day, when the +necessary levels were taken for the step or seat of each particular +beam of the beacon, that they might be cut to their respective +lengths, to suit the inequalities of the rock; several of the stanchions +were also tried into their places, and other necessary observations +made, to prevent mistakes on the application of the apparatus, +and to facilitate the operations when the beams came to be +set up, which would require to be done in the course of a single +tide.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />25th Aug.</div> + +<p>We had now experienced an almost unvaried tract of light airs +of easterly wind, with clear weather in the fore-part of the day and +fog in the evenings. To-day, however, it sensibly changed; when +the wind came to the south-west, and blew a fresh breeze. At nine +a.m. the bell rung, and the boats were hoisted out, and though the +artificers were now pretty well accustomed to tripping up and down +the sides of the floating light, yet it required more seamanship this +morning than usual. It therefore afforded some merriment to those +who had got fairly seated in their respective boats to see the difficulties +which attended their companions, and the hesitating manner +in which they quitted hold of the man-ropes in leaving the ship. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>79</span> +The passage to the rock was tedious, and the boats did not reach it +till half-past ten.</p> + +<p>It being now the period of neap-tides, the water only partially +left the rock, and some of the men who were boring on the lower +ledges of the site of the beacon stood knee-deep in water. The +situation of the smith to-day was particularly disagreeable, but his +services were at all times indispensable. As the tide did not leave +the site of the forge, he stood in the water, and as there was some +roughness on the surface it was with considerable difficulty that, with +the assistance of the sailors, he was enabled to preserve alive his fire; +and, while his feet were immersed in water, his face was not only +scorched but continually exposed to volumes of smoke, accompanied +with sparks from the fire, which were occasionally set up owing to +the strength and direction of the wind.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />26th Aug</div> + +<p>The wind had shifted this morning to N.N.W., with rain, and was +blowing what sailors call a fresh breeze. To speak, perhaps, somewhat +more intelligibly to the general reader, the wind was such that +a fishing-boat could just carry full sail. But as it was of importance, +specially in the outset of the business, to keep up the spirit of enterprise +for landing on all practicable occasions, the writer, after consulting +with the landing-master, ordered the bell to be rung for +embarking, and at half-past eleven the boats reached the rock, and +left it again at a quarter-past twelve, without, however, being able +to do much work, as the smith could not be set to work from the +smallness of the ebb and the strong breach of sea, which lashed with +great force among the bars of the forge.</p> + +<p>Just as we were about to leave the rock the wind shifted to the +S.W., and, from a fresh gale, it became what seamen term a hard +gale, or such as would have required the fisherman to take in two +or three reefs in his sail. It is a curious fact that the respective tides +of ebb and flood are apparent upon the shore about an hour and a half +sooner than at the distance of three or four miles in the offing. But +what seems chiefly interesting here is that the tides around this small +sunken rock should follow exactly the same laws as on the extensive +shores of the mainland. When the boats left the Bell Rock to-day +it was overflowed by the flood-tide, but the floating light did not +swing round to the flood-tide for more than an hour afterwards. +Under this disadvantage the boats had to struggle with the ebb-tide +and a hard gale of wind, so that it was with the greatest difficulty +they reached the floating light. Had this gale happened in spring-tides +when the current was strong we must have been driven to sea +in a very helpless condition.</p> + +<p>The boat which the writer steered was considerably behind the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>80</span> +other, one of the masons having unluckily broken his oar. Our +prospect of getting on board, of course, became doubtful, and our +situation was rather perilous, as the boat shipped so much sea that +it occupied two of the artificers to bale and clear her of water. When +the oar gave way we were about half a mile from the ship, but, being +fortunately to windward, we got into the wake of the floating light, +at about 250 fathoms astern, just as the landing-master’s boat reached +the vessel. He immediately streamed or floated a life-buoy astern, +with a line which was always in readiness, and by means of this useful +implement the boat was towed alongside of the floating light, where, +from her rolling motion, it required no small management to get +safely on board, as the men were worn out with their exertions in +pulling from the rock. On the present occasion the crews of both +boats were completely drenched with spray, and those who sat upon +the bottom of the boats to bale them were sometimes pretty deep in +the water before it could be cleared out. After getting on board, all +hands were allowed an extra dram, and, having shifted and got a +warm and comfortable dinner, the affair, it is believed, was little more +thought of.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />27th Aug.</div> + +<p>The tides were now in that state which sailors term the dead of +the neap, and it was not expected that any part of the rock would +be seen above water to-day; at any rate, it was obvious, from the +experience of yesterday, that no work could be done upon it, and +therefore the artificers were not required to land. The wind was +at west, with light breezes, and fine clear weather; and as it was an +object with the writer to know the actual state of the Bell Rock at +neap-tides, he got one of the boats manned, and, being accompanied +by the landing-master, went to it at a quarter-past twelve. The +parts of the rock that appeared above water being very trifling, +were covered by every wave, so that no landing was made. Upon +trying the depth of water with a boat-hook, particularly on the sites +of the lighthouse and beacon, on the former, at low water, the depth +was found to be three feet, and on the central parts of the latter it +was ascertained to be two feet eight inches. Having made these +remarks, the boat returned to the ship at two p.m., and the weather +being good, the artificers were found amusing themselves with fishing. +The <i>Smeaton</i> came from Arbroath this afternoon, and made fast to +her moorings, having brought letters and newspapers, with parcels +of clean linen, etc., for the workmen, who were also made happy by +the arrival of three of their comrades from the workyard ashore. +From these men they not only received all the news of the workyard, +but seemed themselves to enjoy great pleasure in communicating +whatever they considered to be interesting with regard to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>81</span> +rock. Some also got letters from their friends at a distance, the +postage of which for the men afloat was always free, so that they +corresponded the more readily.</p> + +<p>The site of the building having already been carefully traced out +with the pick-axe, the artificers this day commenced the excavation +of the rock for the foundation or first course of the lighthouse. Four +men only were employed at this work, while twelve continued at the +site of the beacon-house, at which every possible opportunity was +embraced, till this essential part of the operations should be completed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday <br />2nd Sept.</div> + +<p>The floating light’s bell rung this morning at half-past four +o’clock, as a signal for the boats to be got ready, and the landing +took place at half-past five. In passing the <i>Smeaton</i> at her moorings +near the rock, her boat followed with eight additional artificers who +had come from Arbroath with her at last trip, but there being no +room for them in the floating light’s boats, they had continued on +board. The weather did not look very promising in the morning, +the wind blowing pretty fresh from W.S.W.: and had it not been +that the writer calculated upon having a vessel so much at command, +in all probability he would not have ventured to land. The <i>Smeaton</i> +rode at what sailors call a <i>salvagee</i>, with a cross-head made fast to +the floating buoy. This kind of attachment was found to be more +convenient than the mode of passing the hawser through the ring of +the buoy when the vessel was to be made fast. She had then only +to be steered very close to the buoy, when the salvagee was laid hold +of with a boat-hook, and the <i>bite</i> of the hawser thrown over the +cross-head. But the salvagee, by this method, was always left at +the buoy, and was, of course, more liable to chafe and wear than a +hawser passed through the ring, which could be wattled with canvas, +and shifted at pleasure. The salvagee and cross method is, however, +much practised; but the experience of this morning showed it to +be very unsuitable for vessels riding in an exposed situation for any +length of time.</p> + +<p>Soon after the artificers landed they commenced work; but the +Wind coming to blow hard, the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat and crew, who had +brought their complement of eight men to the rock, went off to +examine her riding ropes, and see that they were in proper order. +The boat had no sooner reached the vessel than she went adrift, +carrying the boat along with her. By the time that she was got +round to make a tack towards the rock, she had drifted at least three +miles to leeward, with the praam boat astern; and, having both the +Wind and a tide against her, the writer perceived, with no little +anxiety, that she could not possibly return to the rock till long after +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>82</span> +its being overflowed; for, owing to the anomaly of the tides formerly +noticed, the Bell Rock is completely under water when the ebb +abates to the offing.</p> + +<p>In this perilous predicament, indeed, he found himself placed +between hope and despair—but certainly the latter was by much the +most predominant feeling of his mind—situate upon a sunken rock in +the middle of the ocean, which, in the progress of the flood-tide, +was to be laid under water to the depth of at least twelve feet in a +stormy sea. There were this morning thirty-two persons in all upon +the rock, with only two boats, whose complement, even in good +weather, did not exceed twenty-four sitters; but to row to the floating +light with so much wind, and in so heavy a sea, a complement of +eight men for each boat was as much as could, with propriety, be +attempted, so that, in this way, about one-half of our number was +unprovided for. Under these circumstances, had the writer ventured +to despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working +the <i>Smeaton</i> sooner up towards the rock, or in hopes of getting her +boat brought to our assistance, this must have given an immediate +alarm to the artificers, each of whom would have insisted upon taking +to his own boat, and leaving the eight artificers belonging to the +<i>Smeaton</i> to their chance. Of course a scuffle might have ensued, and +it is hard to say, in the ardour of men contending for life, where it +might have ended. It has even been hinted to the writer that a +party of the <i>pickmen</i> were determined to keep exclusively to their +own boat against all hazards.</p> + +<p>The unfortunate circumstance of the <i>Smeaton</i> and her boat having +drifted was, for a considerable time, only known to the writer +and to the landing-master, who removed to the farther point of the +rock, where he kept his eye steadily upon the progress of the vessel. +While the artificers were at work, chiefly in sitting or kneeling +postures, excavating the rock, or boring with the jumpers, and while +their numerous hammers, with the sound of the smith’s anvil, continued, +the situation of things did not appear so awful. In this state +of suspense, with almost certain destruction at hand, the water began +to rise upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the sites of +the beacon and lighthouse. From the run of sea upon the rock, the +forge fire was also sooner extinguished this morning than usual, and +the volumes of smoke having ceased, objects in every direction +became visible from all parts of the rock. After having had about +three hours’ work, the men began, pretty generally, to make towards +their respective boats for their jackets and stockings, when, to their +astonishment, instead of three, they found only two boats, the third +being adrift with the <i>Smeaton</i>. Not a word was uttered by any one, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>83</span> +but all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, and looking +to each other with evident marks of perplexity depicted in their +countenances. The landing-master, conceiving that blame might +be attached to him for allowing the boat to leave the rock, still kept +at a distance. At this critical moment the author was standing upon +an elevated part of Smith’s Ledge, where he endeavoured to mark +the progress of the <i>Smeaton</i>, not a little surprised that her crew +did not cut the praam adrift, which greatly retarded her way, and +amazed that some effort was not making to bring at least the boat, +and attempt our relief. The workmen looked steadfastly upon the +writer, and turned occasionally towards the vessel, still far to leeward.<a name="FnAnchor_14" id="FnAnchor_14" href="#Footnote_14"><span class="sp">14</span></a> +All this passed in the most perfect silence, and the melancholy +solemnity of the group made an impression never to be effaced +from his mind.</p> + +<p>The writer had all along been considering of various schemes—providing +the men could be kept under command—which might be +put in practice for the general safety, in hopes that the <i>Smeaton</i> +might be able to pick up the boats to leeward, when they were +obliged to leave the rock. He was, accordingly, about to address the +artificers on the perilous nature of their circumstances, and to propose +that all hands should unstrip their upper clothing when the higher +parts of the rock were laid under water; that the seamen should +remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the boats; +that a specified number of men should go into each boat, and that +the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the boats were +to be rowed gently towards the <i>Smeaton</i>, as the course to the <i>Pharos</i>, +or floating light, lay rather to windward of the rock. But when +he attempted to speak his mouth was so parched that his tongue +refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva +is as necessary as the tongue itself for speech. He turned to one +of the pools on the rock and lapped a little water, which produced +immediate relief. But what was his happiness, when on rising from +this unpleasant beverage, some one called out, “A boat! a boat!” +and, on looking around, at no great distance, a large boat was seen +through the haze making towards the rock. This at once enlivened +and rejoiced every heart. The timeous visitor proved to be James +Spink, the Bell Rock pilot, who had come express from Arbroath +with letters. Spink had for some time seen the <i>Smeaton</i>, and had +even supposed, from the state of the weather, that all hands were +on board of her till he approached more nearly and observed people +upon the rock; but not supposing that the assistance of his boat +was necessary to carry the artificers off the rock, he anchored on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>84</span> +lee-side and began to fish, waiting, as usual, till the letters were sent +for, as the pilot-boat was too large and unwieldy for approaching +the rock when there was any roughness or run of the sea at the +entrance of the landing creeks.</p> + +<p>Upon this fortunate change of circumstances, sixteen of the +artificers were sent, at two trips, in one of the boats, with instructions +for Spink to proceed with them to the floating light. This +being accomplished, the remaining sixteen followed in the two boats +belonging to the service of the rock. Every one felt the most perfect +happiness at leaving the Bell Rock this morning, though a very hard +and dangerous passage to the floating light still awaited us, as the +wind by this time had increased to a pretty hard gale, accompanied +with a considerable swell of sea. Every one was as completely +drenched in water as if he had been dragged astern of the boats. +The writer, in particular, being at the helm, found, on getting on +board, that his face and ears were completely coated with a thin film +of salt from the sea spray, which broke constantly over the bows of +the boat. After much baling of water and severe work at the oars, +the three boats reached the floating light, where some new difficulties +occurred in getting on board in safety, owing partly to the exhausted +state of the men, and partly to the violent rolling of the vessel.</p> + +<p>As the tide flowed, it was expected that the <i>Smeaton</i> would have +got to windward; but, seeing that all was safe, after tacking for +several hours and making little progress, she bore away for Arbroath, +with the praam-boat. As there was now too much wind for the pilot-boat +to return to Arbroath, she was made fast astern of the floating +light, and the crew remained on board till next day, when the weather +moderated. There can be very little doubt that the appearance of +James Spink with his boat on this critical occasion was the means of +preventing the loss of lives at the rock this morning. When these +circumstances, some years afterwards, came to the knowledge of the +Board, a small pension was ordered to our faithful pilot, then in his +seventieth year; and he still continues to wear the uniform clothes +and badge of the Lighthouse service. Spink is a remarkably strong +man, whose <i>tout ensemble</i> is highly characteristic of a North-country +fisherman. He usually dresses in a <i>pé-jacket</i>, cut after a particular +fashion, and wears a large, flat, blue bonnet. A striking likeness of +Spink in his pilot-dress, with the badge or insignia on his left arm +which is characteristic of the boatmen in the service of the Northern +Lights, has been taken by Howe, and is in the writer’s possession.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />3rd. Sept.</div> + +<p>The bell rung this morning at five o’clock, but the writer must +acknowledge, from the circumstances of yesterday, that its sound +was extremely unwelcome. This appears also to have been the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>85</span> +feelings of the artificers, for when they came to be mustered, out of +twenty-six, only eight, besides the foreman and seamen, appeared +upon deck to accompany the writer to the rock. Such are the baneful +effects of anything like misfortune or accident connected with a +work of this description. The use of argument to persuade the men +to embark in cases of this kind would have been out of place, as it is +not only discomfort, or even the risk of the loss of a limb, but life +itself that becomes the question. The boats, notwithstanding the +thinness of our ranks, left the vessel at half-past five. The rough +weather of yesterday having proved but a summer’s gale, the wind +came to-day in gentle breezes; yet, the atmosphere being cloudy, +it had not a very favourable appearance. The boats reached the rock +at six a.m., and the eight artificers who landed were employed in +clearing out the bat-holes for the beacon-house, and had a very +prosperous tide of four hours’ work, being the longest yet experienced +by half an hour.</p> + +<p>The boats left the rock again at ten o’clock, and the weather +having cleared up as we drew near the vessel, the eighteen artificers +who had remained on board were observed upon deck, but as the +boats approached they sought their way below, being quite ashamed +of their conduct. This was the only instance of refusal to go to the +rock which occurred during the whole progress of the work, excepting +that of the four men who declined working upon Sunday, a case +which the writer did not conceive to be at all analogous to the present. +It may here be mentioned, much to the credit of these four men, that +they stood foremost in embarking for the rock this morning.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />5th Sept.</div> + +<p>It was fortunate that a landing was not attempted this evening, +for at eight o’clock the wind shifted to E.S.E., and at ten it had +become a hard gale, when fifty fathoms of the floating light’s hempen +cable were veered out. The gale still increasing, the ship rolled and +laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms of cable were +veered out; while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a +degree of force which had not before been experienced.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />6th Sept.</div> + +<p>During the last night there was little rest on board of the <i>Pharos</i>, +and daylight, though anxiously wished for, brought no relief, as the +gale continued with unabated violence. The sea struck so hard upon +the vessel’s bows that it rose in great quantities, or in “green seas,” +as the sailors termed it, which were carried by the wind as far aft as +the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently over the stern of the ship +altogether. It fell occasionally so heavily on the skylight of the +writer’s cabin, though so far aft as to be within five feet of the helm, +that the glass was broken to pieces before the dead-light could be +got into its place, so that the water poured down in great quantities. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>86</span> +In shutting out the water, the admission of light was prevented, and +in the morning all continued in the most comfortless state of darkness. +About ten o’clock a.m. the wind shifted to N.E., and blew, if +possible, harder than before, and it was accompanied by a much +heavier swell of sea. In the course of the gale, the part of the cable +in the hause-hole had been so often shifted that nearly the whole +length of one of her hempen cables, of 120 fathoms, had been veered +out, besides the chain-moorings. The cable, for its preservation, +was also carefully served or wattled with pieces of canvas round the +windlass, and with leather well greased in the hause-hole. In this +state things remained during the whole day, every sea which struck +the vessel—and the seas followed each other in close succession—causing +her to shake, and all on board occasionally to tremble. At +each of these strokes of the sea the rolling and pitching of the vessel +ceased for a time, and her motion was felt as if she had either broke +adrift before the wind or were in the act of sinking; but, when +another sea came, she ranged up against it with great force, and this +became the regular intimation of our being still riding at anchor.</p> + +<p>About eleven o’clock, the writer with some difficulty got out of +bed, but, in attempting to dress, he was thrown twice upon the floor +at the opposite end of the cabin. In an undressed state he made +shift to get about half-way up the companion-stairs, with an intention +to observe the state of the sea and of the ship upon deck; but he no +sooner looked over the companion than a heavy sea struck the vessel, +which fell on the quarter-deck, and rushed downstairs in the officers’ +cabin in so considerable a quantity that it was found necessary to +lift one of the scuttles in the floor, to let the water into the limbers +of the ship, as it dashed from side to side in such a manner as to +run into the lower tier of beds. Having been foiled in this attempt, +and being completely wetted, he again got below and went to bed. +In this state of the weather the seamen had to move about the +necessary or indispensable duties of the ship with the most cautious +use both of hands and feet, while it required all the art of the landsman +to keep within the precincts of his bed. The writer even found +himself so much tossed about that it became necessary, in some +measure, to shut himself in bed, in order to avoid being thrown upon +the floor. Indeed, such was the motion of the ship that it seemed +wholly impracticable to remain in any other than a lying posture. +On deck the most stormy aspect presented itself, while below all was +wet and comfortless.</p> + +<p>About two o’clock p.m. a great alarm was given throughout the +ship from the effects of a very heavy sea which struck her, and almost +filled the waist, pouring down into the berths below, through every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>87</span> +chink and crevice of the hatches and skylights. From the motion of +the vessel being thus suddenly deadened or checked, and from the +flowing in of the water above, it is believed there was not an individual +on board who did not think, at the moment, that the vessel had +foundered, and was in the act of sinking. The writer could withstand +this no longer, and as soon as she again began to range to the +sea he determined to make another effort to get upon deck. In the +first instance, however, he groped his way in darkness from his own +cabin through the berths of the officers, where all was quietness. He +next entered the galley and other compartments occupied by the +artificers. Here also all was shut up in darkness, the fire having +been drowned out in the early part of the gale. Several of the +artificers were employed in prayer, repeating psalms and other +devotional exercises in a full tone of voice; others protesting that, +if they should fortunately get once more on shore, no one should ever +see them afloat again. With the assistance of the landing-master, +the writer made his way, holding on step by step, among the numerous +impediments which lay in the way. Such was the creaking noise of +the bulkheads or partitions, the dashing of the water, and the whistling +noise of the winds, that it was hardly possible to break in upon +such a confusion of sounds. In one or two instances, anxious and +repeated inquiries were made by the artificers as to the state of +things upon deck, to which the captain made the usual answer, that +it could not blow long in this way, and that we must soon have +better weather. The next berth in succession, moving forward in +the ship, was that allotted for the seamen. Here the scene was considerably +different. Having reached the middle of this darksome +berth without its inmates being aware of any intrusion, the writer +had the consolation of remarking that, although they talked of bad +weather and the cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was +carried on in that sort of tone and manner which bespoke an ease and +composure of mind highly creditable to them and pleasing to him. +The writer immediately accosted the seamen about the state of the +ship. To these inquiries they replied that the vessel being light, and +having but little hold of the water, no top-rigging, with excellent +ground-tackle, and everything being fresh and new, they felt perfect +confidence in their situation.</p> + +<p>It being impossible to open any of the hatches in the fore part of +the ship in communicating with the deck, the watch was changed by +passing through the several berths to the companion-stair leading to +the quarter-deck. The writer, therefore, made the best of his way +aft, and, on a second attempt to look out, he succeeded, and saw +indeed an astonishing sight. The sea or waves appeared to be ten +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>88</span> +or fifteen feet in height of unbroken water, and every approaching +billow seemed as if it would overwhelm our vessel, but she continued +to rise upon the waves and to fall between the seas in a very wonderful +manner. It seemed to be only those seas which caught her in the +act of rising which struck her with so much violence and threw such +quantities of water aft. On deck there was only one solitary individual +looking out, to give the alarm in the event of the ship breaking +from her moorings. The seaman on watch continued only two +hours; he who kept watch at this time was a tall, slender man of a +black complexion; he had no greatcoat nor over-all of any kind, +but was simply dressed in his ordinary jacket and trousers; his hat +was tied under his chin with a napkin, and he stood aft the foremast, +to which he had lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his +waist, to prevent his falling upon deck or being washed overboard. +When the writer looked up, he appeared to smile, which afforded a +further symptom of the confidence of the crew in their ship. This +person on watch was as completely wetted as if he had been drawn +through the sea, which was given as a reason for his not putting on +a greatcoat, that he might wet as few of his clothes as possible, and +have a dry shift when he went below. Upon deck everything that +was movable was out of sight, having either been stowed below, previous +to the gale, or been washed overboard. Some trifling parts of +the quarter boards were damaged by the breach of the sea; and one +of the boats upon deck was about one-third full of water, the oyle-hole +or drain having been accidentally stopped up, and part of her +gunwale had received considerable injury. These observations were +hastily made, and not without occasionally shutting the companion, +to avoid being wetted by the successive seas which broke over the +bows and fell upon different parts of the deck according to the +impetus with which the waves struck the vessel. By this time it was +about three o’clock in the afternoon, and the gale, which had now +continued with unabated force for twenty-seven hours, had not the +least appearance of going off.</p> + +<p>In the dismal prospect of undergoing another night like the last, +and being in imminent hazard of parting from our cable, the writer +thought it necessary to advise with the master and officers of the +ship as to the probable event of the vessel’s drifting from her moorings. +They severally gave it as their opinion that we had now every chance +of riding out the gale, which, in all probability, could not continue +with the same fury many hours longer; and that even if she should +part from her anchor, the storm-sails had been laid to hand, and +could be bent in a very short time. They further stated that from +the direction of the wind being N.E., she would sail up the Firth of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>89</span> +Forth to Leith Roads. But if this should appear doubtful, after +passing the Island and Light of May, it might be advisable at once +to steer for Tyningham Sands, on the western side of Dunbar, and +there run the vessel ashore. If this should happen at the time of +high-water, or during the ebbing of the tide, they were of opinion, +from the flatness and strength of the floating light, that no danger +would attend her taking the ground, even with a very heavy sea. +The writer, seeing the confidence which these gentlemen possessed +with regard to the situation of things, found himself as much relieved +with this conversation as he had previously been with the seeming +indifference of the forecastle-men, and the smile of the watch upon +deck, though literally lashed to the foremast. From this time he +felt himself almost perfectly at ease; at any rate, he was entirely +resigned to the ultimate result.</p> + +<p>About six o’clock in the evening the ship’s company was heard +moving upon deck, which on the present occasion was rather the +cause of alarm. The writer accordingly rang his bell to know what +was the matter, when he was informed by the steward that the +weather looked considerably better, and that the men upon deck +were endeavouring to ship the smoke-funnel of the galley that the +people might get some meat. This was a more favourable account +than had been anticipated. During the last twenty-one hours he +himself had not only had nothing to eat, but he had almost never +passed a thought on the subject. Upon the mention of a change of +weather, he sent the steward to learn how the artificers felt, and on +his return he stated that they now seemed to be all very happy, since +the cook had begun to light the galley-fire and make preparations +for the suet-pudding of Sunday, which was the only dish to be +attempted for the mess, from the ease with which it could both be +cooked and served up.</p> + +<p>The principal change felt upon the ship as the wind abated was +her increased rolling motion, but the pitching was much diminished, +and now hardly any sea came farther aft than the foremast: but she +rolled so extremely hard as frequently to dip and take in water over +the gunwales and rails in the waist. By nine o’clock all hands had +been refreshed by the exertions of the cook and steward, and were +happy in the prospect of the worst of the gale being over. The usual +complement of men was also now set on watch, and more quietness +was experienced throughout the ship. Although the previous night +had been a very restless one, it had not the effect of inducing repose +in the writer’s berth on the succeeding night; for having been so +much tossed about in bed during the last thirty hours, he found no +easy spot to turn to, and his body was all sore to the touch, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>90</span> +ill accorded with the unyielding materials with which his bed-place +was surrounded.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />7th Sept.</div> + +<p>This morning, about eight o’clock, the writer was agreeably surprised +to see the scuttle of his cabin skylight removed, and the bright +rays of the sun admitted. Although the ship continued to roll +excessively, and the sea was still running very high, yet the ordinary +business on board seemed to be going forward on deck. It was impossible +to steady a telescope, so as to look minutely at the progress +of the waves and trace their breach upon the Bell Rock; but the +height to which the cross-running waves rose in sprays when they +met each other was truly grand, and the continued roar and noise of +the sea was very perceptible to the ear. To estimate the height of +the sprays at forty or fifty feet would surely be within the mark. +Those of the workmen who were not much afflicted with sea-sickness +came upon deck, and the wetness below being dried up, the cabins +were again brought into a habitable state. Every one seemed to +meet as if after a long absence, congratulating his neighbour upon the +return of good weather. Little could be said as to the comfort of +the vessel, but after riding out such a gale, no one felt the least +doubt or hesitation as to the safety and good condition of her moorings. +The master and mate were extremely anxious, however, to +heave in the hempen cable, and see the state of the clinch or iron +ring of the chain-cable. But the vessel rolled at such a rate that +the seamen could not possibly keep their feet at the windlass nor +work the handspikes, though it had been several times attempted +since the gale took off.</p> + +<p>About twelve noon, however, the vessel’s motion was observed +to be considerably less, and the sailors were enabled to walk upon +deck with some degree of freedom. But, to the astonishment of +every one, it was soon discovered that the floating light was adrift! +The windlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that +there was no strain upon the cable. The mizzen sail, which was +bent for the occasional purpose of making the vessel ride more easily +to the tide, was immediately set, and the other sails were also hoisted +in a short time, when, in no small consternation, we bore away about +one mile to the south-westward of the former station, and there let +go the best bower anchor and cable in twenty fathoms water, to ride +until the swell of the sea should fall, when it might be practicable +to grapple for the moorings, and find a better anchorage for the +ship.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />15th Sept.</div> + +<p>This morning, at five a.m., the bell rung as a signal for landing +upon the rock, a sound which, after a lapse of ten days, it is believed +was welcomed by every one on board. There being a heavy breach +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>91</span> +of sea at the eastern creek, we landed, though not without difficulty, +on the western side, every one seeming more eager than another to +get upon the rock; and never did hungry men sit down to a hearty +meal with more appetite than the artificers began to pick the dulse +from the rocks. This marine plant had the effect of reviving the +sickly, and seemed to be no less relished by those who were more +hardy.</p> + +<p>While the water was ebbing, and the men were roaming in quest +of their favourite morsel, the writer was examining the effects of the +storm upon the forge and loose apparatus left upon the rock. Six +large blocks of granite which had been landed, by way of experiment, +on the 1st instant, were now removed from their places and, by the +force of the sea, thrown over a rising ledge into a hole at the distance +of twelve or fifteen paces from the place on which they had +been landed. This was a pretty good evidence both of the violence +of the storm and the agitation of the sea upon the rock. The safety +of the smith’s forge was always an object of essential regard. The +ash-pan of the hearth or fireplace, with its weighty cast-iron back, +had been washed from their places of supposed security; the chains +of attachment had been broken, and these ponderous articles were +found at a very considerable distance in a hole on the western side +of the rock; while the tools and picks of the Aberdeen masons were +scattered about in every direction. It is, however, remarkable that +not a single article was ultimately lost.</p> + +<p>This being the night on which the floating light was advertised +to be lighted, it was accordingly exhibited, to the great joy of every +one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />16th Sept.</div> + +<p>The writer was made happy to-day by the return of the Lighthouse +yacht from a voyage to the Northern Lighthouses. Having +immediately removed on board of this fine vessel of eighty-one tons +register, the artificers gladly followed; for, though they found themselves +more pinched for accommodation on board of the yacht, and +still more so in the <i>Smeaton</i>, yet they greatly preferred either of these +to the <i>Pharos</i>, or floating light, on account of her rolling motion, +though in all respects fitted up for their conveniency.</p> + +<p>The writer called them to the quarter-deck and informed them +that, having been one month afloat, in terms of their agreement they +were now at liberty to return to the workyard at Arbroath if they +preferred this to continuing at the Bell Rock. But they replied that, +in the prospect of soon getting the beacon erected upon the rock, and +having made a change from the floating light, they were now perfectly +reconciled to their situation, and would remain afloat till the +end of the working season. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>92</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />17th Sept.</div> + +<p>The wind was at N.E. this morning, and though there were only +light airs, yet there was a pretty heavy swell coming ashore upon +the rock. The boats landed at half-past seven o’clock a.m., at the +creek on the southern side of the rock, marked Port Hamilton. But +as one of the boats was in the act of entering this creek, the seaman +at the bow-oar, who had just entered the service, having inadvertently +expressed some fear from a heavy sea which came rolling +towards the boat, and one of the artificers having at the same time +looked round and missed a stroke with his oar, such a preponderance +was thus given to the rowers upon the opposite side that when the +wave struck the boat it threw her upon a ledge of shelving rocks, +where the water left her, and she having <i>kanted</i> to seaward, the next +wave completely filled her with water. After making considerable +efforts the boat was again got afloat in the proper track of the creek, +so that we landed without any other accident than a complete ducking. +There being no possibility of getting a shift of clothes, the +artificers began with all speed to work, so as to bring themselves into +heat, while the writer and his assistants kept as much as possible in +motion. Having remained more than an hour upon the rock, the +boats left it at half-past nine; and, after getting on board, the +writer recommended to the artificers, as the best mode of getting +into a state of comfort, to strip off their wet clothes and go to bed for +an hour or two. No further inconveniency was felt, and no one +seemed to complain of the affection called “catching cold.”</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />18th Sept.</div> + +<p>An important occurrence connected with the operations of this +season was the arrival of the <i>Smeaton</i> at four p.m., having in tow the +six principal beams of the beacon-house, together with all the +stanchions and other work on board for fixing it on the rock. The +mooring of the floating light was a great point gained, but in the +erection of the beacon at this late period of the season new difficulties +presented themselves. The success of such an undertaking at any +season was precarious, because a single day of bad weather occurring +before the necessary fixtures could be made might sweep the whole +apparatus from the rock. Notwithstanding these difficulties, the +writer had determined to make the trial, although he could almost +have wished, upon looking at the state of the clouds and the direction +of the wind, that the apparatus for the beacon had been still in the +workyard.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />19th Sept.</div> + +<p>The main beams of the beacon were made up in two separate rafts, +fixed with bars and bolts of iron. One of these rafts, not being immediately +wanted, was left astern of the floating light, and the other +was kept in tow by the <i>Smeaton</i>, at the buoy nearest to the rock. +The Lighthouse yacht rode at another buoy with all hands on board +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>93</span> +that could possibly be spared out of the floating light. The party +of artificers and seamen which landed on the rock counted altogether +forty in number. At half-past eight o’clock a derrick, or mast of +thirty feet in height, was erected and properly supported with guy-ropes, +for suspending the block for raising the first principal beam +of the beacon; and a winch machine was also bolted down to the +rock for working the purchase-tackle.</p> + +<p>Upon raising the derrick, all hands on the rock spontaneously +gave three hearty cheers, as a favourable omen of our future exertions +in pointing out more permanently the position of the rock. +Even to this single spar of timber, could it be preserved, a drowning +man might lay hold. When the <i>Smeaton</i> drifted on the 2nd of this +month such a spar would have been sufficient to save us till she could +have come to our relief.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />20th Sept.</div> + +<p>The wind this morning was variable, but the weather continued +extremely favourable for the operations throughout the whole day. +At six a.m. the boats were in motion, and the raft, consisting of four +of the six principal beams of the beacon-house, each measuring about +sixteen inches square, and fifty feet in length, was towed to the rock, +where it was anchored, that it might <i>ground</i> upon it as the water +ebbed. The sailors and artificers, including all hands, to-day +counted no fewer than fifty-two, being perhaps the greatest number +of persons ever collected upon the Bell Rock. It was early in the +tide when the boats reached the rock, and the men worked a considerable +time up to their middle in water, every one being more eager +than his neighbour to be useful. Even the four artificers who had +hitherto declined working on Sunday were to-day most zealous in +their exertions. They had indeed become so convinced of the precarious +nature and necessity of the work that they never afterwards +absented themselves from the rock on Sunday when a landing was +practicable.</p> + +<p>Having made fast a piece of very good new line, at about two-thirds +from the lower end of one of the beams, the purchase-tackle +of the derrick was hooked into the turns of the line, and it was +speedily raised by the number of men on the rock and the power of +the winch tackle. When this log was lifted to a sufficient height, its +foot, or lower end, was <i>stepped</i> into the spot which had been previously +prepared for it. Two of the great iron stanchions were then +set in their respective holes on each side of the beam, when a rope +was passed round them and the beam, to prevent it from slipping +till it could be more permanently fixed. The derrick, or upright +spar used for carrying the tackle to raise the first beam, was placed +in such a position as to become useful for supporting the upper end +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>94</span> +of it, which now became, in its turn, the prop of the tackle for raising +the second beam. The whole difficulty of this operation was in the +raising and propping of the first beam, which became a convenient +derrick for raising the second, these again a pair of shears for lifting +the third, and the shears a triangle for raising the fourth. Having +thus got four of the six principal beams set on end, it required a considerable +degree of trouble to get their upper ends to fit. Here they +formed the apex of a cone, and were all together mortised into a large +piece of beechwood, and secured, for the present, with ropes, in a +temporary manner. During the short period of one tide all that +could further be done for their security was to put a single screw-bolt +through the great kneed bats or stanchions on each side of the beams, +and screw the nut home.</p> + +<p>In this manner these four principal beams were erected, and left +in a pretty secure state. The men had commenced while there was +about two or three feet of water upon the side of the beacon, and as +the sea was smooth they continued the work equally long during +flood-tide. Two of the boats being left at the rock to take off the +joiners, who were busily employed on the upper parts till two +o’clock p.m., this tide’s work may be said to have continued for +about seven hours, which was the longest that had hitherto been +got upon the rock by at least three hours.</p> + +<p>When the first boats left the rock with the artificers employed +on the lower part of the work during the flood-tide, the beacon had +quite a novel appearance. The beams erected formed a common +base of about thirty-three feet, meeting at the top, which was about +forty-five feet above the rock, and here half a dozen of the artificers +were still at work. After clearing the rock the boats made a stop, +when three hearty cheers were given, which were returned with equal +goodwill by those upon the beacon, from the personal interest which +every one felt in the prosperity of this work, so intimately connected +with his safety.</p> + +<p>All hands having returned to their respective ships, they got a +shift of dry clothes and some refreshment. Being Sunday, they +were afterwards convened by signal on board of the Lighthouse +yacht, when prayers were read; for every heart upon this occasion +felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to be thankful for the +happy and successful termination of the operations of this day.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />21st Sept.</div> + +<p>The remaining two principal beams were erected in the course +of this tide, which, with the assistance of those set up yesterday, +was found to be a very simple operation.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />22nd Sept.</div> + +<p>The six principal beams of the beacon were thus secured, at least +in a temporary manner, in the course of two tides, or in the short +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>95</span> +space of about eleven hours and a half. Such is the progress that +may be made when active hands and willing minds set properly to +work in operations of this kind. Having now got the weighty part +of this work over, and being thereby relieved of the difficulty both +of landing and victualling such a number of men, the <i>Smeaton</i> could +now be spared, and she was accordingly despatched to Arbroath for +a supply of water and provisions, and carried with her six of the +artificers who could best be spared.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />23rd Sept.</div> + +<p>In going out of the eastern harbour, the boat which the writer +steered shipped a sea, that filled her about one-third with water. +She had also been hid for a short time, by the waves breaking upon +the rock, from the sight of the crew of the preceding boat, who were +much alarmed for our safety, imagining for a time that she had gone +down.</p> + +<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> returned from Arbroath this afternoon, but there +was so much sea that she could not be made fast to her moorings, and +the vessel was obliged to return to Arbroath without being able either +to deliver the provisions or take the artificers on board. The Lighthouse +yacht was also soon obliged to follow her example, as the sea +was breaking heavily over her bows. After getting two reefs in the +mainsail, and the third or storm-jib set, the wind being S.W., she +bent to windward, though blowing a hard gale, and got into St. +Andrews Bay, where we passed the night under the lee of Fifeness.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, 24th Sept.</div> + +<p>At two o’clock this morning we were in St. Andrews Bay, standing +off and on shore, with strong gales of wind at S.W.; at seven we +were off the entrance of the Tay; at eight stood towards the rock, +and at ten passed to leeward of it, but could not attempt a landing. +The beacon, however, appeared to remain in good order, and by +six p.m. the vessel had again beaten up to St. Andrews Bay, and got +into somewhat smoother water for the night.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />25th Sept.</div> + +<p>At seven o’clock bore away for the Bell Rock, but finding a heavy +sea running on it were unable to land. The writer, however, had the +satisfaction to observe, with his telescope, that everything about the +beacon appeared entire; and although the sea had a most frightful +appearance, yet it was the opinion of every one that, since the erection +of the beacon, the Bell Rock was divested of many of its terrors, and +had it been possible to have got the boats hoisted out and manned, +it might have even been found practicable to land. At six it blew +so hard that it was found necessary to strike the topmast and take +in a third reef of the mainsail, and under this low canvas we soon +reached St. Andrews Bay, and got again under the lee of the land +for the night. The artificers, being sea-hardy, were quite reconciled +to their quarters on board of the Lighthouse yacht; but it is believed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>96</span> +that hardly any consideration would have induced them again to +take up their abode in the floating light.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />26th Sept.</div> + +<p>At daylight the yacht steered towards the Bell Rock, and at eight +a.m. made fast to her moorings; at ten, all hands, to the amount of +thirty, landed, when the writer had the happiness to find that the +beacon had withstood the violence of the gale and the heavy breach +of sea, everything being found in the same state in which it had been +left on the 21st. The artificers were now enabled to work upon the +rock throughout the whole day, both at low and high water, but it +required the strictest attention to the state of the weather, in case of +their being overtaken with a gale, which might prevent the possibility +of getting them off the rock.</p> + +<p>Two somewhat memorable circumstances in the annals of the +Bell Rock attended the operations of this day: one was the removal +of Mr. James Dove, the foreman smith, with his apparatus, from the +rock to the upper part of the beacon, where the forge was now erected +on a temporary platform, laid on the cross beams or upper framing. +The other was the artificers having dined for the first time upon the +rock, their dinner being cooked on board of the yacht, and sent +to them by one of the boats. But what afforded the greatest +happiness and relief was the removal of the large bellows, which had +all along been a source of much trouble and perplexity, by their +hampering and incommoding the boat which carried the smiths and +their apparatus.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />3rd Oct.</div> + +<p>The wind being west to-day, the weather was very favourable for +operations at the rock, and during the morning and evening tides, +with the aid of torchlight, the masons had seven hours’ work upon +the site of the building. The smiths and joiners, who landed at +half-past six a.m., did not leave the rock till a quarter-past eleven +p.m., having been at work, with little intermission, for sixteen hours +and three-quarters. When the water left the rock, they were employed +at the lower parts of the beacon, and as the tide rose or fell, +they shifted the place of their operations. From these exertions, +the fixing and securing of the beacon made rapid advancement, as +the men were now landed in the morning, and remained throughout +the day. But, as a sudden change of weather might have prevented +their being taken off at the proper time of tide, a quantity of bread +and water was always kept on the beacon.</p> + +<p>During this period of working at the beacon all the day, and often +a great part of the night, the writer was much on board of the tender; +but, while the masons could work on the rock, and frequently also +while it was covered by the tide, he remained on the beacon; especially +during the night, as he made a point of being on the rock to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>97</span> +latest hour, and was generally the last person who stepped into the +boat. He had laid this down as part of his plan of procedure; and +in this way had acquired, in the course of the first season, a pretty +complete knowledge and experience of what could actually be done +at the Bell Rock, under all circumstances of the weather. By this +means also his assistants, and the artificers and mariners, got into +a systematic habit of proceeding at the commencement of the +work, which, it is believed, continued throughout the whole of the +operations.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />4th Oct.</div> + +<p>The external part of the beacon was now finished, with its supports +and bracing-chains, and whatever else was considered necessary +for its stability, in so far as the season would permit; and although +much was still wanting to complete this fabric, yet it was in such a +state that it could be left without much fear of the consequences of a +storm. The painting of the upper part was nearly finished this afternoon +and the <i>Smeaton</i> had brought off a quantity of brushwood +and other articles, for the purpose of heating or charring the lower +part of the principal beams, before being laid over with successive +coats of boiling pitch, to the height of from eight to twelve feet, or +as high as the rise of spring-tides. A small flagstaff having also been +erected to-day, a flag was displayed for the first time from the beacon, +by which its perspective effect was greatly improved. On this, as +on all like occasions at the Bell Rock, three hearty cheers were given; +and the steward served out a dram of rum to all hands, while the +Lighthouse yacht, <i>Smeaton</i>, and floating light, hoisted their colours +in compliment to the erection.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />5th Oct.</div> + +<p>In the afternoon, and just as the tide’s work was over, Mr. John +Rennie, engineer, accompanied by his son Mr. George, on their way +to the harbour works of Fraserburgh, in Aberdeenshire, paid a visit +to the Bell Rock, in a boat from Arbroath. It being then too late +in the tide for landing, they remained on board of the Lighthouse +yacht all night, when the writer, who had now been secluded from +society for several weeks, enjoyed much of Mr. Rennie’s interesting +conversation, both on general topics, and professionally upon the +progress of the Bell Rock works, on which he was consulted as chief +engineer.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />6th Oct.</div> + +<p>The artificers landed this morning at nine, after which one of the +boats returned to the ship for the writer and Messrs. Rennie, who, +upon landing, were saluted with a display of the colours from the +beacon and by three cheers from the workmen. Everything was +now in a prepared state for leaving the rock, and giving up the works +afloat for this season, excepting some small articles, which would still +occupy the smiths and joiners for a few days longer. They accordingly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>98</span> +shifted on board of the <i>Smealon</i>, while the yacht left the rock +for Arbroath, with Messrs. Rennie, the writer, and the remainder of +the artificers. But, before taking leave, the steward served out a +farewell glass, when three hearty cheers were given, and an earnest +wish expressed that everything, in the spring of 1808, might be found +in the same state of good order as it was now about to be left.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<h5>OPERATIONS OF 1808</h5> + +<div class="body1"> +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />29th Feb.</div> + +<p>The writer sailed from Arbroath at one a.m. in the Lighthouse +yacht. At seven the floating light was hailed, and all on board +found to be well. The crew were observed to have a very healthy-like +appearance, and looked better than at the close of the works +upon the rock. They seemed only to regret one thing, which was +the secession of their cook, Thomas Elliot—not on account of his +professional skill, but for his facetious and curious manner. Elliot +had something peculiar in his history, and was reported by his comrades +to have seen better days. He was, however, happy with his +situation on board of the floating light, and having a taste for music, +dancing, and acting plays, he contributed much to the amusement +of the ship’s company in their dreary abode during the winter months. +He had also recommended himself to their notice as a good shipkeeper +for as it did not answer Elliot to go often ashore, he had always given +up his turn of leave to his neighbours. At his own desire he was at +length paid off, when he had a considerable balance of wages to +receive, which he said would be sufficient to carry him to the West +Indies, and he accordingly took leave of the Lighthouse service.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />1st March.</div> + +<p>At daybreak the Lighthouse yacht, attended by a boat from the +floating light, again stood towards the Bell Rock. The weather felt +extremely cold this morning, the thermometer being at 34 degrees, +with the wind at east, accompanied by occasional showers of snow, +and the marine barometer indicated 29.80. At half-past seven the +sea ran with such force upon the rock that it seemed doubtful if a +landing could be effected. At half-past eight, when it was fairly +above water, the writer took his place in the floating light’s boat with +the artificers, while the yacht’s boat followed, according to the general +rule of having two boats afloat in landing expeditions of this kind, +that, in case of accident to one boat, the other might assist. In +several unsuccessful attempts the boats were beat back by the breach +of the sea upon the rock. On the eastern side it separated into two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>99</span> +distinct waves, which came with a sweep round to the western side, +where they met; and at the instance of their confluence the water +rose in spray to a considerable height. Watching what the sailors +term a <i>smooth</i>, we caught a favourable opportunity, and in a very +dexterous manner the boats were rowed between the two seas, and +made a favourable landing at the western creek.</p> + +<p>At the latter end of last season, as was formerly noticed, the +beacon was painted white, and from the bleaching of the weather +and the sprays of the sea the upper parts were kept clean; but +within the range of the tide the principal beams were observed to be +thickly coated with a green stuff, the <i>conferva</i> of botanists. Notwithstanding +the intrusion of these works, which had formerly +banished the numerous seals that played about the rock, they were +now seen in great numbers, having been in an almost undisturbed +state for six months. It had now also, for the first time, got some +inhabitants of the feathered tribe: in particular the scarth or +cormorant, and the large herring-gull, had made the beacon a resting-place, +from its vicinity to their fishing-grounds. About a dozen of +these birds had rested upon the cross-beams, which, in some places, +were coated with their dung; and their flight, as the boats approached, +was a very unlooked-for indication of life and habitation on +the Bell Rock, conveying the momentary idea of the conversion of +this fatal rock, from being a terror to the mariner, into a residence +of man and a safeguard to shipping.</p> + +<p>Upon narrowly examining the great iron stanchions with which +the beams were fixed to the rock, the writer had the satisfaction of +finding that there was not the least appearance of working or shifting +at any of the joints or places of connection; and, excepting the +loosening of the bracing-chains, everything was found in the same +entire state in which it had been left in the month of October. This, +in the estimation of the writer, was a matter of no small importance +to the future success of the work. He from that moment saw the +practicability and propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a +place of refuge in case of accident to the boats in landing, but as a +residence for the artificers during the working months.</p> + +<p>While upon the top of the beacon the writer was reminded by the +landing-master that the sea was running high, and that it would be +necessary to set off while the rock afforded anything like shelter to +the boats, which by this time had been made fast by a long line to +the beacon, and rode with much agitation, each requiring two men +with boat-hooks to keep them from striking each other, or from +ranging up against the beacon. But even under these circumstances +the greatest confidence was felt by every one, from the security +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>100</span> +afforded by this temporary erection. For, supposing the wind had +suddenly increased to a gale, and that it had been found unadvisable +to go into the boats; or, supposing they had drifted or sprung a leak +from striking upon the rocks; in any of these possible and not at +all improbable cases, those who might thus have been left upon the +rock had now something to lay hold of, and, though occupying this +dreary habitation of the sea-gull and the cormorant, affording only +bread and water, yet <i>life</i> would be preserved, and the mind would +still be supported by the hope of being ultimately relieved.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />25th May.</div> + +<p>On the 25th of May the writer embarked at Arbroath, on board +of the <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i>, for the Bell Rock, accompanied by Mr. +Logan senior, foreman builder, with twelve masons, and two smiths, +together with thirteen seamen, including the master, mate, and +steward.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />26th May.</div> + +<p>Mr. James Wilson, now commander of the <i>Pharos</i>, floating light, +and landing-master, in the room of Mr. Sinclair, who had left the +service, came into the writer’s cabin this morning at six o’clock, and +intimated that there was a good appearance of landing on the rock. +Everything being arranged, both boats proceeded in company, and +at eight a.m. they reached the rock. The lighthouse colours were +immediately hoisted upon the flag-staff of the beacon, a compliment +which was duly returned by the tender and floating light, when three +hearty cheers were given, and a glass of rum was served out to all +hands to drink success to the operations of 1808.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />27th May.</div> + +<p>This morning the wind was at east, blowing a fresh gale, the +weather being hazy, with a considerable breach of sea setting in upon +the rock. The morning bell was therefore rung, in some doubt as +to the practicability of making a landing. After allowing the rock +to get fully up, or to be sufficiently left by the tide, that the boats +might have some shelter from the range of the sea, they proceeded +at eight a.m., and upon the whole made a pretty good landing; and +after two hours and three-quarters’ work returned to the ship in +safety.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon the wind considerably increased, and, as a pretty +heavy sea was still running, the tender rode very hard, when Mr. +Taylor, the commander, found it necessary to take in the bowsprit, +and strike the fore and main topmasts, that she might ride more +easily. After consulting about the state of the weather, it was resolved +to leave the artificers on board this evening, and carry only +the smiths to the rock, as the sharpening of the irons was rather +behind, from their being so much broken and blunted by the hard +and tough nature of the rock, which became much more compact and +hard as the depth of excavation was increased. Besides avoiding +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>101</span> +the risk of encumbering the boats with a number of men who had +not yet got the full command of the oar in a breach of sea, the writer +had another motive for leaving them behind. He wanted to examine +the site of the building without interruption, and to take the comparative +levels of the different inequalities of its area; and as it would +have been painful to have seen men standing idle upon the Bell Rock, +where all moved with activity, it was judged better to leave them on +board. The boats landed at half-past seven p.m., and the landing-master, +with the seamen, was employed during this tide in cutting +the seaweeds from the several paths leading to the landing-places, to +render walking more safe, for, from the slippery state of the surface of +the rock, many severe tumbles had taken place. In the meantime +the writer took the necessary levels, and having carefully examined +the site of the building and considered all its parts, it still appeared +to be necessary to excavate to the average depth of fourteen inches +over the whole area of the foundation.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />28th May.</div> + +<p>The wind still continued from the eastward with a heavy swell; +and to-day it was accompanied with foggy weather and occasional +showers of rain. Notwithstanding this, such was the confidence +which the erection of the beacon had inspired that the boats landed +the artificers on the rock under very unpromising circumstances, at +half-past eight, and they continued at work till half-past eleven, being +a period of three hours, which was considered a great tide’s work +in the present low state of the foundation. Three of the masons on +board were so afflicted with sea-sickness that they had not been able +to take any food for almost three days, and they were literally +assisted into the boats this morning by their companions. It was, +however, not a little surprising to see how speedily these men revived +upon landing on the rock and eating a little dulse. Two of them +afterwards assisted the sailors in collecting the chips of stone and +carrying them out of the way of the pickmen; but the third complained +of a pain in his head, and was still unable to do anything. +Instead of returning to the tender with the boats, these three men +remained on the beacon all day, and had their victuals sent to them +along with the smiths’. From Mr. Dove, the foreman smith, they +had much sympathy, for he preferred remaining on the beacon at all +hazards, to be himself relieved from the malady of sea-sickness. The +wind continuing high, with a heavy sea, and the tide falling late, it +was not judged proper to land the artificers this evening, but in the +twilight the boats were sent to fetch the people on board who had been +left on the rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />29th May.</div> + +<p>The wind was from the S.W. to-day, and the signal-bell rung, as +usual, about an hour before the period for landing on the rock. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>102</span> +writer was rather surprised, however, to hear the landing-master +repeatedly call, “All hands for the rock!” and, coming on deck, he +was disappointed to find the seamen only in the boats. Upon +inquiry, it appeared that some misunderstanding had taken place +about the wages of the artificers for Sundays. They had preferred +wages for seven days statedly to the former mode of allowing a +day for each tide’s work on Sunday, as they did not like the appearance +of working for double or even treble wages on Sunday, and +would rather have it understood that their work on that day arose +more from the urgency of the case than with a view to emolument. +This having been judged creditable to their religious feelings, and +readily adjusted to their wish, the boats proceeded to the rock, and +the work commenced at nine a.m.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />30th May.</div> + +<p>Mr. Francis Watt commenced, with five joiners, to fit up a +temporary platform upon the beacon, about twenty-five feet above +the highest part of the rock. This platform was to be used as the +site of the smith’s forge, after the beacon should be fitted up as a +barrack; and here also the mortar was to be mixed and prepared for +the building, and it was accordingly termed the Mortar Gallery.</p> + +<p>The landing-master’s crew completed the discharging from the +<i>Smeaton</i> of her cargo of the cast-iron rails and timber. It must not +here be omitted to notice that the <i>Smeaton</i> took in ballast from the +Bell Rock, consisting of the shivers or chips of stone produced by +the workmen in preparing the site of the building, which were now +accumulating in great quantities on the rock. These the boats +loaded, after discharging the iron. The object in carrying off these +chips, besides ballasting the vessel, was to get them permanently +out of the way, as they were apt to shift about from place to place +with every gale of wind; and it often required a considerable time +to clear the foundation a second time of this rubbish. The circumstance +of ballasting a ship at the Bell Rock afforded great entertainment, +especially to the sailors; and it was perhaps with truth remarked +that the <i>Smeaton</i> was the first vessel that had ever taken on +board ballast at the Bell Rock. Mr. Pool, the commander of this +vessel, afterwards acquainted the writer that, when the ballast was +landed upon the quay at Leith, many persons carried away specimens +of it, as part of a cargo from the Bell Rock; when he added, that +such was the interest excited, from the number of specimens carried +away, that some of his friends suggested that he should have sent +the whole to the Cross of Edinburgh, where each piece might have +sold for a penny.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />31st May.</div> + +<p>In the evening the boats went to the rock, and brought the +joiners and smiths, and their sickly companions, on board of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>103</span> +tender. These also brought with them two baskets full of fish, +which they had caught at high-water from the beacon, reporting, +at the same time, to their comrades, that the fish were swimming +in such numbers over the rock at high-water that it was completely +hid from their sight, and nothing seen but the movement of thousands +of fish. They were almost exclusively of the species called the podlie, +or young coal-fish. This discovery, made for the first time to-day +by the workmen, was considered fortunate, as an additional circumstance +likely to produce an inclination among the artificers to take +up their residence in the beacon, when it came to be fitted up as +a barrack.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />7th June.</div> + +<p>At three o’clock in the morning the ship’s bell was rung as the +signal for landing at the rock. When the landing was to be made +before breakfast, it was customary to give each of the artificers and +seamen a dram and a biscuit, and coffee was prepared by the steward +for the cabins. Exactly at four o’clock the whole party landed from +three boats, including one of those belonging to the floating light, +with a part of that ship’s crew, which always attended the works in +moderate weather. The landing-master’s boat, called the <i>Seaman</i>, +but more commonly called the <i>Lifeboat</i>, took the lead. The next +boat, called the <i>Mason</i>, was generally steered by the writer; while +the floating light’s boat, <i>Pharos</i>, was under the management of the +boatswain of that ship.</p> + +<p>Having now so considerable a party of workmen and sailors on +the rock, it may be proper here to notice how their labours were +directed. Preparations having been made last month for the +erection of a second forge upon the beacon, the smiths commenced +their operations both upon the lower and higher platforms. They +were employed in sharpening the picks and irons for the masons, and +making bats and other apparatus of various descriptions connected +with the fitting of the railways. The landing-master’s crew were +occupied in assisting the millwrights in laying the railways to +hand. Sailors, of all other descriptions of men, are the most accommodating +in the use of their hands. They worked freely with the +boring-irons, and assisted in all the operations of the railways, +acting by turns as boatmen, seamen, and artificers. We had no +such character on the Bell Rock as the common labourer. All the +operations of this department were cheerfully undertaken by the +seamen, who, both on the rock and on shipboard, were the inseparable +companions of every work connected with the erection of the Bell +Rock Lighthouse. It will naturally be supposed that about twenty-five +masons, occupied with their picks in executing and preparing +the foundation of the lighthouse, in the course of a tide of about +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>104</span> +three hours, would make a considerable impression upon an area +even of forty-two feet in diameter. But in proportion as the foundation +was deepened, the rock was found to be much more hard and +difficult to work, while the baling and pumping of water became +much more troublesome. A joiner was kept almost constantly employed +in fitting the picks to their handles, which, as well as the +points to the irons, were very frequently broken.</p> + +<p>The Bell Rock this morning presented by far the most busy and +active appearance it had exhibited since the erection of the principal +beams of the beacon. The surface of the rock was crowded with +men, the two forges flaming, the one above the other, upon the +beacon, while the anvils thundered with the rebounding noise of +their wooden supports, and formed a curious contrast with the +occasional clamour of the surges. The wind was westerly, and the +weather being extremely agreeable, so soon after breakfast as the +tide had sufficiently overflowed the rock to float the boats over it, +the smiths, with a number of the artificers, returned to the beacon, +carrying their fishing-tackle along with them. In the course of the +forenoon, the beacon exhibited a still more extraordinary appearance +than the rock had done in the morning. The sea being smooth, it +seemed to be afloat upon the water, with a number of men supporting +themselves in all the variety of attitude and position: while, from +the upper part of this wooden house, the volumes of smoke which +ascended from the forges gave the whole a very curious and fanciful +appearance.</p> + +<p>In the course of this tide it was observed that a heavy swell was +setting in from the eastward, and the appearance of the sky indicated +a change of weather, while the wind was shifting about. The +barometer also had fallen from 30 in. to 29.6. It was, therefore, +judged prudent to shift the vessel to the S.W. or more distant buoy. +Her bowsprit was also soon afterwards taken in, the topmasts struck, +and everything made <i>snug</i>, as seamen term it, for a gale. During +the course of the night the wind increased and shifted to the eastward, +when the vessel rolled very hard, and the sea often broke over her +bows with great force.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />8th June.</div> + +<p>Although the motion of the tender was much less than that of the +floating light—at least, in regard to the rolling motion—yet she +<i>sended</i>, or pitched, much. Being also of a very handsome build, +and what seamen term very <i>clean aft</i>, the sea often struck her counter +with such force that the writer, who possessed the aftermost cabin, +being unaccustomed to this new vessel, could not divest himself of +uneasiness; for when her stern fell into the sea, it struck with so +much violence as to be more like the resistance of a rock than the sea. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>105</span> +The water, at the same time, often rushed with great force up the +rudder-case, and, forcing up the valve of the water-closet, the floor +of his cabin was at times laid under water. The gale continued to +increase, and the vessel rolled and pitched in such a manner that the +hawser by which the tender was made fast to the buoy snapped, and +she went adrift. In the act of swinging round to the wind she shipped +a very heavy sea, which greatly alarmed the artificers, who imagined +that we had got upon the rock; but this, from the direction of the +wind, was impossible. The writer, however, sprung upon deck, +where he found the sailors busily employed in rigging out the bowsprit +and in setting sail. From the easterly direction of the wind, it +was considered most advisable to steer for the Firth of Forth, and +there wait a change of weather. At two p.m. we accordingly passed +the Isle of May, at six anchored in Leith Roads, and at eight the +writer landed, when he came in upon his friends, who were not a +little surprised at his unexpected appearance, which gave an instantaneous +alarm for the safety of things at the Bell Rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />9th June.</div> + +<p>The wind still continued to blow very hard at E. by N., and the +<i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> rode heavily, and even drifted with both anchors +ahead, in Leith Roads. The artificers did not attempt to leave the +ship last night; but there being upwards of fifty people on board, +and the decks greatly lumbered with the two large boats, they were +in a very crowded and impatient state on board. But to-day they +got ashore, and amused themselves by walking about the streets of +Edinburgh, some in very humble apparel, from having only the worst +of their jackets with them, which, though quite suitable for their +work, were hardly fit for public inspection, being not only tattered, +but greatly stained with the red colour of the rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />10th June.</div> + +<p>To-day the wind was at S.E., with light breezes and foggy weather. +At six a.m. the writer again embarked for the Bell Rock, when the +vessel immediately sailed. At eleven p.m., there being no wind, the +kedge-anchor was <i>let go</i> off Anstruther, one of the numerous towns +on the coast of Fife, where we waited the return of the tide.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />11th June.</div> + +<p>At six a.m. the <i>Sir Joseph</i> got under weigh, and at eleven was +again made fast to the southern buoy at the Bell Rock. Though it +was now late in the tide, the writer, being anxious to ascertain the +state of things after the gale, landed with the artificers to the number +of forty-four. Everything was found in an entire state; but, as the +tide was nearly gone, only half an hour’s work had been got when +the site of the building was overflowed. In the evening the boats +again landed at nine, and, after a good tide’s work of three hours +with torchlight, the work was left off at midnight. To the distant +shipping the appearance of things under night on the Bell Rock, when +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>106</span> +the work was going forward, must have been very remarkable, +especially to those who were strangers to the operations. Mr. John +Reid, principal lightkeeper, who also acted as master of the floating +light during the working months at the rock, described the appearance +of the numerous lights situated so low in the water, when seen +at the distance of two or three miles, as putting him in mind of +Milton’s description of the fiends in the lower regions, adding, “for +it seems greatly to surpass Will-o’-the-wisp, or any of those earthly +spectres of which we have so often heard.”</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday <br />13th June.</div> + +<p>From the difficulties attending the landing on the rock, owing +to the breach of sea which had for days past been around it, the +artificers showed some backwardness at getting into the boats this +morning; but after a little explanation this was got over. It was +always observable that for some time after anything like danger had +occurred at the rock, the workmen became much more cautious, and +on some occasions their timidity was rather troublesome. It fortunately +happened, however, that along with the writer’s assistants +and the sailors there were also some of the artificers themselves who +felt no such scruples, and in this way these difficulties were the +more easily surmounted. In matters where life is in danger it becomes +necessary to treat even unfounded prejudices with tenderness, +as an accident, under certain circumstances, would not only have +been particularly painful to those giving directions, but have proved +highly detrimental to the work, especially in the early stages of its +advancement.</p> + +<p>At four o’clock fifty-eight persons landed; but the tides being +extremely languid, the water only left the higher parts of the rock, +and no work could be done at the site of the building. A third forge +was, however, put in operation during a short time, for the greater +conveniency of sharpening the picks and irons, and for purposes connected +with the preparations for fixing the railways on the rock. +The weather towards the evening became thick and foggy, and there +was hardly a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the water. Had +it not, therefore, been for the noise from the anvils of the smiths who +had been left on the beacon throughout the day, which afforded a +guide for the boats, a landing could not have been attempted this +evening, especially with such a company of artificers. This circumstance +confirmed the writer’s opinion with regard to the propriety +of connecting large bells to be rung with machinery in the lighthouse, +to be tolled day and night during the continuance of foggy +weather.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />23rd June.</div> + +<p>The boats landed this evening, when the artificers had again +two hours’ work. The weather still continuing very thick and foggy, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>107</span> +more difficulty was experienced in getting on board of the vessels +to-night than had occurred on any previous occasion, owing to a +light breeze of wind which carried the sound of the bell, and the +other signals made on board of the vessels, away from the rock. +Having fortunately made out the position of the sloop <i>Smeaton</i> at the +N.E. buoy—to which we were much assisted by the barking of the +ship’s dog,—we parted with the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat, when the boats of +the tender took a fresh departure for that vessel, which lay about +half a mile to the south-westward. Yet such is the very deceiving +state of the tides, that, although there was a small binnacle and +compass in the landing-master’s boat, we had, nevertheless, passed +the <i>Sir Joseph</i> a good way, when, fortunately, one of the sailors +catched the sound of a blowing-horn. The only firearms on board +were a pair of swivels of one-inch calibre; but it is quite surprising +how much the sound is lost in foggy weather, as the report was +heard but at a very short distance. The sound from the explosion +of gunpowder is so instantaneous that the effect of the small guns +was not so good as either the blowing of a horn or the tolling of a +bell, which afforded a more constant and steady direction for the +pilot.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />6th July.</div> + +<p>Landed on the rock with the three boats belonging to the tender +at five p.m., and began immediately to bale the water out of the +foundation-pit with a number of buckets, while the pumps were also +kept in action with relays of artificers and seamen. The work commenced +upon the higher parts of the foundation as the water left +them, but it was now pretty generally reduced to a level. About +twenty men could be conveniently employed at each pump, and it +is quite astonishing in how short a time so great a body of water +could be drawn off. The water in the foundation-pit at this time +measured about two feet in depth, on an area of forty-two feet in +diameter, and yet it was drawn off in the course of about half an +hour. After this the artificers commenced with their picks and continued +at work for two hours and a half, some of the sailors being at +the same time busily employed in clearing the foundation of chips +and in conveying the irons to and from the smiths on the beacon, +where they were sharped. At eight o’clock the sea broke in upon +us and overflowed the foundation-pit, when the boats returned to +the tender.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />7th July.</div> + +<p>The landing-master’s bell rung this morning about four o’clock, +and at half-past five, the foundation being cleared, the work commenced +on the site of the building. But from the moment of landing, +the squad of joiners and millwrights was at work upon the higher +parts of the rock in laying the railways, while the anvils of the smith +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>108</span> +resounded on the beacon, and such columns of smoke ascended from +the forges that they were often mistaken by strangers at a distance +for a ship on fire. After continuing three hours at work the foundation +of the building was again overflowed, and the boats returned to +the ship at half-past eight o’clock. The masons and pickmen had, +at this period, a pretty long day on board of the tender, but the +smiths and joiners were kept constantly at work upon the beacon, +the stability and great conveniency of which had now been so fully +shown that no doubt remained as to the propriety of fitting it up as +a barrack. The workmen were accordingly employed, during the +period of high-water, in making preparations for this purpose.</p> + +<p>The foundation-pit now assumed the appearance of a great +platform, and the late tides had been so favourable that it became +apparent that the first course, consisting of a few irregular and +detached stones for making up certain inequalities in the interior +parts of the site of the building, might be laid in the course of the +present spring-tides. Having been enabled to-day to get the dimensions +of the foundation, or first stone, accurately taken, a mould +was made of its figure, when the writer left the rock, after the tide’s +work of this morning, in a fast rowing-boat for Arbroath; and, upon +landing, two men were immediately set to work upon one of the +blocks from Mylnefield quarry, which was prepared in the course of +the following day, as the stone-cutters relieved each other, and worked +both night and day, so that it was sent off in one of the stone-lighters +without delay.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />9th July.</div> + +<p>The site of the foundation-stone was very difficult to work, from +its depth in the rock; but being now nearly prepared, it formed a +very agreeable kind of pastime at high-water for all hands to land the +stone itself upon the rock. The landing-master’s crew and artificers +accordingly entered with great spirit into this operation. The stone +was placed upon the deck of the <i>Hedderwick</i> praam-boat, which had +just been brought from Leith, and was decorated with colours for +the occasion. Flags were also displayed from the shipping in the +offing, and upon the beacon. Here the writer took his station with +the greater part of the artificers, who supported themselves in every +possible position while the boats towed the praam from her moorings +and brought her immediately over the site of the building, where her +grappling anchors were let go. The stone was then lifted off the +deck by a tackle hooked into a Lewis bat inserted into it, when it +was gently lowered into the water and grounded on the site of the +building, amidst the cheering acclamations of about sixty persons.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />10th July.</div> + +<p>At eleven o’clock the foundation-stone was laid to hand. It was +of a square form, containing about twenty cubic feet, and had the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>109</span> +figures, or date, of 1808 simply cut upon it with a chisel. A derrick, +or spar of timber, having been erected at the edge of the hole and +guyed with ropes, the stone was then hooked to the tackle and +lowered into its place, when the writer, attended by his assistants—Mr. +Peter Logan, Mr. Francis Watt, and Mr. James Wilson,—applied +the square, the level, and the mallet, and pronounced the following +benediction: “May the Great Architect of the Universe complete +and bless this building,” on which three hearty cheers were given, +and success to the future operations was drunk with the greatest +enthusiasm.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />26th July.</div> + +<p>The wind being at S.E. this evening, we had a pretty heavy swell +of sea upon the rock, and some difficulty attended our getting off in +safety, as the boats got aground in the creek and were in danger of +being upset. Upon extinguishing the torch-lights, about twelve +in number, the darkness of the night seemed quite horrible; the +water being also much charged with the phosphorescent appearance +which is familiar to every one on shipboard, the waves, as they +dashed upon the rock, were in some degree like so much liquid flame. +The scene, upon the whole, was truly awful!</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />27th July.</div> + +<p>In leaving the rock this evening everything, after the torches were +extinguished, had the same dismal appearance as last night, but so +perfectly acquainted were the landing-master and his crew with the +position of things at the rock, that comparatively little inconveniency +was experienced on these occasions when the weather was moderate; +such is the effect of habit, even in the most unpleasant situations. +If, for example, it had been proposed to a person accustomed to a +city life, at once to take up his quarters off a sunken reef and land +upon it in boats at all hours of the night, the proposition must have +appeared quite impracticable and extravagant; but this practice +coming progressively upon the artificers, it was ultimately undertaken +with the greatest alacrity. Notwithstanding this, however, it must +be acknowledged that it was not till after much labour and peril, and +many an anxious hour, that the writer is enabled to state that the +site of the Bell Rock Lighthouse is fully prepared for the first entire +course of the building.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />12th Aug.</div> + +<p>The artificers landed this morning at half-past ten, and after an +hour and a half’s work eight stones were laid, which completed the +first entire course of the building, consisting of 123 blocks, the last +of which was laid with three hearty cheers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />10th Sept.</div> + +<p>Landed at nine a.m., and by a quarter-past twelve noon twenty-three +stones had been laid. The works being now somewhat elevated +by the lower courses, we got quit of the very serious inconvenience of +pumping water to clear the foundation-pit. This gave much facility +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>110</span> +to the operations, and was noticed with expressions of as much +happiness by the artificers as the seamen had shown when relieved +of the continual trouble of carrying the smith’s bellows off the +rock prior to the erection of the beacon.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />21st Sept.</div> + +<p>Mr. Thomas Macurich, mate of the <i>Smeaton</i>, and James Scott, one +of the crew, a young man about eighteen years of age, immediately +went into their boat to make fast a hawser to the ring in the top of +the floating buoy of the moorings, and were forthwith to proceed to +land their cargo, so much wanted, at the rock. The tides at this +period were very strong, and the mooring-chain, when sweeping the +ground, had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck by which the +chain was so shortened that when the tide flowed the buoy got +almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the +surface. When Macurich and Scott were in the act of making the +hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the +bottom, and this large buoy, measuring about seven feet in height +and three feet in diameter at the middle, tapering to both ends, +being what seamen term a <i>Nun-buoy</i>, vaulted or sprung up with +such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. +Mr. Macurich, with much exertion, succeeded in getting hold of the +boat’s gunwale, still above the surface of the water, and by this +means was saved; but the young man Scott was unfortunately +drowned. He had in all probability been struck about the head +by the ring of the buoy, for although surrounded with the oars and +the thwarts of the boat which floated near him, yet he seemed entirely +to want the power of availing himself of such assistance, and +appeared to be quite insensible, while Pool, the master of the <i>Smeaton</i>. +called loudly to him; and before assistance could be got from +the tender, he was carried away by the strength of the current and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The young man Scott was a great favourite in the service, having +had something uncommonly mild and complaisant in his manner; +and his loss was therefore universally regretted. The circumstances +of his case were also peculiarly distressing to his mother, as her +husband, who was a seaman, had for three years past been confined +to a French prison, and the deceased was the chief support of the +family. In order in some measure to make up the loss to the poor +woman for the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her late +son, it was suggested that a younger boy, a brother of the deceased, +might be taken into the service. This appeared to be rather a +delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange +according to circumstances; such was the resignation, and at the +same time the spirit, of the poor woman, that she readily accepted +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>111</span> +the proposal, and in a few days the younger Scott was actually afloat +in the place of his brother. On representing this distressing case to +the Board, the Commissioners were pleased to grant an annuity of +£5 to Scott’s mother.</p> + +<p>The <i>Smeaton</i>, not having been made fast to the buoy, had, with +the ebb-tide, drifted to leeward a considerable way eastward of the +rock, and could not, till the return of the flood-tide, be worked up to +her moorings, so that the present tide was lost, notwithstanding all +exertions which had been made both ashore and afloat with this cargo. +The artificers landed at six a.m.; but, as no materials could be got +upon the rock this morning, they were employed in boring trenail +holes and in various other operations, and after four hours’ work +they returned on board the tender. When the <i>Smeaton</i> got up to +her moorings, the landing-master’s crew immediately began to +unload her. There being too much wind for towing the praams in +the usual way, they were warped to the rock in the most laborious +manner by their windlasses, with successive grapplings and hawsers +laid out for this purpose. At six p.m. the artificers landed, and continued +at work till half-past ten, when the remaining seventeen +stones were laid which completed the third entire course, or fourth +of the lighthouse, with which the building operations were closed +for the season.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>III</h5> + +<h5>OPERATIONS OF 1809</h5> + +<div class="body1"> +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />24th May.</div> + +<p>The last night was the first that the writer had passed in his old +quarters on board of the floating light for about twelve months, +when the weather was so fine and the sea so smooth that even here +he felt but little or no motion, excepting at the turn of the tide, +when the vessel gets into what the seamen term the <i>trough of the sea</i>. +At six a.m. Mr. Watt, who conducted the operations of the railways +and beacon-house, had landed with nine artificers. At half-past one +p.m. Mr. Peter Logan had also landed with fifteen masons, and immediately +proceeded to set up the crane. The sheer-crane or apparatus +for lifting the stones out of the praam-boats at the eastern creek had +been already erected, and the railways now formed about two-thirds +of an entire circle round the building: some progress had likewise +been made with the reach towards the western landing-place. The +floors being laid, the beacon now assumed the appearance of a +habitation. The <i>Smeaton</i> was at her moorings, with the <i>Fernie</i> +praam-boat astern, for which she was laying down moorings, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>112</span> +tender being also at her station, the Bell Rock had again put on its +former busy aspect.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />31st May.</div> + +<p>The landing-master’s bell, often no very favourite sound, rung +at six this morning; but on this occasion, it is believed, it was gladly +received by all on board, as the welcome signal of the return of +better weather. The masons laid thirteen stones to-day, which the +seamen had landed, together with other building materials. During +these twenty-four hours the wind was from the south, blowing fresh +breezes, accompanied with showers of snow. In the morning the +snow showers were so thick that it was with difficulty the landing-master, +who always steered the leading boat, could make his way to +the rock through the drift. But at the Bell Rock neither snow nor +rain, nor fog nor wind, retarded the progress of the work, if unaccompanied +by a heavy swell or breach of the sea.</p> + +<p>The weather during the months of April and May had been uncommonly +boisterous, and so cold that the thermometer seldom +exceeded 40º, while the barometer was generally about 29.50. We +had not only hail and sleet, but the snow on the last day of May lay +on the decks and rigging of the ship to the depth of about three +inches; and, although now entering upon the month of June, the +length of the day was the chief indication of summer. Yet such is +the effect of habit, and such was the expertness of the landing-master’s +crew, that, even in this description of weather, seldom a tide’s work +was lost. Such was the ardour and zeal of the heads of the several +departments at the rock, including Mr. Peter Logan, foreman builder, +Mr. Francis Watt, foreman millwright, and Captain Wilson, landing-master, +that it was on no occasion necessary to address them, excepting +in the way of precaution or restraint. Under these circumstances, +however, the writer not unfrequently felt considerable +anxiety, of which this day’s experience will afford an example.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />1st June.</div> + +<p>This morning, at a quarter-past eight, the artificers were landed +as usual, and, after three hours and three-quarters’ work, five stones +were laid, the greater part of this tide having been taken up in +completing the boring and trenailing of the stones formerly laid. +At noon the writer, with the seamen and artificers, proceeded to the +tender, leaving on the beacon the joiners, and several of those who +were troubled with sea-sickness—among whom was Mr. Logan, who +remained with Mr. Watt—counting altogether eleven persons. +During the first and middle parts of these twenty-four hours the +wind was from the east, blowing what the seamen term “fresh +breezes”; but in the afternoon it shifted to E.N.E., accompanied +with so heavy a swell of sea that the <i>Smeaton</i> and tender struck their +topmasts, launched in their bolt-sprits, and “made all snug” for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>113</span> +a gale. At four p.m. the <i>Smeaton</i> was obliged to slip her moorings, +and passed the tender, drifting before the wind, with only the foresail +set. In passing, Mr. Pool hailed that he must run for the Firth of +Forth to prevent the vessel from “riding under.”</p> + +<p>On board of the tender the writer’s chief concern was about the +eleven men left upon the beacon. Directions were accordingly given +that everything about the vessel should be put in the best possible +state, to present as little resistance to the wind as possible, that she +might have the better chance of riding out the gale. Among these +preparations the best bower cable was bent, so as to have a second +anchor in readiness in case the mooring-hawser should give way, that +every means might be used for keeping the vessel within sight of the +prisoners on the beacon, and thereby keep them in as good spirits +as possible. From the same motive the boats were kept afloat that +they might be less in fear of the vessel leaving her station. The +landing-master had, however, repeatedly expressed his anxiety for +the safety of the boats, and wished much to have them hoisted on +board. At seven p.m. one of the boats, as he feared, was unluckily +filled with sea from a wave breaking into her, and it was with great +difficulty that she could be baled out and got on board, with the loss +of her oars, rudder, and loose thwarts. Such was the motion of the +ship that in taking this boat on board her gunwale was stove in, and +she otherwise received considerable damage. Night approached, but +it was still found quite impossible to go near the rock. Consulting, +therefore, the safety of the second boat, she also was hoisted on +board of the tender.</p> + +<p>At this time the cabins of the beacon were only partially covered, +and had neither been provided with bedding nor a proper fireplace, +while the stock of provisions was but slender. In these uncomfortable +circumstances the people on the beacon were left for the night, +nor was the situation of those on board of the tender much better. +The rolling and pitching motion of the ship was excessive; and, +excepting to those who had been accustomed to a residence in the +floating light, it seemed quite intolerable. Nothing was heard but +the hissing of the winds and the creaking of the bulkheads or partitions +of the ship; the night was, therefore, spent in the most unpleasant +reflections upon the condition of the people on the beacon, +especially in the prospect of the tender being driven from her moorings. +But, even in such a case, it afforded some consolation that the +stability of the fabric was never doubted, and that the boats of the +floating light were at no great distance, and ready to render the +people on the rock the earliest assistance which the weather would +permit. The writer’s cabin being in the sternmost part of the ship, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>114</span> +which had what sailors term a good entry, or was sharp built, the +sea, as before noticed, struck her counter with so much violence that +the water, with a rushing noise, continually forced its way up the +rudder-case, lifted the valve of the water-closet, and overran the +cabin floor. In these circumstances daylight was eagerly looked for, +and hailed with delight, as well by those afloat as by the artificers +upon the rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />2nd June.</div> + +<p>In the course of the night the writer held repeated conversations +with the officer on watch, who reported that the weather continued +much in the same state, and that the barometer still indicated 29.20 +inches. At six a.m. the landing-master considered the weather to +have somewhat moderated; and, from certain appearances of the +sky, he was of opinion that a change for the better would soon take +place. He accordingly proposed to attempt a landing at low-water, +and either get the people off the rock, or at least ascertain what state +they were in. At nine a.m. he left the vessel with a boat well manned, +carrying with him a supply of cooked provisions and a tea-kettle full +of mulled port wine for the people on the beacon, who had not had +any regular diet for about thirty hours, while they were exposed +during that period, in a great measure, both to the winds and the +sprays of the sea. The boat having succeeded in landing, she returned +at eleven a.m. with the artificers, who had got off with considerable +difficulty, and who were heartily welcomed by all on +board.</p> + +<p>Upon inquiry it appeared that three of the stones last laid upon +the building had been partially lifted from their beds by the force of +the sea, and were now held only by the trenails, and that the cast-iron +sheer-crane had again been thrown down and completely broken. +With regard to the beacon, the sea at high-water had lifted part of +the mortar gallery or lowest floor, and washed away all the lime-casks +and other movable articles from it; but the principal parts +of this fabric had sustained no damage. On pressing Messrs. Logan +and Watt on the situation of things in the course of the night, Mr. +Logan emphatically said; “That the beacon had an <i>ill-faured<a name="FnAnchor_15" id="FnAnchor_15" href="#Footnote_15"><span class="sp">15</span></a> twist</i> +when the sea broke upon it at high-water, but that they were not +very apprehensive of danger.” On inquiring as to how they spent +the night, it appeared that they had made shift to keep a small fire +burning, and by means of some old sails defended themselves pretty +well from the sea sprays.</p> + +<p>It was particularly mentioned that by the exertions of James +Glen, one of the joiners, a number of articles were saved from being +washed off the mortar gallery. Glen was also very useful in keeping +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>115</span> +up the spirits of the forlorn party. In the early part of life he had +undergone many curious adventures at sea, which he now recounted +somewhat after the manner of the tales of the “Arabian Nights.” +When one observed that the beacon was a most comfortless lodging, +Glen would presently introduce some of his exploits and hardships, +in comparison with which the state of things at the beacon bore an +aspect of comfort and happiness. Looking to their slender stock of +provisions, and their perilous and uncertain chance of speedy relief, he +would launch out into an account of one of his expeditions in the +North Sea, when the vessel, being much disabled in a storm, was +driven before the wind with the loss of almost all their provisions; +and the ship being much infested with rats, the crew hunted these +vermin with great eagerness to help their scanty allowance. By +such means Glen had the address to make his companions, in some +measure, satisfied, or at least passive, with regard to their miserable +prospects upon this half-tide rock in the middle of the ocean. This +incident is noticed, more particularly, to show the effects of such a +happy turn of mind, even under the most distressing and ill-fated +circumstances.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />17th June.</div> + +<p>At eight a.m. the artificers and sailors, forty-five in number, +landed on the rock, and after four hours’ work seven stones were +laid. The remainder of this tide, from the threatening appearance +of the weather, was occupied in trenailing and making all things as +secure as possible. At twelve noon the rock and building were again +overflowed, when the masons and seamen went on board of the tender, +but Mr. Watt, with his squad of ten men, remained on the beacon +throughout the day. As it blew fresh from the N.W. in the evening, +it was found impracticable either to land the building artificers or +to take the artificers off the beacon, and they were accordingly left +there all night, but in circumstances very different from those of the +1st of this month. The house, being now in a more complete state, +was provided with bedding, and they spent the night pretty well, +though they complained of having been much disturbed at the time +of high-water by the shaking and tremulous motion of their house +and by the plashing noise of the sea upon the mortar gallery. Here +James Glen’s versatile powers were again at work in cheering up +those who seemed to be alarmed, and in securing everything as far +as possible. On this occasion he had only to recall to the recollections +of some of them the former night which they had spent on the +beacon, the wind and sea being then much higher, and their habitation +in a far less comfortable state.</p> + +<p>The wind still continuing to blow fresh from the N.W., at five +p.m. the writer caused a signal to be made from the tender for the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>116</span> +<i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i> to slip their moorings, when they ran for Lunan +Bay, an anchorage on the east side of the Redhead. Those on board +of the tender spent but a very rough night, and perhaps slept less +soundly than their companions on the beacon, especially as the wind +was at N.W., which caused the vessel to ride with her stern towards +the Bell Rock; so that, in the event of anything giving way, she +could hardly have escaped being stranded upon it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />18th June.</div> + +<p>The weather having moderated to-day, the wind shifted to the +westward. At a quarter-past nine a.m. the artificers landed from +the tender and had the pleasure to find their friends who had been +left on the rock quite hearty, alleging that the beacon was the preferable +quarters of the two.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />24th June.</div> + +<p>Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder, and his squad, twenty-one +in number, landed this morning at three o’clock, and continued at +work four hours and a quarter, and after laying seventeen stones +returned to the tender. At six a.m. Mr. Francis Watt and his squad +of twelve men landed, and proceeded with their respective operations +at the beacon and railways, and were left on the rock during +the whole day without the necessity of having any communication +with the tender, the kitchen of the beacon-house being now fitted up. +It was to-day, also, that Peter Fortune—a most obliging and well-known +character in the Lighthouse service—was removed from the +tender to the beacon as cook and steward, with a stock of provisions +as ample as his limited storeroom would admit.</p> + +<p>When as many stones were built as comprised this day’s work, +the demand for mortar was proportionally increased, and the task +of the mortar-makers on these occasions was both laborious and +severe. This operation was chiefly performed by John Watt—a +strong, active quarrier by profession,—who was a perfect character +in his way, and extremely zealous in his department. While the +operations of the mortar-makers continued, the forge upon their +gallery was not generally in use; but, as the working hours of the +builders extended with the height of the building, the forge could not +be so long wanted, and then a sad confusion often ensued upon the +circumscribed floor of the mortar gallery, as the operations of Watt +and his assistants trenched greatly upon those of the smiths. Under +these circumstances the boundary of the smiths was much circumscribed, +and they were personally annoyed, especially in blowy +weather, with the dust of the lime in its powdered state. The +mortar-makers, on the other hand, were often not a little distressed +with the heat of the fire and the sparks elicited on the anvil, and not +unaptly complained that they were placed between “the devil and +the deep sea.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117" id="page117"></a>117</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />25th June.</div> + +<p>The work being now about ten feet in height, admitted of a rope-ladder +being distended<a name="FnAnchor_16" id="FnAnchor_16" href="#Footnote_16"><span class="sp">16</span></a> between the beacon and the building. By +this “Jacob’s Ladder,” as the seamen termed it, a communication +was kept up with the beacon while the rock was considerably under +water. One end of it being furnished with tackle-blocks, was fixed +to the beams of the beacon, at the level of the mortar gallery, while +the further end was connected with the upper course of the building +by means of two Lewis bats which were lifted from course to course +as the work advanced. In the same manner a rope furnished with +a travelling pulley was distended for the purpose of transporting the +mortar-buckets, and other light articles between the beacon and +the building, which also proved a great conveniency to the work. At +this period the rope-ladder and tackle for the mortar had a descent +from the beacon to the building; by and by they were on a level, +and towards the end of the season, when the solid part had attained +its full height, the ascent was from the mortar gallery to the building.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />30th June.</div> + +<p>The artificers landed on the rock this morning at a quarter-past +six, and remained at work five hours. The cooking apparatus being +now in full operation, all hands had breakfast on the beacon at the +usual hour, and remained there throughout the day. The crane +upon the building had to be raised to-day from the eighth to the +ninth course, an operation which now required all the strength that +could be mustered for working the guy-tackles; for as the top of the +crane was at this time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became +much more unmanageable. While the beam was in the act of +swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly +brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the artificers +had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary +object, which would have given them the complete command of the +tackle. Owing to this simple omission, the crane got a preponderancy +to one side, and fell upon the building with a terrible crash. +The surrounding artificers immediately flew in every direction to +get out of its way; but Michael Wishart, the principal builder, +having unluckily stumbled upon one of the uncut trenails, fell upon +his back. His body fortunately got between the movable beam and +the upright shaft of the crane, and was thus saved; but his feet got +entangled with the wheels of the crane and were severely injured. +Wishart, being a robust young man, endured his misfortune with +wonderful firmness; he was laid upon one of the narrow framed beds +of the beacon and despatched in a boat to the tender, where the +writer was when this accident happened, not a little alarmed on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page118" id="page118"></a>118</span> +missing the crane from the top of the building, and at the same time +seeing a boat rowing towards the vessel with great speed. When the +boat came alongside with poor Wishart, stretched upon a bed covered +with blankets, a moment of great anxiety followed, which was, however, +much relieved when, on stepping into the boat, he was accosted +by Wishart, though in a feeble voice, and with an aspect pale as +death from excessive bleeding. Directions having been immediately +given to the coxswain to apply to Mr. Kennedy at the workyard to +procure the best surgical aid, the boat was sent off without delay +to Arbroath. The writer then landed at the rock, when the crane +was in a very short time got into its place and again put in a working +state.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />3rd July.</div> + +<p>The writer having come to Arbroath with the yacht, had an opportunity +of visiting Michael Wishart, the artificer who had met with so +severe an accident at the rock on the 30th ult., and had the pleasure +to find him in a state of recovery. From Dr. Stevenson’s account, +under whose charge he had been placed, hopes were entertained that +amputation would not be necessary, as his patient still kept free of +fever or any appearance of mortification; and Wishart expressed a +hope that he might, at least, be ultimately capable of keeping the light +at the Bell Rock, as it was not now likely that he would assist +further in building the house.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />8th July.</div> + +<p>It was remarked to-day, with no small demonstration of joy, that +the tide, being neap, did not, for the first time, overflow the building +at high-water. Flags were accordingly hoisted on the beacon-house +and crane on the top of the building, which were repeated from the +floating light, Lighthouse yacht, tender, <i>Smeaton, Patriot</i>, and the +two praams. A salute of three guns was also fired from the yacht +at high-water, when, all the artificers being collected on the top of +the building, three cheers were given in testimony of this important +circumstance. A glass of rum was then served out to all hands on +the rock and on board of the respective ships.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />16th July.</div> + +<p>Besides laying, boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting thirty-two +stones, several other operations were proceeded with on the rock +at low-water, when some of the artificers were employed at the railways +and at high-water at the beacon-house. The seamen having +prepared a quantity of tarpaulin or cloth laid over with successive +coats of hot tar, the joiners had just completed the covering of the +roof with it. This sort of covering was lighter and more easily +managed than sheet-lead in such a situation. As a further defence +against the weather the whole exterior of this temporary residence +was painted with three coats of white-lead paint. Between the +timber framing of the habitable part of the beacon the interstices +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119" id="page119"></a>119</span> +were to be stuffed with moss as a light substance that would resist +dampness and check sifting winds; the whole interior was then to +be lined with green baize cloth, so that both without and within the +cabins were to have a very comfortable appearance.</p> + +<p>Although the building artificers generally remained on the rock +throughout the day, and the millwrights, joiners, and smiths, while +their number was considerable, remained also during the night, yet +the tender had hitherto been considered as their night quarters. But +the wind having in the course of the day shifted to the N.W., and as +the passage to the tender, in the boats, was likely to be attended with +difficulty, the whole of the artificers, with Mr. Logan, the foreman, +preferred remaining all night on the beacon, which had of late become +the solitary abode of George Forsyth, a jobbing upholsterer, who had +been employed in lining the beacon-house with cloth and in fitting +up the bedding. Forsyth was a tall, thin, and rather loose-made man, +who had an utter aversion at climbing upon the trap-ladders of the +beacon, but especially at the process of boating, and the motion of +the ship, which he said “was death itself.” He therefore pertinaciously +insisted with the landing-master in being left upon the +beacon, with a small black dog as his only companion. The writer, +however, felt some delicacy in leaving a single individual upon the +rock, who must have been so very helpless in case of accident. This +fabric had, from the beginning, been rather intended by the writer +to guard against accident from the loss or damage of a boat, and as +a place for making mortar, a smith’s shop, and a store for tools during +the working months, than as permanent quarters; nor was it at +all meant to be possessed until the joiner-work was completely +finished, and his own cabin, and that for the foreman, in readiness, +when it was still to be left to the choice of the artificers to occupy +the tender or the beacon. He, however, considered Forsyth’s +partiality and confidence in the latter as rather a fortunate occurrence.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />19th July.</div> + +<p>The whole of the artificers, twenty-three in number, now removed +of their own accord from the tender, to lodge in the beacon, together +with Peter Fortune, a person singularly adapted for a residence of +this kind, both from the urbanity of his manners and the versatility +of his talents. Fortune, in his person, was of small stature, and +rather corpulent. Besides being a good Scots cook, he had acted +both as groom and house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a +writer’s clerk, and an apothecary, from which he possessed the art +of writing and suggesting recipes, and had hence, also, perhaps, +acquired a turn for making collections in natural history. But in +his practice in surgery on the Bell Rock, for which he received an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120" id="page120"></a>120</span> +annual fee of three guineas, he is supposed to have been rather +partial to the use of the lancet. In short, Peter was the <i>factotum</i> of +the beacon-house, where he ostensibly acted in the several capacities +of cook, steward, surgeon, and barber, and kept a statement of +the rations or expenditure of the provisions with the strictest +integrity.</p> + +<p>In the present important state of the building, when it had just +attained the height of sixteen feet, and the upper courses, and +especially the imperfect one, were in the wash of the heaviest seas, +an express boat arrived at the rock with a letter from Mr. Kennedy, +of the workyard, stating that in consequence of the intended expedition +to Walcheren, an embargo had been laid on shipping at all +the ports of Great Britain: that both the <i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i> were +detained at Arbroath, and that but for the proper view which Mr. +Ramsey, the port officer, had taken of his orders, neither the express +boat nor one which had been sent with provisions and necessaries for +the floating light would have been permitted to leave the harbour. +The writer set off without delay for Arbroath, and on landing used +every possible means with the official people, but their orders were +deemed so peremptory that even boats were not permitted to sail +from any port upon the coast. In the meantime, the collector of +the Customs at Montrose applied to the Board at Edinburgh, but +could, of himself, grant no relief to the Bell Rock shipping.</p> + +<p>At this critical period Mr. Adam Duff, then Sheriff of Forfarshire, +now of the county of Edinburgh, and <i>ex officio</i> one of the Commissioners +of the Northern Lighthouses, happened to be at Arbroath. +Mr. Duff took an immediate interest in representing the circumstances +of the case to the Board of Customs at Edinburgh. But such were +the doubts entertained on the subject that, on having previously +received the appeal from the collector at Montrose, the case had been +submitted to the consideration of the Lords of the Treasury, whose +decision was now waited for.</p> + +<p>In this state of things the writer felt particularly desirous to get +the thirteenth course finished, that the building might be in a more +secure state in the event of bad weather. An opportunity was therefore +embraced on the 25th, in sailing with provisions for the floating +light, to carry the necessary stones to the rock for this purpose, +which were landed and built on the 26th and 27th. But so closely +was the watch kept up that a Custom-house officer was always placed +on board of the <i>Smeaton</i> and <i>Patriot</i> while they were afloat, till the +embargo was especially removed from the lighthouse vessels. The +artificers at the Bell Rock had been reduced to fifteen, who were +regularly supplied with provisions, along with the crew of the floating +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>121</span> +light, mainly through the port officer’s liberal interpretation of his +orders.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />1st Aug.</div> + +<p>There being a considerable swell and breach of sea upon the rock +yesterday, the stones could not be got landed till the day following, +when the wind shifted to the southward and the weather improved. +But to-day no less than seventy-eight blocks of stone were landed, of +which forty were built, which completed the fourteenth and part of +the fifteenth courses. The number of workmen now resident in the +beacon-house were augmented to twenty-four, including the landing-master’s +crew from the tender and the boat’s crew from the floating +light, who assisted at landing the stones. Those daily at work upon +the rock at this period amounted to forty-six. A cabin had been +laid out for the writer on the beacon, but his apartment had been the +last which was finished, and he had not yet taken possession of it; +for though he generally spent the greater part of the day, at this +time, upon the rock, yet he always slept on board of the tender.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />11th Aug.</div> + +<p>The wind was at S.E. on the 11th, and there was so very heavy +a swell of sea upon the rock that no boat could approach it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />12th Aug.</div> + +<p>The gale still continuing from the S.E., the sea broke with great +violence both upon the building and the beacon. The former being +twenty-three feet in height, the upper part of the crane erected on it +having been lifted from course to course as the building advanced, +was now about thirty-six feet above the rock. From observations +made on the rise of the sea by this crane, the artificers were enabled +to estimate its height to be about fifty feet above the rock, while the +sprays fell with a most alarming noise upon their cabins. At low-water, +in the evening, a signal was made from the beacon, at the +earnest desire of some of the artificers, for the boats to come to the +rock; and although this could not be effected without considerable +hazard, it was, however, accomplished, when twelve of their number, +being much afraid, applied to the foreman to be relieved, and went +on board of the tender. But the remaining fourteen continued on the +rock, with Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman builder. Although this +rule of allowing an option to every man either to remain on the rock +or return to the tender was strictly adhered to, yet, as it would have +been extremely inconvenient to have had the men parcelled out in +this manner, it became necessary to embrace the first opportunity +of sending those who had left the beacon to the workyard, with as +little appearance of intention as possible, lest it should hurt their +feelings, or prevent others from acting according to their wishes, +either in landing on the rock or remaining on the beacon.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />15th Aug.</div> + +<p>The wind had fortunately shifted to the S.W. this morning, and +though a considerable breach was still upon the rock, yet the landing-master’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>122</span> +crew were enabled to get one praam-boat, lightly loaded +with five stones, brought in safety to the western creek; these stones +were immediately laid by the artificers, who gladly embraced the +return of good weather to proceed with their operations. The writer +had this day taken possession of his cabin in the beacon-house. It +was small, but commodious, and was found particularly convenient +in coarse and blowing weather, instead of being obliged to make a +passage to the tender in an open boat at all times, both during the +day and the night, which was often attended with much difficulty +and danger.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />19th Aug.</div> + +<p>For some days past the weather had been occasionally so thick +and foggy that no small difficulty was experienced in going even +between the rock and the tender, though quite at hand. But the +floating light’s boat lost her way so far in returning on board that +the first land she made, after rowing all night, was Fifeness, a distance +of about fourteen miles. The weather having cleared in the +morning, the crew stood off again for the floating light, and got on +board in a half-famished and much exhausted state, having been +constantly rowing for about sixteen hours.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />20th Aug.</div> + +<p>The weather being very favourable to-day, fifty-three stones +were landed, and the builders were not a little gratified in having +built the twenty-second course, consisting of fifty-one stones, being +the first course which had been completed in one day. This, as a +matter of course, produced three hearty cheers. At twelve noon +prayers were read for the first time on the Bell Rock; those present, +counting thirty, were crowded into the upper apartment of the +beacon, where the writer took a central position, while two of the +artificers, joining hands, supported the Bible.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />25th Aug.</div> + +<p>To-day the artificers laid forty-five stones, which completed the +twenty-fourth course, reckoning above the first entire one, and the +twenty-sixth above the rock. This finished the solid part of the +building, and terminated the height of the outward casing of granite, +which is thirty-one feet six inches above the rock or site of the +foundation-stone, and about seventeen feet above high water of +spring-tides. Being a particular crisis in the progress of the lighthouse, +the landing and laying of the last stone for the season was +observed with the usual ceremonies.</p> + +<p>From observations often made by the writer, in so far as such can +be ascertained, it appears that no wave in the open seas, in an unbroken +state, rises more than from seven to nine feet above the +general surface of the ocean. The Bell Rock Lighthouse may therefore +now be considered at from eight to ten feet above the height of +the waves; and, although the sprays and heavy seas have often been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page123" id="page123"></a>123</span> +observed, in the present state of the building, to rise to the height of +fifty feet, and fall with a tremendous noise on the beacon-house, yet +such seas were not likely to make any impression on a mass of solid +masonry, containing about 1400 tons.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />30th Aug.</div> + +<p>The whole of the artificers left the rock at mid-day, when the +tender made sail for Arbroath, which she reached about six p.m. +The vessel being decorated with colours, and having fired a salute +of three guns on approaching the harbour, the workyard artificers, +with a multitude of people, assembled at the harbour, when mutual +cheering and congratulations took place between those afloat and +those on the quays. The tender had now, with little exception, +been six months on the station at the Bell Rock, and during the last +four months few of the squad of builders had been ashore. In particular, +Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman, and Mr. Robert Selkirk, +principal builder, had never once left the rock. The artificers, having +made good wages during their stay, like seamen upon a return +voyage, were extremely happy, and spent the evening with much +innocent mirth and jollity.</p> + +<p>In reflecting upon the state of the matters at the Bell Rock during +the working months, when the writer was much with the artificers, +nothing can equal the happy manner in which these excellent workmen +spent their time. They always went from Arbroath to their +arduous task cheering, and they generally returned in the same +hearty state. While at the rock, between the tides, they amused +themselves in reading, fishing, music, playing cards, draughts, etc., +or in sporting with one another. In the workyard at Arbroath the +young men were almost, without exception, employed in the evening +at school, in writing and arithmetic, and not a few were learning +architectural drawing, for which they had every convenience and +facility, and were, in a very obliging manner, assisted in their +studies by Mr. David Logan, clerk of the works. It therefore +affords the most pleasing reflections to look back upon the pursuits +of about sixty individuals who for years conducted themselves, on +all occasions, in a sober and rational manner.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>IV</h5> + + +<h5>OPERATIONS OF 1810</h5> + +<div class="body1"> +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />10th May.</div> + +<p>The wind had shifted to-day to W.N.W., when the writer, with +considerable difficulty, was enabled to land upon the rock for the +first time this season, at ten a.m. Upon examining the state of the +building, and apparatus in general, he had the satisfaction to find +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>124</span> +everything in good order. The mortar in all the joints was perfectly +entire. The building, now thirty feet in height, was thickly coated +with <i>fuci</i> to the height of about fifteen feet, calculating from the rock; +on the eastern side, indeed, the growth of seaweed was observable +to the full height of thirty feet, and even on the top or upper bed +of the last-laid course, especially towards the eastern side, it had +germinated, so as to render walking upon it somewhat difficult.</p> + +<p>The beacon-house was in a perfectly sound state, and apparently +just as it had been left in the month of November. But the tides +being neap, the lower parts, particularly where the beams rested on +the rock, could not now be seen. The floor of the mortar gallery +having been already laid down by Mr. Watt and his men on a former +visit, was merely soaked with the sprays; but the joisting-beams +which supported it had, in the course of the winter, been covered +with a fine downy conferva produced by the range of the sea. They +were also a good deal whitened with the mute of the cormorant and +other sea-fowls, which had roosted upon the beacon in winter. +Upon ascending to the apartments, it was found that the motion of +the sea had thrown open the door of the cook-house: this was only +shut with a single latch, that in case of shipwreck at the Bell Rock +the mariner might find ready access to the shelter of this forlorn +habitation, where a supply of provisions was kept; and being within +two miles and a half of the floating light, a signal could readily be +observed, when a boat might be sent to his relief as soon as the +weather permitted. An arrangement for this purpose formed one +of the instructions on board of the floating light, but happily no +instance occurred for putting it in practice. The hearth or fireplace +of the cook-house was built of brick in as secure a manner as possible +to prevent accident from fire; but some of the plaster-work had +shaken loose, from its damp state and the tremulous motion of the +beacon in stormy weather. The writer next ascended to the floor +which was occupied by the cabins of himself and his assistants, which +were in tolerably good order, having only a damp and musty smell. +The barrack for the artificers, over all, was next visited; it had now +a very dreary and deserted appearance when its former thronged +state was recollected. In some parts the water had come through +the boarding, and had discoloured the lining of green cloth, but it +was, nevertheless, in a good habitable condition. While the seamen +were employed in landing a stock of provisions, a few of the artificers +set to work with great eagerness to sweep and clean the several apartments. +The exterior of the beacon was, in the meantime, examined, +and found in perfect order. The painting, though it had a somewhat +blanched appearance, adhered firmly both on the sides and roof, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" id="page125"></a>125</span> +only two or three panes of glass were broken in the cupola, which had +either been blown out by the force of the wind or perhaps broken by +sea-fowl.</p> + +<p>Having on this occasion continued upon the building and beacon +a considerable time after the tide had begun to flow, the artificers +were occupied in removing the forge from the top of the building, to +which the gangway or wooden bridge gave great facility; and, +although it stretched or had a span of forty-two feet, its construction +was extremely simple, while the roadway was perfectly firm and +steady. In returning from this visit to the rock every one was pretty +well soused in spray before reaching the tender at two o’clock p.m., +where things awaited the landing party in as comfortable a way as +such a situation would admit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />11th May.</div> + +<p>The wind was still easterly, accompanied with rather a heavy +swell of sea for the operations in hand. A landing was, however, +made this morning, when the artificers were immediately employed +in scraping the seaweed off the upper course of the building, in order +to apply the moulds of the first course of the staircase, that the joggle-holes +might be marked off in the upper course of the solid. This was +also necessary previously to the writer’s fixing the position of the +entrance door, which was regulated chiefly by the appearance of the +growth of the seaweed on the building, indicating the direction of +the heaviest seas, on the opposite side of which the door was placed. +The landing-master’s crew succeeded in towing into the creek on +the western side of the rock the praam-boat with the balance-crane, +which had now been on board of the praam for five days. The +several pieces of this machine, having been conveyed along the railways +upon the waggons to a position immediately under the bridge, +were elevated to its level, or thirty feet above the rock, in the following +manner. A chain-tackle was suspended over a pulley from the +cross-beam connecting the tops of the kingposts of the bridge, which +was worked by a winch-machine with wheel, pinion, and barrel, +round which last the chain was wound. This apparatus was placed +on the beacon side of the bridge, at the distance of about twelve feet +from the cross-beam and pulley in the middle of the bridge. Immediately +under the cross-beam a hatch was formed in the roadway of +the bridge, measuring seven feet in length and five feet in breadth, +made to shut with folding boards like a double door, through which +stones and other articles were raised; the folding doors were then +let down, and the stone or load was gently lowered upon a waggon +which was wheeled on railway trucks towards the lighthouse. In +this manner the several castings of the balance-crane were got up to +the top of the solid of the building. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" id="page126"></a>126</span></p> + +<p>The several apartments of the beacon-house having been cleaned +out and supplied with bedding, a sufficient stock of provisions was +put into the store, when Peter Fortune, formerly noticed, lighted his +fire in the beacon for the first time this season. Sixteen artificers +at the same time mounted to their barrack-room, and all the foremen +of the works also took possession of their cabin, all heartily rejoiced +at getting rid of the trouble of boating and the sickly motion of the +tender.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />12th May.</div> + +<p>The wind was at E.N.E., blowing so fresh, and accompanied with +so much sea, that no stones could be landed to-day. The people +on the rock, however, were busily employed in screwing together the +balance-crane, cutting out the joggle-holes in the upper course, and +preparing all things for commencing the building operations.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />13th May.</div> + +<p>The weather still continues boisterous, although the barometer +has all the while stood at about 30 inches. Towards evening the +wind blew so fresh at E. by S. that the boats both of the <i>Smeaton</i> +and tender were obliged to be hoisted in, and it was feared that the +<i>Smeaton</i> would have to slip her moorings. The people on the rock +were seen busily employed, and had the balance-crane apparently +ready for use, but no communication could be had with them to-day.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />14th May.</div> + +<p>The wind continued to blow so fresh, and the <i>Smeaton</i> rode so +heavily with her cargo, that at noon a signal was made for her +getting under weigh, when she stood towards Arbroath; and on +board of the tender we are still without any communication with the +people on the rock, where the sea was seen breaking over the top of +the building in great sprays, and raging with much agitation among +the beams of the beacon.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />17th May.</div> + +<p>The wind, in the course of the day, had shifted from north to +west; the sea being also considerably less, a boat landed on the rock +at six p.m., for the first time since the 11th, with the provisions and +water brought off by the <i>Patriot</i>. The inhabitants of the beacon +were all well, but tired above measure for want of employment, as +the balance-crane and apparatus was all in readiness. Under these +circumstances they felt no less desirous of the return of good weather +than those afloat, who were continually tossed with the agitation of +the sea. The writer, in particular, felt himself almost as much +fatigued and worn-out as he had been at any period since the commencement +of the work. The very backward state of the weather +at so advanced a period of the season unavoidably created some +alarm, lest he should be overtaken with bad weather at a late period +of the season, with the building operations in an unfinished state. +These apprehensions were, no doubt, rather increased by the inconveniences +of his situation afloat, as the tender rolled and pitched +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>127</span> +excessively at times. This being also his first off-set for the season, +every bone of his body felt sore with preserving a sitting posture +while he endeavoured to pass away the time in reading; as for writing, +it was wholly impracticable. He had several times entertained +thoughts of leaving the station for a few days and going into Arbroath +with the tender till the weather should improve; but as the artificers +had been landed on the rock he was averse to this at the commencement +of the season, knowing also that he would be equally uneasy +in every situation till the first cargo was landed: and he therefore +resolved to continue at his post until this should be effected.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />18th May.</div> + +<p>The wind being now N.W., the sea was considerably run down, +and this morning at five o’clock the landing-master’s crew, thirteen +in number, left the tender; and having now no detention with the +landing of artificers, they proceeded to unmoor the <i>Hedderwick</i> +praam-boat, and towed her alongside of the <i>Smeaton</i>: and in the +course of the day twenty-three blocks of stone, three casks of pozzolano, +three of sand, three of lime, and one of Roman cement, together +with three bundles of trenails and three of wedges, were all landed +on the rock and raised to the top of the building by means of the +tackle suspended from the cross-beam on the middle of the bridge. +The stones were then moved along the bridge on the waggon to the +building within reach of the balance-crane, with which they were +laid in their respective places on the building. The masons immediately +thereafter proceeded to bore the trenail-holes into the +course below, and otherwise to complete the one in hand. When +the first stone was to be suspended by the balance-crane, the bell +on the beacon was rung, and all the artificers and seamen were +collected on the building. Three hearty cheers were given while +it was lowered into its place, and the steward served round a glass +of rum, when success was drunk to the further progress of the +building.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />20th May.</div> + +<p>The wind was southerly to-day, but there was much less sea than +yesterday, and the landing-master’s crew were enabled to discharge +and land twenty-three pieces of stone and other articles for the work. +The artificers had completed the laying of the twenty-seventh or +first course of the staircase this morning, and in the evening they +finished the boring, trenailing, wedging, and grouting it with mortar. +At twelve o’clock noon the beacon-house bell was rung, and all hands +were collected on the top of the building, where prayers were read +for the first time on the lighthouse, which forcibly struck every one, +and had, upon the whole, a very impressive effect.</p> + +<p>From the hazardous situation of the beacon-house with regard +to fire, being composed wholly of timber, there was no small risk +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>128</span> +from accident: and on this account one of the most steady of the +artificers was appointed to see that the fire of the cooking-house, +and the lights in general, were carefully extinguished at stated +hours.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />4th June.</div> + +<p>This being the birthday of our much-revered Sovereign King +George III, now in the fiftieth year of his reign, the shipping of the +Lighthouse service were this morning decorated with colours according +to the taste of their respective captains. Flags were also hoisted +upon the beacon-house and balance-crane on the top of the building. +At twelve noon a salute was fired from the tender, when the King’s +health was drunk, with all the honours, both on the rock and on +board of the shipping.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />5th June.</div> + +<p>As the lighthouse advanced in height, the cubical contents of the +stones were less, but they had to be raised to a greater height; and +the walls, being thinner, were less commodious for the necessary +machinery and the artificers employed, which considerably retarded +the work. Inconvenience was also occasionally experienced from +the men dropping their coats, hats, mallets, and other tools, at high-water, +which were carried away by the tide; and the danger to the +people themselves was now greatly increased. Had any of them +fallen from the beacon or building at high-water, while the landing-master’s +crew were generally engaged with the craft at a distance, it +must have rendered the accident doubly painful to those on the rock, +who at this time had no boat, and consequently no means of rendering +immediate and prompt assistance. In such cases it would have been +too late to have got a boat by signal from the tender. A small boat, +which could be lowered at pleasure, was therefore suspended by a +pair of davits projected from the cook-house, the keel being about +thirty feet from the rock. This boat, with its tackle, was put under +the charge of James Glen, of whose exertions on the beacon mention +has already been made, and who, having in early life been a seaman, +was also very expert in the management of a boat. A life-buoy was +likewise suspended from the bridge, to which a coil of line two hundred +fathoms in length was attached, which could be let out to a person +falling into the water, or to the people in the boat, should they not +be able to work her with the oars.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />7th June.</div> + +<p>To-day twelve stones were landed on the rock, being the remainder +of the <i>Patriot’s</i> cargo; and the artificers built the thirty-ninth +course, consisting of fourteen stones. The Bell Rock works +had now a very busy appearance, as the lighthouse was daily getting +more into form. Besides the artificers and their cook, the writer +and his servant were also lodged on the beacon, counting in all +twenty-nine; and at low-water the landing-master’s crew, consisting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129" id="page129"></a>129</span> +of from twelve to fifteen seamen, were employed in transporting the +building materials, working the landing apparatus on the rock, and +dragging the stone waggons along the railways.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />8th June.</div> + +<p>In the course of this day the weather varied much. In the +morning it was calm, in the middle part of the day there were light +airs of wind from the south, and in the evening fresh breezes from the +east. The barometer in the writer’s cabin in the beacon-house +oscillated from 30 inches to 30.42, and the weather was extremely +pleasant. This, in any situation, forms one of the chief comforts of +life; but, as may easily be conceived, it was doubly so to people +stuck, as it were, upon a pinnacle in the middle of the ocean.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />10th June.</div> + +<p>One of the praam-boats had been brought to the rock with +eleven stones, notwithstanding the perplexity which attended the +getting of those formerly landed taken up to the building. Mr. +Peter Logan, the foreman builder, interposed and prevented this +cargo from being delivered; but the landing-master’s crew were +exceedingly averse to this arrangement, from an idea that “ill luck” +would in future attend the praam, her cargo, and those who navigated +her, from thus reversing her voyage. It may be noticed that this +was the first instance of a praam-boat having been sent from the +Bell Rock with any part of her cargo on board, and was considered +so uncommon an occurrence that it became a topic of conversation +among the seamen and artificers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />12th June.</div> + +<p>To-day the stones formerly sent from the rock were safely +landed, notwithstanding the augury of the seamen in consequence +of their being sent away two days before.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />14th June.</div> + +<p>To-day twenty-seven stones and eleven joggle-pieces were landed, +part of which consisted of the forty-seventh course, forming the +storeroom floor. The builders were at work this morning by four +o’clock, in the hopes of being able to accomplish the laying of the +eighteen stones of this course. But at eight o’clock in the evening +they had still two to lay, and as the stones of this course were very +unwieldy, being six feet in length, they required much precaution and +care both in lifting and laying them. It was only on the writer’s +suggestion to Mr. Logan that the artificers were induced to leave off, +as they had intended to complete this floor before going to bed. +The two remaining stones were, however, laid in their places without +mortar when the bell on the beacon was rung, and, all hands +being collected on the top of the building, three hearty cheers were +given on covering the first apartment. The steward then served +out a dram to each, when the whole retired to their barrack much +fatigued, but with the anticipation of the most perfect repose even +in the “hurricane-house,” amidst the dashing seas on the Bell Rock. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130" id="page130"></a>130</span></p> + +<p>While the workmen were at breakfast and dinner it was the +writer’s usual practice to spend his time on the walls of the building, +which, notwithstanding the narrowness of the track, nevertheless +formed his principal walk when the rock was under water. But this +afternoon he had his writing-desk set upon the storeroom floor, +when he wrote to Mrs. Stevenson—certainly the first letter dated +from the Bell Rock <i>Lighthouse</i>—giving a detail of the fortunate progress +of the work, with an assurance that the lighthouse would soon +be completed at the rate at which it now proceeded; and, the <i>Patriot</i> +having sailed for Arbroath in the evening, he felt no small degree of +pleasure in despatching this communication to his family.</p> + +<p>The weather still continuing favourable for the operations at the +rock, the work proceeded with much energy, through the exertions +both of the seamen and artificers. For the more speedy and effectual +working of the several tackles in raising the materials as the building +advanced in height, and there being a great extent of railway to +attend to, which required constant repairs, two additional millwrights +were added to the complement on the rock, which, including the +writer, now counted thirty-one in all. So crowded was the men’s +barrack that the beds were ranged five tier in height, allowing only +about one foot eight inches for each bed. The artificers commenced +this morning at five o’clock, and, in the course of the day, they laid +the forty-eighth and forty-ninth courses, consisting each of sixteen +blocks. From the favourable state of the weather, and the regular +manner in which the work now proceeded, the artificers had generally +from four to seven extra hours’ work, which, including their stated +wages of 3s. 4d., yielded them from 5s. 4d. to about 6s. 10d. per day +besides their board; even the postage of their letters was paid while +they were at the Bell Rock. In these advantages the foremen also +shared, having about double the pay and amount of premiums of +the artificers. The seamen being less out of their element in the +Bell Rock operations than the landsmen, their premiums consisted +in a slump sum payable at the end of the season, which extended +from three to ten guineas.</p> + +<p>As the laying of the floors was somewhat tedious, the landing-master +and his crew had got considerably beforehand with the building +artificers in bringing materials faster to the rock than they could be +built. The seamen having, therefore, some spare time, were occasionally +employed during fine weather in dredging or grappling for +the several mushroom anchors and mooring-chains which had been +lost in the vicinity of the Bell Rock during the progress of the work +by the breaking loose and drifting of the floating buoys. To encourage +their exertions in this search, five guineas were offered as a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>131</span> +premium for each set they should find; and, after much patient +application, they succeeded to-day in hooking one of these lost +anchors with its chain.</p> + +<p>It was a general remark at the Bell Rock, as before noticed, that +fish were never plenty in its neighbourhood excepting in good +weather. Indeed, the seamen used to speculate about the state of +the weather from their success in fishing. When the fish disappeared +at the rock, it was considered a sure indication that a gale was not +far off, as the fish seemed to seek shelter in deeper water from the +roughness of the sea during these changes in the weather. At this +time the rock, at high-water, was completely covered with podlies, +or the fry of the coal-fish, about six or eight inches in length. The +artificers sometimes occupied half an hour after breakfast and dinner +in catching these little fishes, but were more frequently supplied from +the boats of the tender.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />16th June.</div> + +<p>The landing-master having this day discharged the <i>Smeaton</i> and +loaded the <i>Hedderwick</i> and <i>Dickie</i> praam-boats with nineteen stones, +they were towed to their respective moorings, when Captain Wilson, +in consequence of the heavy swell of sea, came in his boat to the +beacon-house to consult with the writer as to the propriety of venturing +the loaded praam-boats with their cargoes to the rock while so +much sea was running. After some dubiety expressed on the subject, +in which the ardent mind of the landing-master suggested many +arguments in favour of his being able to convey the praams in perfect +safety, it was acceded to. In bad weather, and especially on occasions +of difficulty like the present, Mr. Wilson, who was an extremely +active seaman, measuring about five feet three inches in height, of a +robust habit, generally dressed himself in what he called a <i>monkey +jacket</i>, made of thick duffle cloth, with a pair of Dutchman’s petticoat +trousers, reaching only to his knees, where they were met with a +pair of long water-tight boots; with this dress, his glazed hat, and +his small brass speaking-trumpet in his hand, he bade defiance to the +weather. When he made his appearance in this most suitable attire +for the service, his crew seemed to possess additional life, never failing +to use their utmost exertions when the captain put on his <i>storm rigging.</i> +They had this morning commenced loading the praam-boats at four +o’clock, and proceeded to tow them into the eastern landing-place, +which was accomplished with much dexterity, though not without +the risk of being thrown, by the force of the sea, on certain projecting +ledges of the rock. In such a case the loss even of a single stone +would have greatly retarded the work. For the greater safety in +entering the creek it was necessary to put out several warps and guy-ropes +to guide the boats into its narrow and intricate entrance; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>132</span> +it frequently happened that the sea made a clean breach over the +praams, which not only washed their decks, but completely drenched +the crew in water.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />17th June.</div> + +<p>It was fortunate, in the present state of the weather, that the +fiftieth course was in a sheltered spot, within the reach of the tackle +of the winch-machine upon the bridge; a few stones were stowed +upon the bridge itself, and the remainder upon the building, which +kept the artificers at work. The stowing of the materials upon the +rock was the department of Alexander Brebner, mason, who spared +no pains in attending to the safety of the stones, and who, in the +present state of the work, when the stones were landed faster than +could be built, generally worked till the water rose to his middle. +At one o’clock to-day the bell rung for prayers, and all hands were +collected into the upper barrack-room of the beacon-house, when the +usual service was performed.</p> + +<p>The wind blew very hard in the course of last night from N.E., +and to-day the sea ran so high that no boat could approach the rock. +During the dinner-hour, when the writer was going to the top of the +building as usual, but just as he had entered the door and was about +to ascend the ladder, a great noise was heard overhead, and in an +instant he was soused in water from a sea which had most unexpectedly +come over the walls, though now about fifty-eight feet in +height. On making his retreat he found himself completely whitened +by the lime, which had mixed with the water while dashing down +through the different floors; and, as nearly as he could guess, a +quantity equal to about a hogshead had come over the walls, and now +streamed out at the door. After having shifted himself, he again sat +down in his cabin, the sea continuing to run so high that the builders +did not resume their operations on the walls this afternoon. The +incident just noticed did not create more surprise in the mind of the +writer than the sublime appearance of the waves as they rolled +majestically over the rock. This scene he greatly enjoyed while sitting +at his cabin window; each wave approached the beacon like a +vast scroll unfolding; and in passing discharged a quantity of air, +which he not only distinctly felt, but was even sufficient to lift the +leaves of a book which lay before him. These waves might be ten +or twelve feet in height, and about 250 feet in length, their smaller +end being towards the north, where the water was deep, and they +were opened or cut through by the interposition of the building and +beacon. The gradual manner in which the sea, upon these occasions, +is observed to become calm or to subside, is a very remarkable feature +of this phenomenon. For example, when a gale is succeeded +by a calm, every third or fourth wave forms one of these great seas, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>133</span> +which occur in spaces of from three to five minutes, as noted by the +writer’s watch; but in the course of the next tide they become less +frequent, and take off so as to occur only in ten or fifteen minutes; +and, singular enough, at the third tide after such gales, the writer +has remarked that only one or two of these great waves appear in +the course of the whole tide.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />19th June.</div> + +<p>The 19th was a very unpleasant and disagreeable day, both for +the seamen and artificers, as it rained throughout with little intermission +from four a.m. till eleven p.m., accompanied with thunder +and lightning, during which period the work nevertheless continued +unremittingly and the builders laid the fifty-first and fifty-second +courses. This state of weather was no less severe upon the mortar-makers, +who required to temper or prepare the mortar of a thicker +or thinner consistency, in some measure, according to the state of +the weather. From the elevated position of the building, the mortar +gallery on the beacon was now much lower, and the lime-buckets +were made to traverse upon a rope distended between it and the +building. On occasions like the present, however, there was often +a difference of opinion between the builders and the mortar-makers. +John Watt, who had the principal charge of the mortar, was a most +active worker, but, being somewhat of an irascible temper, the +builders occasionally amused themselves at his expense: for while +he was eagerly at work with his large iron-shod pestle in the mortar-tub, +they often sent down contradictory orders, some crying, “Make +it a little stiffer, or thicker, John,” while others called out to make +it “thinner,” to which he generally returned very speedy and sharp +replies, so that these conversations at times were rather amusing.</p> + +<p>During wet weather the situation of the artificers on the top of +the building was extremely disagreeable; for although their work did +not require great exertion, yet, as each man had his particular part +to perform, either in working the crane or in laying the stones, it +required the closest application and attention, not only on the part +of Mr. Peter Logan, the foreman, who was constantly on the walls, +but also of the chief workmen. Robert Selkirk, the principal +builder, for example, had every stone to lay in its place. David +Cumming, a mason, had the charge of working the tackle of the +balance-weight, and James Scott, also a mason, took charge of the +purchase with which the stones were laid; while the pointing the +joints of the walls with cement was intrusted to William Reid and +William Kennedy, who stood upon a scaffold suspended over the +walls in rather a frightful manner. The least act of carelessness or +inattention on the part of any of these men might have been fatal, +not only to themselves, but also to the surrounding workmen, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>134</span> +especially if any accident had happened to the crane itself, while the +material damage or loss of a single stone would have put an entire +stop to the operations until another could have been brought from +Arbroath. The artificers, having wrought seven and a half hours +of extra time to-day, had 3s. 9d. of extra pay, while the foremen had +7s. 6d. over and above their stated pay and board. Although, therefore, +the work was both hazardous and fatiguing, yet, the encouragement +being considerable, they were always very cheerful, and perfectly +reconciled to the confinement and other disadvantages of the +place.</p> + +<p>During fine weather, and while the nights were short, the duty +on board of the floating light was literally nothing but a waiting on, +and therefore one of her boats, with a crew of five men, daily attended +the rock, but always returned to the vessel at night. The carpenter, +however, was one of those who was left on board of the ship, as he +also acted in the capacity of assistant lightkeeper, being, besides, +a person who was apt to feel discontent and to be averse to changing +his quarters, especially to work with the millwrights and joiners at +the rock, who often, for hours together, wrought knee-deep, and not +unfrequently up to the middle, in water. Mr. Watt having about +this time made a requisition for another hand, the carpenter was +ordered to attend the rock in the floating light’s boat. This he did +with great reluctance, and found so much fault that he soon got into +discredit with his messmates. On this occasion he left the Lighthouse +service, and went as a sailor in a vessel bound for America—a +step which, it is believed, he soon regretted, as, in the course of +things, he would, in all probability, have accompanied Mr John +Reid, the principal lightkeeper of the floating light, to the Bell Rock +Lighthouse as his principal assistant. The writer had a wish to be +of service to this man, as he was one of those who came off to the +floating light in the month of September 1807, while she was riding at +single anchor after the severe gale of the 7th, at a time when it was +hardly possible to make up this vessel’s crew; but the crossness of +his manner prevented his reaping the benefit of such intentions.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />22nd June.</div> + +<p>The building operations had for some time proceeded more +slowly, from the higher parts of the lighthouse requiring much longer +time than an equal tonnage of the lower courses. The duty of the +landing-master’s crew had, upon the whole, been easy of late; for +though the work was occasionally irregular, yet the stones being +lighter, they were more speedily lifted from the hold of the stone +vessel to the deck of the praam-boat, and again to the waggons on +the railway, after which they came properly under the charge of the +foreman builder. It is, however, a strange, though not an uncommon, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" id="page135"></a>135</span> +feature in the human character, that, when people have +least to complain of they are most apt to become dissatisfied, as +was now the case with the seamen employed in the Bell Rock service +about their rations of beer. Indeed, ever since the carpenter of the +floating light, formerly noticed, had been brought to the rock, expressions +of discontent had been manifested upon various occasions. +This being represented to the writer, he sent for Captain Wilson, the +landing-master, and Mr. Taylor, commander of the tender, with +whom he talked over the subject. They stated that they considered +the daily allowance of the seamen in every respect ample, and that, +the work being now much lighter than formerly, they had no just +ground for complaint; Mr. Taylor adding that, if those who now +complained “were even to be fed upon soft bread and turkeys, they +would not think themselves right.” At twelve noon the work of the +landing-master’s crew was completed for the day; but at four +o’clock, while the rock was under water, those on the beacon were +surprised by the arrival of a boat from the tender without any signal +having been made from the beacon. It brought the following note +to the writer from the landing-master’s crew:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="rt"><i>Sir Joseph Banks Tender</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Sir</span>,—We are informed by our masters that our allowance is to +be as before, and it is not sufficient to serve us, for we have been at +work since four o’clock this morning, and we have come on board to +dinner, and there is no beer for us before to-morrow morning, to +which a sufficient answer is required before we go from the beacon; +and we are, Sir, your most obedient servants.”</p> + +<p>On reading this, the writer returned a verbal message, intimating +that an answer would be sent on board of the tender, at the same +time ordering the boat instantly to quit the beacon. He then +addressed the following note to the landing-master:—</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="rt">“<i>Beacon-house, 22nd June 1810, +Five o’clock p.m</i>.</p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Sir</span>,—I have just now received a letter purporting to be from +the landing-master’s crew and seamen on board of the <i>Sir Joseph +Banks</i>, though without either date or signature; in answer to which +I enclose a statement of the daily allowance of provisions for +the seamen in this service, which you will post up in the ship’s +galley, and at seven o’clock this evening I will come on board to +inquire into this unexpected and most unnecessary demand for an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>136</span> +additional allowance of beer. In the enclosed you will not +find any alteration from the original statement, fixed in the galley +at the beginning of the season. I have, however, judged this +mode of giving your people an answer preferable to that of +conversing with them on the beacon.—I am, Sir, your most +obedient servant,</p> + +<p class="rt sc">“Robert Stevenson.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>“To <span class="sc">Captain Wilson</span>.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Beacon House</i>, 22<i>nd June</i> 1810.—Schedule of the daily allowance +of provisions to be served out on board of the <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> +tender: ‘1½ lb. beef; 1 lb. bread; 8 oz. oatmeal; 2 oz. barley; +2 oz. butter; 3 quarts beer; vegetables and salt no stated allowance. +When the seamen are employed in unloading the <i>Smeaton</i> and +<i>Patriot</i>, a draught of beer is, as formerly, to be allowed from the +stock of these vessels. Further, in wet and stormy weather, or when +the work commences very early in the morning, or continues till a +late hour at night, a glass of spirits will also be served out to the crew +as heretofore, on the requisition of the landing-master.’</p> + +<p class="rt sc">“Robert Stevenson.”</p> +</div> + +<p>On writing this letter and schedule, a signal was made on the +beacon for the landing-master’s boat, which immediately came to +the rock, and the schedule was afterwards stuck up in the tender’s +galley. When sufficient time had been allowed to the crew to consider +of their conduct, a second signal was made for a boat, and at +seven o’clock the writer left the Bell Rock, after a residence of four +successive weeks in the beacon-house. The first thing which +occupied his attention on board of the tender was to look round +upon the lighthouse, which he saw, with some degree of emotion and +surprise, now vying in height with the beacon-house; for although +he had often viewed it from the extremity of the western railway on +the rock, yet the scene, upon the whole, seemed far more interesting +from the tender’s moorings at the distance of about half a +mile.</p> + +<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> having just arrived at her moorings with a cargo, +a signal was made for Captain Pool to come on board of the tender, +that he might be at hand to remove from the service any of those who +might persist in their discontented conduct. One of the two principal +leaders in this affair, the master of one of the praam-boats, who +had also steered the boat which brought the letter to the beacon, was +first called upon deck, and asked if he had read the statement fixed +up in the galley this afternoon, and whether he was satisfied with it. +He replied that he had read the paper, but was not satisfied, as it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>137</span> +held out no alteration on the allowance, on which he was immediately +ordered into the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat. The next man called had but +lately entered the service, and, being also interrogated as to his +resolution, he declared himself to be of the same mind with the +praam-master, and was also forthwith ordered into the boat. The +writer, without calling any more of the seamen, went forward to the +gangway, where they were collected and listening to what was passing +upon deck. He addressed them at the hatchway, and stated that +two of their companions had just been dismissed the service and sent +on board of the <i>Smeaton</i> to be conveyed to Arbroath. He therefore +wished each man to consider for himself how far it would be proper, +by any unreasonableness of conduct, to place themselves in a similar +situation, especially as they were aware that it was optional in him +either to dismiss them or send them on board a man-of-war. It +might appear that much inconveniency would be felt at the rock +by a change of hands at this critical period, by checking for a time +the progress of a building so intimately connected with the best +interests of navigation; yet this would be but of a temporary nature, +while the injury to themselves might be irreparable. It was now, +therefore, required of any man who, in this disgraceful manner, chose +to leave the service, that he should instantly make his appearance on +deck while the <i>Smeaton’s</i> boat was alongside. But those below +having expressed themselves satisfied with their situation—viz., +William Brown, George Gibb, Alexander Scott, John Dick, Robert +Couper, Alexander Shephard, James Grieve, David Carey, William +Pearson, Stuart Eaton, Alexander Lawrence, and John Spink—were +accordingly considered as having returned to their duty. +This disposition to mutiny, which had so strongly manifested itself, +being now happily suppressed, Captain Pool got orders to proceed +for Arbroath Bay, and land the two men he had on board, and to +deliver the following letter at the office of the workyard:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="rt">“<i>On board of the Tender off the Bell Rock</i>,</p> +<p style="text-align: right; padding-right: 4em;">22<i>nd June</i> 1810, <i>eight o’clock p.m.</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Dear Sir</span>,—A discontented and mutinous spirit having manifested +itself of late among the landing-master’s crew, they struck +work to-day and demanded an additional allowance of beer, and I +have found it necessary to dismiss D——d and M——e, who are now +sent on shore with the <i>Smeaton</i>. You will therefore be so good as to +pay them their wages, including this day only. Nothing can be more +unreasonable than the conduct of the seamen on this occasion, as +the landing-master’s crew not only had their allowance on board of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" id="page138"></a>138</span> +the tender, but, in the course of this day, they had drawn no fewer +than twenty-four quart pots of beer from the stock of the <i>Patriot</i> +while unloading her.—I remain, yours truly,</p> + +<p class="rt sc">“Robert Stevenson.</p> + +<p>“To Mr. <span class="sc">Lachlan Kennedy</span>,</p> +<p style="padding-left: 4em;">Bell Rock Office, Arbroath.”</p> +</div> + +<p>On despatching this letter to Mr. Kennedy, the writer returned +to the beacon about nine o’clock, where this afternoon’s business had +produced many conjectures, especially when the <i>Smeaton</i> got under +weigh, instead of proceeding to land her cargo. The bell on the +beacon being rung, the artificers were assembled on the bridge, when +the affair was explained to them. He, at the same time, congratulated +them upon the first appearance of mutiny being happily set at rest +by the dismissal of its two principal abettors.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />24th June.</div> + +<p>At the rock, the landing of the materials and the building operations +of the light-room store went on successfully, and in a way similar +to those of the provision store. To-day it blew fresh breezes; but +the seamen nevertheless landed twenty-eight stones, and the artificers +built the fifty-eighth and fifty-ninth courses. The works were visited +by Mr. Murdoch, junior, from Messrs. Boulton and Watt’s works of +Soho. He landed just as the bell rung for prayers, after which the +writer enjoyed much pleasure from his very intelligent conversation; +and, having been almost the only stranger he had seen for some weeks, +he parted with him, after a short interview, with much regret.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />28th June.</div> + +<p>Last night the wind had shifted to north-east, and, blowing fresh, +was accompanied with a heavy surf upon the rock. Towards high-water +it had a very grand and wonderful appearance. Waves of +considerable magnitude rose as high as the solid or level of the +entrance-door, which, being open to the south-west, was fortunately +to the leeward; but on the windward side the sprays flew like lightning +up the sloping sides of the building; and although the walls +were now elevated sixty-four feet above the rock, and about fifty-two +feet from high-water mark, yet the artificers were nevertheless +wetted, and occasionally interrupted, in their operations on the top +of the walls. These appearances were, in a great measure, new at +the Bell Rock, there having till of late been no building to conduct +the seas, or object to compare with them. Although, from the +description of the Eddystone Lighthouse, the mind was prepared for +such effects, yet they were not expected to the present extent in the +summer season; the sea being most awful to-day, whether observed +from the beacon or the building. To windward, the sprays fell from +the height above noticed in the most wonderful cascades, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" id="page139"></a>139</span> +streamed down the walls of the building in froth as white as snow. +To leeward of the lighthouse the collision or meeting of the waves produced +a pure white kind of <i>drift</i>: it rose about thirty feet in height, +like a fine downy mist, which, in its fall, fell upon the face and hands +more like a dry powder than a liquid substance. The effect of these +seas, as they raged among the beams and dashed upon the higher +parts of the beacon, produced a temporary tremulous motion +throughout the whole fabric, which to a stranger must have been +frightful.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />1st July.</div> + +<p>The writer had now been at the Bell Rock since the latter end of +May, or about six weeks, during four of which he had been a constant +inhabitant of the beacon without having been once off the rock. +After witnessing the laying of the sixty-seventh or second course of +the bedroom apartment, he left the rock with the tender and went +ashore, as some arrangements were to be made for the future conduct +of the works at Arbroath, which were soon to be brought to a close; +the landing-master’s crew having, in the meantime, shifted on board +of the <i>Patriot</i>. In leaving the rock, the writer kept his eyes fixed +upon the lighthouse, which had recently got into the form of a house, +having several tiers or stories of windows. Nor was he unmindful +of his habitation in the beacon—now far overtopped by the masonry,—where +he had spent several weeks in a kind of active retirement, +making practical experiment of the fewness of the positive wants of +man. His cabin measured not more than four feet three inches in +breadth on the floor; and though, from the oblique direction of the +beams of the beacon, it widened towards the top, yet it did not admit +of the full extension of his arms when he stood on the floor; while +its length was little more than sufficient for suspending a cot-bed +during the night, calculated for being triced up to the roof through +the day, which left free room for the admission of occasional visitants. +His folding table was attached with hinges, immediately under the +small window of the apartment, and his books, barometer, thermometer, +portmanteau, and two or three camp-stools, formed the bulk +of his movables. His diet being plain, the paraphernalia of the table +were proportionally simple; though everything had the appearance +of comfort, and even of neatness, the walls being covered with green +cloth formed into panels with red tape, and his bed festooned with +curtains of yellow cotton-stuff. If, in speculating upon the abstract +wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a single +book, the Sacred Volume—whether considered for the striking +diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or the important +truths of its gospel—would have proved by far the greatest +treasure. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page140" id="page140"></a>140</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />2nd July.</div> + +<p>In walking over the workyard at Arbroath this morning, the +writer found that the stones of the course immediately under the +cornice were all in hand, and that a week’s work would now finish +the whole, while the intermediate courses lay ready numbered and +marked for shipping to the rock. Among other subjects which had +occupied his attention to-day was a visit from some of the relations +of George Dall, a young man who had been impressed near Dundee +in the month of February last; a dispute had arisen between the +magistrates of that burgh and the Regulating Officer as to his right +of impressing Dall, who was <i>bonâ fide</i> one of the protected seamen in +the Bell Rock service. In the meantime, the poor lad was detained, +and ultimately committed to the prison of Dundee, to remain until +the question should be tried before the Court of Session. His friends +were naturally very desirous to have him relieved upon bail. But, +as this was only to be done by the judgment of the Court, all that +could be said was that his pay and allowances should be continued +in the same manner as if he had been upon the sick-list. The circumstances +of Dall’s case were briefly these:—He had gone to see some +of his friends in the neighbourhood of Dundee, in winter, while the +works were suspended, having got leave of absence from Mr. Taylor, +who commanded the Bell Rock tender, and had in his possession one +of the Protection Medals. Unfortunately, however, for Dall, the +Regulating Officer thought proper to disregard these documents, as, +according to the strict and literal interpretation of the Admiralty +regulations, a seaman does not stand protected unless he is actually +on board of his ship, or in a boat belonging to her, or has the Admiralty +protection in his possession. This order of the Board, however, +cannot be rigidly followed in practice; and therefore, when the +matter is satisfactorily stated to the Regulating Officer, the impressed +man is generally liberated. But in Dall’s case this was peremptorily +refused, and he was retained at the instance of the magistrates. The +writer having brought the matter under the consideration of the +Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, they authorised it to +be tried on the part of the Lighthouse Board, as one of extreme +hardship. The Court, upon the first hearing, ordered Dall to be +liberated from prison; and the proceedings never went further.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Wednesday, <br />4th July.</div> + +<p>Being now within twelve courses of being ready for building the +cornice, measures were taken for getting the stones of it and the +parapet-wall of the light-room brought from Edinburgh, where, as +before noticed, they had been prepared and were in readiness for +shipping. The honour of conveying the upper part of the lighthouse, +and of landing the last stone of the building on the rock, was considered +to belong to Captain Pool of the <i>Smeaton</i>, who had been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>141</span> +longer in the service than the master of the <i>Patriot</i>. The <i>Smeaton</i> +was, therefore, now partly loaded with old iron, consisting of broken +railways and other lumber which had been lying about the rock. +After landing these at Arbroath, she took on board James Craw, with +his horse and cart, which could now be spared at the workyard, to +be employed in carting the stones from Edinburgh to Leith. Alexander +Davidson and William Kennedy, two careful masons, were also +sent to take charge of the loading of the stones at Greenside, and +stowing them on board of the vessel at Leith. The writer also went +on board, with a view to call at the Bell Rock and to take his passage +up the Firth of Forth. The wind, however, coming to blow very +fresh from the eastward, with thick and foggy weather, it became +necessary to reef the mainsail and set the second jib. When in the +act of making a tack towards the tender, the sailors who worked the +head-sheets were, all of a sudden, alarmed with the sound of the +smith’s hammer and anvil on the beacon, and had just time to put +the ship about to save her from running ashore on the north-western +point of the rock, marked “James Craw’s Horse.” On looking +towards the direction from whence the sound came, the building +and beacon-house were seen, with consternation, while the ship was +hailed by those on the rock, who were no less confounded at seeing +the near approach of the <i>Smeaton</i>; and, just as the vessel cleared +the danger, the smith and those in the mortar gallery made signs in +token of their happiness at our fortunate escape. From this occurrence +the writer had an experimental proof of the utility of the large +bells which were in preparation to be rung by the machinery of the +revolving light; for, had it not been for the sound of the smith’s anvil, +the <i>Smeaton</i>, in all probability, would have been wrecked upon the +rock. In case the vessel had struck, those on board might have been +safe, having now the beacon-house as a place of refuge; but the +vessel, which was going at a great velocity, must have suffered +severely, and it was more than probable that the horse would have +been drowned, there being no means of getting him out of the vessel. +Of this valuable animal and his master we shall take an opportunity +of saying more in another place.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />5th July.</div> + +<p>The weather cleared up in the course of the night, but the wind +shifted to the N.E. and blew very fresh. From the force of the wind, +being now the period of spring-tides, a very heavy swell was experienced +at the rock. At two o’clock on the following morning the +people on the beacon were in a state of great alarm about their +safety, as the sea had broke up part of the floor of the mortar gallery, +Which was thus cleared of the lime-casks and other buoyant articles; +and, the alarm-bell being rung, all hands were called to render what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" id="page142"></a>142</span> +assistance was in their power for the safety of themselves and the +materials. At this time some would willingly have left the beacon +and gone into the building; the sea, however, ran so high that there +was no passage along the bridge of communication, and, when the +interior of the lighthouse came to be examined in the morning, it +appeared that great quantities of water had come over the walls—now +eighty feet in height—and had run down through the several +apartments and out at the entrance door.</p> + +<p>The upper course of the lighthouse at the workyard of Arbroath +was completed on the 6th, and the whole of the stones were, therefore, +now ready for being shipped to the rock. From the present +state of the works it was impossible that the two squads of artificers +at Arbroath and the Bell Rock could meet together at this period; +and as in public works of this kind, which had continued for a series +of years, it is not customary to allow the men to separate without +what is termed a “finishing-pint,” five guineas were for this purpose +placed at the disposal of Mr. David Logan, clerk of works. With +this sum the stone-cutters at Arbroath had a merry meeting in their +barrack, collected their sweethearts and friends, and concluded their +labours with a dance. It was remarked, however, that their happiness +on this occasion was not without alloy. The consideration of +parting and leaving a steady and regular employment, to go in quest +of work and mix with other society, after having been harmoniously +lodged for years together in one large “guildhall or barrack,” was +rather painful.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />6th July.</div> + +<p>While the writer was at Edinburgh he was fortunate enough to +meet with Mrs. Dickson, only daughter of the late celebrated Mr. +Smeaton, whose works at the Eddystone Lighthouse had been of +such essential consequence to the operations at the Bell Rock. Even +her own elegant accomplishments are identified with her father’s +work, she having herself made the drawing of the vignette on the +title-page of the “Narrative of the Eddystone Lighthouse.” Every +admirer of the works of that singularly eminent man must also feel +an obligation to her for the very comprehensive and distinct account +given of his life, which is attached to his reports, published, in three +volumes quarto, by the Society of Civil Engineers. Mrs. Dickson, +being at this time returning from a tour to the Hebrides and Western +Highlands of Scotland, had heard of the Bell Rock works, and from +their similarity to those of the Eddystone, was strongly impressed +with a desire of visiting the spot. But on inquiring for the writer +at Edinburgh, and finding from him that the upper part of the lighthouse, +consisting of nine courses, might be seen in the immediate +vicinity, and also that one of the vessels, which, in compliment to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>143</span> +her father’s memory, had been named the <i>Smeaton</i>, might also now +be seen in Leith, she considered herself extremely fortunate; and +having first visited the works at Greenside, she afterwards went to +Leith to see the <i>Smeaton</i>, then loading for the Bell Rock. On stepping +on board, Mrs. Dickson seemed to be quite overcome with so +many concurrent circumstances, tending in a peculiar manner to +revive and enliven the memory of her departed father, and, on +leaving the vessel, she would not be restrained from presenting the +crew with a piece of money. The <i>Smeaton</i> had been named spontaneously, +from a sense of the obligation which a public work of the +description of the Bell Rock owed to the labours and abilities of +Mr. Smeaton. The writer certainly never could have anticipated +the satisfaction which he this day felt in witnessing the pleasure it +afforded to the only representative of this great man’s family.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />20th July.</div> + +<p>The gale from the N.E. still continued so strong, accompanied +with a heavy sea, that the <i>Patriot</i> could not approach her moorings; +although the tender still kept her station, no landing was made +to-day at the rock. At high-water it was remarked that the spray +rose to the height of about sixty feet upon the building. The +<i>Smeaton</i> now lay in Leith loaded, but, the wind and weather being +so unfavourable for her getting down the Firth, she did not sail till +this afternoon. It may be here proper to notice that the loading of +the centre of the light-room floor, or last principal stone of the building, +did not fail, when put on board, to excite an interest among those +connected with the work. When the stone was laid upon the cart +to be conveyed to Leith, the seamen fixed an ensign-staff and flag +into the circular hole in the centre of the stone, and decorated their +own hats, and that of James Craw, the Bell Rock carter, with ribbons; +even his faithful and trusty horse Brassey was ornamented with bows +and streamers of various colours. The masons also provided themselves +with new aprons, and in this manner the cart was attended in +its progress to the ship. When the cart came opposite the Trinity +House of Leith, the officer of that corporation made his appearance +dressed in his uniform, with his staff of office; and when it reached +the harbour, the shipping in the different tiers where the <i>Smeaton</i> lay +hoisted their colours, manifesting by these trifling ceremonies the +interest with which the progress of this work was regarded by the +public, as ultimately tending to afford safety and protection to the +mariner. The wind had fortunately shifted to the S.W., and about +five o’clock this afternoon the Smeaton reached the Bell Rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />27th July.</div> + +<p>The artificers had finished the laying of the balcony course, excepting +the centre-stone of the light-room floor, which, like the +centres of the other floors, could not be laid in its place till after the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144" id="page144"></a>144</span> +removal of the foot and shaft of the balance-crane. During the +dinner-hour, when the men were off work, the writer generally took +some exercise by walking round the walls when the rock was under +water; but to-day his boundary was greatly enlarged, for, instead of +the narrow wall as a path, he felt no small degree of pleasure in +walking round the balcony and passing out and in at the space +allotted for the light-room door. In the labours of this day both the +artificers and seamen felt their work to be extremely easy compared +with what it had been for some days past.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />29th July.</div> + +<p>Captain Wilson and his crew had made preparations for landing +the last stone, and, as may well be supposed, this was a day of great +interest at the Bell Rock. “That it might lose none of its honours,” +as he expressed himself, the <i>Hedderwick</i> praam-boat, with which the +first stone of the building had been landed, was appointed also to +carry the last. At seven o’clock this evening the seamen hoisted +three flags upon the <i>Hedderwick</i>, when the colours of the <i>Dickie</i> +praam-boat, tender, <i>Smeaton</i>, floating light, beacon-house, and lighthouse +were also displayed; and, the weather being remarkably fine, +the whole presented a very gay appearance, and, in connection with +the associations excited, the effect was very pleasing. The praam +which carried the stone was towed by the seamen in gallant style to +the rock, and, on its arrival, cheers were given as a finale to the landing +department.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />30th July.</div> + +<p>The ninetieth or last course of the building having been laid to-day, +which brought the masonry to the height of one hundred and +two feet six inches, the lintel of the light-room door, being the finishing-stone +of the exterior walls, was laid with due formality by the +writer, who, at the same time, pronounced the following benediction: +“May the Great Architect of the Universe, under whose blessing +this perilous work has prospered, preserve it as a guide to the +mariner.”</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />3rd Aug.</div> + +<p>At three p.m., the necessary preparations having been made, the +artificers commenced the completing of the floors of the several +apartments, and at seven o’clock the centre-stone of the light-room +floor was laid, which may be held as finishing the masonry of this +important national edifice. After going through the usual ceremonies +observed by the brotherhood on occasions of this kind, the +writer, addressing himself to the artificers and seamen who were +present, briefly alluded to the utility of the undertaking as a monument +of the wealth of British commerce, erected through the spirited +measures of the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses by +means of the able assistance of those who now surrounded him. He +then took an opportunity of stating that toward those connected +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145" id="page145"></a>145</span> +with this arduous work he would ever retain the most heartfelt +regard in all their interests.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Saturday, <br />4th Aug.</div> + +<p>When the bell was rung as usual on the beacon this morning, +every one seemed as if he were at a loss what to make of himself. +At this period the artificers at the rock consisted of eighteen masons, +two joiners, one millwright, one smith, and one mortar-maker, besides +Messrs. Peter Logan and Francis Watt, foremen, counting in all +twenty-five; and matters were arranged for proceeding to Arbroath +this afternoon with all hands. The <i>Sir Joseph Banks</i> tender had by +this time been afloat, with little intermission, for six months, during +greater part of which the artificers had been almost constantly off +at the rock, and were now much in want of necessaries of almost +every description. Not a few had lost different articles of clothing, +which had dropped into the sea from the beacon and building. +Some wanted jackets; others, from want of hats, wore nightcaps; +each was, in fact, more or less curtailed in his wardrobe, and it must +be confessed that at best the party were but in a very tattered condition. +This morning was occupied in removing the artificers and +their bedding on board of the tender; and, although their personal +luggage was easily shifted, the boats had, nevertheless, many articles +to remove from the beacon-house, and were consequently employed +in this service till eleven a.m. All hands being collected, and just +ready to embark, as the water had nearly overflowed the rock, the +writer, in taking leave, after alluding to the harmony which had +ever marked the conduct of those employed on the Bell Rock, took +occasion to compliment the great zeal, attention, and abilities of +Mr. Peter Logan and Mr. Francis Watt, foremen; Captain James +Wilson, landing-master; and Captain David Taylor, commander +of the tender, who, in their several departments, had so faithfully +discharged the duties assigned to them, often under circumstances +the most difficult and trying. The health of these gentlemen was +drunk with much warmth of feeling by the artificers and seamen, +who severally expressed the satisfaction they had experienced in +acting under them; after which the whole party left the +rock.</p> + +<p>In sailing past the floating light, mutual compliments were made +by a display of flags between that vessel and the tender; and at five +p.m. the latter vessel entered the harbour of Arbroath, where the +party were heartily welcomed by a numerous company of spectators, +who had collected to see the artificers arrive after so long an absence +from the port. In the evening the writer invited the foremen and +captains of the service, together with Mr. David Logan, clerk of +works at Arbroath, and Mr. Lachlan Kennedy, engineer’s clerk and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page146" id="page146"></a>146</span> +bookkeeper, and some of their friends, to the principal inn, where +the evening was spent very happily; and after “His Majesty’s +Health” and “The Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses” +had been given, “Stability to the Bell Rock Lighthouse” was +hailed as a standing toast in the Lighthouse service.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />5th Aug.</div> + +<p>The author has formerly noticed the uniformly decent and +orderly deportment of the artificers who were employed at the Bell +Rock Lighthouse, and to-day, it is believed, they very generally +attended church, no doubt with grateful hearts for the narrow +escapes from personal danger which all of them had more or less +experienced during their residence at the rock.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />14th Aug.</div> + +<p>The <i>Smeaton</i> sailed to-day at one p.m., having on board sixteen +artificers, with Mr. Peter Logan, together with a supply of provisions +and necessaries, who left the harbour pleased and happy to find +themselves once more afloat in the Bell Rock service. At seven +o’clock the tender was made fast to her moorings, when the artificers +landed on the rock and took possession of their old quarters in the +beacon-house, with feelings very different from those of 1807, when +the works commenced.</p> + +<p>The barometer for some days past had been falling from 29.90, +and to-day it was 29.50, with the wind at N.E., which, in the course +of this day, increased to a strong gale accompanied with a sea which +broke with great violence upon the rock. At twelve noon the tender +rode very heavily at her moorings, when her chain broke at about +ten fathoms from the ship’s bows. The kedge-anchor was immediately +let go, to hold her till the floating buoy and broken chain +should be got on board. But while this was in operation the hawser +of the kedge was chafed through on the rocky bottom and parted, +when the vessel was again adrift. Most fortunately, however, she +cast off with her head from the rock, and narrowly cleared it, when +she sailed up the Firth of Forth to wait the return of better weather. +The artificers were thus left upon the rock with so heavy a sea +running that it was ascertained to have risen to the height of eighty +feet on the building. Under such perilous circumstances it would +be difficult to describe the feelings of those who, at this time, were +cooped up in the beacon in so forlorn a situation, with the sea not +only raging under them, but occasionally falling from a great height +upon the roof of their temporary lodging, without even the attending +vessel in view to afford the least gleam of hope in the event of any +accident. It is true that they had now the masonry of the lighthouse +to resort to, which, no doubt, lessened the actual danger of +their situation; but the building was still without a roof, and the +deadlights, or storm-shutters, not being yet fitted, the windows of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page147" id="page147"></a>147</span> +the lower story were stove in and broken, and at high-water the sea +ran in considerable quantities out at the entrance door.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />16th Aug.</div> + +<p>The gale continues with unabated violence to-day, and the sprays +rise to a still greater height, having been carried over the masonry +the building, or about ninety feet above the level of the sea. At +four o’clock this morning it was breaking into the cook’s berth, when +he rang the alarm-bell, and all hands turned out to attend to their +personal safety. The floor of the smith’s, or mortar gallery, was +now completely burst up by the force of the sea, when the whole of +the deals and the remaining articles upon the floor were swept away, +such as the cast-iron mortar-tubs, the iron hearth of the forge, the +smith’s bellows, and even his anvil were thrown down upon the rock. +Before the tide rose to its full height to-day some of the artificers +passed along the bridge into the lighthouse, to observe the effects +of the sea upon it, and they reported that they had felt a slight +tremulous motion in the building when great seas struck it in a certain +direction, about high-water mark. On this occasion the sprays were +again observed to wet the balcony, and even to come over the +parapet wall into the interior of the light-room.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thursday, <br />23rd Aug.</div> + +<p>The wind being at W.S.W., and the weather more moderate, +both the tender and the <i>Smeaton</i> got to their moorings on the 23rd, when +hands were employed in transporting the sash-frames from on +board of the <i>Smeaton</i> to the rock. In the act of setting up one of +these frames upon the bridge, it was unguardedly suffered to lose +its balance, and in saving it from damage, Captain Wilson met with +a severe bruise in the groin, on the seat of a gun-shot wound received +in the early part of his life. This accident laid him aside for several +days.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />27th Aug.</div> + +<p>The sash-frames of the light-room, eight in number, and weighing +each 254 pounds, having been got safely up to the top of the building +were ranged on the balcony in the order in which they were numbered +for their places on the top of the parapet-wall; and the balance-crane, +that useful machine having now lifted all the heavier articles, was +unscrewed and lowered, to use the landing-master’s phrase, “in +mournful silence.”</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />2nd Sept.</div> + +<p>The steps of the stair being landed, and all the weightier articles +of the light-room got up to the balcony, the wooden bridge was now +to be removed, as it had a very powerful effect upon the beacon +when a heavy sea struck it, and could not possibly have withstood +the storms of a winter. Everything having been cleared from the +bridge, and nothing left but the two principal beams with their +horizontal braces, James Glen, at high-water, proceeded with a saw +to cut through the beams at the end next the beacon, which likewise +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148" id="page148"></a>148</span> +disengaged their opposite extremity, inserted a few inches into the +building. The frame was then gently lowered into the water, and +floated off to the <i>Smeaton</i> to be towed to Arbroath, to be applied as +part of the materials in the erection of the lightkeepers’ houses. +After the removal of the bridge, the aspect of things at the rock was +much altered. The beacon-house and building had both a naked +look to those accustomed to their former appearance; a curious +optical deception was also remarked, by which the lighthouse seemed +to incline from the perpendicular towards the beacon. The horizontal +rope-ladder before noticed was again stretched to preserve the communication, +and the artificers were once more obliged to practise +the awkward and straddling manner of their passage between them +during 1809.</p> + +<p>At twelve noon the bell rung for prayers, after which the artificers +went to dinner, when the writer passed along the rope-ladder to the +lighthouse, and went through the several apartments, which were +now cleared of lumber. In the afternoon all hands were summoned +to the interior of the house, when he had the satisfaction of laying +the upper step of the stair, or last stone of the building. This ceremony +concluded with three cheers, the sound of which had a very +loud and strange effect within the walls of the lighthouse. At six +o’clock Mr. Peter Logan and eleven of the artificers embarked with +the writer for Arbroath, leaving Mr. James Glen with the special +charge of the beacon and railways, Mr. Robert Selkirk with the +building, with a few artificers to fit the temporary windows to render +the house habitable.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sunday, <br />14th Oct.</div> + +<p>On returning from his voyage to the Northern Lighthouses, the +writer landed at the Bell Rock on Sunday, the 14th of October, and +had the pleasure to find, from the very favourable state of the +weather, that the artificers had been enabled to make great progress +with the fitting-up of the light-room.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />19th Oct.</div> + +<p>The light-room work had proceeded, as usual, to-day under the +direction of Mr. Dove, assisted in the plumber-work by Mr. John +Gibson, and in the brazier-work by Mr. Joseph Fraser; while Mr. +James Slight, with the joiners, were fitting up the storm-shutters +of the windows. In these several departments the artificers were +at work till seven o’clock p.m., and it being then dark, Mr. Dove gave +orders to drop work in the light-room; and all hands proceeded +from thence to the beacon-house, when Charles Henderson, smith, +and Henry Dickson, brazier, left the work together. Being both +young men, who had been for several weeks upon the rock, they had +become familiar, and even playful, on the most difficult parts about +the beacon and building. This evening they were trying to outrun +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page149" id="page149"></a>149</span> +each other in descending from the light-room, when Henderson led +the way; but they were in conversation with each other till they +came to the rope-ladder distended between the entrance-door of the +lighthouse and the beacon. Dickson, on reaching the cook-room, +was surprised at not seeing his companion, and inquired hastily for +Henderson. Upon which the cook replied, “Was he before you upon +the rope-ladder?” Dickson answered, “Yes; and I thought I +heard something fall.” Upon this the alarm was given, and links +were immediately lighted, with which the artificers descended on +the legs of the beacon, as near the surface of the water as possible, +it being then about full tide, and the sea breaking to a considerable +height upon the building, with the wind at S.S.E. But, after +watching till low-water, and searching in every direction upon the +rock, it appeared that poor Henderson must have unfortunately +fallen through the rope-ladder and been washed into the deep water.</p> + +<p>The deceased had passed along this rope-ladder many hundred +times, both by day and night, and the operations in which he was +employed being nearly finished, he was about to leave the rock when +this melancholy catastrophe took place. The unfortunate loss of +Henderson cast a deep gloom upon the minds of all who were at the +rock, and it required some management on the part of those who +had charge to induce the people to remain patiently at their work; +as the weather now became more boisterous, and the nights long, +they found their habitation extremely cheerless, while the winds +were howling about their ears, and the waves lashing with fury against +the beams of their insulated habitation.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />23rd Oct.</div> + +<p>The wind had shifted in the night to N.W., and blew a fresh gale, +while the sea broke with violence upon the rock. It was found impossible +to land, but the writer, from the boat, hailed Mr. Dove, and +directed the ball to be immediately fixed. The necessary preparations +were accordingly made, while the vessel made short tacks on +the southern side of the rock, in comparatively smooth water. At +noon Mr. Dove, assisted by Mr. James Slight, Mr. Robert Selkirk, +Mr. James Glen, and Mr. John Gibson, plumber, with considerable +difficulty, from the boisterous state of the weather, got the gilded +ball screwed on, measuring two feet in diameter, and forming the +principal ventilator at the upper extremity of the cupola of the lightroom. +At Mr. Hamilton’s desire, a salute of seven guns was fired on +this occasion, and, all hands being called to the quarter-deck, +“Stability to the Bell Rock Lighthouse” was not forgotten.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />30th Oct.</div> + +<p>On reaching the rock it was found that a very heavy sea still ran +upon it; but the writer having been disappointed on two former +occasions, and, as the erection of the house might now be considered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page150" id="page150"></a>150</span> +complete, there being nothing wanted externally, excepting some of +the storm-shutters for the defence of the windows, he was the more +anxious at this time to inspect it. Two well-manned boats were +therefore ordered to be in attendance; and, after some difficulty, +the wind being at N.N.E., they got safely into the western creek, +though not without encountering plentiful sprays. It would have +been impossible to have attempted a landing to-day, under any other +circumstances than with boats perfectly adapted to the purpose, and +with seamen who knew every ledge of the rock, and even the length +of the sea-weeds at each particular spot, so as to dip their oars into +the water accordingly, and thereby prevent them from getting +entangled. But what was of no less consequence to the safety of +the party, Captain Wilson, who always steered the boat, had a +perfect knowledge of the set of the different waves, while the crew +never shifted their eyes from observing his motions, and the +strictest silence was preserved by every individual except +himself.</p> + +<p>On entering the house, the writer had the pleasure to find it in +a somewhat habitable condition, the lower apartments being closed +in with temporary windows, and fitted with proper storm-shutters. +The lowest apartment at the head of the staircase was occupied with +water, fuel, and provisions, put up in a temporary way until the +house could be furnished with proper utensils. The second, or +light-room store, was at present much encumbered with various tools +and apparatus for the use of the workmen. The kitchen immediately +over this had, as yet, been supplied only with a common ship’s +caboose and plate-iron funnel, while the necessary cooking utensils +had been taken from the beacon. The bedroom was for the present +used as the joiners’ workshop, and the strangers’ room, immediately +under the light-room, was occupied by the artificers, the beds being +ranged in tiers, as was done in the barrack of the beacon. The lightroom, +though unprovided with its machinery, being now covered +over with the cupola, glazed and painted, had a very complete +and cleanly appearance. The balcony was only as yet fitted with a +temporary rail, consisting of a few iron stanchions, connected with +ropes; and in this state it was necessary to leave it during the +winter.</p> + +<p>Having gone over the whole of the low-water works on the rock, +the beacon, and lighthouse, and being satisfied that only the most +untoward accident in the landing of the machinery could prevent +the exhibition of the light in the course of the winter, Mr. John Reid, +formerly of the floating light, was now put in charge of the lighthouse +as principal keeper; Mr. James Slight had charge of the operations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page151" id="page151"></a>151</span> +of the artificers, while Mr. James Dove and the smiths, having +finished the frame of the light-room, left the rock for the present. +With these arrangements the writer bade adieu to the works for the +season. At eleven a.m. the tide was far advanced; and there being +now little or no shelter for the boats at the rock, they had to be +pulled through the breach of sea, which came on board in great +quantities, and it was with extreme difficulty that they could be +kept in the proper direction of the landing-creek. On this occasion +he may be permitted to look back with gratitude on the many +escapes made in the course of this arduous undertaking, now brought +so near to a successful conclusion.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Monday, <br />5th Nov.</div> + +<p>On Monday, the 5th, the yacht again visited the rock, when Mr. +Slight and the artificers returned with her to the workyard, where a +number of things were still to prepare connected with the temporary +fitting up of the accommodation for the lightkeepers. Mr. John Reid +and Peter Fortune were now the only inmates of the house. This +was the smallest number of persons hitherto left in the lighthouse. +As four lightkeepers were to be the complement, it was intended +that three should always be at the rock. Its present inmates, however, +could hardly have been better selected for such a situation; +Mr. Reid being a person possessed of the strictest notions of duty +and habits of regularity from long service on board of a man-of-war, +while Mr. Fortune had one of the most happy and contented +dispositions imaginable.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Tuesday, <br />13th Nov.</div> + +<p>From Saturday the 10th till Tuesday the 13th, the wind had been +from N.E. blowing a heavy gale; but to-day, the weather having +greatly moderated, Captain Taylor, who now commanded the +<i>Smeaton</i>, sailed at two o’clock a.m. for the Bell Rock. At five the +floating light was hailed and found to be all well. Being a fine +moonlight morning, the seamen were changed from the one ship to +the other. At eight, the <i>Smeaton</i> being off the rock, the boats were +manned, and taking a supply of water, fuel, and other necessaries, +landed at the western side, when Mr. Reid and Mr. Fortune were +found in good health and spirits.</p> + +<p>Mr. Reid stated that during the late gales, particularly on Friday, +the 30th, the wind veering from S.E. to N.E., both he and Mr. Fortune +sensibly felt the house tremble when particular seas struck, +about the time of high-water; the former observing that it was a +tremor of that sort which rather tended to convince him that everything +about the building was sound, and reminded him of the effect +produced when a good log of timber is struck sharply with a +mallet; but, with every confidence in the stability of the building, +he nevertheless confessed that, in so forlorn a situation, they were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152" id="page152"></a>152</span> +not insensible to those emotions which, he emphatically observed, +“made a man look back upon his former life.”</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Friday, <br />1st Feb.</div> + +<p>The day, long wished for, on which the mariner was to see a light +exhibited on the Bell Rock at length arrived. Captain Wilson, as +usual, hoisted the float’s lanterns to the topmast on the evening of +the 1st of February; but the moment that the light appeared on the +rock, the crew, giving three cheers, lowered them, and finally extinguished +the lights.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11" href="#FnAnchor_11"><span class="fn">11</span></a> This is, of course, the tradition commemorated by Southey in +his ballad of “The Inchcape Bell.” Whether true or not, it points +to the fact that from the infancy of Scottish navigation, the seafaring +mind had been fully alive to the perils of this reef. Repeated +attempts had been made to mark the place with beacons, but all +efforts were unavailing (one such beacon having been carried away +within eight days of its erection) until Robert Stevenson conceived +and carried out the idea of the stone tower.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12" href="#FnAnchor_12"><span class="fn">12</span></a> The particular event which concentrated Mr. Stevenson’s +attention on the problem of the Bell Rock was the memorable gale +of December 1799, when, among many other vessels, H.M.S. <i>York,</i> +a seventy-four-gun ship, went down with all hands on board. Shortly +after this disaster Mr. Stevenson made a careful survey, and prepared +his models for a stone tower, the idea of which was at first +received with pretty general scepticism. Smeaton’s Eddystone tower +could not be cited as affording a parallel, for there the rock is not +submerged even at high-water, while the problem of the Bell Rock +was to build a tower of masonry on a sunken reef far distant from +land, covered at every tide to a depth of twelve feet or more, and +having thirty-two fathoms’ depth of water within a mile of its +eastern edge.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13" href="#FnAnchor_13"><span class="fn">13</span></a> The grounds for the rejection of the Bill by the House of Lords +in 1802-3 had been that the extent of coast over which dues were +proposed to be levied would be too great. Before going to Parliament +again, the Board of Northern Lights, desiring to obtain support +and corroboration for Mr. Stevenson’s views, consulted first +Telford, who was unable to give the matter his attention, and then +(on Stevenson’s suggestion) Rennie, who concurred in affirming +the practicability of a stone tower, and supported the Bill when it +came again before Parliament in 1806. Rennie was afterwards +appointed by the Commissioners as advising engineer, whom Stevenson +might consult in cases of emergency. It seems certain that the +title of chief engineer had in this instance no more meaning than the +above. Rennie, in point of fact, proposed certain modifications in +Stevenson’s plans, which the latter did not accept; nevertheless +Rennie continued to take a kindly interest in the work, and the two +engineers remained in friendly correspondence during its progress. +The official view taken by the Board as to the quarter in which lay +both the merit and the responsibility of the work may be gathered +from a minute of the Commissioners at their first meeting held after +Stevenson died; in which they record their regret “at the death +of this zealous, faithful, and able officer, <i>to whom is due the honour +of conceiving and executing the Bell Rock Lighthouse</i>.” The matter +is briefly summed up in the “Life” of Robert Stevenson by his son +David Stevenson (A. & C. Black, 1878), and fully discussed, on the +basis of official facts and figures, by the same writer in a letter to +the <i>Civil Engineers’ and Architects’ Journal</i>, 1862.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14" href="#FnAnchor_14"><span class="fn">14</span></a> “Nothing was said, but I was <i>looked out of countenance</i>,” he says in a letter.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15" href="#FnAnchor_15"><span class="fn">15</span></a> Ill-formed—ugly.—[R. L. S.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" href="#FnAnchor_16"><span class="fn">16</span></a> This is an incurable illusion of my grandfather’s; he always writes “distended” +for “extended.” [R. L. S.]</p> +</div> + + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page153" id="page153"></a>153</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>ADDITIONAL<br /> +MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page154" id="page154"></a>154</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page155" id="page155"></a>155</span></p> +<h2>ADDITIONAL<br /> +MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS</h2> +<hr class="art" /> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<h3>RANDOM MEMORIES</h3> + +<h5>I. THE COAST OF FIFE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Many</span> writers have vigorously described the pains of the +first day or the first night at school; to a boy of any enterprise, +I believe, they are more often agreeably exciting. +Misery—or at least misery unrelieved—is confined to +another period, to the days of suspense and the “dreadful +looking-for” of departure; when the old life is running to +an end, and the new life, with its new interests, not yet +begun; and to the pain of an imminent parting, there is +added the unrest of a state of conscious pre-existence. The +area railings, the beloved shop-window, the smell of semi-suburban +tanpits, the song of the church-bells upon a +Sunday, the thin, high voices of compatriot children in a +playing-field—what a sudden, what an overpowering pathos +breathes to him from each familiar circumstance! The +assaults of sorrow come not from within, as it seems to him, +but from without. I was proud and glad to go to school; +had I been let alone, I could have borne up like any hero; +but there was around me, in all my native town, a conspiracy +of lamentation: “Poor little boy, he is going away—unkind +little boy, he is going to leave us”; so the unspoken +burthen followed me as I went, with yearning and +reproach. And at length, one melancholy afternoon in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page156" id="page156"></a>156</span> +early autumn, and at a place where it seems to me, looking +back, it must be always autumn and generally Sunday, +there came suddenly upon the face of all I saw—the long +empty road, the lines of the tall houses, the church upon the +hill, the woody hillside garden—a look of such a piercing +sadness that my heart died; and seating myself on a +door-step, I shed tears of miserable sympathy. A benevolent +cat cumbered me the while with consolations—we two +were alone in all that was visible of the London Road: +two poor waifs who had each tasted sorrow—and she fawned +upon the weeper, and gambolled for his entertainment, +watching the effect, it seemed, with motherly eyes.</p> + +<p>For the sake of the cat, God bless her! I confessed at +home the story of my weakness; and so it comes about +that I owed a certain journey, and the reader owes the +present paper, to a cat in the London Road. It was judged, +if I had thus brimmed over on the public highway, some +change of scene was (in the medical sense) indicated; my +father at the time was visiting the harbour lights of Scotland; +and it was decided that he should take me along +with him around a portion of the shores of Fife; my first +professional tour, my first journey in the complete character +of man, without the help of petticoats.</p> + +<p>The Kingdom of Fife (that royal province) may be +observed by the curious on the map, occupying a tongue +of land between the firths of Forth and Tay. It may be +continually seen from many parts of Edinburgh (among +the rest, from the windows of my father’s house) dying +away into the distance and the easterly <i>haar</i> with one +smoky seaside town beyond another, or in winter printing +on the grey heaven some glittering hill-tops. It has no +beauty to recommend it, being a low, sea-salted, wind-vexed +promontory; trees very rare, except (as common on the +east coast) along the dens of rivers; the fields well cultivated, +I understand, but not lovely to the eye. It is of +the coast I speak: the interior may be the garden of Eden. +History broods over that part of the world like the easterly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page157" id="page157"></a>157</span> +haar. Even on the map, its long row of Gaelic place-names +bear testimony to an old and settled race. Of these little +towns, posted along the shore as close as sedges, each with +its bit of harbour, its old weather-beaten church or public +building, its flavour of decayed prosperity and decaying +fish, not one but has its legend, quaint or tragic: Dunfermline, +in whose royal towers the king may be still observed +(in the ballad) drinking the blood-red wine; somnolent +Inverkeithing, once the quarantine of Leith; Aberdour, +hard by the monastic islet of Inchcolm, hard by Donibristle +where the “bonny face was spoiled”: Burntisland, where, +when Paul Jones was off the coast, the Reverend Mr. Shirra +had a table carried between tide-marks, and publicly prayed +against the rover at the pitch of his voice and his broad +lowland dialect; Kinghorn, where Alexander “brak’s neck-bane” +and left Scotland to the English wars; Kirkcaldy, +where the witches once prevailed extremely and sank tall +ships and honest mariners in the North Sea; Dysart, +famous—well, famous at least to me for the Dutch ships +that lay in its harbour, painted like toys and with pots of +flowers and cages of song-birds in the cabin-windows, and +for one particular Dutch skipper who would sit all day in +slippers on the break of the poop, smoking a long German +pipe; Wemyss (pronounced Weems) with its bat-haunted +caves, where the Chevalier Johnstone, on his flight from +Culloden, passed a night of superstitious terrors; Leven, a +bald, quite modern place, sacred to summer visitors, whence +there has gone but yesterday the tall figure and the white +locks of the last Englishman in Delhi, my uncle Dr. Balfour, +who was still walking his hospital rounds, while the troopers +from Meerut clattered and cried “Deen Deen” along the +streets of the imperial city, and Willoughby mustered his +handful of heroes at the magazine, and the nameless brave +one in the telegraph office was perhaps already fingering +his last despatch; and just a little beyond Leven, Largo +Law and the smoke of Largo town mounting about its feet, +the town of Alexander Selkirk, better known under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page158" id="page158"></a>158</span> +name of Robinson Crusoe. So on the list might be pursued +(only for private reasons, which the reader will shortly +have an opportunity to guess) by St. Monans, and Pittenweem, +and the two Anstruthers, and Cellardyke, and Crail, +where Primate Sharpe was once a humble and innocent +country minister: on to the heel of the land, to Fife Ness, +overlooked by a sea-wood of matted elders and the quaint +old mansion of Balcomie, itself overlooking but the breach +or the quiescence of the deep—the Carr Rock beacon rising +close in front, and as night draws in, the star of the Inchcape +reef springing up on the one hand, and the star of the +May Island on the other, and farther off yet a third and a +greater on the craggy foreland of St. Abb’s. And but a +little way round the corner of the land, imminent itself +above the sea, stands the gem of the province and the light +of mediæval Scotland, St. Andrews, where the great Cardinal +Beaton held garrison against the world, and the second of +the name and title perished (as you may read in Knox’s +jeering narrative) under the knives of true-blue Protestants, +and to this day (after so many centuries) the current voice +of the professor is not hushed.</p> + +<p>Here it was that my first tour of inspection began, early +on a bleak easterly morning. There was a crashing run of +sea upon the shore, I recollect, and my father and the man +of the harbour light must sometimes raise their voices to +be audible. Perhaps it is from this circumstance, that I +always imagine St. Andrews to be an ineffectual seat of +learning, and the sound of the east wind and the bursting +surf to linger in its drowsy class-rooms and confound the +utterance of the professor, until teacher and taught are alike +drowned in oblivion, and only the sea-gull beats on the +windows and the draught of the sea-air rustles in the pages +of the open lecture. But upon all this, and the romance +of St. Andrews in general, the reader must consult the +works of Mr. Andrew Lang; who has written of it but the +other day in his dainty prose and with his incommunicable +humour, and long ago, in one of his best poems, with grace +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page159" id="page159"></a>159</span> +and local truth and a note of unaffected pathos. Mr. Lang +knows all about the romance, I say, and the educational +advantages, but I doubt if he had turned his attention to +the harbour lights; and it may be news even to him, that +in the year 1863 their case was pitiable. Hanging about +with the east wind humming in my teeth, and my hands +(I make no doubt) in my pockets, I looked for the first time +upon that tragi-comedy of the visiting engineer which I +have seen so often re-enacted on a more important stage. +Eighty years ago, I find my grandfather writing: “It is +the most painful thing that can occur to me to have a +correspondence of this kind with any of the keepers, and +when I come to the Light House, instead of having the +satisfaction to meet them with approbation and welcome +their Family, it is distressing when one is obliged to put on +a most angry countenance and demeanour.” This painful +obligation has been hereditary in my race. I have myself, +on a perfectly amateur and unauthorised inspection of +Turnberry Point, bent my brows upon the keeper on the +question of storm-panes; and felt a keen pang of self-reproach, +when we went downstairs again and I found he +was making a coffin for his infant child; and then regained +my equanimity with the thought that I had done the man +a service, and when the proper inspector came, he would +be readier with his panes. The human race is perhaps +credited with more duplicity than it deserves. The visitation +of a lighthouse at least is a business of the most transparent +nature. As soon as the boat grates on the shore, +and the keepers step forward in their uniformed coats, the +very slouch of the fellows’ shoulders tells their story, and +the engineer may begin at once to assume his “angry +countenance.” Certainly the brass of the handrail will be +clouded; and if the brass be not immaculate, certainly all +will be to match—the reflectors scratched, the spare lamp +unready, the storm-panes in the storehouse. If a light is +not rather more than middling good, it will be radically +bad. Mediocrity (except in literature) appears to be unattainable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page160" id="page160"></a>160</span> +by man. But of course the unfortunate of St. +Andrews was only an amateur, he was not in the Service, +he had no uniform coat, he was, I believe, a plumber by +his trade, and stood (in the mediæval phrase) quite out of +the danger of my father; but he had a painful interview +for all that, and perspired extremely.</p> + +<p>From St. Andrews we drove over Magus Muir. My +father had announced we were “to post,” and the phrase +called up in my hopeful mind visions of top-boots and the +pictures in Rowlandson’s “Dance of Death”; but it was +only a jingling cab that came to the inn door, such as I +had driven in a thousand times at the low price of one +shilling on the streets of Edinburgh. Beyond this disappointment, +I remember nothing of that drive. It is a +road I have often travelled, and of not one of these journeys +do I remember any single trait. The fact has not been +suffered to encroach on the truth of the imagination. I +still see Magus Muir two hundred years ago: a desert place, +quite unenclosed; in the midst, the primate’s carriage +fleeing at the gallop; the assassins loose-reined in pursuit, +Burley Balfour, pistol in hand, among the first. No scene +of history has ever written itself so deeply on my mind; +not because Balfour, that questionable zealot, was an +ancestral cousin of my own; not because of the pleadings +of the victim and his daughter; not even because of the +live bum-bee that flew out of Sharpe’s ’bacco-box, thus +clearly indicating his complicity with Satan; nor merely +because, as it was after all a crime of a fine religious flavour, +it figured in Sunday books and afforded a grateful relief +from “Ministering Children” or the “Memoirs of Mrs. +Katherine Winslowe.” The figure that always fixed my +attention is that of Hackston of Rathillet, sitting in the +saddle with his cloak about his mouth, and through all that +long, bungling, vociferous hurly-burly, revolving privately +a case of conscience. He would take no hand in the deed, +because he had a private spite against the victim, and +“that action” must be sullied with no suggestion of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page161" id="page161"></a>161</span> +worldly motive; on the other hand, “that action” in +itself was highly justified, he had cast in his lot with “the +actors,” and he must stay there, inactive, but publicly +sharing the responsibility. “You are a gentleman—you +will protect me!” cried the wounded old man, crawling +towards him. “I will never lay a hand on you,” said +Hackston, and put his cloak about his mouth. It is an +old temptation with me to pluck away that cloak and see +the face—to open that bosom and to read the heart. With +incomplete romances about Hackston, the drawers of my +youth were lumbered. I read him up in every printed +book that I could lay my hands on. I even dug among +the Wodrow manuscripts, sitting shame-faced in the very +room where my hero had been tortured two centuries +before, and keenly conscious of my youth in the midst of +other and (as I fondly thought) more gifted students. All +was vain: that he had passed a riotous nonage, that he +was a zealot, that he twice displayed (compared with his +grotesque companions) some tincture of soldierly resolution +and even of military common sense, and that he figured +memorably in the scene on Magus Muir, so much and no +more could I make out. But whenever I cast my eyes +backward, it is to see him like a landmark on the plains of +history, sitting with his cloak about his mouth, inscrutable. +How small a thing creates an immortality! I do not +think he can have been a man entirely commonplace; but +had he not thrown his cloak about his mouth, or had the +witnesses forgot to chronicle the action, he would not thus +have haunted the imagination of my boyhood, and to-day +he would scarce delay me for a paragraph. An incident, at +once romantic and dramatic, which at once awakes the +judgment and makes a picture for the eye, how little do +we realise its perdurable power! Perhaps no one does so +but the author, just as none but he appreciates the influence +of jingling words; so that he looks on upon life, with +something of a covert smile, seeing people led by what they +fancy to be thoughts and what are really the accustomed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162" id="page162"></a>162</span> +artifices of his own trade, or roused by what they take to +be principles and are really picturesque effects. In a +pleasant book about a school-class club, Colonel Fergusson +has recently told a little anecdote. A “Philosophical +Society” was formed by some Academy boys—among them, +Colonel Fergusson himself, Fleeming Jenkin, and Andrew +Wilson, the Christian Buddhist and author of “The Abode +of Snow.” Before these learned pundits, one member laid +the following ingenious problem: “What would be the +result of putting a pound of potassium in a pot of porter?” +“I should think there would be a number of interesting +bi-products,” said a smatterer at my elbow; but for me +the tale itself has a bi-product, and stands as a type of +much that is most human. For this inquirer, who conceived +himself to burn with a zeal entirely chemical, was +really immersed in a design of a quite different nature: +unconsciously to his own recently breeched intelligence, he +was engaged in literature. Putting, pound, potassium, +pot, porter; initial p, mediant t—that was his idea, poor +little boy! So with politics and that which excites men +in the present, so with history and that which rouses them +in the past: there lie, at the root of what appears, most +serious unsuspected elements.</p> + +<p>The triple town of Anstruther Wester, Anstruther Easter, +and Cellardyke, all three Royal Burghs—or two Royal +Burghs and a less distinguished suburb, I forget which—lies +continuously along the seaside, and boasts of either two +or three separate parish churches, and either two or three +separate harbours. These ambiguities are painful; but +the fact is (although it argues me uncultured), I am but +poorly posted up on Cellardyke. My business lay in the +two Anstruthers. A tricklet of a stream divides them, +spanned by a bridge; and over the bridge at the time of +my knowledge, the celebrated Shell House stood outpost +on the west. This had been the residence of an agreeable +eccentric; during his fond tenancy he had illustrated the +outer walls, as high (if I remember rightly) as the roof, with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163" id="page163"></a>163</span> +elaborate patterns and pictures, and snatches of verse in +the vein of <i>exegi monumentum</i>; shells and pebbles, artfully +contrasted and conjoined, had been his medium; and I +like to think of him standing back upon the bridge, when all +was finished, drinking in the general effect, and (like +Gibbon) already lamenting his employment.</p> + +<p>The same bridge saw another sight in the seventeenth +century. Mr. Thomson, the “curat” of Anstruther Easter, +was a man highly obnoxious to the devout: in the first +place, because he was a “curat”; in the second place, because +he was a person of irregular and scandalous life; and +in the third place, because he was generally suspected of +dealings with the Enemy of Man. These three disqualifications, +in the popular literature of the time, go hand in +hand; but the end of Mr. Thomson was a thing quite by +itself, and, in the proper phrase, a manifest judgment. He +had been at a friend’s house in Anstruther Wester, where +(and elsewhere, I suspect) he had partaken of the bottle; +indeed, to put the thing in our cold modern way, the +reverend gentleman was on the brink of <i>delirium tremens</i>. +It was a dark night, it seems; a little lassie came carrying +a lantern to fetch the curate home; and away they went +down the street of Anstruther Wester, the lantern swinging +a bit in the child’s hand, the barred lustre tossing up and +down along the front of slumbering houses, and Mr. Thomson +not altogether steady on his legs nor (to all appearance) +easy in his mind. The pair had reached the middle of the +bridge when (as I conceive the scene) the poor tippler +started in some baseless fear and looked behind him; the +child, already shaken by the minister’s strange behaviour, +started also; in so doing she would jerk the lantern; and +for the space of a moment the lights and the shadows +would be all confounded. Then it was that to the unhinged +toper and the twittering child, a huge bulk of blackness +seemed to sweep down, to pass them close by as they stood +upon the bridge, and to vanish on the farther side in the +general darkness of the night. “Plainly the devil come for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page164" id="page164"></a>164</span> +Mr. Thomson!” thought the child. What Mr. Thomson +thought himself, we have no ground of knowledge; but he +fell upon his knees in the midst of the bridge like a man +praying. On the rest of the journey to the manse, history +is silent; but when they came to the door, the poor caitiff, +taking the lantern from the child, looked upon her with so +lost a countenance that her little courage died within her, +and she fled home screaming to her parents. Not a soul +would venture out; all that night the minister dwelt alone +with his terrors in the manse; and when the day dawned, +and men made bold to go about the streets, they found the +devil had come indeed for Mr. Thomson.</p> + +<p>This manse of Anstruther Easter has another and a more +cheerful association. It was early in the morning, about +a century before the days of Mr. Thomson, that his predecessor +was called out of bed to welcome a Grandee of Spain, +the Duke of Medina Sidonia, just landed in the harbour +underneath. But sure there was never seen a more decayed +grandee; sure there was never a duke welcomed from a +stranger place of exile. Half-way between Orkney and +Shetland there lies a certain isle; on the one hand the +Atlantic, on the other the North Sea, bombard its pillared +cliffs; sore-eyed, short-living, inbred fishers and their +families herd in its few huts; in the graveyard pieces of +wreck-wood stand for monuments; there is nowhere a +more inhospitable spot. <i>Belle-Isle-en-Mer</i>—Fair-Isle-at-Sea—that +is a name that has always rung in my mind’s ear +like music; but the only “Fair Isle” on which I ever set +my foot was this unhomely, rugged turret-top of submarine +sierras. Here, when his ship was broken, my lord Duke +joyfully got ashore; here for long months he and certain of +his men were harboured; and it was from this durance that +he landed at last to be welcomed (as well as such a papist +deserved, no doubt) by the godly incumbent of Anstruther +Easter; and after the Fair Isle, what a fine city must that +have appeared! and after the island diet, what a hospitable +spot the minister’s table! And yet he must have lived on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165" id="page165"></a>165</span> +friendly terms with his outlandish hosts. For to this day +there still survives a relic of the long winter evenings when +the sailors of the great Armada crouched about the hearths +of the Fair-Islanders, the planks of their own lost galleon +perhaps lighting up the scene, and the gale and the surf +that beat about the coast contributing their melancholy +voices. All the folk of the north isles are great artificers +of knitting: the Fair-Islanders alone dye their fabrics in +the Spanish manner. To this day, gloves and nightcaps, +innocently decorated, may be seen for sale in the Shetland +warehouse at Edinburgh, or on the Fair Isle itself in the +catechist’s house; and to this day, they tell the story of +the Duke of Medina Sidonia’s adventure.</p> + +<p>It would seem as if the Fair Isle had some attraction +for “persons of quality.” When I landed there myself, an +elderly gentleman, unshaved, poorly attired, his shoulders +wrapped in a plaid, was seen walking to and fro, with a +book in his hand, upon the beach. He paid no heed to +our arrival, which we thought a strange thing in itself; +but when one of the officers of the <i>Pharos</i>, passing narrowly +by him, observed his book to be a Greek Testament, our +wonder and interest took a higher flight. The catechist +was cross-examined; he said the gentleman had been put +across some time before in Mr. Bruce of Sumburgh’s +schooner, the only link between the Fair Isle and the rest +of the world; and that he held services and was doing +“good.” So much came glibly enough; but when pressed +a little further, the catechist displayed embarrassment. A +singular diffidence appeared upon his face: “They tell +me,” said he, in low tones, “that he’s a lord.” And a lord +he was; a peer of the realm pacing that inhospitable beach +with his Greek Testament, and his plaid about his shoulders, +set upon doing good, as he understood it, worthy man! +And his grandson, a good-looking little boy, much better +dressed than the lordly evangelist, and speaking with a +silken English accent very foreign to the scene, accompanied +me for a while in my exploration of the island. I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page166" id="page166"></a>166</span> +suppose this little fellow is now my lord, and wonder how +much he remembers of the Fair Isle. Perhaps not much; +for he seemed to accept very quietly his savage situation; +and under such guidance, it is like that this was not his first +nor yet his last adventure.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page167" id="page167"></a>167</span></p> +<h3>II</h3> + +<h3>RANDOM MEMORIES</h3> + +<h5>II. THE EDUCATION OF AN ENGINEER</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Anstruther</span> is a place sacred to the Muse; she inspired +(really to a considerable extent) Tennant’s vernacular poem +“Anster Fair”; and I have there waited upon her myself +with much devotion. This was when I came as a young +man to glean engineering experience from the building of +the breakwater. What I gleaned, I am sure I do not know; +but indeed I had already my own private determination to +be an author; I loved the art of words and the appearances +of life; and <i>travellers</i>, and <i>headers</i>, and <i>rubble</i>, and <i>polished +ashlar</i>, and <i>pierres perdues</i>, and even the thrilling question +of the <i>string-course</i>, interested me only (if they interested +me at all) as properties for some possible romance or as +words to add to my vocabulary. To grow a little catholic +is the compensation of years; youth is one-eyed; and in +those days, though I haunted the breakwater by day, and +even loved the place for the sake of the sunshine, the thrilling +seaside air, the wash of waves on the sea-face, the green +glimmer of the divers’ helmets far below, and the musical +chinking of the masons, my one genuine pre-occupation lay +elsewhere, and my only industry was in the hours when I +was not on duty. I lodged with a certain Bailie Brown, a +carpenter by trade; and there, as soon as dinner was +despatched, in a chamber scented with dry rose-leaves, drew +in my chair to the table and proceeded to pour forth literature, +at such a speed, and with such intimations of early +death and immortality, as I now look back upon with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page168" id="page168"></a>168</span> +wonder. Then it was that I wrote “Voces Fidelium,” a +series of dramatic monologues in verse; then that I indited +the bulk of a covenanting novel—like so many others, +never finished. Late I sat into the night, toiling (as I +thought) under the very dart of death, toiling to leave a +memory behind me. I feel moved to thrust aside the curtain +of the years, to hail that poor feverish idiot, to bid him +go to bed and clap “Voces Fidelium” on the fire before he +goes; so clear does he appear before me, sitting there +between his candles in the rose-scented room and the late +night; so ridiculous a picture (to my elderly wisdom) does +the fool present! But he was driven to his bed at last +without miraculous intervention; and the manner of his +driving sets the last touch upon this eminently youthful +business. The weather was then so warm that I must +keep the windows open; the night without was populous +with moths. As the late darkness deepened, my literary +tapers beaconed forth more brightly; thicker and thicker +came the dusty night-fliers, to gyrate for one brilliant +instant round the flame and fall in agonies upon my paper. +Flesh and blood could not endure the spectacle; to capture +immortality was doubtless a noble enterprise, but not +to capture it at such a cost of suffering; and out would +go the candles, and off would I go to bed in the darkness, +raging to think that the blow might fall on the morrow, and +there was “Voces Fidelium” still incomplete. Well, the +moths are all gone, and “Voces Fidelium” along with them; +only the fool is still on hand and practises new follies.</p> + +<p>Only one thing in connection with the harbour tempted +me, and that was the diving, an experience I burned to +taste of. But this was not to be, at least in Anstruther; +and the subject involves a change of scene to the sub-arctic +town of Wick. You can never have dwelt in a +country more unsightly than that part of Caithness, the +land faintly swelling, faintly falling, not a tree, not a hedgerow, +the fields divided by single slate stones set upon their +edge, the wind always singing in your ears and (down the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page169" id="page169"></a>169</span> +long road that led nowhere) thrumming in the telegraph +wires. Only as you approached the coast was there anything +to stir the heart. The plateau broke down to the +North Sea in formidable cliffs, the tall out-stacks rose like +pillars ringed about with surf, the coves were over-brimmed +with clamorous froth, the sea-birds screamed, the wind sang +in the thyme on the cliff’s edge; here and there, small +ancient castles toppled on the brim; here and there, it was +possible to dip into a dell of shelter, where you might lie +and tell yourself you were a little warm, and hear (near at +hand) the whin-pods bursting in the afternoon sun, and +(farther off) the rumour of the turbulent sea. As for Wick +itself, it is one of the meanest of man’s towns, and situate +certainly on the baldest of God’s bays. It lives for herring, +and a strange sight it is to see (of an afternoon) the heights +of Pulteney blackened by seaward-looking fishers, as when +a city crowds to a review—or, as when bees have swarmed, +the ground is horrible with lumps and clusters; and a +strange sight, and a beautiful, to see the fleet put silently +out against a rising moon, the sea-line rough as a wood with +sails, and ever and again and one after another, a boat +flitting swiftly by the silver disk. This mass of fishers, this +great fleet of boats, is out of all proportion to the town itself; +and the oars are manned and the nets hauled by immigrants +from the Long Island (as we call the outer Hebrides), who +come for that season only, and depart again, if “the take” +be poor, leaving debts behind them. In a bad year, the +end of the herring-fishery is therefore an exciting time; +fights are common, riots often possible; an apple knocked +from a child’s hand was once the signal for something like +a war; and even when I was there, a gunboat lay in the +bay to assist the authorities. To contrary interests, it +should be observed, the curse of Babel is here added; the +Lews men are Gaelic speakers, those of Caithness have +adopted English; an odd circumstance, if you reflect that +both must be largely Norsemen by descent. I remember +seeing one of the strongest instances of this division: a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page170" id="page170"></a>170</span> +thing like a Punch-and-Judy box erected on the flat gravestones +of the churchyard; from the hutch or proscenium—I +know not what to call it—an eldritch-looking preacher +laying down the law in Gaelic about some one of the name +of <i>Powl</i>, whom I at last divined to be the apostle to the +Gentiles; a large congregation of the Lews men very +devoutly listening; and on the outskirts of the crowd, +some of the town’s children (to whom the whole affair was +Greek and Hebrew) profanely playing tigg. The same +descent, the same country, the same narrow sect of the same +religion, and all these bonds made very largely nugatory +by an accidental difference of dialect!</p> + +<p>Into the bay of Wick stretched the dark length of the +unfinished breakwater, in its cage of open staging; the +travellers (like frames of churches) over-plumbing all; and +away at the extreme end, the divers toiling unseen on the +foundation. On a platform of loose planks, the assistants +turned their air-mills; a stone might be swinging between +wind and water; underneath the swell ran gaily; and +from time to time, a mailed dragon with a window-glass +snout came dripping up the ladder. Youth is a blessed +season after all; my stay at Wick was in the year of “Voces +Fidelium” and the rose-leaf room at Bailie Brown’s; and +already I did not care two straws for literary glory. Posthumous +ambition perhaps requires an atmosphere of roses; +and the more rugged excitant of Wick east winds had +made another boy of me. To go down in the diving-dress, +that was my absorbing fancy; and with the countenance +of a certain handsome scamp of a diver, Bob Bain by name, +I gratified the whim.</p> + +<p>It was grey, harsh, easterly weather, the swell ran pretty +high, and out in the open there were “skipper’s daughters,” +when I found myself at last on the diver’s platform, twenty +pounds of lead upon each foot and my whole person swollen +with ply and ply of woollen underclothing. One moment, +the salt wind was whistling round my night-capped head; +the next, I was crushed almost double under the weight of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page171" id="page171"></a>171</span> +the helmet. As that intolerable burthen was laid upon me, +I could have found it in my heart (only for shame’s sake) +to cry off from the whole enterprise. But it was too late. +The attendants began to turn the hurdy-gurdy, and the +air to whistle through the tube; some one screwed in the +barred window of the vizor; and I was cut off in a moment +from my fellow-men; standing there in their midst, but +quite divorced from intercourse: a creature deaf and +dumb, pathetically looking forth upon them from a climate +of his own. Except that I could move and feel, I was like +a man fallen in a catalepsy. But time was scarce given me +to realise my isolation; the weights were hung upon my +back and breast, the signal-rope was thrust into my unresisting +hand; and setting a twenty-pound foot upon the +ladder, I began ponderously to descend.</p> + +<p>Some twenty rounds below the platform, twilight fell. +Looking up, I saw a low green heaven mottled with vanishing +bells of white; looking around, except for the weedy +spokes and shafts of the ladder, nothing but a green gloaming, +somewhat opaque but very restful and delicious. Thirty +rounds lower, I stepped off on the <i>pierres perdues</i> of the +foundation; a dumb helmeted figure took me by the hand, +and made a gesture (as I read it) of encouragement; and +looking in at the creature’s window, I beheld the face of +Bain. There we were, hand to hand and (when it pleased +us) eye to eye; and either might have burst himself with +shouting, and not a whisper come to his companion’s hearing. +Each, in his own little world of air, stood incommunicably +separate.</p> + +<p>Bob had told me ere this a little tale, a five minutes’ +drama at the bottom of the sea, which at that moment +possibly shot across my mind. He was down with another, +settling a stone of the sea-wall. They had it well adjusted, +Bob gave the signal, the scissors were slipped, the stone +set home; and it was time to turn to something else. But +still his companion remained bowed over the block like a +mourner on a tomb, or only raised himself to make absurd +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page172" id="page172"></a>172</span> +contortions and mysterious signs unknown to the vocabulary +of the diver. There, then, these two stood for a while, +like the dead and the living; till there flashed a fortunate +thought into Bob’s mind, and he stooped, peered through +the window of that other world, and beheld the face of its +inhabitant wet with streaming tears. Ah! the man was +in pain! And Bob, glancing downward, saw what was the +trouble: the block had been lowered on the foot of that +unfortunate—he was caught alive at the bottom of the sea +under fifteen tons of rock.</p> + +<p>That two men should handle a stone so heavy, even +swinging in the scissors, may appear strange to the inexpert. +These must bear in mind the great density of the water of +the sea, and the surprising results of transplantation to that +medium. To understand a little what these are, and how +a man’s weight, so far from being an encumbrance, is the +very ground of his agility, was the chief lesson of my submarine +experience. The knowledge came upon me by +degrees. As I began to go forward with the hand of my +estranged companion, a world of tumbled stones was +visible, pillared with the weedy uprights of the staging: +overhead, a flat roof of green: a little in front, the sea-wall, +like an unfinished rampart. And presently in our upward +progress, Bob motioned me to leap upon a stone; I +looked to see if he were possibly in earnest, and he only +signed to me the more imperiously. Now the block stood +six feet high; it would have been quite a leap to me unencumbered; +with the breast and back weights, and the +twenty pounds upon each foot, and the staggering load of +the helmet, the thing was out of reason. I laughed aloud +in my tomb; and to prove to Bob how far he was astray, I +gave a little impulse from my toes. Up I soared like a +bird, my companion soaring at my side. As high as to +the stone, and then higher, I pursued my impotent and +empty flight. Even when the strong arm of Bob had +checked my shoulders, my heels continued their ascent; +so that I blew out side-ways like an autumn leaf, and must +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173" id="page173"></a>173</span> +be hauled in, hand over hand, as sailors haul in the slack +of a sail, and propped upon my feet again like an intoxicated +sparrow. Yet a little higher on the foundation, and we +began to be affected by the bottom of the swell, running +there like a strong breeze of wind. Or so I must suppose; +for, safe in my cushion of air, I was conscious of no impact; +only swayed idly like a weed, and was now borne helplessly +abroad, and now swiftly—and yet with dream-like gentleness—impelled +against my guide. So does a child’s balloon +divagate upon the currents of the air, and touch and slide +off again from every obstacle. So must have ineffectually +swung, so resented their inefficiency, those light crowds that +followed the Star of Hades, and uttered exiguous voices +in the land beyond Cocytus.</p> + +<p>There was something strangely exasperating, as well as +strangely wearying, in these uncommanded evolutions. It +is bitter to return to infancy, to be supported, and directed, +and perpetually set upon your feet, by the hand of some +one else. The air besides, as it is supplied to you by the +busy millers on the platform, closes the eustachian tubes +and keeps the neophyte perpetually swallowing, till his +throat is grown so dry that he can swallow no longer. And +for all these reasons—although I had a fine, dizzy, muddle-headed +joy in my surroundings, and longed, and tried, and +always failed, to lay hands on the fish that darted here and +there about me, swift as humming-birds—yet I fancy I +was rather relieved than otherwise when Bain brought me +back to the ladder and signed to me to mount. And there +was one more experience before me even then. Of a sudden, +my ascending head passed into the trough of a swell. Out +of the green, I shot at once into a glory of rosy, almost of +sanguine light—the multitudinous seas incarnadined, the +heaven above a vault of crimson. And then the glory faded +into the hard, ugly daylight of a Caithness autumn, with +a low sky, a grey sea, and a whistling wind.</p> + +<p>Bob Bain had five shillings for his trouble, and I had +done what I desired. It was one of the best things I got +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174" id="page174"></a>174</span> +from my education as an engineer: of which, however, as +a way of life, I wish to speak with sympathy. It takes a +man into the open air; it keeps him hanging about harbour-sides, +which is the richest form of idling; it carries him to +wild islands; it gives him a taste of the genial dangers of +the sea; it supplies him with dexterities to exercise; it +makes demands upon his ingenuity; it will go far to cure +him of any taste (if ever he had one) for the miserable life +of cities. And when it has done so, it carries him back +and shuts him in an office! From the roaring skerry and +the wet thwart of the tossing boat, he passes to the stool +and desk, and with a memory full of ships, and seas, and +perilous headlands, and the shining pharos, he must apply +his long-sighted eyes to the pretty niceties of drawing, or +measure his inaccurate mind with several pages of consecutive +figures. He is a wise youth, to be sure, who can +balance one part of genuine life against two parts of drudgery +between four walls, and for the sake of the one, manfully +accept the other.</p> + +<p>Wick was scarce an eligible place of stay. But how +much better it was to hang in the cold wind upon the +pier, to go down with Bob Bain among the roots of the +staging, to be all day in a boat coiling a wet rope and shouting +orders—not always very wise—than to be warm and +dry, and dull, and dead-alive, in the most comfortable +office. And Wick itself had in those days a note of originality. +It may have still, but I misdoubt it much. The +old minister of Keiss would not preach, in these degenerate +times, for an hour and a half upon the clock. The gipsies +must be gone from their cavern; where you might see, +from the mouth, the women tending their fire, like Meg +Merrilies, and the men sleeping off their coarse potations; +and where in winter gales, the surf would beleaguer them +closely, bursting in their very door. A traveller to-day upon +the Thurso coach would scarce observe a little cloud of +smoke among the moorlands, and be told, quite openly, it +marked a private still. He would not indeed make that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page175" id="page175"></a>175</span> +journey, for there is now no Thurso coach. And even if +he could, one little thing that happened to me could never +happen to him, or not with the same trenchancy of contrast.</p> + +<p>We had been upon the road all evening; the coach-top +was crowded with Lews fishers going home, scarce anything +but Gaelic had sounded in my ears; and our way +had lain throughout over a moorish country very northern +to behold. Latish at night, though it was still broad day +in our sub-arctic latitude, we came down upon the shores +of the roaring Pentland Firth, that grave of mariners; on +one hand, the cliffs of Dunnet Head ran seaward; in front +was the little bare white town of Castleton, its streets full +of blowing sand; nothing beyond, but the North Islands, +the great deep, and the perennial ice-fields of the Pole. +And here, in the last imaginable place, there sprang up +young outlandish voices and a chatter of some foreign +speech; and I saw, pursuing the coach with its load of +Hebridean fishers—as they had pursued <i>vetturini</i> up the +passes of the Apennines or perhaps along the grotto under +Virgil’s tomb—two little dark-eyed, white-toothed Italian +vagabonds, of twelve to fourteen years of age, one with a +hurdy-gurdy, the other with a cage of white mice. The +coach passed on, and their small Italian chatter died in the +distance; and I was left to marvel how they had wandered +into that country, and how they fared in it, and what they +thought of it, and when (if ever) they should see again the +silver wind-breaks run among the olives, and the stone-pine +stand guard upon Etruscan sepulchres.</p> + +<p>Upon any American, the strangeness of this incident is +somewhat lost. For as far back as he goes in his own land, +he will find some alien camping there; the Cornish miner, +the French or Mexican half-blood, the negro in the South, +these are deep in the woods and far among the mountains. +But in an old, cold, and rugged country such as mine, the +days of immigration are long at an end; and away up there, +which was at that time far beyond the northernmost +extreme of railways, hard upon the shore of that ill-omened +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page176" id="page176"></a>176</span> +strait of whirlpools, in a land of moors where no stranger +came, unless it should be a sportsman to shoot grouse or +an antiquary to decipher runes, the presence of these small +pedestrians struck the mind as though a bird-of-paradise +had risen from the heather or an albatross come fishing in +the bay of Wick. They were as strange to their surroundings +as my lordly evangelist or the old Spanish grandee +on the Fair Isle.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page177" id="page177"></a>177</span></p> +<h3>III</h3> + +<h3>A CHAPTER ON DREAMS</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> past is all of one texture—whether feigned or suffered—whether +acted out in three dimensions, or only witnessed +in that small theatre of the brain which we keep brightly +lighted all night long, after the jets are down, and darkness +and sleep reign undisturbed in the remainder of the body. +There is no distinction on the face of our experiences; one +is vivid indeed, and one dull, and one pleasant, and another +agonising to remember; but which of them is what we +call true, and which a dream, there is not one hair to prove. +The past stands on a precarious footing; another straw +split in the field of metaphysic, and behold us robbed of +it. There is scarce a family that can count four generations +but lays a claim to some dormant title or some castle and +estate: a claim not prosecutable in any court of law, but +flattering to the fancy and a great alleviation of idle hours. +A man’s claim to his own past is yet less valid. A paper +might turn up (in proper story-book fashion) in the secret +drawer of an old ebony secretary, and restore your family +to its ancient honours and reinstate mine in a certain West +Indian islet (not far from St. Kitt’s, as beloved tradition +hummed in my young ears) which was once ours, and is now +unjustly some one else’s, and for that matter (in the state +of the sugar trade) is not worth anything to anybody. +I do not say that these revolutions are likely; only no man +can deny that they are possible; and the past, on the +other hand, is lost for ever: our old days and deeds, our +old selves, too, and the very world in which these scenes +were acted, all brought down to the same faint residuum +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page178" id="page178"></a>178</span> +as a last night’s dream, to some incontinuous images, and +an echo in the chambers of the brain. Not an hour, not +a mood, not a glance of the eye, can we revoke; it is all +gone, past conjuring. And yet conceive us robbed of it, +conceive that little thread of memory that we trail behind +us broken at the pocket’s edge; and in what naked nullity +should we be left! for we only guide ourselves, and only +know ourselves, by these air-painted pictures of the past.</p> + +<p>Upon these grounds, there are some among us who claim +to have lived longer and more richly than their neighbours; +when they lay asleep they claim they were still active; and +among the treasures of memory that all men review for their +amusement, these count in no second place the harvests of +their dreams. There is one of this kind whom I have in +my eye, and whose case is perhaps unusual enough to be +described. He was from a child an ardent and uncomfortable +dreamer. When he had a touch of fever at night, and +the room swelled and shrank, and his clothes, hanging on +a nail, now loomed up instant to the bigness of a church, +and now drew away into a horror of infinite distance and +infinite littleness, the poor soul was very well aware of what +must follow, and struggled hard against the approaches +of that slumber which was the beginning of sorrows. But +his struggles were in vain; sooner or later the night-hag +would have him by the throat, and pluck him, strangling +and screaming, from his sleep. His dreams were at times +commonplace enough, at times very strange: at times +they were almost formless, he would be haunted, for +instance, by nothing more definite than a certain hue of +brown, which he did not mind in the least while he was +awake, but feared and loathed while he was dreaming; +at times, again, they took on every detail of circumstance, +as when once he supposed he must swallow the populous +world, and awoke screaming with the horror of the thought. +The two chief troubles of his very narrow existence—the +practical and everyday trouble of school tasks and the +ultimate and airy one of hell and judgment—were often +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page179" id="page179"></a>179</span> +confounded together into one appalling nightmare. He +seemed to himself to stand before the Great White Throne; +he was called on, poor little devil, to recite some form of +words, on which his destiny depended; his tongue stuck, +his memory was blank, hell gaped for him; and he would +awake, clinging to the curtain-rod with his knees to his +chin.</p> + +<p>These were extremely poor experiences, on the whole; +and at that time of life my dreamer would have very willingly +parted with his power of dreams. But presently, +in the course of his growth, the cries and physical contortions +passed away, seemingly for ever; his visions were +still for the most part miserable, but they were more constantly +supported; and he would awake with no more +extreme symptom than a flying heart, a freezing scalp, +cold sweats, and the speechless midnight fear. His dreams, +too, as befitted a mind better stocked with particulars, +became more circumstantial, and had more the air and +continuity of life. The look of the world beginning to take +hold on his attention, scenery came to play a part in his +sleeping as well as in his waking thoughts, so that he +would take long, uneventful journeys and see strange towns +and beautiful places as he lay in bed. And, what is more +significant, an odd taste that he had for the Georgian +costume and for stories laid in that period of English history, +began to rule the features of his dreams; so that +he masqueraded there in a three-cornered hat, and was +much engaged with Jacobite conspiracy between the hour +for bed and that for breakfast. About the same time, he +began to read in his dreams—tales, for the most part, and +for the most part after the manner of G. P. R. James, but +so incredibly more vivid and moving than any printed +book, that he has ever since been malcontent with literature.</p> + +<p>And then, while he was yet a student, there came to +him a dream-adventure which he has no anxiety to repeat; +he began, that is to say, to dream in sequence and thus to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page180" id="page180"></a>180</span> +lead a double life—one of the day, one of the night—one +that he had every reason to believe was the true one, another +that he had no means of proving to be false. I should have +said he studied, or was by way of studying, at Edinburgh +College, which (it may be supposed) was how I came to +know him. Well, in his dream-life he passed a long day +in the surgical theatre, his heart in his mouth, his teeth on +edge, seeing monstrous malformations and the abhorred +dexterity of surgeons. In a heavy, rainy, foggy evening +he came forth into the South Bridge, turned up the High +Street, and entered the door of a tall <i>land</i>, at the top of +which he supposed himself to lodge. All night long, in +his wet clothes, he climbed the stairs, stair after stair in +endless series, and at every second flight a flaring lamp +with a reflector. All night long he brushed by single persons +passing downward—beggarly women of the street, great, +weary, muddy labourers, poor scarecrows of men, pale +parodies of women—but all drowsy and weary like himself, +and all single, and all brushing against him as they passed. +In the end, out of a northern window, he would see day +beginning to whiten over the Firth, give up the ascent, +turn to descend, and in a breath be back again upon the +streets, in his wet clothes, in the wet, haggard dawn, +trudging to another day of monstrosities and operations. +Time went, quicker in the life of dreams, some seven hours +(as near as he can guess) to one; and it went, besides, +more intensely, so that the gloom of these fancied experiences +clouded the day, and he had not shaken off their +shadow ere it was time to lie down and to renew them. I +cannot tell how long it was that he endured this discipline; +but it was long enough to leave a great black blot upon his +memory, long enough to send him, trembling for his reason, +to the doors of a certain doctor; whereupon with a simple +draught he was restored to the common lot of man.</p> + +<p>The poor gentleman has since been troubled by nothing +of the sort; indeed, his nights were for some while like +other men’s, now <span class="correction" title="amended from 'banlk'">blank</span>, now chequered with dreams, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>181</span> +these sometimes charming, sometimes appalling, but except +for an occasional vividness, of no extraordinary kind. I +will just note one of these occasions, ere I pass on to what +makes my dreamer truly interesting. It seemed to him +that he was in the first floor of a rough hill-farm. The +room showed some poor efforts at gentility, a carpet on +the floor, a piano, I think, against the wall; but, for all +these refinements, there was no mistaking he was in a +moorland place, among hillside people, and set in miles of +heather. He looked down from the window upon a bare +farmyard, that seemed to have been long disused. A +great, uneasy stillness lay upon the world. There was no +sign of the farm-folk or of any live stock, save for an old, +brown, curly dog of the retriever breed, who sat close in +against the wall of the house and seemed to be dozing. +Something about this dog disquieted the dreamer; it was +quite a nameless feeling, for the beast looked right enough—indeed, +he was so old and dull and dusty and broken-down, +that he should rather have awakened pity; and +yet the conviction came and grew upon the dreamer that +this was no proper dog at all, but something hellish. A +great many dozing summer flies hummed about the yard; +and presently the dog thrust forth his paw, caught a fly in +his open palm, carried it to his mouth like an ape, and looking +suddenly up at the dreamer in the window, winked to +him with one eye. The dream went on, it matters not +how it went; it was a good dream as dreams go; but there +was nothing in the sequel worthy of that devilish brown +dog. And the point of interest for me lies partly in that +very fact: that having found so singular an incident, my +imperfect dreamer should prove unable to carry the tale +to a fit end and fall back on indescribable noises and indiscriminate +horrors. It would be different now; he knows +his business better!</p> + +<p>For, to approach at last the point: This honest fellow +had long been in the custom of setting himself to sleep with +tales, and so had his father before him; but these were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>182</span> +irresponsible inventions, told for the teller’s pleasure, with +no eye to the crass public or the thwart reviewer: tales +where a thread might be dropped, or one adventure quitted +for another, on fancy’s least suggestion. So that the little +people who manage man’s internal theatre had not as yet +received a very rigorous training; and played upon their +stage like children who should have slipped into the house +and found it empty, rather than like drilled actors performing +a set piece to a huge hall of faces. But presently my +dreamer began to turn his former amusement of story-telling +to (what is called) account; by which I mean that +he began to write and sell his tales. Here was he, and here +were the little people who did that part of his business, in +quite new conditions. The stories must now be trimmed +and pared and set upon all-fours, they must run from a +beginning to an end and fit (after a manner) with the laws +of life; the pleasure, in one word, had become a business; +and that not only for the dreamer, but for the little people +of his theatre. These understood the change as well as he. +When he lay down to prepare himself for sleep, he no +longer sought amusement, but printable and profitable +tales; and after he had dozed off in his box-seat, his little +people continued their evolutions with the same mercantile +designs. All other forms of dream deserted him but +two: he still occasionally reads the most delightful books, +he still visits at times the most delightful places; and +it is perhaps worthy of note that to these same places, +and to one in particular, he returns at intervals of months +and years, finding new field-paths, visiting new neighbours, +beholding that happy valley under new effects of noon and +dawn and sunset. But all the rest of the family of visions +is quite lost to him: the common, mangled version of +yesterday’s affairs, the raw-head-and-bloody-bones nightmare, +rumoured to be the child of toasted cheese—these +and their like are gone; and, for the most part, whether +awake or asleep, he is simply occupied—he or his little +people—in consciously making stories for the market. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>183</span> +This dreamer (like many other persons) has encountered +some trifling vicissitudes of fortune. When the bank +begins to send letters and the butcher to linger at the back +gate, he sets to belabouring his brains after a story, for +that is his readiest money-winner; and, behold! at once +the little people begin to bestir themselves in the same +quest, and labour all night long, and all night long set +before him truncheons of tales upon their lighted theatre. +No fear of his being frightened now; the flying heart and +the frozen scalp are things bygone; applause, growing +applause, growing interest, growing exultation in his own +cleverness (for he takes all the credit), and at last a jubilant +leap to wakefulness, with the cry, “I have it, that’ll do!” +upon his lips: with such and similar emotions he sits at +these nocturnal dramas, with such outbreaks, like Claudius +in the play, he scatters the performance in the midst. +Often enough the waking is a disappointment: he has been +too deep asleep, as I explain the thing; drowsiness has +gained his little people, they have gone stumbling and +maundering through their parts; and the play, to the +awakened mind, is seen to be a tissue of absurdities. And +yet how often have these sleepless Brownies done him +honest service, and given him, as he sat idly taking his +pleasure in the boxes, better tales than he could fashion +for himself.</p> + +<p>Here is one, exactly as it came to him. It seemed he +was the son of a very rich and wicked man, the owner +of broad acres and a most damnable temper. The dreamer +(and that was the son) had lived much abroad, on purpose +to avoid his parent; and when at length he returned to +England, it was to find him married again to a young +wife, who was supposed to suffer cruelly and to loathe her +yoke. Because of this marriage (as the dreamer indistinctly +understood) it was desirable for father and son to +have a meeting; and yet both being proud and both angry, +neither would condescend upon a visit. Meet they did +accordingly, in a desolate, sandy country by the sea; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>184</span> +there they quarrelled, and the son, stung by some intolerable +insult, struck down the father dead. No suspicion +was aroused; the dead man was found and buried, and the +dreamer succeeded to the broad estates, and found himself +installed under the same roof with his father’s widow, for +whom no provision had been made. These two lived very +much alone, as people may after a bereavement, sat down +to table together, shared the long evenings, and grew daily +better friends; until it seemed to him of a sudden that she +was prying about dangerous matters, that she had conceived +a notion of his guilt, that she watched him and +tried him with questions. He drew back from her company +as men draw back from a precipice suddenly discovered; +and yet so strong was the attraction that he +would drift again and again into the old intimacy, and +again and again be startled back by some suggestive question +or some inexplicable meaning in her eye. So they +lived at cross purposes, a life full of broken dialogue, challenging +glances, and suppressed passion; until, one day, +he saw the woman slipping from the house in a veil, followed +her to the station, followed her in the train to the seaside +country, and out over the sandhills to the very place where +the murder was done. There she began to grope among +the bents, he watching her, flat upon his face; and presently +she had something in her hand—I cannot remember +what it was, but it was deadly evidence against the dreamer—and +as she held it up to look at it, perhaps from the shock +of the discovery, her foot slipped, and she hung at some +peril on the brink of the tall sand-wreaths. He had no +thought but to spring up and rescue her; and there they +stood face to face, she with that deadly matter openly in +her hand—his very presence on the spot another link of +proof. It was plain she was about to speak, but this was +more than he could bear—he could bear to be lost, but +not to talk of it with his destroyer; and he cut her short +with trivial conversation. Arm in arm, they returned +together to the train, talking he knew not what, made the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>185</span> +journey back in the same carriage, sat down to dinner, and +passed the evening in the drawing-room as in the past. +But suspense and fear drummed in the dreamer’s bosom. +“She has not denounced me yet”—so his thoughts ran: +“when will she denounce me? Will it be to-morrow?” +And it was not to-morrow, nor the next day, nor the next; +and their life settled back on the old terms, only that she +seemed kinder than before, and that, as for him, the +burthen of his suspense and wonder grew daily more unbearable, +so that he wasted away like a man with a disease. +Once, indeed, he broke all bounds of decency, seized an +occasion when she was abroad, ransacked her room, and +at last, hidden away among her jewels, found the damning +evidence. There he stood, holding this thing, which was +his life, in the hollow of his hand, and marvelling at her +inconsequent behaviour, that she should seek, and keep, +and yet not use it; and then the door opened, and behold +herself. So, once more, they stood, eye to eye, with the +evidence between them; and once more she raised to him +a face brimming with some communication; and once +more he shied away from speech and cut her off. But +before he left the room, which he had turned upside down, +he laid back his death-warrant where he had found it; and +at that, her face lighted up. The next thing he heard, she +was explaining to her maid, with some ingenious falsehood, +the disorder of her things. Flesh and blood could bear +the strain no longer; and I think it was the next morning +(though chronology is always hazy in the theatre of the +mind) that he burst from his reserve. They had been +breakfasting together in one corner of a great, parqueted, +sparely-furnished room of many windows; all the time of +the meal she had tortured him with sly allusions; and no +sooner were the servants gone, and these two protagonists +alone together, than he leaped to his feet. She too sprang +up, with a pale face; with a pale face, she heard him as +he raved out his complaint: Why did she torture him so? +she knew all, she knew he was no enemy to her; why did +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>186</span> +she not denounce him at once? what signified her whole +behaviour? why did she torture him? and yet again, why +did she torture him? And when he had done, she fell +upon her knees, and with outstretched hands: “Do you +not understand?” she cried. “I love you!”</p> + +<p>Hereupon, with a pang of wonder and mercantile delight +the dreamer awoke. His mercantile delight was not of long +endurance; for it soon became plain that in this spirited +tale there were unmarketable elements; which is just the +reason why you have it here so briefly told. But his wonder +has still kept growing; and I think the reader’s will also, +if he consider it ripely. For now he sees why I speak of +the little people as of substantive inventors and performers. +To the end they had kept their secret. I will go bail for +the dreamer (having excellent grounds for valuing his +candour) that he had no guess whatever at the motive of +the woman—the hinge of the whole well-invented plot—until +the instant of that highly dramatic declaration. It +was not his tale; it was the little people’s! And observe: +not only was the secret kept, the story was told with really +guileful craftsmanship. The conduct of both actors is (in +the cant phrase) psychologically correct, and the emotion +aptly graduated up to the surprising climax. I am awake +now, and I know this trade; and yet I cannot better it. +I am awake, and I live by this business; and yet I could +not outdo—could not perhaps equal—that crafty artifice +(as of some old, experienced carpenter of plays, some Dennery +or Sardou) by which the same situation is twice presented +and the two actors twice brought face to face over +the evidence, only once it is in her hand, once in his—and +these in their due order, the least dramatic first. The more +I think of it, the more I am moved to press upon the world +my question: Who are the Little People? They are near +connections of the dreamer’s, beyond doubt; they share +in his financial worries and have an eye to the bank-book; +they share plainly in his training; they have plainly learned +like him to build the scheme of a considerate story and to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>187</span> +arrange emotion in progressive order; only I think they +have more talent; and one thing is beyond doubt, they +can tell him a story piece by piece, like a serial, and keep +him all the while in ignorance of where they aim. Who +are they, then? and who is the dreamer?</p> + +<p>Well, as regards the dreamer, I can answer that, for he +is no less a person than myself;—as I might have told +you from the beginning, only that the critics murmur over +my consistent egotism;—and as I am positively forced to +tell you now, or I could advance but little further with +my story. And for the Little People, what shall I say they +are but just my Brownies, God bless them! who do one-half +my work for me while I am fast asleep, and in all +human likelihood, do the rest for me as well, when I am +wide awake and fondly suppose I do it for myself. That +part which is done while I am sleeping is the Brownies’ +part beyond contention; but that which is done when I am +up and about is by no means necessarily mine, since all goes +to show the Brownies have a hand in it even then. Here +is a doubt that much concerns my conscience. For myself—what +I call I, my conscious ego, the denizen of the pineal +gland unless he has changed his residence since Descartes, +the man with the conscience and the variable bank-account, +the man with the hat and the boots, and the privilege of +voting and not carrying his candidate at the general elections—I +am sometimes tempted to suppose is no story-teller at +all, but a creature as matter of fact as any cheesemonger or +any cheese, and a realist bemired up to the ears in actuality; +so that, by that account, the whole of my published fiction +should be the single-handed product of some Brownie, some +Familiar, some unseen collaborator, whom I keep locked in +a back garret, while I get all the praise and he but a share +(which I cannot prevent him getting) of the pudding. I +am an excellent adviser, something like Molière’s servant. +I pull back and I cut down; and I dress the whole in +the best words and sentences that I can find and make; +I hold the pen, too; and I do the sitting at the table, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>188</span> +which is about the worst of it; and when all is done, I +make up the manuscript and pay for the registration; so +that, on the whole, I have some claim to share, though not +so largely as I do, in the profits of our common enterprise.</p> + +<p>I can but give an instance or so of what part is done +sleeping and what part awake, and leave the reader to share +what laurels there are, at his own nod, between myself and +my collaborators; and to do this I will first take a book +that a number of persons have been polite enough to read, +“The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” I had +long been trying to write a story on this subject, to find a +body, a vehicle, for that strong sense of man’s double being +which must at times come in upon and overwhelm the mind +of every thinking creature. I had even written one, “The +Travelling Companion,” which was returned by an editor +on the plea that it was a work of genius and indecent, and +which I burned the other day on the ground that it was +not a work of genius, and that “Jekyll” had supplanted it. +Then came one of those financial fluctuations to which +(with an elegant modesty) I have hitherto referred in the +third person. For two days I went about racking my brains +for a plot of any sort; and on the second night I dreamed +the scene at the window, and a scene afterward split in +two, in which Hyde, pursued for some crime, took the +powder and underwent the change in the presence of his +pursuers. All the rest was made awake, and consciously, +although I think I can trace in much of it the manner of +my Brownies. The meaning of the tale is therefore mine, +and had long pre-existed in my garden of Adonis, and tried +one body after another in vain; indeed, I do most of the +morality, worse luck! and my Brownies have not a rudiment +of what we call a conscience. Mine, too, is the setting, +mine the characters. All that was given me was the matter +of three scenes, and the central idea of a voluntary change +becoming involuntary. Will it be thought ungenerous, +after I have been so liberally ladling out praise to my unseen +collaborators, if I here toss them over, bound hand and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>189</span> +foot, into the arena of the critics? For the business of the +powders, which so many have censured, is, I am relieved to +say, not mine at all, but the Brownies’. Of another tale, in +case the reader should have glanced at it, I may say a word: +the not very defensible story of “Olalla.” Here the court, +the mother, the mother’s niche, Olalla, Olalla’s chamber, the +meetings on the stair, the broken window, the ugly scene of +the bite, were all given me in bulk and detail as I have tried +to write them; to this I added only the external scenery +(for in my dream I never was beyond the court), the portrait, +the characters of Felipe and the priest, the moral, +such as it is, and the last pages, such as, alas! they are. +And I may even say that in this case the moral itself was +given me; for it arose immediately on a comparison of the +mother and the daughter, and from the hideous trick of +atavism in the first. Sometimes a parabolic sense is still +more undeniably present in a dream; sometimes I cannot +but suppose my Brownies have been aping Bunyan, and +yet in no case with what would possibly be called a moral +in a tract; never with the ethical narrowness; conveying +hints instead of life’s larger limitations and that sort of +sense which we seem to perceive in the arabesque of time +and space.</p> + +<p>For the most part, it will be seen, my Brownies are somewhat +fantastic, like their stories hot and hot, full of passion +and the picturesque, alive with animating incident; and +they have no prejudice against the supernatural. But the +other day they gave me a surprise, entertaining me with a +love-story, a little April comedy, which I ought certainly to +hand over to the author of “A Chance Acquaintance,” for +he could write it as it should be written, and I am sure +(although I mean to try) that I cannot.—But who would +have supposed that a Brownie of mine should invent a tale +for Mr. Howells?</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>190</span></p> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h3>BEGGARS</h3> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">In</span> a pleasant, airy, up-hill country, it was my fortune when +I was young to make the acquaintance of a certain beggar. +I call him beggar, though he usually allowed his coat and +his shoes (which were open-mouthed, indeed) to beg for +him. He was the wreck of an athletic man, tall, gaunt, +and bronzed; far gone in consumption, with that disquieting +smile of the mortally stricken on his face; but still +active afoot, still with the brisk military carriage, the ready +military salute. Three ways led through this piece of +country; and as I was inconstant in my choice, I believe +he must often have awaited me in vain. But often enough, +he caught me; often enough, from some place of ambush +by the roadside, he would spring suddenly forth in the +regulation attitude, and launching at once into his inconsequential +talk, fall into step with me upon my farther +course. “A fine morning, sir, though perhaps a trifle +inclining to rain. I hope I see you well, sir. Why, no, sir, +I don’t feel as hearty myself as I could wish, but I am keeping +about my ordinary. I am pleased to meet you on the +road, sir. I assure you I quite look forward to one of our +little conversations.” He loved the sound of his own voice +inordinately, and though (with something too off-hand to +call servility) he would always hasten to agree with anything +you said, yet he could never suffer you to say it to +an end. By what transition he slid to his favourite subject +I have no memory; but we had never been long together +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>191</span> +on the way before he was dealing, in a very military manner, +with the English poets. “Shelley was a fine poet, sir, +though a trifle atheistical in his opinions. His ‘Queen +Mab,’ sir, is quite an atheistical work. Scott, sir, is not so +poetical a writer. With the works of Shakespeare I am +not so well acquainted, but he was a fine poet. Keats—John +Keats, sir—he was a very fine poet.” With such +references, such trivial criticism, such loving parade of his +own knowledge, he would beguile the road, striding forward +up-hill, his staff now clapped to the ribs of his deep, resonant +chest, now swinging in the air with the remembered jauntiness +of the private soldier; and all the while his toes looking +out of his boots, and his shirt looking out of his elbows, +and death looking out of his smile, and his big, crazy frame +shaken by accesses of cough.</p> + +<p>He would often go the whole way home with me: often +to borrow a book, and that book always a poet. Off he +would march, to continue his mendicant rounds, with the +volume slipped into the pocket of his ragged coat; and +although he would sometimes keep it quite a while, yet it +came always back again at last, not much the worse for +its travels into beggardom. And in this way, doubtless, his +knowledge grew and his glib, random criticism took a wider +range. But my library was not the first he had drawn +upon: at our first encounter, he was already brimful of +Shelley and the atheistical “Queen Mab,” and “Keats—John +Keats, sir.” And I have often wondered how he +came by these acquirements, just as I often wondered how +he fell to be a beggar. He had served through the Mutiny—of +which (like so many people) he could tell practically +nothing beyond the names of places, and that it was “difficult +work, sir,” and very hot, or that so-and-so was “a +very fine commander, sir.” He was far too smart a man +to have remained a private; in the nature of things, he +must have won his stripes. And yet here he was, without +a pension. When I touched on this problem, he would +content himself with diffidently offering me advice. “A +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>192</span> +man should be very careful when he is young, sir. If +you’ll excuse me saying so, a spirited young gentleman like +yourself, sir, should be very careful. I was perhaps a trifle +inclined to atheistical opinions myself.” For (perhaps with +a deeper wisdom than we are inclined in these days to admit) +he plainly bracketed agnosticism with beer and skittles.</p> + +<p>Keats—John Keats, sir—and Shelley were his favourite +bards. I cannot remember if I tried him with Rossetti; +but I know his taste to a hair, and if ever I did, he must +have doted on that author. What took him was a richness +in the speech; he loved the exotic, the unexpected word; +the moving cadence of a phrase; a vague sense of emotion +(about nothing) in the very letters of the alphabet: the +romance of language. His honest head was very nearly +empty, his intellect like a child’s; and when he read his +favourite authors, he can almost never have understood +what he was reading. Yet the taste was not only genuine, +it was exclusive; I tried in vain to offer him novels; he +would none of them, he cared for nothing but romantic +language that he could not understand. The case may be +commoner than we suppose. I am reminded of a lad who +was laid in the next cot to a friend of mine in a public +hospital, and who was no sooner installed than he sent out +(perhaps with his last pence) for a cheap Shakespeare. +My friend pricked up his ears; fell at once in talk with his +new neighbour, and was ready, when the book arrived, to +make a singular discovery. For this lover of great literature +understood not one sentence out of twelve, and his +favourite part was that of which he understood the least—the +inimitable, mouth-filling rodomontade of the ghost in +<i>Hamlet</i>. It was a bright day in hospital when my friend +expounded the sense of this beloved jargon: a task for +which I am willing to believe my friend was very fit, though +I can never regard it as an easy one. I know indeed a +point or two, on which I would gladly question Mr. Shakespeare, +that lover of big words, could he revisit the glimpses +of the moon, or could I myself climb backward to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193" id="page193"></a>193</span> +spacious days of Elizabeth. But, in the second case, I +should most likely pretermit these questionings, and take +my place instead in the pit at the Blackfriars, to hear the +actor in his favourite part, playing up to Mr. Burbage, and +rolling out—as I seem to hear him—with a ponderous +gusto—</p> + +<p class="center f90">“Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d.”</p> + +<p class="noind">What a pleasant chance, if we could go there in a party! +and what a surprise for Mr. Burbage, when the ghost +received the honours of the evening!</p> + +<p>As for my old soldier, like Mr. Burbage and Mr. Shakespeare, +he is long since dead; and now lies buried, I suppose, +and nameless and quite forgotten, in some poor city +graveyard.—But not for me, you brave heart, have you +been buried! For me, you are still afoot, tasting the sun +and air, and striding southward. By the groves of Comiston +and beside the Hermitage of Braid, by the Hunters’ Tryst, +and where the curlews and plovers cry around Fairmilehead, +I see and hear you, stalwartly carrying your deadly sickness, +cheerfully discoursing of uncomprehended poets.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>The thought of the old soldier recalls that of another +tramp, his counterpart. This was a little, lean, and fiery +man, with the eyes of a dog and the face of a gipsy; whom +I found one morning encamped with his wife and children +and his grinder’s wheel, beside the burn of Kinnaird. To +this beloved dell I went, at that time, daily; and daily the +knife-grinder and I (for as long as his tent continued +pleasantly to interrupt my little wilderness) sat on two +stones, and smoked, and plucked grass and talked to the +tune of the brown water. His children were mere whelps, +they fought and bit among the fern like vermin. His wife +was a mere squaw; I saw her gather brush and tend the +kettle, but she never ventured to address her lord while I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194" id="page194"></a>194</span> +was present. The tent was a mere gipsy hovel, like a sty +for pigs. But the grinder himself had the fine self-sufficiency +and grave politeness of the hunter and the savage; he +did me the honours of this dell, which had been mine but +the day before, took me far into the secrets of his life, and +used me (I am proud to remember) as a friend.</p> + +<p>Like my old soldier, he was far gone in the national complaint. +Unlike him, he had a vulgar taste in letters; scarce +flying higher than the story papers; probably finding no +difference, certainly seeking none, between Tannahill and +Burns; his noblest thoughts, whether of poetry or music, +adequately embodied in that somewhat obvious ditty,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Will ye gang, lassie, gang</p> +<p class="i05">To the braes o’ Balquhidder”:</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">—which is indeed apt to echo in the ears of Scottish children, +and to him, in view of his experience, must have found a +special directness of address. But if he had no fine sense +of poetry in letters, he felt with a deep joy the poetry of +life. You should have heard him speak of what he loved; +of the tent pitched beside the talking water; of the stars +overhead at night; of the blest return of morning, the peep +of day over the moors, the awaking birds among the birches; +how he abhorred the long winter shut in cities; and with +what delight, at the return of the spring, he once more +pitched his camp in the living out-of-doors. But we were +a pair of tramps; and to you, who are doubtless sedentary +and a consistent first-class passenger in life, he would scarce +have laid himself so open;—to you, he might have been +content to tell his story of a ghost—that of a buccaneer +with his pistols as he lived—whom he had once encountered +in a seaside cave near Buckie; and that would have been +enough, for that would have shown you the mettle of the +man. Here was a piece of experience solidly and livingly +built up in words, here was a story created, <i>teres atque +rotundus</i>.</p> + +<p>And to think of the old soldier, that lover of the literary +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195" id="page195"></a>195</span> +bards! He had visited stranger spots than any seaside +cave; encountered men more terrible than any spirit; done +and dared and suffered in that incredible, unsung epic of +the Mutiny War; played his part with the field force of +Delhi, beleaguering and beleaguered; shared in that enduring, +savage anger and contempt of death and decency that, +for long months together, bedevil’d and inspired the army; +was hurled to and fro in the battle-smoke of the assault; +was there, perhaps, where Nicholson fell; was there when +the attacking column, with hell upon every side, found the +soldier’s enemy—strong drink, and the lives of tens of +thousands trembled in the scale, and the fate of the flag of +England staggered. And of all this he had no more to say +than “hot work, sir,” or “the army suffered a great deal, +sir,” or, “I believe General Wilson, sir, was not very highly +thought of in the papers.” His life was naught to him, +the vivid pages of experience quite blank: in words his +pleasure lay—melodious, agitated words—printed words, +about that which he had never seen and was connatally +incapable of comprehending. We have here two temperaments +face to face; both untrained, unsophisticated, surprised +(we may say) in the egg; both boldly charactered:—that +of the artist, the lover and artificer of words; that of +the maker, the seeër, the lover and forger of experience. If +the one had a daughter and the other had a son, and these +married, might not some illustrious writer count descent +from the beggar-soldier and the needy knife-grinder?</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>III</h5> + +<p>Every one lives by selling something, whatever be his +right to it. The burglar sells at the same time his own skill +and courage and my silver plate (the whole at the most +moderate figure) to a Jew receiver. The bandit sells the +traveller an article of prime necessity: that traveller’s life. +And as for the old soldier, who stands for central mark to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196" id="page196"></a>196</span> +my capricious figures of eight, he dealt in a specialty; for +he was the only beggar in the world who ever gave me pleasure +for my money. He had learned a school of manners +in the barracks and had the sense to cling to it, accosting +strangers with a regimental freedom, thanking patrons with +a merely regimental difference, sparing you at once the +tragedy of his position and the embarrassment of yours. +There was not one hint about him of the beggar’s emphasis, +the outburst of revolting gratitude, the rant and cant, the +“God bless you, Kind, Kind gentleman,” which insults the +smallness of your alms by disproportionate vehemence, +which is so notably false, which would be so unbearable if +it were true. I am sometimes tempted to suppose this +reading of the beggar’s part a survival of the old days when +Shakespeare was intoned upon the stage and mourners +keened beside the death-bed; to think that we cannot now +accept these strong emotions unless they be uttered in the +just note of life; nor (save in the pulpit) endure these gross +conventions. They wound us, I am tempted to say, like +mockery; the high voice of keening (as it yet lingers on) +strikes in the face of sorrow like a buffet; and the rant and +cant of the staled beggar stirs in us a shudder of disgust. +But the fact disproves these amateur opinions. The beggar +lives by his knowledge of the average man. He knows what +he is about when he bandages his head, and hires and drugs +a babe, and poisons life with “Poor Mary Ann” or “Long, +long ago”; he knows what he is about when he loads the +critical ear and sickens the nice conscience with intolerable +thanks; they know what they are about, he and his crew, +when they pervade the slums of cities, ghastly parodies of +suffering, hateful parodies of gratitude. This trade can +scarce be called an imposition; it has been so blown upon +with exposures; it flaunts its fraudulence so nakedly. We +pay them as we pay those who show us, in huge exaggeration, +the monsters of our drinking-water; or those who +daily predict the fall of Britain. We pay them for the pain +they inflict, pay them, and wince, and hurry on. And truly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197" id="page197"></a>197</span> +there is nothing that can shake the conscience like a beggar’s +thanks; and that polity in which such protestations can be +purchased for a shilling, seems no scene for an honest man.</p> + +<p>Are there, then, we may be asked, no genuine beggars? +And the answer is, Not one. My old soldier was a humbug +like the rest; his ragged boots were, in the stage phrase, +properties; whole boots were given him again and again, +and always gladly accepted; and the next day, there he +was on the road as usual, with toes exposed. His boots +were his method; they were the man’s trade; without his +boots he would have starved; he did not live by charity, +but by appealing to a gross taste in the public, which loves +the limelight on the actor’s face, and the toes out of the +beggar’s boots. There is a true poverty, which no one sees: +a false and merely mimetic poverty, which usurps its place +and dress, and lives, and above all drinks, on the fruits of +the usurpation. The true poverty does not go into the +streets; the banker may rest assured, he has never put a +penny in its hand. The self-respecting poor beg from each +other; never from the rich. To live in the frock-coated +ranks of life, to hear canting scenes of gratitude rehearsed +for twopence, a man might suppose that giving was a thing +gone out of fashion; yet it goes forward on a scale so great +as to fill me with surprise. In the houses of the working +classes, all day long there will be a foot upon the stair; +all day long there will be a knocking at the doors; beggars +come, beggars go, without stint, hardly with intermission, +from morning till night; and meanwhile, in the same city +and but a few streets off, the castles of the rich stand +unsummoned. Get the tale of any honest tramp, you will +find it was always the poor who helped him; get the truth +from any workman who has met misfortunes, it was always +next door that he would go for help, or only with such +exceptions as are said to prove a rule; look at the course of +the mimetic beggar, it is through the poor quarters that he +trails his passage, showing his bandages to every window, +piercing even to the attics with his nasal song. Here is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198" id="page198"></a>198</span> +remarkable state of things in our Christian commonwealths, +that the poor only should be asked to give.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p>There is a pleasant tale of some worthless, phrasing +Frenchman, who was taxed with ingratitude: “<i>Il faut +savoir garder l’indépendance du cœur</i>,” cried he. I own I +feel with him. Gratitude without familiarity, gratitude +otherwise than as a nameless element in a friendship, is a +thing so near to hatred that I do not care to split the +difference. Until I find a man who is pleased to receive +obligations, I shall continue to question the tact of those +who are eager to confer them. What an art it is, to give, +even to our nearest friends! and what a test of manners, to +receive! How, upon either side, we smuggle away the +obligation, blushing for each other; how bluff and dull we +make the giver; how hasty, how falsely cheerful, the +receiver! And yet an act of such difficulty and distress +between near friends, it is supposed we can perform to a +total stranger and leave the man transfixed with grateful +emotions. The last thing you can do to a man is to burthen +him with an obligation, and it is what we propose to begin +with! But let us not be deceived: unless he is totally +degraded to his trade, anger jars in his inside, and he grates +his teeth at our gratuity.</p> + +<p>We should wipe two words from our vocabulary: +gratitude and charity. In real life, help is given out of +friendship, or it is not valued; it is received from the hand +of friendship, or it is resented. We are all too proud to +take a naked gift: we must seem to pay it, if in nothing +else, then with the delights of our society. Here, then, is +the pitiful fix of the rich man; here is that needle’s eye in +which he stuck already in the days of Christ, and still sticks +to-day, firmer, if possible, than ever: that he has the money +and lacks the love which should make his money acceptable. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page199" id="page199"></a>199</span> +Here and now, just as of old in Palestine, he has the rich +to dinner, it is with the rich that he takes his pleasure: +and when his turn comes to be charitable, he looks in vain +for a recipient. His friends are not poor, they do not want; +the poor are not his friends, they will not take. To whom +is he to give? Where to find—note this phrase—the +Deserving Poor? Charity is (what they call) centralised; +offices are hired; societies founded, with secretaries paid +or unpaid: the hunt of the Deserving Poor goes merrily +forward. I think it will take more than a merely human +secretary to disinter that character. What! a class that +is to be in want from no fault of its own, and yet greedily +eager to receive from strangers; and to be quite respectable, +and at the same time quite devoid of self-respect; and play +the most delicate part of friendship, and yet never be seen; +and wear the form of man, and yet fly in the face of all the +laws of human nature:—and all this, in the hope of getting +a belly-god Burgess through a needle’s eye! Oh, let him +stick, by all means: and let his polity tumble in the dust; +and let his epitaph and all his literature (of which my own +works begin to form no inconsiderable part) be abolished +even from the history of man! For a fool of this monstrosity +of dulness, there can be no salvation: and the fool +who looked for the elixir of life was an angel of reason to +the fool who looks for the Deserving Poor!</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>V</h5> + +<p>And yet there is one course which the unfortunate +gentleman may take. He may subscribe to pay the taxes. +There were the true charity, impartial and impersonal, +cumbering none with obligation, helping all. There were a +destination for loveless gifts; there were the way to reach +the pocket of the deserving poor, and yet save the time of +secretaries! But, alas! there is no colour of romance in +such a course; and people nowhere demand the picturesque +so much as in their virtues.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page200" id="page200"></a>200</span></p> +<h3>V</h3> + +<h3>THE LANTERN-BEARERS</h3> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">These</span> boys congregated every autumn about a certain +easterly fisher-village, where they tasted in a high degree +the glory of existence. The place was created seemingly +on purpose for the diversion of young gentlemen. A street +or two of houses, mostly red and many of them tiled; a +number of fine trees clustered about the manse and the kirkyard, +and turning the chief street into a shady alley; many +little gardens more than usually bright with flowers; nets +a-drying, and fisher-wives scolding in the backward parts; a +smell of fish, a genial smell of seaweed; whiffs of blowing +sand at the street-corners; shops with golf-balls and bottled +lollipops; another shop with penny pickwicks (that remarkable +cigar) and the <i>London Journal</i>, dear to me for its +startling pictures, and a few novels, dear for their suggestive +names: such, as well as memory serves me, were the ingredients +of the town. These, you are to conceive posted on +a spit between two sandy bays, and sparsely flanked with +villas—enough for the boys to lodge in with their subsidiary +parents, not enough (not yet enough) to cocknify the scene: +a haven in the rocks in front: in front of that, a file of grey +islets: to the left, endless links and sand wreaths, a wilderness +of hiding-holes, alive with popping rabbits and soaring +gulls: to the right, a range of seaward crags, one rugged +brow beyond another; the ruins of a mighty and ancient +fortress on the brink of one; coves between—now charmed +into sunshine quiet, now whistling with wind and clamorous +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" id="page201"></a>201</span> +with bursting surges; the dens and sheltered hollows +redolent of thyme and southernwood, the air at the cliff’s +edge brisk and clean and pungent of the sea—in front of +all, the Bass Rock, tilted seaward like a doubtful bather, the +surf ringing it with white, the solan-geese hanging round +its summit like a great and glittering smoke. This choice +piece of seaboard was sacred, besides, to the wrecker; and +the Bass, in the eye of fancy, still flew the colours of King +James; and in the ear of fancy the arches of Tantallon still +rang with horse-shoe iron, and echoed to the commands of +Bell-the-Cat.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to mar your days, if you were a boy +summering in that part, but the embarrassment of pleasure. +You might golf if you wanted; but I seem to have been +better employed. You might secrete yourself in the Lady’s +Walk, a certain sunless dingle of elders, all mossed over by +the damp as green as grass, and dotted here and there by +the stream-side with roofless walls, the cold homes of +anchorites. To fit themselves for life, and with a special +eye to acquire the art of smoking, it was even common for +the boys to harbour there; and you might have seen a +single penny pickwick, honestly shared in lengths with a +blunt knife, bestrew the glen with these apprentices. Again, +you might join our fishing parties, where we sat perched +as thick as solan-geese, a covey of little anglers, boy and +girl, angling over each other’s heads, to the much entanglement +of lines and loss of podleys and consequent shrill +recrimination—shrill as the geese themselves. Indeed, +had that been all, you might have done this often; but +though fishing be a fine pastime, the podley is scarce to be +regarded as a dainty for the table; and it was a point of +honour that a boy should eat all that he had taken. Or +again, you might climb the Law, where the whale’s jawbone +stood landmark in the buzzing wind, and behold the face +of many counties, and the smoke and spires of many towns, +and the sails of distant ships. You might bathe, now in +the flaws of fine weather, that we pathetically call our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" id="page202"></a>202</span> +summer, now in a gale of wind, with the sand scourging +your bare hide, your clothes thrashing abroad from underneath +their guardian stone, the froth of the great breakers +casting you headlong ere it had drowned your knees. Or +you might explore the tidal rocks, above all in the ebb of +springs, when the very roots of the hills were for the nonce +discovered; following my leader from one group to another, +groping in slippery tangle for the wreck of ships, wading in +pools after the abominable creatures of the sea, and ever +with an eye cast backward on the march of the tide and the +menaced line of your retreat. And then you might go +Crusoeing, a word that covers all extempore eating in the +open air: digging perhaps a house under the margin of the +links, kindling a fire of the sea-ware, and cooking apples +there—if they were truly apples, for I sometimes suppose +the merchant must have played us off with some inferior +and quite local fruit, capable of resolving, in the neighbourhood +of fire, into mere sand and smoke and iodine; or +perhaps pushing to Tantallon, you might lunch on sandwiches +and visions in the grassy court, while the wind +hummed in the crumbling turrets; or clambering along +the coast, eat geans<a name="FnAnchor_17" id="FnAnchor_17" href="#Footnote_17"><span class="sp">17</span></a> (the worst, I must suppose, in Christendom) +from an adventurous gean tree that had taken root +under a cliff, where it was shaken with an ague of east wind, +and silvered after gales with salt, and grew so foreign among +its bleak surroundings that to eat of its produce was an +adventure in itself.</p> + +<p>There are mingled some dismal memories with so many +that were joyous. Of the fisher-wife, for instance, who had +cut her throat at Canty Bay; and of how I ran with the +other children to the top of the Quadrant, and beheld a +posse of silent people escorting a cart, and on the cart, +bound in a chair, her throat bandaged, and the bandage all +bloody—horror!—the fisher-wife herself, who continued +thenceforth to hag-ride my thoughts, and even to-day (as +I recall the scene) darkens daylight. She was lodged in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page203" id="page203"></a>203</span> +the little old gaol in the chief street; but whether or no she +died there, with a wise terror of the worst, I never inquired. +She had been tippling; it was but a dingy tragedy; and +it seems strange and hard that, after all these years, the +poor crazy sinner should be still pilloried on her cart in the +scrap-book of my memory. Nor shall I readily forget a +certain house in the Quadrant where a visitor died, and a +dark old woman continued to dwell alone with the dead +body; nor how this old woman conceived a hatred to myself +and one of my cousins, and in the dread hour of the +dusk, as we were clambering on the garden-walls, opened a +window in that house of mortality and cursed us in a shrill +voice and with a marrowy choice of language. It was a +pair of very colourless urchins that fled down the lane from +this remarkable experience! But I recall with a more +doubtful sentiment, compounded out of fear and exultation, +the coil of equinoctial tempests; trumpeting squalls, scouring +flaws of rain; the boats with their reefed lugsails scudding +for the harbour mouth, where danger lay, for it was +hard to make when the wind had any east in it; the wives +clustered with blowing shawls at the pier-head, where (if +fate was against them) they might see boat and husband +and sons—their whole wealth and their whole family—engulfed +under their eyes; and (what I saw but once) a +troop of neighbours forcing such an unfortunate homeward, +and she squalling and battling in their midst, a figure +scarcely human, a tragic Mænad.</p> + +<p>These are things that I recall with interest; but what +my memory dwells upon the most, I have been all this while +withholding. It was a sport peculiar to the place, and +indeed to a week or so of our two months’ holiday there. +Maybe it still flourishes in its native spot; for boys and +their pastimes are swayed by periodic forces inscrutable to +man; so that tops and marbles reappear in their due season, +regular like the sun and moon; and the harmless art of +knucklebones has seen the fall of the Roman empire and +the rise of the United States. It may still flourish in its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" id="page204"></a>204</span> +native spot, but nowhere else, I am persuaded; for I tried +myself to introduce it on Tweedside, and was defeated +lamentably; its charm being quite local, like a country +wine that cannot be exported.</p> + +<p>The idle manner of it was this:—</p> + +<p>Toward the end of September, when school-time was +drawing near and the nights were already black, we would +begin to sally from our respective villas, each equipped with +a tin bull’s-eye lantern. The thing was so well known that +it had worn a rut in the commerce of Great Britain; and +the grocers, about the due time, began to garnish their +windows with our particular brand of luminary. We wore +them buckled to the waist upon a cricket belt, and over +them, such was the rigour of the game, a buttoned top-coat. +They smelled noisomely of blistered tin; they +never burned aright, though they would always burn our +fingers; their use was naught; the pleasure of them merely +fanciful; and yet a boy with a bull’s-eye under his top-coat +asked for nothing more. The fishermen used lanterns about +their boats, and it was from them, I suppose, that we had +got the hint; but theirs were not bull’s-eyes, nor did we +ever play at being fishermen. The police carried them at +their belts, and we had plainly copied them in that; yet we +did not pretend to be policemen. Burglars, indeed, we may +have had some haunting thoughts of; and we had certainly +an eye to past ages when lanterns were more +common, and to certain story-books in which we had +found them to figure very largely. But take it for all in +all, the pleasure of the thing was substantive; and to +be a boy with a bull’s-eye under his top-coat was good +enough for us.</p> + +<p>When two of these asses met, there would be an anxious +“Have you got your lantern?” and a gratified “Yes!” +That was the shibboleth, and very needful too; for, as it +was the rule to keep our glory contained, none could recognise +a lantern-bearer, unless (like the polecat) by the smell. +Four or five would sometimes climb into the belly of a ten-man +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205" id="page205"></a>205</span> +lugger, with nothing but the thwarts above them—for +the cabin was usually locked—or choose out some hollow +of the links where the wind might whistle overhead. There +the coats would be unbuttoned and the bull’s-eyes discovered; +and in the chequering glimmer, under the huge +windy hall of the night, and cheered by a rich steam of +toasting tinware, these fortunate young gentlemen would +crouch together in the cold sand of the links or on the scaly +bilges of the fishing-boat, and delight themselves with +inappropriate talk. Woe is me that I may not give some +specimens—some of their foresights of life, or deep inquiries +into the rudiments of man and nature, these were so fiery +and so innocent, they were so richly silly, so romantically +young. But the talk, at any rate, was but a condiment; +and these gatherings themselves only accidents in the career +of the lantern-bearer. The essence of this bliss was to walk +by yourself in the black night; the slide shut; the top-coat +buttoned; not a ray escaping, whether to conduct your +footsteps or to make your glory public: a mere pillar of +darkness in the dark; and all the while, deep down in the +privacy of your fool’s heart, to know you had a bull’s-eye +at your belt, and to exult and sing over the knowledge.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>It is said that a poet has died young in the breast of +the most stolid. It may be contended, rather, that this +(somewhat minor) bard in almost every case survives, and +is the spice of life to his possessor. Justice is not done to +the versatility and the unplumbed childishness of man’s +imagination. His life from without may seem but a rude +mound of mud; there will be some golden chamber at the +heart of it, in which he dwells delighted; and for as dark +as his pathway seems to the observer, he will have some +kind of a bull’s-eye at his belt.</p> + +<p>It would be hard to pick out a career more cheerless +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id="page206"></a>206</span> +than that of Dancer, the miser, as he figures in the “Old +Bailey Reports,” a prey to the most sordid persecutions, +the butt of his neighbourhood, betrayed by his hired man, +his house beleaguered by the impish school-boy, and he +himself grinding and fuming and impotently fleeing to the +law against these pin-pricks. You marvel at first that +any one should willingly prolong a life so destitute of charm +and dignity; and then you call to memory that had he +chosen, had he ceased to be a miser, he could have been +freed at once from these trials, and might have built +himself a castle and gone escorted by a squadron. For the +love of more recondite joys, which we cannot estimate, +which, it may be, we should envy, the man had willingly +forgone both comfort and consideration. “His mind to +him a kingdom was”; and sure enough, digging into that +mind, which seems at first a dust-heap, we unearth some +priceless jewels. For Dancer must have had the love of +power and the disdain of using it, a noble character in +itself; disdain of many pleasures, a chief part of what is +commonly called wisdom; disdain of the inevitable end, +that finest trait of mankind; scorn of men’s opinions, +another element of virtue; and at the back of all, a conscience +just like yours and mine, whining like a cur, swindling +like a thimble-rigger, but still pointing (there or thereabout) +to some conventional standard. Here were a cabinet +portrait to which Hawthorne perhaps had done justice; +and yet not Hawthorne either, for he was mildly minded, +and it lay not in him to create for us that throb of the +miser’s pulse, his fretful energy of gusto, his vast arms of +ambition clutching in he knows not what: insatiable, +insane, a god with a muck-rake. Thus, at least, looking +in the bosom of the miser, consideration detects the poet +in the full tide of life, with more, indeed, of the poetic +fire than usually goes to epics; and tracing that mean man +about his cold hearth, and to and fro in his discomfortable +house, spies within him a blazing bonfire of delight. And +so with others, who do not live by bread alone, but by some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>207</span> +cherished and perhaps fantastic pleasure; who are meat +salesmen to the external eye, and possibly to themselves +are Shakespeares, Napoleons, or Beethovens; who have not +one virtue to rub against another in the field of active life, +and yet perhaps, in the life of contemplation, sit with the +saints. We see them on the street, and we can count +their buttons; but heaven knows in what they pride +themselves! heaven knows where they have set their +treasure!</p> + +<p>There is one fable that touches very near the quick of +life: the fable of the monk who passed into the woods, +heard a bird break into song, hearkened for a trill or two, +and found himself on his return a stranger at his convent +gates; for he had been absent fifty years, and of all his +comrades there survived but one to recognise him. It is +not only in the woods that this enchanter carols, though +perhaps he is native there. He sings in the most doleful +places. The miser hears him and chuckles, and the days +are moments. With no more apparatus than an ill-smelling +lantern I have evoked him on the naked links. All life that +is not merely mechanical is spun out of two strands: seeking +for that bird and hearing him. And it is just this that +makes life so hard to value, and the delight of each so incommunicable; +and just a knowledge of this, and a remembrance +of those fortunate hours in which the bird has sung +to us, that fills us with such wonder when we turn the pages +of the realist. There, to be sure, we find a picture of life +in so far as it consists of mud and of old iron, cheap desires +and cheap fears, that which we are ashamed to remember +and that which we are careless whether we forget; but of +the note of that time-devouring nightingale we hear no +news.</p> + +<p>The case of these writers of romance is most obscure. +They have been boys and youths; they have lingered outside +the window of the beloved, who was then most probably +writing to some one else; they have sat before a sheet of +paper, and felt themselves mere continents of congested +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>208</span> +poetry, not one line of which would flow; they have walked +alone in the woods, they have walked in cities under the +countless lamps; they have been to sea, they have hated, +they have feared, they have longed to knife a man, and +maybe done it; the wild taste of life has stung their palate. +Or, if you deny them all the rest, one pleasure at least they +have tasted to the full—their books are there to prove it—the +keen pleasure of successful literary composition. And +yet they fill the globe with volumes, whose cleverness +inspires me with despairing admiration, and whose consistent +falsity to all I care to call existence, with despairing +wrath. If I had no better hope than to continue to revolve +among the dreary and petty businesses, and to be moved +by the paltry hopes and fears with which they surround +and animate their heroes, I declare I would die now. But +there has never an hour of mine gone quite so dully yet; +if it were spent waiting at a railway junction, I would have +some scattering thoughts, I could count some grains of +memory, compared to which the whole of one of these +romances seems but dross.</p> + +<p>These writers would retort (if I take them properly) that +this was very true; that it was the same with themselves +and other persons of (what they call) the artistic temperament +that in this we were exceptional, and should apparently +be ashamed of ourselves; but that our works must +deal exclusively with (what they call) the average man, +who was a prodigious dull fellow, and quite dead to all +but the paltriest considerations. I accept the issue. We +can only know others by ourselves. The artistic temperament +(a plague on the expression!) does not make us different +from our fellow-men, or it would make us incapable of +writing novels; and the average man (a murrain on the +word!) is just like you and me, or he would not be average. +It was Whitman who stamped a kind of Birmingham +sacredness upon the latter phrase; but Whitman knew very +well, and showed very nobly, that the average man was full +of joys and full of poetry of his own. And this harping on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>209</span> +life’s dulness and man’s meanness is a loud profession of +incompetence; it is one of two things: the cry of the +blind eye, <i>I cannot see</i>, or the complaint of the dumb tongue, +<i>I cannot utter</i>. To draw a life without delights is to prove +I have not realised it. To picture a man without some sort +of poetry—well, it goes near to prove my case, for it shows +an author may have little enough. To see Dancer only as +a dirty, old, small-minded, impotently fuming man, in a +dirty house, besieged by Harrow boys, and probably beset +by small attorneys, is to show myself as keen an observer +as ... the Harrow boys. But these young gentlemen +(with a more becoming modesty) were content to pluck +Dancer by the coat-tails; they did not suppose they had +surprised his secret or could put him living in a book: and +it is there my error would have lain. Or say that in the +same romance—I continue to call these books romances, in +the hope of giving pain—say that in the same romance, +which now begins really to take shape, I should leave to +speak of Dancer, and follow instead the Harrow boys; and +say that I came on some such business as that of my lantern-bearers +on the links; and described the boys as very cold, +spat upon by flurries of rain, and drearily surrounded, all of +which they were; and their talk as silly and indecent, which +it certainly was. I might upon these lines, and had I +Zola’s genius, turn out, in a page or so, a gem of literary +art, render the lantern-light with the touches of a master, +and lay on the indecency with the ungrudging hand of love; +and when all was done, what a triumph would my picture +be of shallowness and dulness! how it would have missed +the point! how it would have belied the boys! To the +ear of the stenographer, the talk is merely silly and indecent; +but ask the boys themselves, and they are discussing (as +it is highly proper they should) the possibilities of existence. +To the eye of the observer they are wet and cold +and drearily surrounded; but ask themselves, and they +are in the heaven of a recondite pleasure, the ground of +which is an ill-smelling lantern.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>210</span></p> +<h5>III</h5> + +<p>For, to repeat, the ground of a man’s joy is often hard +to hit. It may hinge at times upon a mere accessory, like +the lantern; it may reside, like Dancer’s, in the mysterious +inwards of psychology. It may consist with perpetual +failure, and find exercise in the continued chase. It has +so little bond with externals (such as the observer scribbles +in his note-book) that it may even touch them not; and +the man’s true life, for which he consents to live, lie altogether +in the field of fancy. The clergyman, in his spare +hours, may be winning battles, the farmer sailing ships, +the banker reaping triumph in the arts: all leading another +life, plying another trade from that they chose; like the +poet’s housebuilder, who, after all, is cased in stone,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“By his fireside, as impotent fancy prompts,</p> +<p class="i05">Rebuilds it to his liking.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">In such a case the poetry runs underground. The observer +(poor soul, with his documents!) is all abroad. For to look +at the man is but to court deception. We shall see the +trunk from which he draws his nourishment; but he himself +is above and abroad in the green dome of foliage, +hummed through by winds and nested in by nightingales. +And the true realism were that of the poets, to climb up +after him like a squirrel, and catch some glimpse of the +heaven for which he lives. And the true realism, always +and everywhere, is that of the poets: to find out where joy +resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing.</p> + +<p>For to miss the joy is to miss all. In the joy of the +actors lies the sense of any action. That is the explanation, +that the excuse. To one who has not the secret of the +lanterns, the scene upon the links is meaningless. And +hence the haunting and truly spectral unreality of realistic +books. Hence, when we read the English realists, the +incredulous wonder with which we observe the hero’s +constancy under the submerging tide of dulness, and how +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>211</span> +he bears up with his jibbing sweetheart, and endures the +chatter of idiot girls, and stands by his whole unfeatured +wilderness of an existence, instead of seeking relief in drink +or foreign travel. Hence in the French, in that meat-market +of middle-aged sensuality, the disgusted surprise +with which we see the hero drift sidelong, and practically +quite untempted, into every description of misconduct and +dishonour. In each, we miss the personal poetry, the +enchanted atmosphere, that rainbow work of fancy that +clothes what is naked and seems to ennoble what is base; +in each, life falls dead like dough, instead of soaring away +like a balloon into the colours of the sunset; each is true, +each inconceivable; for no man lives in external truth, +among salts and acids, but in the warm, phantasmagoric +chamber of his brain, with the painted windows and the +storied walls.</p> + +<p>Of this falsity we have had a recent example from a man +who knows far better—Tolstoi’s “Powers of Darkness.” +Here is a piece full of force and truth, yet quite untrue. +For before Mikita was led into so dire a situation he was +tempted, and temptations are beautiful at least in part; +and a work which dwells on the ugliness of crime and gives +no hint of any loveliness in the temptation, sins against +the modesty of life, and, even when Tolstoi writes it, sinks +to melodrama. The peasants are not understood; they +saw their life in fairer colours; even the deaf girl was +clothed in poetry for Mikita, or he had never fallen. And +so, once again, even an Old Bailey melodrama, without +some brightness of poetry and lustre of existence, falls into +the inconceivable and ranks with fairy tales.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p>In nobler books we are moved with something like the +emotions of life; and this emotion is very variously provoked. +We are so moved when Levine labours on the field, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212" id="page212"></a>212</span> +when André sinks beyond emotion, when Richard Feverel +and Lucy Desborough meet beside the river, when Antony, +“not cowardly, puts off his helmet,” when Kent has infinite +pity on the dying Lear, when, in Dostoieffsky’s “Despised +and Rejected,” the uncomplaining hero drains his cup of +suffering and virtue. These are notes that please the great +heart of man. Not only love, and the fields, and the bright +face of danger, but sacrifice and death and unmerited +suffering humbly supported, touch in us the vein of the +poetic. We love to think of them, we long to try them, +we are humbly hopeful that we may prove heroes also.</p> + +<p>We have heard, perhaps, too much of lesser matters. +Here is the door, here is the open air.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><i>Itur in antiquam silvam.</i></p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" href="#FnAnchor_17"><span class="fn">17</span></a> Wild cherries.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>213</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>LATER ESSAYS</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id="page214"></a>214</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>215</span></p> +<h2>LATER ESSAYS</h2> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>I</h3> + +<h3>FONTAINEBLEAU</h3> + +<h5>VILLAGE COMMUNITIES OF PAINTERS</h5> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> charm of Fontainebleau is a thing apart. It is a place +that people love even more than they admire. The vigorous +forest air, the silence, the majestic avenues of highway, the +wilderness of tumbled boulders, the great age and dignity +of certain groves—these are but ingredients, they are not +the secret of the philtre. The place is sanative; the air, +the light, the perfumes, and the shapes of things concord +in happy harmony. The artist may be idle and not fear +the “blues.” He may dally with his life. Mirth, lyric +mirth, and a vivacious classical contentment are of the very +essence of the better kind of art; and these, in that most +smiling forest, he has the chance to learn or to remember. +Even on the plain of Bière, where the Angelus of Millet still +tolls upon the ear of fancy, a larger air, a higher heaven, +something ancient and healthy in the face of nature, purify +the mind alike from dulness and hysteria. There is no +place where the young are more gladly conscious of their +youth, or the old better contented with their age.</p> + +<p>The fact of its great and special beauty further recommends +this country to the artist. The field was chosen by +men in whose blood there still raced some of the gleeful or +solemn exultation of great art—Millet who loved dignity +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>216</span> +like Michelangelo, Rousseau whose modern brush was +dipped in the glamour of the ancients. It was chosen +before the day of that strange turn in the history of art, +of which we now perceive the culmination in impressionistic +tales and pictures—that voluntary aversion of the eye from +all speciously strong and beautiful effects—that disinterested +love of dulness which has set so many Peter Bells to +paint the river-side primrose. It was then chosen for its +proximity to Paris. And for the same cause, and by the +force of tradition, the painter of to-day continues to inhabit +and to paint it. There is in France scenery incomparable +for romance and harmony. Provence, and the valley of +the Rhone from Vienne to Tarascon, are one succession of +masterpieces waiting for the brush. The beauty is not +merely beauty; it tells, besides, a tale to the imagination, +and surprises while it charms. Here you shall see castellated +towns that would befit the scenery of dreamland; +streets that glow with colour like cathedral windows; hills +of the most exquisite proportions; flowers of every precious +colour, growing thick like grass. All these, by the grace +of railway travel, are brought to the very door of the modern +painter; yet he does not seek them; he remains faithful +to Fontainebleau, to the eternal bridge of Grez, to the +watering-pot cascade in Cernay valley. Even Fontainebleau +was chosen for him; even in Fontainebleau he shrinks from +what is sharply charactered. But one thing, at least, is +certain: whatever he may choose to paint and in whatever +manner, it is good for the artist to dwell among graceful +shapes. Fontainebleau, if it be but quiet scenery, is +classically graceful; and though the student may look for +different qualities, this quality, silently present, will educate +his hand and eye.</p> + +<p>But, before all its other advantages—charm, loveliness, +or proximity to Paris—comes the great fact that it is already +colonised. The institution of a painters’ colony is a work +of time and tact. The population must be conquered. The +innkeeper has to be taught, and he soon learns, the lesson +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>217</span> +of unlimited credit; he must be taught to welcome as a +favoured guest a young gentleman in a very greasy coat, +and with little baggage beyond a box of colours and a +canvas; and he must learn to preserve his faith in customers +who will eat heartily and drink of the best, borrow money +to buy tobacco, and perhaps not pay a stiver for a year. +A colour merchant has next to be attracted. A certain +vogue must be given to the place, lest the painter, most +gregarious of animals, should find himself alone. And no +sooner are these first difficulties overcome than fresh perils +spring up upon the other side; and the bourgeois and +the tourist are knocking at the gate. This is the crucial +moment for the colony. If these intruders gain a footing, +they not only banish freedom and amenity; pretty soon, +by means of their long purses, they will have undone the +education of the innkeeper; prices will rise and credit +shorten; and the poor painter must fare farther on and +find another hamlet. “Not here, O Apollo!” will become +his song. Thus Trouville and, the other day, St. Raphael +were lost to the arts. Curious and not always edifying are +the shifts that the French student uses to defend his lair; +like the cuttlefish, he must sometimes blacken the waters +of his chosen pool; but at such a time and for so practical +a purpose Mrs. Grundy must allow him licence. Where his +own purse and credit are not threatened, he will do the +honours of his village generously. Any artist is made welcome, +through whatever medium he may seek expression; +science is respected; even the idler, if he prove, as he so +rarely does, a gentleman, will soon begin to find himself +at home. And when that essentially modern creature, the +English or American girl-student, began to walk calmly +into his favourite inns as if into a drawing-room at home, +the French painter owned himself defenceless; he submitted +or he fled. His French respectability, quite as +precise as ours, though covering different provinces of life, +recoiled aghast before the innovation. But the girls were +painters; there was nothing to be done; and Barbizon, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>218</span> +when I last saw it and for the time at least, was practically +ceded to the fair invader. Paterfamilias, on the other hand, +the common tourist, the holiday shopman, and the cheap +young gentleman upon the spree, he hounded from his +villages with every circumstance of contumely.</p> + +<p>This purely artistic society is excellent for the young +artist. The lads are mostly fools; they hold the latest +orthodoxy in its crudeness; they are at that stage of education, +for the most part, when a man is too much occupied +with style to be aware of the necessity for any matter; and +this, above all for the Englishman, is excellent. To work +grossly at the trade, to forget sentiment, to think of his +material and nothing else, is, for a while at least, the king’s +highway of progress. Here, in England, too many painters +and writers dwell dispersed, unshielded, among the intelligent +bourgeois. These, when they are not merely +indifferent, prate to him about the lofty aims and moral +influence of art. And this is the lad’s ruin. For art is, +first of all and last of all, a trade. The love of words and +not a desire to publish new discoveries, the love of form and +not a novel reading of historical events, mark the vocation +of the writer and the painter. The arabesque, properly +speaking, and even in literature, is the first fancy of the +artist; he first plays with his material as a child plays with +a kaleidoscope; and he is already in a second stage when +he begins to use his pretty counters for the end of representation. +In that, he must pause long and toil faithfully; +that is his apprenticeship; and it is only the few who will +really grow beyond it, and go forward, fully equipped, to +do the business of real art—to give life to abstractions +and significance and charm to facts. In the meanwhile, let +him dwell much among his fellow-craftsmen. They alone +can take a serious interest in the childish tasks and pitiful +successes of these years. They alone can behold with +equanimity this fingering of the dumb keyboard, this polishing +of empty sentences, this dull and literal painting of dull +and insignificant subjects. Outsiders will spur him on. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>219</span> +They will say, “Why do you not write a great book? paint +a great picture?” If his guardian angel fail him, they +may even persuade him to the attempt, and, ten to one, +his hand is coarsened and his style falsified for life.</p> + +<p>And this brings me to a warning. The life of the apprentice +to any art is both unstrained and pleasing; it is strewn +with small successes in the midst of a career of failure, +patiently supported; the heaviest scholar is conscious of +a certain progress; and if he come not appreciably nearer +to the art of Shakespeare, grows letter-perfect in the +domain of A-B, ab. But the time comes when a man +should cease prelusory gymnastic, stand up, put a violence +upon his will, and, for better or worse, begin the business +of creation. This evil day there is a tendency continually +to postpone: above all with painters. They have made +so many studies that it has become a habit; they make +more, the walls of exhibitions blush with them; and death +finds these aged students still busy with their horn-book. +This class of man finds a congenial home in artist villages; +in the slang of the English colony at Barbizon we used to +call them “Snoozers.” Continual returns to the city, the +society of men further advanced, the study of great works, +a sense of humour or, if such a thing is to be had, a little +religion or philosophy, are the means of treatment. It +will be time enough to think of curing the malady after it +has been caught; for to catch it is the very thing for which +you seek that dream-land of the painters’ village. “Snoozing” +is a part of the artistic education; and the rudiments +must be learned stupidly, all else being forgotten, as if they +were an object in themselves.</p> + +<p>Lastly, there is something, or there seems to be something, +in the very air of France that communicates the love +of style. Precision, clarity, the cleanly and crafty employment +of material, a grace in the handling, apart from any +value in the thought, seem to be acquired by the mere +residence; or, if not acquired, become at least the more +appreciated. The air of Paris is alive with this technical +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>220</span> +inspiration. And to leave that airy city and awake next +day upon the borders of the forest is but to change externals. +The same spirit of dexterity and finish breathes from the +long alleys and the lofty groves, from the wildernesses that +are still pretty in their confusion, and the great plain that +contrives to be decorative in its emptiness.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>In spite of its really considerable extent, the forest of +Fontainebleau is hardly anywhere tedious. I know the +whole western side of it with what, I suppose, I may call +thoroughness; well enough at least to testify that there is +no square mile without some special character and charm. +Such quarters, for instance, as the Long Rocher, the Bas-Bréau, +and the Reine Blanche might be a hundred miles +apart; they have scarce a point in common beyond the +silence of the birds. The two last are really conterminous; +and in both are tall and ancient trees that have outlived a +thousand political vicissitudes. But in the one the great +oaks prosper placidly upon an even floor; they beshadow +a great field; and the air and the light are very free below +their stretching boughs. In the other the trees find difficult +footing; castles of white rock lie tumbled one upon another, +the foot slips, the crooked viper slumbers, the moss +clings in the crevice; and above it all the great beech goes +spiring and casting forth her arms, and, with a grace +beyond church architecture, canopies this rugged chaos. +Meanwhile, dividing the two cantons, the broad white +causeway of the Paris road runs in an avenue; a road +conceived for pageantry and for triumphal marches, an +avenue for an army; but, its days of glory over, it now +lies grilling in the sun between cool groves, and only at +intervals the vehicle of the cruising tourist is seen far away +and faintly audible along its ample sweep. A little upon +one side, and you find a district of sand and birch and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>221</span> +boulder; a little upon the other lies the valley of Apremont, +all juniper and heather; and close beyond that you may +walk into a zone of pine trees. So artfully are the ingredients +mingled. Nor must it be forgotten that, in all +this part, you come continually forth upon a hill-top, and +behold the plain, northward and westward, like an unrefulgent +sea; nor that all day long the shadows keep changing; +and at last, to the red fires of sunset, night succeeds, +and with the night a new forest, full of whisper, gloom, and +fragrance. There are few things more renovating than to +leave Paris, the lamplit arches of the Carrousel, and the long +alignment of the glittering streets, and to bathe the senses +in this fragrant darkness of the wood.</p> + +<p>In this continual variety the mind is kept vividly alive. +It is a changeful place to paint, a stirring place to live in. +As fast as your foot carries you, you pass from scene to +scene, each vigorously painted in the colours of the sun, +each endeared by that hereditary spell of forests on the +mind of man, who still remembers and salutes the ancient +refuge of his race.</p> + +<p>And yet the forest has been civilised throughout. The +most savage corners bear a name, and have been cherished +like antiquities; in the most remote, Nature has prepared +and balanced her effects as if with conscious art; and man, +with his guiding arrows of blue paint, has countersigned +the picture. After your farthest wandering, you are never +surprised to come forth upon the vast avenue of highway, +to strike the centre point of branching alleys, or to find the +aqueduct trailing, thousand-footed, through the brush. It +is not a wilderness; it is rather a preserve. And, fitly +enough, the centre of the maze is not a hermit’s cavern. +In the midst, a little mirthful town lies sunlit, humming +with the business of pleasure; and the palace, breathing +distinction and peopled by historic names, stands smokeless +among gardens.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the last attempt at savage life was that of the +harmless humbug who called himself the hermit. In a great +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>222</span> +tree, close by the highroad, he had built himself a little +cabin after the manner of the Swiss Family Robinson; +thither he mounted at night, by the romantic aid of a rope +ladder; and if dirt be any proof of sincerity, the man was +savage as a Sioux. I had the pleasure of his acquaintance; +he appeared grossly stupid, not in his perfect wits, and +interested in nothing but small change; for that he had a +great avidity. In the course of time he proved to be a +chicken-stealer, and vanished from his perch; and perhaps +from the first he was no true votary of forest freedom, but +an ingenious, theatrically-minded beggar, and his cabin in +the tree was only stock-in-trade to beg withal. The choice +of his position would seem to indicate so much; for if in +the forest there are no places still to be discovered, there +are many that have been forgotten, and that lie unvisited. +There, to be sure, are the blue arrows waiting to reconduct +you, now blazed upon a tree, now posted in the corner of +a rock. But your security from interruption is complete; +you might camp for weeks, if there were only water, and +not a soul suspect your presence; and if I may suppose +the reader to have committed some great crime and come +to me for aid, I think I could still find my way to a small +cavern, fitted with a hearth and chimney, where he might +lie perfectly concealed. A confederate landscape-painter +might daily supply him with food; for water, he would have +to make a nightly tramp as far as to the nearest pond; and +at last, when the hue and cry began to blow over, he might +get gently on the train at some side station, work round +by a series of junctions, and be quietly captured at the +frontier.</p> + +<p>Thus Fontainebleau, although it is truly but a pleasure-ground, +and although, in favourable weather, and in the +more celebrated quarters, it literally buzzes with the tourist, +yet has some of the immunities and offers some of the +repose of natural forests. And the solitary, although he +must return at night to his frequented inn, may yet pass +the day with his own thoughts in the companionable silence +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>223</span> +of the trees. The demands of the imagination vary; +some can be alone in a back garden looked upon by windows; +others, like the ostrich, are content with a solitude that +meets the eye; and others, again, expand in fancy to the +very borders of their desert, and are irritably conscious of +a hunter’s camp in an adjacent county. To these last, of +course, Fontainebleau will seem but an extended tea-garden: +a Rosherville on a by-day. But to the plain man it offers +solitude: an excellent thing in itself, and a good whet for +company.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>III</h5> + +<p>I was for some time a consistent Barbizonian; <i>et ego in +Arcadia vixi</i>; it was a pleasant season; and that noiseless +hamlet lying close among the borders of the wood is for me, +as for so many others, a green spot in memory. The great +Millet was just dead, the green shutters of his modest house +were closed; his daughters were in mourning. The date +of my first visit was thus an epoch in the history of art: +in a lesser way, it was an epoch in the history of the Latin +Quarter. The <i>Petit Cénacle</i> was dead and buried; Murger +and his crew of sponging vagabonds were all at rest from +their expedients; the tradition of their real life was nearly +lost; and the petrified legend of the <i>Vie de Bohême</i> had +become a sort of gospel, and still gave the cue to zealous +imitators. But if the book be written in rose-water, the +imitation was still further expurgated; honesty was the +rule; the innkeepers gave, as I have said, almost unlimited +credit; they suffered the seediest painter to depart, to +take all his belongings, and to leave his bill unpaid; and +if they sometimes lost, it was by English and Americans +alone. At the same time, the great influx of Anglo-Saxons +had begun to affect the life of the studious. There had +been disputes; and, in one instance at least, the English +and the Americans had made common cause to prevent a +cruel pleasantry. It would be well if nations and races +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>224</span> +could communicate their qualities; but in practice when +they look upon each other, they have an eye to nothing +but defects. The Anglo-Saxon is essentially dishonest; +the French is devoid by nature of the principle that we +call “Fair Play.” The Frenchman marvelled at the +scruples of his guest, and, when that defender of innocence +retired overseas and left his bills unpaid, he marvelled once +again; the good and evil were, in his eyes, part and parcel +of the same eccentricity; a shrug expressed his judgment +upon both.</p> + +<p>At Barbizon there was no master, no pontiff in the +arts. Palizzi bore rule at Grez—urbane, superior rule—his +memory rich in anecdotes of the great men of yore, his mind +fertile in theories; sceptical, composed, and venerable to +the eye; and yet beneath these outworks, all twittering +with Italian superstition, his eye scouting for omens, and +the whole fabric of his manners giving way on the appearance +of a hunchback. Cernay had Pelouse, the admirable, +placid Pelouse, smilingly critical of youth, who, when a +full-blown commercial traveller suddenly threw down his +samples, bought a colour-box, and became the master whom +we have all admired. Marlotte, for a central figure, boasted +Olivier de Penne. Only Barbizon, since the death of Millet, +was a headless commonwealth. Even its secondary lights, +and those who in my day made the stranger welcome, have +since deserted it. The good Lachèvre has departed, carrying +his household gods; and long before that Gaston +Lafenestre was taken from our midst by an untimely death. +He died before he had deserved success; it may be, he would +never have deserved it; but his kind, comely, modest +countenance still haunts the memory of all who knew him. +Another—whom I will not name—has moved farther on, +pursuing the strange Odyssey of his decadence. His days +of royal favour had departed even then; but he still retained, +in his narrower life at Barbizon, a certain stamp +of conscious importance, hearty, friendly, filling the room, +the occupant of several chairs; nor had he yet ceased his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>225</span> +losing battle, still labouring upon great canvases that none +would buy, still waiting the return of fortune. But these +days also were too good to last; and the former favourite +of two sovereigns fled, if I heard the truth, by night. +There was a time when he was counted a great man, and +Millet but a dauber; behold, how the whirligig of time +brings in his revenges! To pity Millet is a piece of arrogance; +if life be hard for such resolute and pious spirits, +it is harder still for us, had we the wit to understand it; +but we may pity his unhappier rival, who, for no apparent +merit, was raised to opulence and momentary fame, and, +through no apparent fault, was suffered step by step to sink +again to nothing. No misfortune can exceed the bitterness +of such back-foremost progress, even bravely supported +as it was; but to those also who were taken early from the +easel, a regret is due. From all the young men of this +period, one stood out by the vigour of his promise; he was +in the age of fermentation, enamoured of eccentricities. +“<i>Il faut faire de la peinture nouvelle</i>,” was his watchword; +but if time and experience had continued his education, if +he had been granted health to return from these excursions +to the steady and the central, I must believe that the name +of Hills had become famous.</p> + +<p>Siron’s inn, that excellent artists’ barrack, was managed +upon easy principles. At any hour of the night, when you +returned from wandering in the forest, you went to the +billiard-room and helped yourself to liquors, or descended +to the cellar and returned laden with beer or wine. The +Sirons were all locked in slumber; there was none to check +your inroads; only at the week’s end a computation was +made, the gross sum was divided, and a varying share set +down to every lodger’s name under the rubric: <i>estrats</i>. +Upon the more long-suffering the larger tax was levied; +and your bill lengthened in a direct proportion to the +easiness of your disposition. At any hour of the morning, +again, you could get your coffee or cold milk, and set forth +into the forest. The doves had perhaps wakened you, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>226</span> +fluttering into your chamber; and on the threshold of the +inn you were met by the aroma of the forest. Close by +were the great aisles, the mossy boulders, the interminable +field of forest shadow. There you were free to dream and +wander. And at noon, and again at six o’clock, a good +meal awaited you on Siron’s table. The whole of your +accommodation, set aside that varying item of the <i>estrats</i>, +cost you five francs a day; your bill was never offered you +until you asked it; and if you were out of luck’s way, you +might depart for where you pleased and leave it pending.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p>Theoretically, the house was open to all comers; practically, +it was a kind of club. The guests protected themselves, +and, in so doing, they protected Siron. Formal +manners being laid aside, essential courtesy was the more +rigidly exacted; the new arrival had to feel the pulse of +the society; and a breach of its undefined observances was +promptly punished. A man might be as plain, as dull, as +slovenly, as free of speech as he desired; but to a touch of +presumption or a word of hectoring these free Barbizonians +were as sensitive as a tea-party of maiden ladies. I have +seen people driven forth from Barbizon; it would be +difficult to say in words what they had done, but they +deserved their fate. They had shown themselves unworthy +to enjoy these corporate freedoms; they had pushed themselves; +they had “made their head”; they wanted tact +to appreciate the “fine shades” of Barbizonian etiquette. +And, once they were condemned, the process of extrusion +was ruthless in its cruelty; after one evening with the +formidable Bodmer, the Bailly of our commonwealth, the +erring stranger was beheld no more; he rose exceeding +early the next day, and the first coach conveyed him from +the scene of his discomfiture. These sentences of banishment +were never, in my knowledge, delivered against an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>227</span> +artist; such would, I believe, have been illegal; but the +odd and pleasant fact is this, that they were never needed. +Painters, sculptors, writers, singers, I have seen all of these +in Barbizon; and some were sulky, and some blatant and +inane; but one and all entered at once into the spirit of +the association. This singular society is purely French, +a creature of French virtues, and possibly of French defects. +It cannot be imitated by the English. The roughness, the +impatience, the more obvious selfishness, and even the more +ardent friendships of the Anglo-Saxon, speedily dismember +such a commonwealth. But this random gathering of young +French painters, with neither apparatus nor parade of +government, yet kept the life of the place upon a certain +footing, insensibly imposed their etiquette upon the docile, +and by caustic speech enforced their edicts against the +unwelcome. To think of it is to wonder the more at the +strange failure of their race upon the larger theatre. This +inbred civility—to use the word in its completest meaning—this +natural and facile adjustment of contending liberties, +seems all that is required to make a governable nation and +a just and prosperous country.</p> + +<p>Our society, thus purged and guarded, was full of high +spirits, of laughter, and of the initiative of youth. The few +elder men who joined us were still young at heart, and took +the key from their companions. We returned from long +stations in the fortifying air, our blood renewed by the sunshine, +our spirits refreshed by the silence of the forest; the +Babel of loud voices sounded good; we fell to eat and play +like the natural man; and in the high inn chamber, panelled +with indifferent pictures and lit by candles guttering in the +night air, the talk and laughter sounded far into the night. +It was a good place and a good life for any naturally-minded +youth; better yet for the student of painting, +and perhaps best of all for the student of letters. He, too, +was saturated in this atmosphere of style; he was shut out +from the disturbing currents of the world, he might forget +that there existed other and more pressing interests than +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>228</span> +that of art. But, in such a place, it was hardly possible +to write; he could not drug his conscience, like the painter, +by the production of listless studies; he saw himself idle +among many who were apparently, and some who were +really, employed; and what with the impulse of increasing +health and the continual provocation of romantic scenes, he +became tormented with the desire to work. He enjoyed +a strenuous idleness, full of visions, hearty meals, long, +sweltering walks, mirth among companions; and, still +floating like music through his brain, foresights of great +works that Shakespeare might be proud to have conceived, +headless epics, glorious torsos of dramas, and words that +were alive with import. So in youth, like Moses from the +mountain, we have sights of that House Beautiful of art +which we shall never enter. They are dreams and unsubstantial; +visions of style that repose upon no base of +human meaning; the last heart-throbs of that excited +amateur who has to die in all of us before the artist can +be born. But they come to us in such a rainbow of glory +that all subsequent achievement appears dull and earthly +in comparison. We were all artists; almost all in the age +of illusion, cultivating an imaginary genius, and walking +to the strains of some deceiving Ariel; small wonder, +indeed, if we were happy! But art, of whatever nature, +is a kind mistress; and though these dreams of youth fall +by their own baselessness, others succeed, graver and more +substantial; the symptoms change, the amiable malady +endures; and still, at an equal distance, the House Beautiful +shines upon its hill-top.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>V</h5> + +<p>Grez lies out of the forest, down by the bright river. It +boasts a mill, an ancient church, a castle, and a bridge of +many sterlings. And the bridge is a piece of public property; +anonymously famous; beaming on the incurious +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page229" id="page229"></a>229</span> +dilettante from the walls of a hundred exhibitions. I have +seen it in the Salon; I have seen it in the Academy; I +have seen it in the last French Exposition, excellently done +by Bloomer; in a black-and-white by Mr. A. Henley, it +once adorned this essay in the pages of the <i>Magazine of Art</i>. +Long-suffering bridge! And if you visit Grez to-morrow, +you shall find another generation, camped at the bottom +of Chevillon’s garden under their white umbrellas, and +doggedly painting it again.</p> + +<p>The bridge taken for granted, Grez is a less inspiring +place than Barbizon. I give it the palm over Cernay. +There is something ghastly in the great empty village square +of Cernay, with the inn tables standing in one corner, as +though the stage were set for rustic opera, and in the early +morning all the painters breaking their fast upon white +wine under the windows of the villagers. It is vastly different +to awake in Grez, to go down the green inn-garden, to +find the river streaming through the bridge, and to see the +dawn begin across the poplared level. The meals are laid +in the cool arbour, under fluttering leaves. The splash +of oars and bathers, the bathing costumes out to dry, the +trim canoes beside the jetty, tell of a society that has +an eye to pleasure. There is “something to do” at Grez. +Perhaps, for that very reason, I can recall no such enduring +ardours, no such glories of exhilaration, as among the solemn +groves and uneventful hours of Barbizon. This “something +to do” is a great enemy to joy; it is a way out of +it; you wreak your high spirits on some cut-and-dry employment, +and behold them gone! But Grez is a merry +place after its kind: pretty to see, merry to inhabit. The +course of its pellucid river, whether up or down, is full of +gentle attractions for the navigator: islanded reed-mazes +where, in autumn, the red berries cluster; the mirrored +and inverted images of trees; lilies, and mills, and the +foam and thunder of weirs. And of all noble sweeps of +roadway, none is nobler, on a windy dusk, than the highroad +to Nemours between its lines of talking poplar. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page230" id="page230"></a>230</span></p> + +<p>But even Grez is changed. The old inn, long shored +and trussed and buttressed, fell at length under the mere +weight of years, and the place as it was is but a fading image +in the memory of former guests. They, indeed, recall the +ancient wooden stair; they recall the rainy evening, the +wide hearth, the blaze of the twig fire, and the company +that gathered round the pillar in the kitchen. But the +material fabric is now dust; soon, with the last of its +inhabitants, its very memory shall follow; and they, in +their turn, shall suffer the same law, and, both in name and +lineament, vanish from the world of men. “For remembrance +of the old house’ sake,” as Pepys once quaintly put +it, let me tell one story. When the tide of invasion swept +over France, two foreign painters were left stranded and +penniless in Grez; and there, until the war was over, the +Chevillons ungrudgingly harboured them. It was difficult +to obtain supplies; but the two waifs were still welcome +to the best, sat down daily with the family to table, and at +the due intervals were supplied with clean napkins, which +they scrupled to employ. Madame Chevillon observed +the fact and reprimanded them. But they stood firm; +eat they must, but having no money they would soil no +napkins.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>VI</h5> + +<p>Nemours and Moret, for all they are so picturesque, have +been little visited by painters. They are, indeed, too +populous; they have manners of their own, and might +resist the drastic process of colonisation. Montigny has +been somewhat strangely neglected; I never knew it inhabited +but once, when Will H. Low installed himself there +with a barrel of <i>piquette</i>, and entertained his friends in a +leafy trellis above the weir, in sight of the green country +and to the music of the falling water. It was a most airy, +quaint, and pleasant place of residence, just too rustic to +be stagey; and from my memories of the place in general, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page231" id="page231"></a>231</span> +and that garden trellis in particular—at morning, visited +by birds, or at night, when the dew fell and the stars were +of the party—I am inclined to think perhaps too favourably +of the future of Montigny. Chailly-en-Bière has outlived +all things, and lies dustily slumbering in the plain—the +cemetery of itself. The great road remains to testify of +its former bustle of postilions and carriage bells; and, like +memorial tablets, there still hang in the inn room the +paintings of a former generation, dead or decorated long +ago. In my time, one man only, greatly daring, dwelt +there. From time to time he would walk over to Barbizon, +like a shade revisiting the glimpses of the moon, and after +some communication with flesh and blood return to his +austere hermitage. But even he, when I last revisited the +forest, had come to Barbizon for good, and closed the roll +of the Chaillyites. It may revive—but I much doubt it. +Achères and Recloses still wait a pioneer; Bourron is out +of the question, being merely Grez over again, without the +river, the bridge, or the beauty; and of all the possible +places on the western side, Marlotte alone remains to be +discussed. I scarcely know Marlotte, and, very likely for +that reason, am not much in love with it. It seems a +glaring and unsightly hamlet. The inn of Mother Antonie +is unattractive; and its more reputable rival, though comfortable +enough, is commonplace. Marlotte has a name; +it is famous; if I were the young painter I would leave it +alone in its glory.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>VII</h5> + +<p>These are the words of an old stager; and though time +is a good conservative in forest places, much may be untrue +to-day. Many of us have passed Arcadian days there and +moved on, but yet left a portion of our souls behind us +buried in the woods. I would not dig for these reliquiæ; +they are incommunicable treasures that will not enrich the +finder; and yet there may lie, interred below great oaks +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page232" id="page232"></a>232</span> +or scattered along forest paths, stores of youth’s dynamite +and dear remembrances. And as one generation passes +on and renovates the field of tillage for the next, I entertain +a fancy that when the young men of to-day go forth into +the forest they shall find the air still vitalised by the spirits +of their predecessors, and, like those “unheard melodies” +that are the sweetest of all, the memory of our laughter +shall still haunt the field of trees. Those merry voices that +in woods call the wanderer farther, those thrilling silences +and whispers of the groves, surely in Fontainebleau they +must be vocal of me and my companions? We are not +content to pass away entirely from the scenes of our delight; +we would leave, if but in gratitude, a pillar and a legend.</p> + +<p>One generation after another fall like honey-bees upon +this memorable forest, rifle its sweets, pack themselves with +vital memories, and when the theft is consummated depart +again into life richer, but poorer also. The forest, indeed, +they have possessed, from that day forward it is theirs indissolubly, +and they will return to walk in it at night in the +fondest of their dreams, and use it for ever in their books +and pictures. Yet when they made their packets, and put +up their notes and sketches, something, it should seem, had +been forgotten. A projection of themselves shall appear +to haunt unfriended these scenes of happiness, a natural +child of fancy, begotten and forgotten unawares. Over +the whole field of our wanderings such fetches are still +travelling like indefatigable bagmen; but the imps of +Fontainebleau, as of all beloved spots, are very long of life, +and memory is piously unwilling to forget their orphanage. +If anywhere about that wood you meet my airy bantling, +greet him with tenderness. He was a pleasant lad, though +now abandoned. And when it comes to your own turn to +quit the forest, may you leave behind you such another; no +Antony or Werther, let us hope, no tearful whipster, but, +as becomes this not uncheerful and most active age in +which we figure, the child of happy hours.</p> + +<p>No art, it may be said, was ever perfect, and not many +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page233" id="page233"></a>233</span> +noble, that has not been mirthfully conceived. And no +man, it may be added, was ever anything but a wet blanket +and a cross to his companions who boasted not a copious +spirit of enjoyment. Whether as man or artist, let the +youth make haste to Fontainebleau, and once there let him +address himself to the spirit of the place; he will learn more +from exercise than from studies, although both are necessary; +and if he can get into his heart the gaiety and inspiration of +the woods he will have gone far to undo the evil of his +sketches. A spirit once well strung up to the concert-pitch +of the primeval out-of-doors will hardly dare to finish a study +and magniloquently ticket it a picture. The incommunicable +thrill of things, that is the tuning-fork by which we +test the flatness of our art. Here it is that Nature teaches +and condemns, and still spurs up to further effort and new +failure. Thus it is that she sets us blushing at our ignorant +and tepid works; and the more we find of these inspiring +shocks the less shall we be apt to love the literal in our +productions. In all sciences and senses the letter kills; +and to-day, when cackling human geese express their +ignorant condemnation of all studio pictures, it is a lesson +most useful to be learnt. Let the young painter go to +Fontainebleau, and while he stupefies himself with studies +that teach him the mechanical side of his trade, let him +walk in the great air, and be a servant of mirth, and not +pick and botanise, but wait upon the moods of Nature. +So he will learn—or learn not to forget—the poetry of life +and earth, which, when he has acquired his track, will +save him from joyless reproduction.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page234" id="page234"></a>234</span></p> +<h3>II</h3> + +<h3>A NOTE ON REALISM</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Style</span> is the invariable mark of any master; and for the +student who does not aspire so high as to be numbered +with the giants, it is still the one quality in which he may +improve himself at will. Passion, wisdom, creative force, +the power of mystery or colour, are allotted in the hour of +birth, and can be neither learned nor simulated. But the +just and dexterous use of what qualities we have, the proportion +of one part to another and to the whole, the elision +of the useless, the accentuation of the important, and the +preservation of a uniform character from end to end—these, +which taken together constitute technical perfection, are +to some degree within the reach of industry and intellectual +courage. What to put in and what to leave out; whether +some particular fact be organically necessary or purely +ornamental; whether, if it be purely ornamental, it may +not weaken or obscure the general design; and finally, +whether, if we decide to use it, we should do so grossly and +notably, or in some conventional disguise: are questions +of plastic style continually re-arising. And the sphinx +that patrols the highways of executive art has no more +unanswerable riddle to propound.</p> + +<p>In literature (from which I must draw my instances) +the great change of the past century has been effected by +the admission of detail. It was inaugurated by the romantic +Scott; and at length, by the semi-romantic Balzac and +his more or less wholly unromantic followers, bound like +a duty on the novelist. For some time it signified and +expressed a more ample contemplation of the conditions of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235" id="page235"></a>235</span> +man’s life; but it has recently (at least in France) fallen +into a merely technical and decorative stage, which it is, +perhaps, still too harsh to call survival. With a movement +of alarm, the wiser or more timid begin to fall a little back +from these extremities; they begin to aspire after a more +naked, narrative articulation; after the succinct, the dignified, +and the poetic; and as a means to this, after a +general lightening of this baggage of detail. After Scott +we beheld the starveling story—once, in the hands of +Voltaire, as abstract as a parable—begin to be pampered +upon facts. The introduction of these details developed a +particular ability of hand; and that ability, childishly +indulged, has led to the works that now amaze us on +a railway journey. A man of the unquestionable force of +M. Zola spends himself on technical successes. To afford +a popular flavour and attract the mob, he adds a steady +current of what I may be allowed to call the rancid. That +is exciting to the moralist; but what more particularly +interests the artist is this tendency of the extreme of detail, +when followed as a principle, to degenerate into mere +<i>feux-de-joie</i> of literary tricking. The other day even M. +Daudet was to be heard babbling of audible colours and +visible sounds.</p> + +<p>This odd suicide of one branch of the realists may serve +to remind us of the fact which underlies a very dusty conflict +of the critics. All representative art, which can be +said to live, is both realistic and ideal; and the realism +about which we quarrel is a matter purely of externals. +It is no especial cultus of nature and veracity, but a +mere whim of veering fashion, that has made us turn our +back upon the larger, more various, and more romantic art +of yore. A photographic exactitude in dialogue is now the +exclusive fashion; but even in the ablest hands it tells us +no more—I think it even tells us less—than Molière, wielding +his artificial medium, has told to us and to all time of +Alceste or Orgon, Dorine or Chrysale. The historical novel +is forgotten. Yet truth to the conditions of man’s nature +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page236" id="page236"></a>236</span> +and the conditions of man’s life, the truth of literary art, is +free of the ages. It may be told us in a carpet comedy, in +a novel of adventure, or a fairy tale. The scene may be +pitched in London, on the sea-coast of Bohemia, or away on +the mountains of Beulah. And by an odd and luminous +accident, if there is any page of literature calculated to +awake the envy of M. Zola, it must be that “Troilus and +Cressida” which Shakespeare, in a spasm of unmanly +anger with the world, grafted on the heroic story of the +siege of Troy.</p> + +<p>This question of realism, let it then be clearly understood, +regards not in the least degree the fundamental truth, +but only the technical method, of a work of art. Be as +ideal or as abstract as you please, you will be none the less +veracious; but if you be weak, you run the risk of being +tedious and inexpressive; and if you be very strong and +honest, you may chance upon a masterpiece.</p> + +<p>A work of art is first cloudily conceived in the mind; +during the period of gestation it stands more clearly forward +from these swaddling mists, puts on expressive lineaments, +and becomes at length that most faultless, but also, alas! +that incommunicable product of the human mind, a perfected +design. On the approach to execution all is changed. +The artist must now step down, don his working clothes, +and become the artisan. He now resolutely commits his +airy conception, his delicate Ariel, to the touch of matter; +he must decide, almost in a breath, the scale, the style, +the spirit, and the particularity of execution of his whole +design.</p> + +<p>The engendering idea of some works is stylistic; a +technical pre-occupation stands them instead of some +robuster principle of life. And with these the execution is +but play; for the stylistic problem is resolved beforehand, +and all large originality of treatment wilfully foregone. +Such are the verses, intricately designed, which we have +learnt to admire, with a certain smiling admiration, at the +hands of Mr. Lang and Mr. Dobson; such, too, are those +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page237" id="page237"></a>237</span> +canvases where dexterity or even breadth of plastic style +takes the place of pictorial nobility of design. So, it may +be remarked, it was easier to begin to write “Esmond” +than “Vanity Fair,” since, in the first, the style was +dictated by the nature of the plan; and Thackeray, a man +probably of some indolence of mind, enjoyed and got good +profit of this economy of effort. But the case is exceptional. +Usually in all works of art that have been conceived from +within outwards, and generously nourished from the author’s +mind, the moment in which he begins to execute is one of +extreme perplexity and strain. Artists of indifferent energy +and an imperfect devotion to their own ideal make this +ungrateful effort once for all; and, having formed a style, +adhere to it through life. But those of a higher order cannot +rest content with a process which, as they continue to +employ it, must infallibly degenerate towards the academic +and the cut-and-dried. Every fresh work in which they +embark is the signal for a fresh engagement of the whole +forces of their mind; and the changing views which accompany +the growth of their experience are marked by still +more sweeping alterations in the manner of their art. So +that criticism loves to dwell upon and distinguish the varying +periods of a Raphael, a Shakespeare, or a Beethoven.</p> + +<p>It is, then, first of all, at this initial and decisive moment +when execution is begun, and thenceforth only in a less +degree, that the ideal and the real do indeed, like good and +evil angels, contend for the direction of the work. Marble, +paint, and language, the pen, the needle, and the brush, all +have their grossnesses, their ineffable impotences, their +hours, if I may so express myself, of insubordination. It +is the work and it is a great part of the delight of any artist +to contend with these unruly tools, and now by brute +energy, now by witty expedient, to drive and coax them to +effect his will. Given these means, so laughably inadequate, +and given the interest, the intensity, and the multiplicity of +the actual sensation whose effect he is to render with their +aid, the artist has one main and necessary resource which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238" id="page238"></a>238</span> +he must, in every case and upon any theory, employ. He +must, that is, suppress much and omit more. He must +omit what is tedious or irrelevant, and suppress what is +tedious and necessary. But such facts as, in regard to the +main design, subserve a variety of purposes, he will perforce +and eagerly retain. And it is the mark of the very highest +order of creative art to be woven exclusively of such. +There, any fact that is registered is contrived a double or +a treble debt to pay, and is at once an ornament in its place +and a pillar in the main design. Nothing would find room +in such a picture that did not serve, at once, to complete +the composition, to accentuate the scheme of colour, to +distinguish the planes of distance, and to strike the note of +the selected sentiment; nothing would be allowed in such +a story that did not, at the same time, expedite the progress +of the fable, build up the characters, and strike home the +moral or the philosophical design. But this is unattainable. +As a rule, so far from building the fabric of our works exclusively +with these, we are thrown into a rapture if we +think we can muster a dozen or a score of them, to be the +plums of our confection. And hence, in order that the +canvas may be filled or the story proceed from point to +point, other details must be admitted. They must be +admitted, alas! upon a doubtful title; many without +marriage robes. Thus any work of art, as it proceeds towards +completion, too often—I had almost written always—loses +in force and poignancy of main design. Our little +air is swamped and dwarfed among hardly relevant orchestration; +our little passionate story drowns in a deep sea +of descriptive eloquence or slipshod talk.</p> + +<p>But again, we are rather more tempted to admit those +particulars which we know we can describe; and hence +those most of all which, having been described very often, +have grown to be conventionally treated in the practice +of our art. These we choose, as the mason chooses the +acanthus to adorn his capital, because they come naturally +to the accustomed hand. The old stock incidents and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page239" id="page239"></a>239</span> +accessories, tricks of workmanship and schemes of composition +(all being admirably good, or they would long have +been forgotten) haunt and tempt our fancy; offer us ready-made +but not perfectly appropriate solutions for any problem +that arises; and wean us from the study of nature and +the uncompromising practice of art. To struggle, to face +nature, to find fresh solutions, and give expression to facts +which have not yet been adequately or not yet elegantly +expressed, is to run a little upon the danger of extreme self-love. +Difficulty sets a high price upon achievement; and +the artist may easily fall into the error of the French +naturalists, and consider any fact as welcome to admission +if it be the ground of brilliant handiwork; or, again, into +the error of the modern landscape-painter, who is apt to +think that difficulty overcome and science well displayed +can take the place of what is, after all, the one excuse and +breath of art—charm. A little further, and he will regard +charm in the light of an unworthy sacrifice to prettiness, and +the omission of a tedious passage as an infidelity to art.</p> + +<p>We have now the matter of this difference before us. +The idealist, his eye singly fixed upon the greater outlines, +loves rather to fill up the interval with detail of the conventional +order, briefly touched, soberly suppressed in tone, +courting neglect. But the realist, with a fine intemperance, +will not suffer the presence of anything so dead as a convention; +he shall have all fiery, all hot-pressed from nature, +all charactered and notable, seizing the eye. The style that +befits either of these extremes, once chosen, brings with +it its necessary disabilities and dangers. The immediate +danger of the realist is to sacrifice the beauty and significance +of the whole to local dexterity, or, in the insane pursuit of +completion, to immolate his readers under facts; but he +comes in the last resort, and as his energy declines, to discard +all design, abjure all choice, and, with scientific thoroughness, +steadily to communicate matter which is not worth learning. +The danger of the idealist is, of course, to become merely +null and lose all grip of fact, particularity, or passion. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page240" id="page240"></a>240</span></p> + +<p>We talk of bad and good. Everything, indeed, is good +which is conceived with honesty and executed with communicative +ardour. But though on neither side is dogmatism +fitting, and though in every case the artist must +decide for himself, and decide afresh and yet afresh for each +succeeding work and new creation; yet one thing may be +generally said, that we of the last quarter of the nineteenth +century, breathing as we do the intellectual atmosphere of +our age, are more apt to err upon the side of realism than +to sin in quest of the ideal. Upon that theory it may be +well to watch and correct our own decisions, always holding +back the hand from the least appearance of irrelevant +dexterity, and resolutely fixed to begin no work that is +not philosophical, passionate, dignified, happily mirthful, +or at the last and least, romantic in design.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page241" id="page241"></a>241</span></p> +<h3>III</h3> + +<h3>ON SOME TECHNICAL ELEMENTS OF +STYLE IN LITERATURE</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">There</span> is nothing more disenchanting to man than to be +shown the springs and mechanism of any art. All our arts +and occupations lie wholly on the surface; it is on the +surface that we perceive their beauty, fitness, and significance; +and to pry below is to be appalled by their emptiness +and shocked by the coarseness of the strings and pulleys. +In a similar way, psychology itself, when pushed to any +nicety, discovers an abhorrent baldness, but rather from +the fault of our analysis than from any poverty native to +the mind. And perhaps in æsthetics the reason is the +same: those disclosures which seem fatal to the dignity +of art seem so perhaps only in the proportion of our ignorance; +and those conscious and unconscious artifices which +it seems unworthy of the serious artist to employ were yet, +if we had the power to trace them to their springs, indications +of a delicacy of the sense finer than we conceive, and +hints of ancient harmonies in nature. This ignorance at +least is largely irremediable. We shall never learn the +affinities of beauty, for they lie too deep in nature and +too far back in the mysterious history of man. The +amateur, in consequence, will always grudgingly receive +details of method, which can be stated but can never +wholly be explained; nay, on the principle laid down +in Hudibras, that</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + + <p class="i2">“Still the less they understand,</p> +<p>The more they admire the sleight-of-hand,”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page242" id="page242"></a>242</span></p> + +<p class="noind">many are conscious at each new disclosure of a diminution in +the ardour of their pleasure. I must therefore warn that +well-known character, the general reader, that I am here +embarked upon a most distasteful business: taking down +the picture from the wall and looking on the back; and, +like the inquiring child, pulling the musical cart to pieces.</p> + +<p>1. <i>Choice of Words</i>.—The art of literature stands apart +from among its sisters, because the material in which the +literary artist works is the dialect of life; hence, on the +one hand, a strange freshness and immediacy of address to +the public mind, which is ready prepared to understand it; +but hence, on the other, a singular limitation. The sister +arts enjoy the use of a plastic and ductile material, like the +modeller’s clay; literature alone is condemned to work in +mosaic with finite and quite rigid words. You have seen +these blocks, dear to the nursery: this one a pillar, that a +pediment, a third a window or a vase. It is with blocks of +just such arbitrary size and figure that the literary architect +is condemned to design the palace of his art. Nor is this +all; for since these blocks, or words, are the acknowledged +currency of our daily affairs, there are here possible none +of those suppressions by which other arts obtain relief, +continuity and vigour; no hieroglyphic touch, no smoothed +impasto, no inscrutable shadow, as in painting; no blank +wall, as in architecture; but every word, phrase, sentence, +and paragraph must move in a logical progression, and +convey a definite conventional import.</p> + +<p>Now, the first merit which attracts in the pages of a good +writer, or the talk of a brilliant conversationalist, is the apt +choice and contrast of the words employed. It is, indeed, +a strange art to take these blocks, rudely conceived for the +purpose of the market or the bar, and by tact of application +touch them to the finest meanings and distinctions, restore +to them their primal energy, wittily shift them to another +issue, or make of them a drum to rouse the passions. But +though this form of merit is without doubt the most sensible +and seizing, it is far from being equally present in all writers. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243" id="page243"></a>243</span> +The effect of words in Shakespeare, their singular justice, +significance, and poetic charm, is different, indeed, from the +effect of words in Addison or Fielding. Or, to take an +example nearer home, the words in Carlyle seem electrified +into an energy of lineament, like the faces of men furiously +moved; whilst the words in Macaulay, apt enough to convey +his meaning, harmonious enough in sound, yet glide from +the memory like undistinguished elements in a general +effect. But the first class of writers have no monopoly of +literary merit. There is a sense in which Addison is superior +to Carlyle; a sense in which Cicero is better than Tacitus, +in which Voltaire excels Montaigne: it certainly lies not in +the choice of words; it lies not in the interest or value of +the matter; it lies not in force of intellect, of poetry, or +of humour. The three first are but infants to the three +second; and yet each, in a particular point of literary art, +excels his superior in the whole. What is that point?</p> + +<p>2. <i>The Web</i>.—Literature, although it stands apart by +reason of the great destiny and general use of its medium +in the affairs of men, is yet an art like other arts. Of these +we may distinguish two great classes: those arts, like +sculpture, painting, acting, which are representative, or, as +used to be said very clumsily, imitative; and those, like +architecture, music, and the dance, which are self-sufficient, +and merely presentative. Each class, in right of this distinction, +obeys principles apart; yet both may claim a +common ground of existence, and it may be said with +sufficient justice that the motive and end of any art whatever +is to make a pattern; a pattern, it may be, of colours, +of sounds, of changing attitudes, geometrical figures, or +imitative lines; but still a pattern. That is the plane on +which these sisters meet; it is by this that they are arts; +and if it be well they should at times forget their childish +origin, addressing their intelligence to virile tasks, and +performing unconsciously that necessary function of their +life, to make a pattern, it is still imperative that the pattern +shall be made. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244" id="page244"></a>244</span></p> + +<p>Music and literature, the two temporal arts, contrive +their pattern of sounds in time; or, in other words, of +sounds and pauses. Communication may be made in +broken words, the business of life be carried on with substantives +alone; but that is not what we call literature; +and the true business of the literary artist is to plait or +weave his meaning, involving it around itself; so that each +sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind +of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, +solve and clear itself. In every properly constructed +sentence there should be observed this knot or hitch; so +that (however delicately) we are led to foresee, to expect, +and then to welcome the successive phrases. The pleasure +may be heightened by an element of surprise, as, very +grossly, in the common figure of the antithesis, or, with +much greater subtlety, where an antithesis is first suggested +and then deftly evaded. Each phrase, besides, is to be +comely in itself; and between the implication and the +evolution of the sentence there should be a satisfying +equipoise of sound; for nothing more often disappoints the +ear than a sentence solemnly and sonorously prepared, and +hastily and weakly finished. Nor should the balance be +too striking and exact, for the one rule is to be infinitely +various; to interest, to disappoint, to surprise, and yet +still to gratify; to be ever changing, as it were, the stitch, +and yet still to give the effect of an ingenious neatness.</p> + +<p>The conjurer juggles with two oranges, and our pleasure +in beholding him springs from this, that neither is for an +instant overlooked or sacrificed. So with the writer. His +pattern, which is to please the supersensual ear, is yet +addressed, throughout and first of all, to the demands of +logic. Whatever be the obscurities, whatever the intricacies +of the argument, the neatness of the fabric must not suffer, +or the artist has been proved unequal to his design. And, +on the other hand, no form of words must be selected, no +knot must be tied among the phrases, unless knot and word +be precisely what is wanted to forward and illuminate the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245" id="page245"></a>245</span> +argument; for to fail in this is to swindle in the game. +The genius of prose rejects the <i>cheville</i> no less emphatically +than the laws of verse; and the <i>cheville</i>, I should perhaps +explain to some of my readers, is any meaningless or very +watered phrase employed to strike a balance in the sound. +Pattern and argument live in each other; and it is by the +brevity, clearness, charm, or emphasis of the second, that +we judge the strength and fitness of the first.</p> + +<p>Style is synthetic; and the artist, seeking, so to speak, +a peg to plait about, takes up at once two or more elements +or two or more views of the subject in hand; combines, +implicates, and contrasts them; and while, in one sense, +he was merely seeking an occasion for the necessary knot, +he will be found, in the other, to have greatly enriched the +meaning, or to have transacted the work of two sentences +in the space of one. In the change from the successive +shallow statements of the old chronicler to the dense and +luminous flow of highly synthetic narrative, there is implied +a vast amount of both philosophy and wit. The philosophy +we clearly see, recognising in the synthetic writer a far more +deep and stimulating view of life, and a far keener sense of +the generation and affinity of events. The wit we might +imagine to be lost; but it is not so, for it is just that wit, +these perpetual nice contrivances, these difficulties overcome, +this double purpose attained, these two oranges kept +simultaneously dancing in the air, that, consciously or not, +afford the reader his delight. Nay, and this wit, so little +recognised, is the necessary organ of that philosophy which +we so much admire. That style is therefore the most +perfect, not, as fools say, which is the most natural, for the +most natural is the disjointed babble of the chronicler; but +which attains the highest degree of elegant and pregnant +implication unobtrusively; or if obtrusively, then with +the greatest gain to sense and vigour. Even the derangement +of the phrases from their (so-called) natural order is +luminous for the mind; and it is by the means of such +designed reversal that the elements of a judgment may be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246" id="page246"></a>246</span> +most pertinently marshalled, or the stages of a complicated +action most perspicuously bound into one.</p> + +<p>The web, then, or the pattern: a web at once sensuous +and logical, an elegant and pregnant texture: that is style, +that is the foundation of the art of literature. Books +indeed continue to be read, for the interest of the fact or +fable, in which this quality is poorly represented, but still +it will be there. And, on the other hand, how many do we +continue to peruse and reperuse with pleasure whose only +merit is the elegance of texture? I am tempted to mention +Cicero; and since Mr. Anthony Trollope is dead, I will. +It is a poor diet for the mind, a very colourless and toothless +“criticism of life”; but we enjoy the pleasure of a most +intricate and dexterous pattern, every stitch a model at once +of elegance and of good sense; and the two oranges, even +if one of them be rotten, kept dancing with inimitable +grace.</p> + +<p>Up to this moment I have had my eye mainly upon +prose; for though in verse also the implication of the logical +texture is a crowning beauty, yet in verse it may be dispensed +with. You would think that here was a death-blow +to all I have been saying; and far from that, it is but a new +illustration of the principle involved. For if the versifier +is not bound to weave a pattern of his own, it is because +another pattern has been formally imposed upon him by +the laws of verse. For that is the essence of a prosody. +Verse may be rhythmical; it may be merely alliterative; +it may, like the French, depend wholly on the (quasi) regular +recurrence of the rhyme; or, like the Hebrew, it may consist +in the strangely fanciful device of repeating the same +idea. It does not matter on what principle the law is based, +so it be a law. It may be pure convention; it may have +no inherent beauty; all that we have a right to ask of any +prosody is, that it shall lay down a pattern for the writer, +and that what it lays down shall be neither too easy nor too +hard. Hence it comes that it is much easier for men of +equal facility to write fairly pleasing verse than reasonably +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>247</span> +interesting prose; for in prose the pattern itself has to be +invented, and the difficulties first created before they can be +solved. Hence, again, there follows the peculiar greatness +of the true versifier: such as Shakespeare, Milton, and +Victor Hugo, whom I place beside them as versifier merely, +not as poet. These not only knit and knot the logical +texture of the style with all the dexterity and strength of +prose; they not only fill up the pattern of the verse with +infinite variety and sober wit; but they give us, besides, a +rare and special pleasure, by the art, comparable to that of +counterpoint, with which they follow at the same time, and +now contrast, and now combine, the double pattern of the +texture and the verse. Here the sounding line concludes; +a little further on, the well-knit sentence; and yet a little +further, and both will reach their solution on the same ringing +syllable. The best that can be offered by the best writer +of prose is to show us the development of the idea and the +stylistic pattern proceed hand in hand, sometimes by an +obvious and triumphant effort, sometimes with a great air +of ease and nature. The writer of verse, by virtue of conquering +another difficulty, delights us with a new series of +triumphs. He follows three purposes where his rival +followed only two; and the change is of precisely the same +nature as that from melody to harmony. Or if you prefer +to return to the juggler, behold him now, to the vastly +increased enthusiasm of the spectators, juggling with three +oranges instead of two. Thus it is: added difficulty, added +beauty; and the pattern, with every fresh element, becoming +more interesting in itself.</p> + +<p>Yet it must not be thought that verse is simply an +addition; something is lost as well as something gained; +and there remains plainly traceable, in comparing the best +prose with the best verse, a certain broad distinction of +method in the web. Tight as the versifier may draw the +knot of logic, yet for the ear he still leaves the tissue of the +sentence floating somewhat loose. In prose, the sentence +turns upon a pivot, nicely balanced, and fits into itself with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248" id="page248"></a>248</span> +an obtrusive neatness like a puzzle. The ear remarks and +is singly gratified by this return and balance; while in verse +it is all diverted to the measure. To find comparable +passages is hard; for either the versifier is hugely the +superior of the rival, or, if he be not, and still persist in his +more delicate enterprise, he falls to be as widely his inferior. +But let us select them from the pages of the same writer, one +who was ambidexter; let us take, for instance, Rumour’s +Prologue to the Second Part of <i>Henry IV.</i>, a fine flourish of +eloquence in Shakespeare’s second manner, and set it side +by side with Falstaff’s praise of sherris, act iv., scene 1; +or let us compare the beautiful prose spoken throughout by +Rosalind and Orlando, compare, for example, the first speech +of all, Orlando’s speech to Adam, with what passage it shall +please you to select—the Seven Ages from the same play, +or even such a stave of nobility as Othello’s farewell to war; +and still you will be able to perceive, if you have any ear for +that class of music, a certain superior degree of organisation +in the prose; a compacter fitting of the parts; a balance in +the swing and the return as of a throbbing pendulum. We +must not, in things temporal, take from those who have +little, the little that they have; the merits of prose are +inferior, but they are not the same; it is a little kingdom, +but an independent.</p> + +<p>3. <i>Rhythm of the Phrase.</i>—Some way back, I used a word +which still awaits an application. Each phrase, I said, was +to be comely; but what is a comely phrase? In all ideal +and material points, literature, being a representative art, +must look for analogies to painting and the like; but in +what is technical and executive, being a temporal art, it +must seek for them in music. Each phrase of each sentence, +like an air or a recitative in music, should be so artfully +compounded out of long and short, out of accented and +unaccented, as to gratify the sensual ear. And of this the +ear is the sole judge. It is impossible to lay down laws. +Even in our accentual and rhythmic language no analysis +can find the secret of the beauty of a verse; how much less, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>249</span> +then, of those phrases, such as prose is built of, which obey +no law but to be lawless and yet to please? The little that +we know of verse (and for my part I owe it all to my friend +Professor Fleeming Jenkin) is, however, particularly interesting +in the present connection. We have been accustomed +to describe the heroic line as five iambic feet, and +to be filled with pain and confusion whenever, as by the +conscientious schoolboy, we have heard our own description +put in practice.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“All nìght | the dreàd | less àn | gel ùn | pursùed,”<a name="FnAnchor_18" id="FnAnchor_18" href="#Footnote_18"><span class="sp">18</span></a></p> + +<p class="noind">goes the schoolboy; but though we close our ears, we cling +to our definition, in spite of its proved and naked insufficiency. +Mr. Jenkin was not so easily pleased, and readily +discovered that the heroic line consists of four groups, or, +if you prefer the phrase, contains four pauses:</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“All night | the dreadless | angel | unpursued.”</p> + +<p class="noind">Four groups, each practically uttered as one word: the first, +in this case, an iamb; the second, an amphibrachys; the +third, a trochee; and the fourth an amphimacer; and yet +our schoolboy, with no other liberty but that of inflicting +pain, had triumphantly scanned it as five iambs. Perceive, +now, this fresh richness of intricacy in the web; this fourth +orange, hitherto unremarked, but still kept flying with the +others. What had seemed to be one thing it now appears +is two; and, like some puzzle in arithmetic, the verse is +made at the same time to read in fives and to read in fours.</p> + +<p>But again, four is not necessary. We do not, indeed, +find verses in six groups, because there is not room for six +in the ten syllables; and we do not find verses of two, +because one of the main distinctions of verse from prose +resides in the comparative shortness of the group; but it +is even common to find verses of three. Five is the one forbidden +number; because five is the number of the feet; and +if five were chosen, the two patterns would coincide, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>250</span> +that opposition which is the life of verse would instantly +be lost. We have here a clue to the effect of polysyllables, +above all in Latin, where they are so common and make so +brave an architecture in the verse; for the polysyllable is +a group of Nature’s making. If but some Roman would +return from Hades (Martial, for choice), and tell me by +what conduct of the voice these thundering verses should +be uttered—“<i>Aut Lacedæmonium Tarentum</i>,” for a case +in point—I feel as if I should enter at last into the full +enjoyment of the best of human verses.</p> + +<p>But, again, the five feet are all iambic, or supposed to +be; by the mere count of syllables the four groups cannot +be all iambic; as a question of elegance, I doubt if any one +of them requires to be so; and I am certain that for choice +no two of them should scan the same. The singular beauty +of the verse analysed above is due, so far as analysis can +carry us, part, indeed, to the clever repetition of <span class="sc">l</span>, <span class="sc">d</span> and <span class="sc">n</span>, +but part to this variety of scansion in the groups. The +groups which, like the bar in music, break up the verse for +utterance, fall uniambically; and in declaiming a so-called +iambic verse, it may so happen that we never utter one +iambic foot. And yet to this neglect of the original beat +there is a limit.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts,”<a name="FnAnchor_19" id="FnAnchor_19" href="#Footnote_19"><span class="sp">19</span></a></p> + +<p class="noind">is, with all its eccentricities, a good heroic line; for though +it scarcely can be said to indicate the beat of the iamb, it +certainly suggests no other measure to the ear. But begin</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“Mother Athens, eye of Greece,”</p> + +<p class="noind">or merely “Mother Athens,” and the game is up, for the +trochaic beat has been suggested. The eccentric scansion +of the groups is an adornment; but as soon as the original +beat has been forgotten, they cease implicitly to be eccentric. +Variety is what is sought; but if we destroy the original +mould, one of the terms of this variety is lost, and we fall +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id="page251"></a>251</span> +back on sameness. Thus, both as to the arithmetical +measure of the verse, and the degree of regularity in scansion, +we see the laws of prosody to have one common purpose: +to keep alive the opposition of two schemes simultaneously +followed; to keep them notably apart, though still coincident; +and to balance them with such judicial nicety +before the reader, that neither shall be unperceived and +neither signally prevail.</p> + +<p>The rule of rhythm in prose is not so intricate. Here, +too, we write in groups, or phrases, as I prefer to call them, +for the prose phrase is greatly longer and is much more +nonchalantly uttered than the group in verse; so that not +only is there a greater interval of continuous sound between +the pauses, but, for that very reason, word is linked more +readily to word by a more summary enunciation. Still, the +phrase is the strict analogue of the group, and successive +phrases, like successive groups, must differ openly in length +and rhythm. The rule of scansion in verse is to suggest +no measure but the one in hand; in prose, to suggest no +measure at all. Prose must be rhythmical, and it may be +as much so as you will; but it must not be metrical. It +may be anything, but it must not be verse. A single heroic +line may very well pass and not disturb the somewhat larger +stride of the prose style; but one following another will +produce an instant impression of poverty, flatness, and disenchantment. +The same lines delivered with the measured +utterance of verse would perhaps seem rich in variety. +By the more summary enunciation proper to prose, as to +a more distant vision, these niceties of difference are lost. +A whole verse is uttered as one phrase; and the ear is soon +wearied by a succession of groups identical in length. The +prose writer, in fact, since he is allowed to be so much less +harmonious, is condemned to a perpetually fresh variety of +movement on a larger scale, and must never disappoint the +ear by the trot of an accepted metre. And this obligation +is the third orange with which he has to juggle, the +third quality which the prose writer must work into his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>252</span> +pattern of words. It may be thought perhaps that this is +a quality of ease rather than a fresh difficulty; but such +is the inherently rhythmical strain of the English language, +that the bad writer—and must I take for example that +admired friend of my boyhood, Captain Reid?—the inexperienced +writer, as Dickens in his earlier attempts to be +impressive, and the jaded writer, as any one may see for +himself, all tend to fall at once into the production of bad +blank verse. And here it may be pertinently asked, Why +bad? And I suppose it might be enough to answer that +no man ever made good verse by accident, and that no verse +can ever sound otherwise than trivial when uttered with +the delivery of prose. But we can go beyond such answers. +The weak side of verse is the regularity of the beat, which in +itself is decidedly less impressive than the movement of the +nobler prose; and it is just into this weak side, and this +alone, that our careless writer falls. A peculiar density +and mass, consequent on the nearness of the pauses, is one +of the chief good qualities of verse; but this our accidental +versifier, still following after the swift gait and large gestures +of prose, does not so much as aspire to imitate. Lastly, +since he remains unconscious that he is making verse at all, +it can never occur to him to extract those effects of counterpoint +and opposition which I have referred to as the final +grace and justification of verse, and, I may add, of blank +verse in particular.</p> + +<p>4. <i>Contents of the Phrase.</i>—Here is a great deal of talk +about rhythm—and naturally; for in our canorous language +rhythm is always at the door. But it must not be forgotten +that in some languages this element is almost, if not quite, +extinct, and that in our own it is probably decaying. The +even speech of many educated Americans sounds the note +of danger. I should see it go with something as bitter as +despair, but I should not be desperate. As in verse no +element, not even rhythm, is necessary; so, in prose also, +other sorts of beauty will arise and take the place and play +the part of those that we outlive. The beauty of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253" id="page253"></a>253</span> +expected beat in verse, the beauty in prose of its larger and +more lawless melody, patent as they are to English hearing, +are already silent in the ears of our next neighbours; for +in France the oratorical accent and the pattern of the web +have almost or altogether succeeded to their places; and +the French prose writer would be astounded at the labours +of his brother across the Channel, and how a good quarter +of his toil, above all <i>invita Minerva</i>, is to avoid writing verse. +So wonderfully far apart have races wandered in spirit, and +so hard it is to understand the literature next door!</p> + +<p>Yet French prose is distinctly better than English; and +French verse, above all while Hugo lives, it will not do to +place upon one side. What is more to our purpose, a phrase +or a verse in French is easily distinguishable as comely or +uncomely. There is then another element of comeliness +hitherto overlooked in this analysis: the contents of the +phrase. Each phrase in literature is built of sounds, as +each phrase in music consists of notes. One sound suggests, +echoes, demands, and harmonises with another; and the +art of rightly using these concordances is the final art in +literature. It used to be a piece of good advice to all +young writers to avoid alliteration; and the advice was +sound, in so far as it prevented daubing. None the less for +that, was it abominable nonsense, and the mere raving of +those blindest of the blind who will not see? The beauty +of the contents of a phrase, or of a sentence, depends implicitly +upon alliteration and upon assonance. The vowel +demands to be repeated; the consonant demands to be +repeated; and both cry aloud to be perpetually varied. +You may follow the adventures of a letter through any +passage that has particularly pleased you; find it, perhaps, +denied a while, to tantalise the ear; find it fired again at +you in a whole broadside; or find it pass into congenerous +sounds, one liquid or labial melting away into another. +And you will find another and much stranger circumstance. +Literature is written by and for two senses: a sort of +internal ear, quick to perceive “unheard melodies”; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254" id="page254"></a>254</span> +the eye, which directs the pen and deciphers the printed +phrase. Well, even as there are rhymes for the eye, so you +will find that there are assonances and alliterations; that +where an author is running the open <span class="sc">a</span>, deceived by the eye +and our strange English spelling, he will often show a +tenderness for the flat <span class="sc">a</span>; and that where he is running a +particular consonant, he will not improbably rejoice to +write it down even when it is mute or bears a different +value.</p> + +<p>Here, then, we have a fresh pattern—a pattern, to +speak grossly, of letters—which makes the fourth preoccupation +of the prose writer, and the fifth of the versifier. +At times it is very delicate and hard to perceive, and then +perhaps most excellent and winning (I say perhaps); but +at times again the elements of this literal melody stand +more boldly forward and usurp the ear. It becomes, therefore, +somewhat a matter of conscience to select examples; +and as I cannot very well ask the reader to help me, I shall +do the next best by giving him the reason or the history of +each selection. The two first, one in prose, one in verse, +I chose without previous analysis, simply as engaging +passages that had long re-echoed in my ear.</p> + +<p>“I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised +and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees +her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal +garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.”<a name="FnAnchor_20" id="FnAnchor_20" href="#Footnote_20"><span class="sp">20</span></a> +Down to “virtue,” the current <span class="sc">s</span> and <span class="sc">r</span> are both announced +and repeated unobtrusively, and by way of a grace-note +that almost inseparable group <span class="sc">pvf</span> is given entire.<a name="FnAnchor_21" id="FnAnchor_21" href="#Footnote_21"><span class="sp">21</span></a> The +next phrase is a period of repose, almost ugly in itself, +both <span class="sc">s</span> and <span class="sc">r</span> still audible, and <span class="sc">b</span> given as the last fulfilment +of <span class="sc">pvf</span>. In the next four phrases, from “that never” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255" id="page255"></a>255</span> +down to “run for,” the mask is thrown off, and, but for a +slight repetition of the <span class="sc">f</span> and <span class="sc">v</span>, the whole matter turns, +almost too obtrusively, on <span class="sc">s</span> and <span class="sc">r</span>; first <span class="sc">s</span> coming to the +front, and then <span class="sc">r</span>. In the concluding phrase all these +favourite letters, and even the flat <span class="sc">a</span>, a timid preference for +which is just perceptible, are discarded at a blow and in a +bundle; and to make the break more obvious, every word +ends with a dental, and all but one with <span class="sc">t</span>, for which we +have been cautiously prepared since the beginning. The +singular dignity of the first clause, and this hammer-stroke +of the last, go far to make the charm of this exquisite +sentence. But it is fair to own that S and R are used a +little coarsely.</p> + +<div class="poemr"> +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> + +<p>“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan</p> + <p class="i2">A stately pleasure dome decree,</p> +<p class="i05">Where Alph the sacred river ran,</p> +<p class="i05">Through caverns measureless to man,</p> + <p class="i2">Down to a sunless sea.”<a name="FnAnchor_22" id="FnAnchor_22" href="#Footnote_22"><span class="sp">22</span></a></p> +</td> + +<td class="scs"><p>(kăndl)</p> +<p>(kdlsr)</p> +<p>(kăndlsr)</p> +<p>(kănlsr)</p> +<p>(ndls)</p> + +</td></tr></table> +</div> + +<p class="noind">Here I have put the analysis of the main group alongside +the lines; and the more it is looked at, the more interesting +it will seem. But there are further niceties. In lines two +and four, the current <span class="sc">s</span> is most delicately varied with <span class="sc">z</span>. +In line three, the current flat <span class="sc">a</span> is twice varied with the +open <span class="sc">a</span>, already suggested in line two, and both times +(“where” and “sacred”) in conjunction with the current <span class="sc">r</span>. +In the same line <span class="sc">f</span> and <span class="sc">v</span> (a harmony in themselves, even +when shorn of their comrade <span class="sc">p</span>) are admirably contrasted. +And in line four there is a marked subsidiary <span class="sc">m</span>, which again +was announced in line two. I stop from weariness, for +more might yet be said.</p> + +<p>My next example was recently quoted from Shakespeare +as an example of the poet’s colour sense. Now, I do not +think literature has anything to do with colour, or poets +anyway the better of such a sense; and I instantly attacked +this passage, since “purple” was the word that had so +pleased the writer of the article, to see if there might not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256" id="page256"></a>256</span> +be some literary reason for its use. It will be seen that I +succeeded amply; and I am bound to say I think the +passage exceptional in Shakespeare—exceptional, indeed, +in literature; but it was not I who chose it.</p> + +<div class="poemr"> +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> + +<p>“The <span class="scs">b</span>a<span class="scs">r</span>ge she sat i<span class="scs">n</span>, like a <span class="scs">burn</span>ished thro<span class="scs">n</span>e</p> +<p><span class="scs">Burn</span>t <span class="scs">on</span> the water: the <span class="scs">poop</span> was <span class="scs">b</span>eate<span class="scs">n</span> gold,</p> +<p><span class="scs">Purp</span>le the sails and so <span class="scs">pur*f</span>umèd that</p> +<p>The wi<span class="scs">n</span>ds were lovesick with them.”<a name="FnAnchor_23" id="FnAnchor_23" href="#Footnote_23"><span class="sp">23</span></a></p> +</td> + +<td><p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p>*per</p> +<p> </p> + +</td></tr></table> +</div> + +<p class="noind">It may be asked why I have put the <span class="scs">f</span> of perfumèd in +capitals; and I reply, because this change from <span class="scs">p</span> to <span class="scs">f</span> is +the completion of that from <span class="scs">b</span> to <span class="scs">p</span>, already so adroitly +carried out. Indeed, the whole passage is a monument of +curious ingenuity; and it seems scarce worth while to +indicate the subsidiary <span class="sc">s</span>, <span class="scs">l</span> and <span class="sc">w</span>. In the same article, +a second passage from Shakespeare was quoted, once again +as an example of his colour sense:</p> + +<div class="poemr"> +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> + +<p>“A mole cinque-spotted like the crimson drops</p> +<p class="i05">I’ the bottom of a cowslip.”<a name="FnAnchor_24" id="FnAnchor_24" href="#Footnote_24"><span class="sp">24</span></a></p> + +</td></tr></table> +</div> + +<p class="noind">It is very curious, very artificial, and not worth while to +analyse at length: I leave it to the reader. But before I +turn my back on Shakespeare, I should like to quote a +passage, for my own pleasure, and for a very model of +every technical art:—</p> + +<div class="poemr"> +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> + +<p>“But in the wind and tempest of her frown,</p> +<p class="i05">Distinction with a loud and powerful fan,</p> +<p class="i05">Puffing at all, winnowes the light away;</p> +<p class="i05">And what hath mass and matter by itself</p> +<p class="i05">Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.”<a name="FnAnchor_26" id="FnAnchor_26" href="#Footnote_26"><span class="sp">26</span></a></p></td> + +<td style="padding-left: 1em;"><p><span class="scs">w. p. v. f.</span> (st) (<span class="scs">ow</span>)<a name="FnAnchor_25" id="FnAnchor_25" href="#Footnote_25"><span class="sp">25</span></a></p> +<p><span class="scs">w. p. f.</span> (st) (<span class="scs">ow</span>) <span class="scs">l</span></p> +<p><span class="scs">w. p. f. l</span></p> +<p><span class="scs">w. f. l. m. ă.</span></p> +<p><span class="scs">v. l. m.</span></p> + +</td></tr></table> +</div> + +<p>From these delicate and choice writers I turned with +some curiosity to a player of the big drum—Macaulay. +I had in hand the two-volume edition, and I opened at the +beginning of the second volume. Here was what I read:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“The violence of revolutions is generally proportioned to the +degree of the maladministration which has produced them. It is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257" id="page257"></a>257</span> +therefore not strange that the government of Scotland, having +been during many years greatly more corrupt than the government +of England, should have fallen with a far heavier ruin. The movement +against the last king of the house of Stuart was in England +conservative, in Scotland destructive. The English complained +not of the law, but of the violation of the law.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="noind">This was plain-sailing enough; it was our old friend <span class="scs">pvf</span>, +floated by the liquids in a body; but as I read on, and +turned the page, and still found <span class="scs">pvf</span> with his attendant +liquids, I confess my mind misgave me utterly. This could +be no trick of Macaulay’s; it must be the nature of the +English tongue. In a kind of despair, I turned half-way +through the volume; and coming upon his lordship dealing +with General Cannon, and fresh from Claverhouse and +Killiekrankie, here, with elucidative spelling, was my +reward:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +“Meanwhile the disorders of <span class="sc">k</span>annon’s <span class="sc">k</span>amp went on in<span class="sc">k</span>reasing. +He <span class="sc">k</span>alled a <span class="sc">kouncil</span> of war to <span class="sc">k</span>onsider what <span class="sc">k</span>ourse it would +be advisable to ta<span class="sc">k</span>e. But as soon as the <span class="sc">k</span>ouncil had met a preliminary +<span class="sc">k</span>uestion was raised. The army was almost e<span class="sc">k</span>s<span class="sc">k</span>lusively +a Highland army. The recent vi<span class="sc">k</span>tory had been won e<span class="sc">k</span>s<span class="sc">k</span>lusively +by Highland warriors. Great chie<i>f</i>s who had brought si<span class="sc">k</span>s or se<i>v</i>en +hundred <i>f</i>ighting men into the <i>f</i>ield, did not think it <i>f</i>air that they +should be out<i>v</i>oted by gentlemen <i>f</i>rom Ireland and <i>f</i>rom the Low +<span class="sc">k</span>ountries, who bore indeed King James’s <span class="sc">k</span>ommission, and were +<span class="sc">k</span>alled <span class="sc">k</span>olonels and <span class="sc">k</span>aptains, but who were <span class="sc">k</span>olonels without regiments +and <span class="sc">k</span>aptains without <span class="sc">k</span>ompanies.” +</div> + +<p class="noind">A moment of <span class="scs">fv</span> in all this world of <span class="scs">k</span>’s! It was not the +English language, then, that was an instrument of one +string, but Macaulay that was an incomparable dauber.</p> + +<p>It was probably from this barbaric love of repeating the +same sound, rather than from any design of clearness, that +he acquired his irritating habit of repeating words; I say +the one rather than the other, because such a trick of the +ear is deeper seated and more original in man than any +logical consideration. Few writers, indeed, are probably +conscious of the length to which they push this melody of +letters. One, writing very diligently, and only concerned +about the meaning of his words and the rhythm of his +phrases, was struck into amazement by the eager triumph +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page258" id="page258"></a>258</span> +with which he cancelled one expression to substitute +another. Neither changed the sense; both being mono-syllables, +neither could affect the scansion; and it was only +by looking back on what he had already written that the +mystery was solved: the second word contained an open +<span class="sc">a</span>, and for nearly half a page he had been riding that vowel +to the death.</p> + +<p>In practice, I should add, the ear is not always so exacting; +and ordinary writers, in ordinary moments, content +themselves with avoiding what is harsh, and here and there, +upon a rare occasion, buttressing a phrase, or linking two +together, with a patch of assonance or a momentary jingle +of alliteration. To understand how constant is this preoccupation +of good writers, even where its results are least +obtrusive, it is only necessary to turn to the bad. There, +indeed, you will find cacophony supreme, the rattle of incongruous +consonants only relieved by the jaw-breaking +hiatus, and whole phrases not to be articulated by the +powers of man.</p> + +<p><i>Conclusion</i>.—We may now briefly enumerate the elements +of style. We have, peculiar to the prose writer, the +task of keeping his phrases large, rhythmical and pleasing +to the ear, without ever allowing them to fall into the strictly +metrical: peculiar to the versifier, the task of combining +and contrasting his double, treble, and quadruple pattern, +feet and groups, logic and metre—harmonious in diversity: +common to both, the task of artfully combining the prime +elements of language into phrases that shall be musical in +the mouth; the task of weaving their argument into a +texture of committed phrases and of rounded periods—but +this particularly binding in the case of prose: and, again +common to both, the task of choosing apt, explicit, and +communicative words. We begin to see now what an +intricate affair is any perfect passage; how many faculties, +whether of taste or pure reason, must be held upon the +stretch to make it; and why, when it is made, it should +afford us so complete a pleasure. From the arrangement of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259" id="page259"></a>259</span> +according letters, which is altogether arabesque and sensual, +up to the architecture of the elegant and pregnant sentence, +which is a vigorous act of the pure intellect, there is scarce +a faculty in man but has been exercised. We need not +wonder, then, if perfect sentences are rare, and perfect +pages rarer.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18" href="#FnAnchor_18"><span class="fn">18</span></a> Milton.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19" href="#FnAnchor_19"><span class="fn">19</span></a> Milton.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20" href="#FnAnchor_20"><span class="fn">20</span></a> Milton.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21" href="#FnAnchor_21"><span class="fn">21</span></a> As <span class="sc">pvf</span> will continue to haunt us through our English examples, +take, by way of comparison, this Latin verse, of which it forms a +chief adornment, and do not hold me answerable for the all too +Roman freedom of the sense: “Hanc volo, quæ facilis, quæ palliolata +vagatur.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22" href="#FnAnchor_22"><span class="fn">22</span></a> Coleridge.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23" href="#FnAnchor_23"><span class="fn">23</span></a> Antony and Cleopatra.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24" href="#FnAnchor_24"><span class="fn">24</span></a> Cymbeline.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25" href="#FnAnchor_25"><span class="fn">25</span></a> The <span class="sc">v</span> is in “of.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26" href="#FnAnchor_26"><span class="fn">26</span></a> Troilus and Cressida.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page260" id="page260"></a>260</span></p> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h3>THE MORALITY OF THE PROFESSION +OF LETTERS</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> profession of letters has been lately debated in the +public prints; and it has been debated, to put the matter +mildly, from a point of view that was calculated to surprise +high-minded men, and bring a general contempt on books +and reading. Some time ago, in particular, a lively, +pleasant, popular writer<a name="FnAnchor_27" id="FnAnchor_27" href="#Footnote_27"><span class="sp">27</span></a> devoted an essay, lively and +pleasant like himself, to a very encouraging view of the +profession. We may be glad that his experience is so +cheering, and we may hope that all others, who deserve it, +shall be as handsomely rewarded; but I do not think we +need be at all glad to have this question, so important to +the public and ourselves, debated solely on the ground of +money. The salary in any business under heaven is not +the only, nor indeed the first, question. That you should +continue to exist is a matter for your own consideration; +but that your business should be first honest, and second +useful, are points in which honour and morality are concerned. +If the writer to whom I refer succeeds in persuading +a number of young persons to adopt this way of life with +an eye set singly on the livelihood, we must expect them +in their works to follow profit only, and we must expect in +consequence, if he will pardon me the epithets, a slovenly, +base, untrue, and empty literature. Of that writer himself +I am not speaking: he is diligent, clean, and pleasing; we +all owe him periods of entertainment, and he has achieved +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261" id="page261"></a>261</span> +an amiable popularity which he has adequately deserved. +But the truth is, he does not, or did not when he first embraced +it, regard his profession from this purely mercenary +side. He went into it, I shall venture to say, if not with +any noble design, at least in the ardour of a first love; and +he enjoyed its practice long before he paused to calculate +the wage. The other day an author was complimented on +a piece of work, good in itself and exceptionally good +for him, and replied in terms unworthy of a commercial +traveller, that as the book was not briskly selling he did not +give a copper farthing for its merit. It must not be supposed +that the person to whom this answer was addressed +received it as a profession of faith; he knew, on the other +hand, that it was only a whiff of irritation; just as we +know, when a respectable writer talks of literature as a way +of life, like shoemaking, but not so useful, that he is only +debating one aspect of a question, and is still clearly conscious +of a dozen others more important in themselves and +more central to the matter in hand. But while those who +treat literature in this penny-wise and virtue-foolish spirit +are themselves truly in possession of a better light, it does +not follow that the treatment is decent or improving, +whether for themselves or others. To treat all subjects in +the highest, the most honourable, and the pluckiest spirit, +consistent with the fact, is the first duty of a writer. If +he be well paid, as I am glad to hear he is, this duty becomes +the more urgent, the neglect of it the more disgraceful. +And perhaps there is no subject on which a man should +speak so gravely as that industry, whatever it may be, +which is the occupation or delight of his life; which is his +tool to earn or serve with; and which, if it be unworthy, +stamps himself as a mere incubus of dumb and greedy +bowels on the shoulders of labouring humanity. On that +subject alone even to force the note might lean to virtue’s +side. It is to be hoped that a numerous and enterprising +generation of writers will follow and surpass the present +one; but it would be better if the stream were stayed, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page262" id="page262"></a>262</span> +the roll of our old, honest English books were closed, than +that esurient bookmakers should continue and debase a +brave tradition, and lower, in their own eyes, a famous race. +Better that our serene temples were deserted than filled +with trafficking and juggling priests.</p> + +<p>There are two just reasons for the choice of any way +of life: the first is inbred taste in the chooser; the second +some high utility in the industry selected. Literature, like +any other art, is singularly interesting to the artist; and, +in a degree peculiar to itself among the arts, it is useful to +mankind. These are the sufficient justifications for any +young man or woman who adopts it as the business of his +life. I shall not say much about the wages. A writer can +live by his writing. If not so luxuriously as by other trades, +then less luxuriously. The nature of the work he does all +day will more affect his happiness than the quality of his +dinner at night. Whatever be your calling, and however +much it brings you in the year, you could still, you know, +get more by cheating. We all suffer ourselves to be too +much concerned about a little poverty; but such considerations +should not move us in the choice of that which is +to be the business and justification of so great a portion +of our lives; and like the missionary, the patriot, or the +philosopher, we should all choose that poor and brave +career in which we can do the most and best for mankind. +Now Nature, faithfully followed, proves herself a careful +mother. A lad, for some liking to the jingle of words, +betakes himself to letters for his life; by-and-by, when he +learns more gravity, he finds that he has chosen better +than he knew; that if he earns little, he is earning it amply; +that if he receives a small wage, he is in a position to do +considerable services; that it is in his power, in some small +measure, to protect the oppressed and to defend the truth. +So kindly is the world arranged, such great profit may arise +from a small degree of human reliance on oneself, and such, +in particular, is the happy star of this trade of writing, that +it should combine pleasure and profit to both parties, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page263" id="page263"></a>263</span> +be at once agreeable, like fiddling, and useful, like good +preaching.</p> + +<p>This is to speak of literature at its highest; and with +the four great elders who are still spared to our respect and +admiration, with Carlyle, Ruskin, Browning, and Tennyson +before us, it would be cowardly to consider it at first in +any lesser aspect. But while we cannot follow these +athletes, while we may none of us, perhaps, be very vigorous, +very original, or very wise, I still contend that, in the +humblest sort of literary work, we have it in our power +either to do great harm or great good. We may seek merely +to please; we may seek, having no higher gift, merely to +gratify the idle nine-days’ curiosity of our contemporaries; +or we may essay, however feebly, to instruct. In each of +these we shall have to deal with that remarkable art of +words which, because it is the dialect of life, comes home +so easily and powerfully to the minds of men; and since +that is so, we contribute, in each of these branches, to +build up the sum of sentiments and appreciations which +goes by the name of Public Opinion or Public Feeling. +The total of a nation’s reading, in these days of daily +papers, greatly modifies the total of the nation’s speech; +and the speech and reading, taken together, form the +efficient educational medium of youth. A good man or +woman may keep a youth some little while in clearer air; +but the contemporary atmosphere is all-powerful in the +end on the average of mediocre characters. The copious +Corinthian baseness of the American reporter or the +Parisian <i>chroniqueur</i>, both so lightly readable, must exercise +an incalculable influence for ill; they touch upon all +subjects, and on all with the same ungenerous hand; they +begin the consideration of all, in young and unprepared +minds, in an unworthy spirit; on all, they supply some +pungency for dull people to quote. The mere body of +this ugly matter overwhelms the rarer utterances of good +men; the sneering, the selfish, and the cowardly are scattered +in broad sheets on every table, while the antidote, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264" id="page264"></a>264</span> +in small volumes, lies unread upon the shelf. I have +spoken of the American and the French, not because they +are so much baser, but so much more readable, than the +English; their evil is done more effectively, in America +for the masses, in French for the few that care to read; +but with us as with them, the duties of literature are daily +neglected, truth daily perverted and suppressed, and grave +subjects daily degraded in the treatment. The journalist +is not reckoned an important officer; yet judge of the good +he might do, the harm he does; judge of it by one instance +only: that when we find two journals on the reverse sides +of politics each, on the same day, openly garbling a piece +of news for the interest of its own party, we smile at the +discovery (no discovery now!) as over a good joke and +pardonable stratagem. Lying so open is scarce lying, it +is true; but one of the things that we profess to teach our +young is a respect for truth; and I cannot think this piece +of education will be crowned with any great success, so +long as some of us practise and the rest openly approve +of public falsehood.</p> + +<p>There are two duties incumbent upon any man who +enters on the business of writing: truth to the fact and +a good spirit in the treatment. In every department of +literature, though so low as hardly to deserve the name, +truth to the fact is of importance to the education and +comfort of mankind, and so hard to preserve, that the +faithful trying to do so will lend some dignity to the man +who tries it. Our judgments are based upon two things, +first, upon the original preferences of our soul; but, +second, upon the mass of testimony to the nature of God, +man, and the universe which reaches us, in divers manners, +from without. For the most part these divers manners +are reducible to one, all that we learn of past times and +much that we learn of our own reaching us through the +medium of books or papers, and even he who cannot read +learning from the same source at second-hand and by the +report of him who can. Thus the sum of the contemporary +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page265" id="page265"></a>265</span> +knowledge or ignorance of good and evil is, in large measure, +the handiwork of those who write. Those who write have +to see that each man’s knowledge is, as near as they can +make it, answerable to the facts of life; that he shall not +suppose himself an angel or a monster; nor take this +world for a hell; nor be suffered to imagine that all rights +are concentred in his own caste or country, or all veracities +in his own parochial creed. Each man should learn what +is within him, that he may strive to mend; he must be +taught what is without him, that he may be kind to others. +It can never be wrong to tell him the truth; for, in his +disputable state, weaving as he goes his theory of life, +steering himself, cheering or reproving others, all facts +are of the first importance to his conduct; and even if a +fact shall discourage or corrupt him, it is still best that he +should know it; for it is in this world as it is, and not in +a world made easy by educational suppressions, that he +must win his way to shame or glory. In one word, it must +always be foul to tell what is false; and it can never be +safe to suppress what is true. The very fact that you omit +may be the fact which somebody was wanting, for one +man’s meat is another man’s poison, and I have known +a person who was cheered by the perusal of “Candide.” +Every fact is a part of that great puzzle we must set together; +and none that comes directly in a writer’s path +but has some nice relations, unperceivable by him, to the +totality and bearing of the subject under hand. Yet +there are certain classes of fact eternally more necessary +than others, and it is with these that literature must first +bestir itself. They are not hard to distinguish, nature +once more easily leading us; for the necessary, because +the efficacious, facts are those which are most interesting +to the natural mind of man. Those which are coloured, +picturesque, human, and rooted in morality, and those, +on the other hand, which are clear, indisputable, and a +part of science, are alone vital in importance, seizing by +their interest, or useful to communicate. So far as the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266" id="page266"></a>266</span> +writer merely narrates, he should principally tell of these. +He should tell of the kind and wholesome and beautiful +elements of our life; he should tell unsparingly of the evil +and sorrow of the present, to move us with instances; he +should tell of wise and good people in the past, to excite +us by example; and of these he should tell soberly and +truthfully, not glossing faults, that we may neither grow +discouraged with ourselves nor exacting to our neighbours. +So the body of contemporary literature, ephemeral and +feeble in itself, touches in the minds of men the springs of +thought and kindness, and supports them (for those who +will go at all are easily supported) on their way to what is +true and right. And if, in any degree, it does so now, how +much more might it do so if the writers chose! There is +not a life in all the records of the past but, properly studied, +might lend a hint and a help to some contemporary. There +is not a juncture in to-day’s affairs but some useful word +may yet be said of it. Even the reporter has an office, and, +with clear eyes and honest language, may unveil injustices +and point the way to progress. And for a last word: in +all narration there is only one way to be clever, and that +is to be exact. To be vivid is a secondary quality which +must presuppose the first; for vividly to convey a wrong +impression is only to make failure conspicuous.</p> + +<p>But a fact may be viewed on many sides; it may be +chronicled with rage, tears, laughter, indifference, or +admiration, and by each of these the story will be transformed +to something else. The newspapers that told of +the return of our representatives from Berlin, even if they +had not differed as to the facts, would have sufficiently +differed by their spirit; so that the one description would +have been a second ovation, and the other a prolonged +insult. The subject makes but a trifling part of any piece +of literature, and the view of the writer is itself a fact more +important because less disputable than the others. Now +this spirit in which a subject is regarded, important in all +kinds of literary work, becomes all-important in works of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page267" id="page267"></a>267</span> +fiction, meditation, or rhapsody; for there it not only +colours but itself chooses the facts; not only modifies but +shapes the work. And hence, over the far larger proportion +of the field of literature, the health or disease of the +writer’s mind or momentary humour forms not only the +leading feature of his work, but is, at bottom, the only thing +he can communicate to others. In all works of art, widely +speaking, it is first of all the author’s attitude that is +narrated, though in the attitude there be implied a whole +experience and a theory of life. An author who has begged +the question and reposes in some narrow faith cannot, if +he would, express the whole or even many of the sides of +this various existence; for, his own life being maim, some +of them are not admitted in his theory, and were only +dimly and unwillingly recognised in his experience. Hence +the smallness, the triteness, and the inhumanity in works +of merely sectarian religion; and hence we find equal +although unsimilar limitations in works inspired by the +spirit of the flesh or the despicable taste for high society. +So that the first duty of any man who is to write is intellectual. +Designedly or not, he has so far set himself up for +a leader of the minds of men; and he must see that his own +mind is kept supple, charitable, and bright. Everything +but prejudice should find a voice through him; he should +see the good in all things; where he has even a fear that +he does not wholly understand, there he should be wholly +silent; and he should recognise from the first that he +has only one tool in his workshop and that tool is sympathy.<a name="FnAnchor_28" id="FnAnchor_28" href="#Footnote_28"><span class="sp">28</span></a></p> + +<p>The second duty, far harder to define, is moral. There +are a thousand different humours in the mind, and about +each of them, when it is uppermost, some literature tends +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page268" id="page268"></a>268</span> +to be deposited. Is this to be allowed? Not certainly in +every case, and yet perhaps in more than rigorists would +fancy. It were to be desired that all literary work, and +chiefly works of art, issued from sound, human, healthy, +and potent impulses, whether grave or laughing, humorous, +romantic, or religious. Yet it cannot be denied that some +valuable books are partially insane; some, mostly religious, +partially inhuman; and very many tainted with morbidity +and impotence. We do not loathe a masterpiece +although we gird against its blemishes. We are not, +above all, to look for faults but merits. There is no book +perfect, even in design; but there are many that will +delight, improve, or encourage the reader. On the one +hand, the Hebrew Psalms are the only religious poetry on +earth; yet they contain sallies that savour rankly of the +man of blood. On the other hand, Alfred de Musset had +a poisoned and a contorted nature; I am only quoting +that generous and frivolous giant, old Dumas, when I +accuse him of a bad heart; yet, when the impulse under +which he wrote was purely creative, he could give us works +like “Carmosine” or “Fantasio,” in which the last note +of the romantic comedy seems to have been found again +to touch and please us. When Flaubert wrote “Madame +Bovary,” I believe he thought chiefly of a somewhat +morbid realism; and behold! the book turned in his +hands into a masterpiece of appalling morality. But the +truth is, when books are conceived under a great stress, +with a soul of nine-fold power nine times heated and +electrified by effort, the conditions of our being are seized +with such an ample grasp, that, even should the main +design be trivial or base, some truth and beauty cannot +fail to be expressed. Out of the strong comes forth sweetness; +but an ill thing poorly done is an ill thing top and +bottom. And so this can be no encouragement to knock-knee’d, +feeble-wristed scribes, who must take their business +conscientiously or be ashamed to practise it.</p> + +<p>Man is imperfect; yet, in his literature, he must express +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269" id="page269"></a>269</span> +himself and his own views and preferences; for to do +anything else is to do a far more perilous thing than to +risk being immoral: it is to be sure of being untrue. To +ape a sentiment, even a good one, is to travesty a sentiment; +that will not be helpful. To conceal a sentiment, +if you are sure you hold it, is to take a liberty with truth. +There is probably no point of view possible to a sane man +but contains some truth and, in the true connection, might +be profitable to the race. I am not afraid of the truth, +if any one could tell it me, but I am afraid of parts of it +impertinently uttered. There is a time to dance and a +time to mourn; to be harsh as well as to be sentimental; +to be ascetic as well as to glorify the appetites; and if a +man were to combine all these extremes into his work, +each in its place and proportion, that work would be the +world’s masterpiece of morality as well as of art. Partiality +is immorality; for any book is wrong that gives a misleading +picture of the world and life. The trouble is that +the weakling must be partial; the work of one proving +dank and depressing; of another, cheap and vulgar; of +a third, epileptically sensual; of a fourth, sourly ascetic. +In literature as in conduct, you can never hope to do +exactly right. All you can do is to make as sure as possible; +and for that there is but one rule. Nothing should be done +in a hurry that can be done slowly. It is no use to write a +book and put it by for nine or even ninety years; for in +the writing you will have partly convinced yourself; the +delay must precede any beginning; and if you meditate +a work of art, you should first long roll the subject under the +tongue to make sure you like the flavour, before you brew +a volume that shall taste of it from end to end; or if you +propose to enter on the field of controversy, you should +first have thought upon the question under all conditions, +in health as well as in sickness, in sorrow as well as in joy. +It is this nearness of examination necessary for any true +and kind writing, that makes the practice of the art a prolonged +and noble education for the writer. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page270" id="page270"></a>270</span></p> + +<p>There is plenty to do, plenty to say, or to say over again, +in the meantime. Any literary work which conveys faithful +facts or pleasing impressions is a service to the public. +It is even a service to be thankfully proud of having rendered. +The slightest novels are a blessing to those in +distress, not chloroform itself a greater. Our fine old sea-captain’s +life was justified when Carlyle soothed his mind +with “The King’s Own” or “Newton Forster.” To +please is to serve; and so far from its being difficult to +instruct while you amuse, it is difficult to do the one +thoroughly without the other. Some part of the writer +or his life will crop out in even a vapid book; and to read +a novel that was conceived with any force is to multiply +experience and to exercise the sympathies. Every article, +every piece of verse, every essay, every <i>entrefilet</i>, is destined +to pass, however swiftly, through the minds of some portion +of the public, and to colour, however transiently, their +thoughts. When any subject falls to be discussed, some +scribbler on a paper has the invaluable opportunity of +beginning its discussion in a dignified and human spirit; +and if there were enough who did so in our public press +neither the public nor the parliament would find it in their +minds to drop to meaner thoughts. The writer has the +chance to stumble, by the way, on something pleasing, +something interesting, something encouraging, were it only +to a single reader. He will be unfortunate, indeed, if he +suit no one. He has the chance, besides, to stumble on +something that a dull person shall be able to comprehend; +and for a dull person to have read anything and, for that +once, comprehended it, makes a marking epoch in his +education.</p> + +<p>Here then is work worth doing and worth trying to do +well. And so, if I were minded to welcome any great +accession to our trade, it should not be from any reason +of a higher wage, but because it was a trade which was +useful in a very great and in a very high degree; which +every honest tradesman could make more serviceable to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page271" id="page271"></a>271</span> +mankind in his single strength; which was difficult to do +well and possible to do better every year; which called +for scrupulous thought on the part of all who practised it, +and hence became a perpetual education to their nobler +natures; and which, pay it as you please, in the large +majority of the best cases will still be underpaid. For +surely, at this time of day in the nineteenth century, there +is nothing that an honest man should fear more timorously +than getting and spending more than he deserves.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27" href="#FnAnchor_27"><span class="fn">27</span></a> Mr. James Payn.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28" href="#FnAnchor_28"><span class="fn">28</span></a> A footnote, at least, is due to the admirable example set before +all young writers in the width of literary sympathy displayed by +Mr. Swinburne. He runs forth to welcome merit, whether in Dickens +or Trollope, whether in Villon, Milton, or Pope. This is, in criticism, +the attitude we should all seek to preserve, not only in that, but in +every branch of literary work.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page272" id="page272"></a>272</span></p> +<h3>V</h3> + +<h3>BOOKS WHICH HAVE INFLUENCED ME</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> Editor<a name="FnAnchor_29" id="FnAnchor_29" href="#Footnote_29"><span class="sp">29</span></a> has somewhat insidiously laid a trap for his +correspondents, the question put appearing at first so +innocent, truly cutting so deep. It is not, indeed, until +after some reconnaissance and review that the writer +awakes to find himself engaged upon something in the +nature of autobiography, or, perhaps worse, upon a chapter +in the life of that little, beautiful brother whom we once +all had, and whom we have all lost and mourned, the man +we ought to have been, the man we hoped to be. But +when word has been passed (even to an editor), it should, +if possible, be kept; and if sometimes I am wise and say +too little, and sometimes weak and say too much, the blame +must lie at the door of the person who entrapped me.</p> + +<p>The most influential books, and the truest in their +influence, are works of fiction. They do not pin the reader +to a dogma, which he must afterwards discover to be +inexact; they do not teach him a lesson, which he must +afterwards unlearn. They repeat, they rearrange, they +clarify the lessons of life; they disengage us from ourselves, +they constrain us to the acquaintance of others; and they +show us the web of experience, not as we can see it for +ourselves, but with a singular change—that monstrous, +consuming <i>ego</i> of ours being, for the nonce, struck out. To +be so, they must be reasonably true to the human comedy; +and any work that is so serves the turn of instruction. +But the course of our education is answered best by those +poems and romances where we breathe a magnanimous +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page273" id="page273"></a>273</span> +atmosphere of thought and meet generous and pious +characters. Shakespeare has served me best. Few living +friends have had upon me an influence so strong for good +as Hamlet or Rosalind. The last character, already well +beloved in the reading, I had the good fortune to see, I +must think, in an impressionable hour, played by Mrs. +Scott Siddons. Nothing has ever more moved, more +delighted, more refreshed me; nor has the influence quite +passed away. Kent’s brief speech over the dying Lear had +a great effect upon my mind, and was the burthen of my +reflections for long, so profoundly, so touchingly generous +did it appear in sense, so overpowering in expression. +Perhaps my dearest and best friend outside of Shakespeare +is D’Artagnan—the elderly D’Artagnan of the “Vicomte de +Bragelonne.” I know not a more human soul, nor, in his +way, a finer; I shall be very sorry for the man who is so +much of a pedant in morals that he cannot learn from +the Captain of Musketeers. Lastly, I must name the +“Pilgrim’s Progress,” a book that breathes of every +beautiful and valuable emotion.</p> + +<p>But of works of art little can be said; their influence +is profound and silent, like the influence of nature; they +mould by contact; we drink them up like water, and are +bettered, yet know not how. It is in books more specifically +didactic that we can follow out the effect, and distinguish +and weigh and compare. A book which has been +very influential upon me fell early into my hands, and so +may stand first, though I think its influence was only +sensible later on, and perhaps still keeps growing, for it +is a book not easily outlived: the “Essais” of Montaigne. +That temperate and genial picture of life is a great gift +to place in the hands of persons of to-day; they will find +in these smiling pages a magazine of heroism and wisdom, +all of an antique strain; they will have their “linen +decencies” and excited orthodoxies fluttered, and will (if +they have any gift of reading) perceive that these have not +been fluttered without some excuse and ground of reason; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274" id="page274"></a>274</span> +and (again if they have any gift of reading) they will end +by seeing that this old gentleman was in a dozen ways a +finer fellow, and held in a dozen ways a nobler view of life, +than they or their contemporaries.</p> + +<p>The next book, in order of time, to influence me was the +New Testament, and in particular the Gospel according to +St. Matthew. I believe it would startle and move any one +if they could make a certain effort of imagination and read +it freshly like a book, not droningly and dully like a portion +of the Bible. Any one would then be able to see in it +those truths which we are all courteously supposed to know +and all modestly refrain from applying. But upon this +subject it is perhaps better to be silent.</p> + +<p>I come next to Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass,” a book +of singular service, a book which tumbled the world upside +down for me, blew into space a thousand cobwebs of genteel +and ethical illusion, and, having thus shaken my tabernacle +of lies, set me back again upon a strong foundation +of all the original and manly virtues. But it is, once more, +only a book for those who have the gift of reading. I will +be very frank—I believe it is so with all good books, +except, perhaps, fiction. The average man lives, and must +live, so wholly in convention, that gunpowder charges of +the truth are more apt to discompose than to invigorate +his creed. Either he cries out upon blasphemy and indecency, +and crouches the closer round that little idol of +part-truths and part-conveniences which is the contemporary +deity, or he is convinced by what is new, forgets +what is old, and becomes truly blasphemous and indecent +himself. New truth is only useful to supplement the old; +rough truth is only wanted to expand, not to destroy, our +civil and often elegant conventions. He who cannot judge +had better stick to fiction and the daily papers. There he +will get little harm, and, in the first at least, some good.</p> + +<p>Close upon the back of my discovery of Whitman, I +came under the influence of Herbert Spencer. No more +persuasive rabbi exists, and few better. How much of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275" id="page275"></a>275</span> +his vast structure will bear the touch of time, how much +is clay and how much brass, it were too curious to inquire. +But his words, if dry, are always manly and honest; there +dwells in his pages a spirit of highly abstract joy, plucked +naked like an algebraic symbol, but still joyful; and the +reader will find there a <i>caput-mortuum</i> of piety, with little +indeed of its loveliness, but with most of its essentials; and +these two qualities make him a wholesome, as his intellectual +vigour makes him a bracing, writer. I should be much of +a hound if I lost my gratitude to Herbert Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Goethe’s Life,” by Lewes, had a great importance for +me when it first fell into my hands—a strange instance +of the partiality of man’s good and man’s evil. I know +no one whom I less admire than Goethe; he seems a very +epitome of the sins of genius, breaking open the doors of +private life, and wantonly wounding friends, in that crowning +offence of “Werther,” and in his own character a mere +pen-and-ink Napoleon, conscious of the rights and duties +of superior talents as a Spanish inquisitor was conscious of +the rights and duties of his office. And yet in his fine +devotion to his art, in his honest and serviceable friendship +for Schiller, what lessons are contained! Biography, +usually so false to its office, does here for once perform for +us some of the work of fiction, reminding us, that is, of the +truly mingled tissue of man’s nature, and how huge faults +and shining virtues cohabit and persevere in the same +character. History serves us well to this effect, but in the +originals, not in the pages of the popular epitomiser, who +is bound, by the very nature of his task, to make us feel +the difference of epochs instead of the essential identity +of man, and even in the originals only to those who can +recognise their own human virtues and defects in strange +forms, often inverted and under strange names, often +interchanged. Martial is a poet of no good repute, and it +gives a man new thoughts to read his works dispassionately, +and find in this unseemly jester’s serious passages +the image of a kind, wise, and self-respecting gentleman. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page276" id="page276"></a>276</span> +It is customary, I suppose, in reading Martial, to leave out +these pleasant verses; I never heard of them, at least, +until I found them for myself; and this partiality is one +among a thousand things that help to build up our distorted +and hysterical conception of the great Roman +empire.</p> + +<p>This brings us by a natural transition to a very noble +book—the “Meditations” of Marcus Aurelius. The dispassionate +gravity, the noble forgetfulness of self, the +tenderness of others, that are there expressed and were +practised on so great a scale in the life of its writer, make +this book a book quite by itself. No one can read it and +not be moved. Yet it scarcely or rarely appeals to the +feelings—those very mobile, those not very trusty parts +of man. Its address lies further back: its lesson comes +more deeply home; when you have read, you carry away +with you a memory of the man himself; it is as though +you had touched a loyal hand, looked into brave eyes, +and made a noble friend; there is another bond on you +thenceforward, binding you to life and to the love of virtue.</p> + +<p>Wordsworth should perhaps come next. Every one has +been influenced by Wordsworth, and it is hard to tell precisely +how. A certain innocence, a rugged austerity of joy, +a sight of the stars, “the silence that is in the lonely hills,” +something of the cold thrill of dawn, cling to his work and +give it a particular address to what is best in us. I do not +know that you learn a lesson; you need not—Mill did not—agree +with any one of his beliefs; and yet the spell is +cast. Such are the best teachers; a dogma learned is only +a new error—the old one was perhaps as good; but a spirit +communicated is a perpetual possession. These best +teachers climb beyond teaching to the plane of art; it is +themselves, and what is best in themselves, that they +communicate.</p> + +<p>I should never forgive myself if I forgot “The Egoist.” +It is art, if you like, but it belongs purely to didactic art, +and from all the novels I have read (and I have read +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277" id="page277"></a>277</span> +thousands) stands in a place by itself. Here is a Nathan +for the modern David; here is a book to send the blood +into men’s faces. Satire, the angry picture of human faults, +is not great art; we can all be angry with our neighbour; +what we want is to be shown, not his defects, of which we +are too conscious, but his merits, to which we are too blind. +And “The Egoist” is a satire; so much must be allowed; +but it is a satire of a singular quality, which tells you nothing +of that obvious mote, which is engaged from first to last +with that invisible beam. It is yourself that is hunted +down; these are your own faults that are dragged into the +day and numbered, with lingering relish, with cruel cunning +and precision. A young friend of Mr. Meredith’s (as I have +the story) came to him in an agony. “This is too bad of +you,” he cried. “Willoughby is me!” “No, my dear +fellow,” said the author, “he is all of us.” I have read +“The Egoist” five or six times myself, and I mean to read +it again; for I am like the young friend of the anecdote—I +think Willoughby an unmanly but a very serviceable +exposure of myself.</p> + +<p>I suppose, when I am done, I shall find that I have forgotten +much that was most influential, as I see already I +have forgotten Thoreau, and Hazlitt, whose paper “On the +Spirit of Obligations” was a turning-point in my life, and +Penn, whose little book of aphorisms had a brief but strong +effect on me, and Mitford’s “Tales of Old Japan,” wherein +I learned for the first time the proper attitude of any rational +man to his country’s laws—a secret found, and kept, in the +Asiatic islands. That I should commemorate all is more +than I can hope or the editor could ask. It will be more to +the point, after having said so much upon improving books, +to say a word or two about the improvable reader. The +gift of reading, as I have called it, is not very common, nor +very generally understood. It consists, first of all, in a vast +intellectual endowment—a free grace, I find I must call +it—by which a man rises to understand that he is not +punctually right, nor those from whom he differs absolutely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page278" id="page278"></a>278</span> +wrong. He may hold dogmas; he may hold them passionately; +and he may know that others hold them but coldly, +or hold them differently, or hold them not at all. Well, if +he has the gift of reading, these others will be full of meat +for him. They will see the other side of propositions and +the other side of virtues. He need not change his dogma +for that, but he may change his reading of that dogma, and +he must supplement and correct his deductions from it. +A human truth, which is always very much a lie, hides as +much of life as it displays. It is men who hold another +truth, or, as it seems to us, perhaps, a dangerous lie, who +can extend our restricted field of knowledge, and rouse our +drowsy consciences. Something that seems quite new, or +that seems insolently false or very dangerous, is the test of +a reader. If he tries to see what it means, what truth +excuses it, he has the gift, and let him read. If he is +merely hurt, or offended, or exclaims upon his author’s +folly, he had better take to the daily papers; he will never +be a reader.</p> + +<p>And here, with the aptest illustrative force, after I have +laid down my part-truth, I must step in with its opposite. +For, after all, we are vessels of a very limited content. +Not all men can read all books; it is only in a chosen few +that any man will find his appointed food; and the fittest +lessons are the most palatable, and make themselves +welcome to the mind. A writer learns this early, and it is +his chief support; he goes on unafraid, laying down the +law; and he is sure at heart that most of what he says is +demonstrably false, and much of a mingled strain, and +some hurtful, and very little good for service; but he is +sure besides that when his words fall into the hands of any +genuine reader, they will be weighed and winnowed, and +only that which suits will be assimilated; and when they +fall into the hands of one who cannot intelligently read, they +come there quite silent and inarticulate, falling upon deaf +ears, and his secret is kept as if he had not written.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29" href="#FnAnchor_29"><span class="fn">29</span></a> Of <i>The British Weekly.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page279" id="page279"></a>279</span></p> +<h3>VI</h3> + +<h3>THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">History</span> is much decried; it is a tissue of errors, we are told, +no doubt correctly; and rival historians expose each other’s +blunders with gratification. Yet the worst historian has a +clearer view of the period he studies than the best of us can +hope to form of that in which we live. The obscurest +epoch is to-day; and that for a thousand reasons of inchoate +tendency, conflicting report, and sheer mass and multiplicity +of experience; but chiefly, perhaps, by reason of an insidious +shifting of landmarks. Parties and ideas continually move, +but not by measurable marches on a stable course; the +political soil itself steals forth by imperceptible degrees, like +a travelling glacier, carrying on its bosom not only political +parties but their flag-posts and cantonments; so that what +appears to be an eternal city founded on hills is but a flying +island of Laputa. It is for this reason in particular that +we are all becoming Socialists without knowing it; by +which I would not in the least refer to the acute case of +Mr. Hyndman and his horn-blowing supporters, sounding +their trumps of a Sunday within the walls of our individualist +Jericho—but to the stealthy change that has come over the +spirit of Englishmen and English legislation. A little while +ago, and we were still for liberty; “crowd a few more +thousands on the bench of Government,” we seemed to cry; +“keep her head direct on liberty, and we cannot help but +come to port.” This is over; <i>laisser faire</i> declines in +favour; our legislation grows authoritative, grows philanthropical, +bristles with new duties and new penalties, and +casts a spawn of inspectors, who now begin, note-book in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280" id="page280"></a>280</span> +hand, to darken the face of England. It may be right or +wrong, we are not trying that; but one thing it is beyond +doubt: it is Socialism in action, and the strange thing is +that we scarcely know it.</p> + +<p>Liberty has served us a long while, and it may be time +to seek new altars. Like all other principles, she has been +proved to be self-exclusive in the long run. She has taken +wages besides (like all other virtues) and dutifully served +Mammon; so that many things we were accustomed to +admire as the benefits of freedom and common to all were +truly benefits of wealth, and took their value from our +neighbours’ poverty. A few shocks of logic, a few disclosures +(in the journalistic phrase) of what the freedom of +manufacturers, landlords, or shipowners may imply for +operatives, tenants or seamen, and we not unnaturally +begin to turn to that other pole of hope, beneficent tyranny. +Freedom, to be desirable, involves kindness, wisdom, and +all the virtues of the free; but the free man as we have seen +him in action has been, as of yore, only the master of many +helots; and the slaves are still ill-fed, ill-clad, ill-taught, +ill-housed, insolently treated, and driven to their mines and +workshops by the lash of famine. So much, in other men’s +affairs, we have begun to see clearly; we have begun to +despair of virtue in these other men, and from our seat in +Parliament begin to discharge upon them, thick as arrows, +the host of our inspectors. The landlord has long shaken +his head over the manufacturer; those who do business +on land have lost all trust in the virtues of the shipowner; +the professions look askance upon the retail traders and +have even started their co-operative stores to ruin them; +and from out the smoke-wreaths of Birmingham a finger +has begun to write upon the wall the condemnation of the +landlord. Thus, piece by piece, do we condemn each other, +and yet not perceive the conclusion, that our whole estate +is somewhat damnable. Thus, piece by piece, each acting +against his neighbour, each sawing away the branch on +which some other interest is seated, do we apply in detail +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page281" id="page281"></a>281</span> +our Socialistic remedies, and yet not perceive that we are +all labouring together to bring in Socialism at large. A +tendency so stupid and so selfish is like to prove invincible; +and if Socialism be at all a practicable rule of life, there is +every chance that our grandchildren will see the day and +taste the pleasures of existence in something far liker an +ant-heap than any previous human polity. And this not +in the least because of the voice of Mr. Hyndman or the +horns of his followers; but by the mere glacier movement +of the political soil, bearing forward on its bosom, apparently +undisturbed, the proud camps of Whig and Tory. If Mr. +Hyndman were a man of keen humour, which is far from +my conception of his character, he might rest from his +troubling and look on: the walls of Jericho begin already +to crumble and dissolve. That great servile war, the +Armageddon of money and numbers, to which we looked +forward when young, becomes more and more unlikely; +and we may rather look to see a peaceable and blindfold +evolution, the work of dull men immersed in political tactics +and dead to political results.</p> + +<p>The principal scene of this comedy lies, of course, in the +House of Commons; it is there, besides, that the details +of this new evolution (if it proceed) will fall to be decided; +so that the state of Parliament is not only diagnostic of the +present but fatefully prophetic of the future. Well, we all +know what Parliament is, and we are all ashamed of it. +We may pardon it some faults, indeed, on the ground of +Irish obstruction—a bitter trial, which it supports with +notable good humour. But the excuse is merely local; +it cannot apply to similar bodies in America and France; +and what are we to say of these? President Cleveland’s +letter may serve as a picture of the one; a glance at almost +any paper will convince us of the weakness of the other. +Decay appears to have seized on the organ of popular government +in every land; and this just at the moment when we +begin to bring to it, as to an oracle of justice, the whole +skein of our private affairs to be unravelled, and ask it, like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page282" id="page282"></a>282</span> +a new Messiah, to take upon itself our frailties and play for +us the part that should be played by our own virtues. For +that, in few words, is the case. We cannot trust ourselves +to behave with decency; we cannot trust our consciences; +and the remedy proposed is to elect a round number of our +neighbours, pretty much at random, and say to these: +“Be ye our conscience; make laws so wise, and continue +from year to year to administer them so wisely, that they +shall save us from ourselves and make us righteous and +happy, world without end. Amen.” And who can look +twice at the British Parliament and then seriously bring +it such a task? I am not advancing this as an argument +against Socialism; once again, nothing is further from my +mind. There are great truths in Socialism, or no one, not +even Mr. Hyndman, would be found to hold it; and if it +came, and did one-tenth part of what it offers, I for one +should make it welcome. But if it is to come, we may as +well have some notion of what it will be like; and the first +thing to grasp is that our new polity will be designed and +administered (to put it courteously) with something short +of inspiration. It will be made, or will grow, in a human +parliament; and the one thing that will not very hugely +change is human nature. The Anarchists think otherwise, +from which it is only plain that they have not carried to +the study of history the lamp of human sympathy.</p> + +<p>Given, then, our new polity, with its new waggon-load +of laws, what headmarks must we look for in the life? +We chafe a good deal at that excellent thing, the income-tax, +because it brings into our affairs the prying fingers, +and exposes us to the tart words, of the official. The +official, in all degrees, is already something of a terror to +many of us. I would not willingly have to do with even a +police-constable in any other spirit than that of kindness. +I still remember in my dreams the eye-glass of a certain +<i>attaché</i> at a certain embassy—an eye-glass that was a +standing indignity to all on whom it looked; and my next +most disagreeable remembrance is of a bracing, Republican +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page283" id="page283"></a>283</span> +postman in the city of San Francisco. I lived in that city +among working folk, and what my neighbours accepted at +the postman’s hands—nay, what I took from him myself—it +is still distasteful to recall. The bourgeois, residing in +the upper parts of society, has but few opportunities of +tasting this peculiar bowl; but about the income-tax, as I +have said, or perhaps about a patent, or in the halls of an +embassy at the hands of my friend of the eye-glass, he +occasionally sets his lips to it; and he may thus imagine +(if he has that faculty of imagination, without which most +faculties are void) how it tastes to his poorer neighbours +who must drain it to the dregs. In every contact with +authority, with their employer, with the police, with the +School Board officer, in the hospital, or in the workhouse, +they have equally the occasion to appreciate the light-hearted +civility of the man in office; and as an experimentalist +in several out-of-the-way provinces of life, I may say it +has but to be felt to be appreciated. Well, this golden age +of which we are speaking will be the golden age of officials. +In all our concerns it will be their beloved duty to meddle, +with what tact, with what obliging words, analogy will aid +us to imagine. It is likely these gentlemen will be periodically +elected; they will therefore have their turn of being +underneath, which does not always sweeten men’s conditions. +The laws they will have to administer will be no +clearer than those we know to-day, and the body which is to +regulate their administration no wiser than the British +Parliament. So that upon all hands we may look for a +form of servitude most galling to the blood—servitude to +many and changing masters, and for all the slights that +accompany the rule of jack-in-office. And if the Socialistic +programme be carried out with the least fulness, we shall +have lost a thing, in most respects not much to be regretted, +but as a moderator of oppression, a thing nearly invaluable—the +newspaper. For the independent journal is a creature +of capital and competition; it stands and falls with millionaires +and railway bonds and all the abuses and glories of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page284" id="page284"></a>284</span> +to-day; and as soon as the State has fairly taken its bent +to authority and philanthropy, and laid the least touch on +private property, the days of the independent journal are +numbered. State railways may be good things and so may +State bakeries; but a State newspaper will never be a very +trenchant critic of the State officials.</p> + +<p>But again, these officials would have no sinecure. Crime +would perhaps be less, for some of the motives of crime we +may suppose would pass away. But if Socialism were +carried out with any fulness, there would be more contraventions. +We see already new sins springing up like +mustard—School Board sins, factory sins, Merchant Shipping +Act sins—none of which I would be thought to except +against in particular, but all of which, taken together, show +us that Socialism can be a hard master even in the beginning. +If it go on to such heights as we hear proposed and +lauded, if it come actually to its ideal of the ant-heap, ruled +with iron justice, the number of new contraventions will +be out of all proportion multiplied. Take the case of work +alone. Man is an idle animal. He is at least as intelligent +as the ant; but generations of advisers have in vain +recommended him the ant’s example. Of those who are +found truly indefatigable in business, some are misers; +some are the practisers of delightful industries, like gardening; +some are students, artists, inventors, or discoverers, +men lured forward by successive hopes; and the rest are +those who live by games of skill or hazard—financiers, +billiard-players, gamblers, and the like. But in unloved +toils, even under the prick of necessity, no man is continually +sedulous. Once eliminate the fear of starvation, +once eliminate or bound the hope of riches, and we shall +see plenty of skulking and malingering. Society will then +be something not wholly unlike a cotton plantation in the +old days; with cheerful, careless, demoralised slaves, with +elected overseers, and, instead of the planter, a chaotic +popular assembly. If the blood be purposeful and the +soil strong, such a plantation may succeed, and be, indeed, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page285" id="page285"></a>285</span> +a busy ant-heap, with full granaries and long hours of +leisure. But even then I think the whip will be in the +overseer’s hands, and not in vain. For, when it comes to +be a question of each man doing his own share or the rest +doing more, prettiness of sentiment will be forgotten. To +dock the skulker’s food is not enough; many will rather +eat haws and starve on petty pilferings than put their +shoulder to the wheel for one hour daily. For such as +these, then, the whip will be in the overseer’s hand; and +his own sense of justice and the superintendence of a chaotic +popular assembly will be the only checks on its employment. +Now, you may be an industrious man and a good +citizen, and yet not love, nor yet be loved by, Dr. Fell the +inspector. It is admitted by private soldiers that the disfavour +of a sergeant is an evil not to be combated; offend +the sergeant, they say, and in a brief while you will either +be disgraced or have deserted. And the sergeant can no +longer appeal to the lash. But if these things go on, we +shall see, or our sons shall see, what it is to have offended +an inspector.</p> + +<p>This for the unfortunate. But with the fortunate also, +even those whom the inspector loves, it may not be altogether +well. It is concluded that in such a state of society, +supposing it to be financially sound, the level of comfort +will be high. It does not follow: there are strange depths +of idleness in man, a too-easily-got sufficiency, as in the +case of the sago-eaters, often quenching the desire for all +besides; and it is possible that the men of the richest ant-heaps +may sink even into squalor. But suppose they do +not; suppose our tricksy instrument of human nature, +when we play upon it this new tune, should respond kindly; +suppose no one to be damped and none exasperated by the +new conditions, the whole enterprise to be financially +sound—a vaulting supposition—and all the inhabitants to +dwell together in a golden mean of comfort: we have yet +to ask ourselves if this be what man desire, or if it be +what man will even deign to accept for a continuance. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page286" id="page286"></a>286</span> +is certain that man loves to eat, it is not certain that he +loves that only or that best. He is supposed to love +comfort; it is not a love, at least, that he is faithful to. +He is supposed to love happiness; it is my contention that +he rather loves excitement. Danger, enterprise, hope, the +novel, the aleatory, are dearer to man than regular meals. +He does not think so when he is hungry, but he thinks so +again as soon as he is fed; and on the hypothesis of a +successful ant-heap, he would never go hungry. It would +be always after dinner in that society, as, in the land of +the Lotos-eaters, it was always afternoon; and food, which, +when we have it not, seems all-important, drops in our +esteem, as soon as we have it, to a mere pre-requisite of +living.</p> + +<p>That for which man lives is not the same thing for all +individuals nor in all ages; yet it has a common base; +what he seeks and what he must have is that which will +seize and hold his attention. Regular meals and weather-proof +lodgings will not do this long. Play in its wide sense, +as the artificial induction of sensation, including all games +and all arts, will, indeed, go far to keep him conscious of +himself; but in the end he wearies for realities. Study +or experiment, to some rare natures, is the unbroken +pastime of a life. These are enviable natures; people +shut in the house by sickness often bitterly envy them; +but the commoner man cannot continue to exist upon such +altitudes: his feet itch for physical adventure; his blood +boils for physical dangers, pleasures, and triumphs; his +fancy, the looker after new things, cannot continue to +look for them in books and crucibles, but must seek them +on the breathing stage of life. Pinches, buffets, the glow +of hope, the shock of disappointment, furious contention +with obstacles: these are the true elixir for all vital spirits, +these are what they seek alike in their romantic enterprises +and their unromantic dissipations. When they are taken +in some pinch closer than the common, they cry, “Catch +me here again!” and sure enough you catch them there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page287" id="page287"></a>287</span> +again—perhaps before the week is out. It is as old as +“Robinson Crusoe”; as old as man. Our race has not +been strained for all these ages through that sieve of +dangers that we call Natural Selection, to sit down with +patience in the tedium of safety; the voices of its fathers +call it forth. Already in our society as it exists, the bourgeois +is too much cottoned about for any zest in living; +he sits in his parlour out of reach of any danger, often out +of reach of any vicissitude but one of health; and there he +yawns. If the people in the next villa took pot-shots at +him, he might be killed indeed, but so long as he escaped +he would find his blood oxygenated and his views of the +world brighter. If Mr. Mallock, on his way to the publishers, +should have his skirts pinned to a wall by a javelin, it would +not occur to him—at least for several hours—to ask if life +were worth living; and if such peril were a daily matter, +he would ask it never more; he would have other things +to think about, he would be living indeed—not lying in a +box with cotton, safe, but immeasurably dull. The aleatory, +whether it touch life, or fortune, or renown—whether +we explore Africa or only toss for halfpence—that is what +I conceive men to love best, and that is what we are seeking +to exclude from men’s existences. Of all forms of the +aleatory, that which most commonly attends our working +men—the danger of misery from want of work—is the least +inspiriting: it does not whip the blood, it does not evoke +the glory of contest; it is tragic, but it is passive; and +yet, in so far as it is aleatory, and a peril sensibly touching +them, it does truly season the men’s lives. Of those who +fail, I do not speak—despair should be sacred; but to those +who even modestly succeed, the changes of their life bring +interest: a job found, a shilling saved, a dainty earned, +all these are wells of pleasure springing afresh for the successful +poor; and it is not from these but from the villa-dweller +that we hear complaints of the unworthiness of +life. Much, then, as the average of the proletariat would +gain in this new state of life, they would also lose a certain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288" id="page288"></a>288</span> +something, which would not be missed in the beginning, +but would be missed progressively and progressively +lamented. Soon there would be a looking back: there +would be tales of the old world humming in young men’s +ears, tales of the tramp and the pedlar, and the hopeful +emigrant. And in the stall-fed life of the successful ant-heap—with +its regular meals, regular duties, regular +pleasures, an even course of life, and fear excluded—the +vicissitudes, delights, and havens of to-day will seem of epic +breadth. This may seem a shallow observation; but the +springs by which men are moved lie much on the surface. +Bread, I believe, has always been considered first, but the +circus comes close upon its heels. Bread we suppose to be +given amply; the cry for circuses will be the louder, and +if the life of our descendants be such as we have conceived, +there are two beloved pleasures on which they will be +likely to fall back: the pleasures of intrigue and of sedition.</p> + +<p>In all this I have supposed the ant-heap to be financially +sound. I am no economist, only a writer of fiction; but +even as such, I know one thing that bears on the economic +question—I know the imperfection of man’s faculty for +business. The Anarchists, who count some rugged elements +of common-sense among what seem to me their tragic +errors, have said upon this matter all that I could wish to +say, and condemned beforehand great economical polities. +So far it is obvious that they are right; they may be right +also in predicting a period of communal independence, and +they may even be right in thinking that desirable. But +the rise of communes is none the less the end of economic +equality, just when we were told it was beginning. Communes +will not be all equal in extent, nor in quality of +soil, nor in growth of population; nor will the surplus produce +of all be equally marketable. It will be the old +story of competing interests, only with a new unit; and, +as it appears to me, a new, inevitable danger. For the +merchant and the manufacturer, in this new world, will be +a sovereign commune; it is a sovereign power that will see +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289" id="page289"></a>289</span> +its crops undersold, and its manufactures worsted in the +market. And all the more dangerous that the sovereign +power should be small. Great powers are slow to stir; +national affronts, even with the aid of newspapers, filter +slowly into popular consciousness; national losses are so +unequally shared, that one part of the population will be +counting its gains while another sits by a cold hearth. +But in the sovereign commune all will be centralised and +sensitive. When jealousy springs up, when (let us say) +the commune of Poole has overreached the commune of +Dorchester, irritation will run like quicksilver throughout +the body politic; each man in Dorchester will have to +suffer directly in his diet and his dress; even the secretary, +who drafts the official correspondence, will sit down to his +task embittered, as a man who has dined ill and may expect +to dine worse; and thus a business difference between +communes will take on much the same colour as a dispute +between diggers in the lawless West, and will lead as directly +to the arbitrament of blows. So that the establishment of +the communal system will not only reintroduce all the +injustices and heart-burnings of economic inequality, but +will, in all human likelihood, inaugurate a world of hedgerow +warfare. Dorchester will march on Poole, Sherborne +on Dorchester, Wimborne on both; the waggons will be +fired on as they follow the highway, the trains wrecked on +the lines, the ploughman will go armed into the field of +tillage; and if we have not a return of ballad literature, +the local press at least will celebrate in a high vein the +victory of Cerne Abbas or the reverse of Toller Porcorum. +At least this will not be dull; when I was younger, I could +have welcomed such a world with relief; but it is the +New-Old with a vengeance, and irresistibly suggests the +growth of military powers and the foundation of new +empires.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page290" id="page290"></a>290</span></p> +<h3>VII</h3> + +<h3>LETTER TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN +WHO PROPOSES TO EMBRACE +THE CAREER OF ART</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">With</span> the agreeable frankness of youth, you address me +on a point of some practical importance to yourself and +(it is even conceivable) of some gravity to the world: +Should you or should you not become an artist? It is +one which you must decide entirely for yourself; all that +I can do is to bring under your notice some of the materials +of that decision; and I will begin, as I shall probably +conclude also, by assuring you that all depends on the +vocation.</p> + +<p>To know what you like is the beginning of wisdom and +of old age. Youth is wholly experimental. The essence +and charm of that unquiet and delightful epoch is ignorance +of self as well as ignorance of life. These two unknowns +the young man brings together again and again, now in the +airiest touch, now with a bitter hug; now with exquisite +pleasure, now with cutting pain; but never with indifference, +to which he is a total stranger, and never with that +near kinsman of indifference, contentment. If he be a +youth of dainty senses or a brain easily heated, the interest +of this series of experiments grows upon him out of all +proportion to the pleasure he receives. It is not beauty +that he loves, nor pleasure that he seeks, though he may +think so; his design and his sufficient reward is to verify +his own existence and taste the variety of human fate. To +him, before the razor-edge of curiosity is dulled, all that +is not actual living and the hot chase of experience wears a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page291" id="page291"></a>291</span> +face of a disgusting dryness difficult to recall in later days; +or if there be any exception—and here destiny steps in—it +is in those moments when, wearied or surfeited of the +primary activity of the senses, he calls up before memory +the image of transacted pains and pleasures. Thus it is +that such an one shies from all cut-and-dry professions, and +inclines insensibly toward that career of art which consists +only in the tasting and recording of experience.</p> + +<p>This, which is not so much a vocation for art as an +impatience of all other honest trades, frequently exists +alone; and, so existing, it will pass gently away in the +course of years. Emphatically, it is not to be regarded; +it is not a vocation, but a temptation; and when your +father the other day so fiercely and (in my view) so properly +discouraged your ambition, he was recalling not improbably +some similar passage in his own experience. For the +temptation is perhaps nearly as common as the vocation +is rare. But again we have vocations which are imperfect; +we have men whose minds are bound up, not so +much in any art, as in the general <i>ars artium</i> and common +base of all creative work; who will now dip into painting, +and now study counterpoint, and anon will be inditing a +sonnet: all these with equal interest, all often with genuine +knowledge. And of this temper, when it stands alone, I +find it difficult to speak; but I should counsel such an one +to take to letters, for in literature (which drags with so +wide a net) all his information may be found some day useful, +and if he should go on as he has begun, and turn at last +into the critic, he will have learned to use the necessary +tools. Lastly we come to those vocations which are at +once decisive and precise; to the men who are born with +the love of pigments, the passion of drawing, the gift of +music, or the impulse to create with words, just as other +and perhaps the same men are born with the love of hunting, +or the sea, or horses, or the turning-lathe. These are +predestined; if a man love the labour of any trade, apart +from any question of success or fame, the gods have called +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page292" id="page292"></a>292</span> +him. He may have the general vocation too: he may have +a taste for all the arts, and I think he often has; but the +mark of his calling is this laborious partiality for one, this +inextinguishable zest in its technical successes, and (perhaps +above all) a certain candour of mind, to take his very +trifling enterprise with a gravity that would befit the cares +of empire, and to think the smallest improvement worth +accomplishing at any expense of time and industry. The +book, the statue, the sonata, must be gone upon with the +unreasoning good faith and the unflagging spirit of children +at their play. <i>Is it worth doing?</i>—when it shall have +occurred to any artist to ask himself that question, it is +implicitly answered in the negative. It does not occur to +the child as he plays at being a pirate on the dining-room +sofa, nor to the hunter as he pursues his quarry; and the +candour of the one and the ardour of the other should be +united in the bosom of the artist.</p> + +<p>If you recognise in yourself some such decisive taste, +there is no room for hesitation: follow your bent. And +observe (lest I should too much discourage you) that the +disposition does not usually burn so brightly at the first, +or rather not so constantly. Habit and practice sharpen +gifts; the necessity of toil grows less disgusting, grows +even welcome, in the course of years; a small taste (if it +be only genuine) waxes with indulgence into an exclusive +passion. Enough, just now, if you can look back over a +fair interval, and see that your chosen art has a little more +than held its own among the thronging interests of youth. +Time will do the rest, if devotion help it; and soon +your every thought will be engrossed in that beloved +occupation.</p> + +<p>But even with devotion, you may remind me, even with +unfaltering and delighted industry, many thousand artists +spend their lives, if the result be regarded, utterly in vain: +a thousand artists, and never one work of art. But the +vast mass of mankind are incapable of doing anything +reasonably well, art among the rest. The worthless artist +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293" id="page293"></a>293</span> +would not improbably have been a quite incompetent +baker. And the artist, even if he does not amuse the public, +amuses himself; so that there will always be one man the +happier for his vigils. This is the practical side of art: +its inexpugnable fortress for the true practitioner. The +direct returns—the wages of the trade—are small, but the +indirect—the wages of the life—are incalculably great. +No other business offers a man his daily bread upon such +joyful terms. The soldier and the explorer have moments +of a worthier excitement, but they are purchased by cruel +hardships and periods of tedium that beggar language. In +the life of the artist there need be no hour without its +pleasure. I take the author, with whose career I am best +acquainted; and it is true he works in a rebellious material, +and that the act of writing is cramped and trying both +to the eyes and the temper; but remark him in his study +when matter crowds upon him and words are not wanting—in +what a continual series of small successes time flows +by; with what a sense of power, as of one moving mountains, +he marshals his petty characters; with what pleasures, +both of the ear and eye, he sees his airy structure +growing on the page; and how he labours in a craft to +which the whole material of his life is tributary, and which +opens a door to all his tastes, his loves, his hatreds, and +his convictions, so that what he writes is only what he +longed to utter. He may have enjoyed many things in +this big, tragic playground of the world; but what shall +he have enjoyed more fully than a morning of successful +work? Suppose it ill-paid: the wonder is it should be +paid at all. Other men pay, and pay dearly, for pleasures +less desirable.</p> + +<p>Nor will the practice of art afford you pleasure only; +it affords besides an admirable training. For the artist +works entirely upon honour. The public knows little or +nothing of those merits in the quest of which you are +condemned to spend the bulk of your endeavours. Merits +of design, the merit of first-hand energy, the merit of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page294" id="page294"></a>294</span> +certain cheap accomplishment which a man of the artistic +temper easily acquires—these they can recognise, and +these they value. But to those more exquisite refinements +of proficiency and finish, which the artist so ardently desires +and so keenly feels, for which (in the vigorous words of +Balzac) he must toil “like a miner buried in a landslip,” +for which, day after day, he recasts and revises and rejects—the +gross mass of the public must be ever blind. To +those lost pains, suppose you attain the highest pitch of +merit, posterity may possibly do justice; suppose, as is +so probable, you fail by even a hair’s breadth of the highest, +rest certain they shall never be observed. Under the +shadow of this cold thought, alone in his studio, the artist +must preserve from day to day his constancy to the ideal. +It is this which makes his life noble; it is by this that +the practice of his craft strengthens and matures his +character; it is for this that even the serious countenance +of the great emperor was turned approvingly (if only for a +moment) on the followers of Apollo, and that sternly gentle +voice bade the artist cherish his art.</p> + +<p>And here there fall two warnings to be made. First, +if you are to continue to be a law to yourself, you must +beware of the first signs of laziness. This idealism in +honesty can only be supported by perpetual effort; the +standard is easily lowered, the artist who says “<i>It will +do</i>,” is on the downward path; three or four pot-boilers +are enough at times (above all at wrong times) to falsify a +talent, and by the practice of journalism a man runs the +risk of becoming wedded to cheap finish. This is the danger +on the one side; there is not less upon the other. The consciousness +of how much the artist is (and must be) a law +to himself debauches the small heads. Perceiving recondite +merits very hard to attain, making or swallowing +artistic formulæ, or perhaps falling in love with some particular +proficiency of his own, many artists forget the end +of all art: to please. It is doubtless tempting to exclaim +against the ignorant bourgeois; yet it should not be forgotten, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295" id="page295"></a>295</span> +it is he who is to pay us, and that (surely on the +face of it) for services that he shall desire to have performed. +Here also, if properly considered, there is a question of +transcendental honesty. To give the public what they do +not want, and yet expect to be supported: we have there +a strange pretension, and yet not uncommon, above all +with painters. The first duty in this world is for a man to +pay his way; when that is quite accomplished, he may +plunge into what eccentricity he likes; but emphatically +not till then. Till then, he must pay assiduous court to the +bourgeois who carries the purse. And if in the course of +these capitulations he shall falsify his talent, it can never +have been a strong one, and he will have preserved a better +thing than talent—character. Or if he be of a mind so +independent that he cannot stoop to this necessity, one +course is yet open: he can desist from art, and follow some +more manly way of life.</p> + +<p>I speak of a more manly way of life; it is a point on +which I must be frank. To live by a pleasure is not a high +calling; it involves patronage, however veiled; it numbers +the artist, however ambitious, along with dancing girls and +billiard-markers. The French have a romantic evasion +for one employment, and call its practitioners the Daughters +of Joy. The artist is of the same family, he is of the Sons +of Joy, chose his trade to please himself, gains his livelihood +by pleasing others, and has parted with something +of the sterner dignity of man. Journals but a little while +ago declaimed against the Tennyson peerage; and this +Son of Joy was blamed for condescension when he followed +the example of Lord Lawrence and Lord Cairns and Lord +Clyde. The poet was more happily inspired; with a better +modesty he accepted the honour; and anonymous journalists +have not yet (if I am to believe them) recovered the +vicarious disgrace to their profession. When it comes to +their turn, these gentlemen can do themselves more justice; +and I shall be glad to think of it; for to my barbarian +eyesight, even Lord Tennyson looks somewhat out of place +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page296" id="page296"></a>296</span> +in that assembly. There should be no honours for the artist; +he has already, in the practice of his art, more than his share +of the rewards of life; the honours are pre-empted for other +trades, less agreeable and perhaps more useful.</p> + +<p>But the devil in these trades of pleasing is to fail to +please. In ordinary occupations, a man offers to do a +certain thing or to produce a certain article with a merely +conventional accomplishment, a design in which (we may +almost say) it is difficult to fail. But the artist steps forth +out of the crowd and proposes to delight: an impudent +design, in which it is impossible to fail without odious +circumstances. The poor Daughter of Joy, carrying her +smiles and finery quite unregarded through the crowd, +makes a figure which it is impossible to recall without a +wounding pity. She is the type of the unsuccessful artist. +The actor, the dancer, and the singer must appear like her +in person, and drain publicly the cup of failure. But +though the rest of us escape this crowning bitterness of the +pillory, we all court in essence the same humiliation. We +all profess to be able to delight. And how few of us are! +We all pledge ourselves to be able to continue to delight. +And the day will come to each, and even to the most +admired, when the ardour shall have declined and the +cunning shall be lost, and he shall sit by his deserted booth +ashamed. Then shall he see himself condemned to do +work for which he blushes to take payment. Then (as if +his lot were not already cruel) he must lie exposed to the +gibes of the wreckers of the press, who earn a little bitter +bread by the condemnation of trash which they have not +read, and the praise of excellence which they cannot understand.</p> + +<p>And observe that this seems almost the necessary end +at least of writers. “Les Blancs et les Bleus” (for instance) +is of an order of merit very different from “Le Vicomte de +Bragelonne”; and if any gentleman can bear to spy upon +the nakedness of “Castle Dangerous,” his name I think +is Ham: let it be enough for the rest of us to read of it (not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page297" id="page297"></a>297</span> +without tears) in the pages of Lockhart. Thus in old age, +when occupation and comfort are most needful, the writer +must lay aside at once his pastime and his breadwinner. +The painter indeed, if he succeed at all in engaging the +attention of the public, gains great sums and can stand to +his easel until a great age without dishonourable failure. +The writer has the double misfortune to be ill-paid while he +can work, and to be incapable of working when he is old. +It is thus a way of life which conducts directly to a false +position.</p> + +<p>For the writer (in spite of notorious examples to the +contrary) must look to be ill-paid. Tennyson and Montépin +make handsome livelihoods; but we cannot all hope to be +Tennyson, and we do not all perhaps desire to be Montépin. +If you adopt an art to be your trade, weed your mind at +the outset of all desire of money. What you may decently +expect, if you have some talent and much industry, is such +an income as a clerk will earn with a tenth or perhaps a +twentieth of your nervous output. Nor have you the right +to look for more; in the wages of the life, not in the wages +of the trade, lies your reward; the work is here the wages. +It will be seen I have little sympathy with the common +lamentations of the artist class. Perhaps they do not +remember the hire of the field labourer; or do they think +no parallel will lie? Perhaps they have never observed +what is the retiring allowance of a field officer; or do they +suppose their contributions to the arts of pleasing more +important than the services of a colonel? Perhaps they +forget on how little Millet was content to live; or do they +think, because they have less genius, they stand excused +from the display of equal virtues? But upon one point +there should be no dubiety: if a man be not frugal, he has +no business in the arts. If he be not frugal, he steers +directly for that last tragic scene of <i>le vieux saltimbanque</i>; +if he be not frugal, he will find it hard to continue to be +honest. Some day, when the butcher is knocking at the +door, he may be tempted, he may be obliged, to turn out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298" id="page298"></a>298</span> +and sell a slovenly piece of work. If the obligation shall +have arisen through no wantonness of his own, he is even +to be commended; for words cannot describe how far more +necessary it is that a man should support his family, than +that he should attain to—or preserve—distinction in the +arts. But if the pressure comes through his own fault, he +has stolen, and stolen under trust, and stolen (which is the +worst of all) in such a way that no law can reach him.</p> + +<p>And now you may perhaps ask me whether—if the +débutant artist is to have no thought of money, and if (as is +implied) he is to expect no honours from the State—he may +not at least look forward to the delights of popularity? +Praise, you will tell me, is a savoury dish. And in so far +as you may mean the countenance of other artists, you +would put your finger on one of the most essential and +enduring pleasures of the career of art. But in so far as you +should have an eye to the commendations of the public or +the notice of the newspapers, be sure you would but be +cherishing a dream. It is true that in certain esoteric +journals the author (for instance) is duly criticised, and +that he is often praised a great deal more than he deserves, +sometimes for qualities which he prided himself on eschewing, +and sometimes by ladies and gentlemen who have +denied themselves the privilege of reading his work. But +if a man be sensitive to this wild praise, we must suppose +him equally alive to that which often accompanies and +always follows it—wild ridicule. A man may have done +well for years, and then he may fail; he will hear of his +failure. Or he may have done well for years, and still do +well, but the critics may have tired of praising him, or +there may have sprung up some new idol of the instant, +some “dust a little gilt,” to whom they now prefer to offer +sacrifice. Here is the obverse and the reverse of that empty +and ugly thing called popularity. Will any man suppose +it worth the gaining?</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page299" id="page299"></a>299</span></p> +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<h3>PULVIS ET UMBRA</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> look for some reward of our endeavours and are disappointed; +not success, not happiness, not even peace of +conscience, crowns our ineffectual efforts to do well. Our +frailties are invincible, our virtues barren; the battle goes +sore against us to the going down of the sun. The canting +moralist tells us of right and wrong; and we look abroad, +even on the face of our small earth, and find them change +with every climate, and no country where some action is +not honoured for a virtue and none where it is not branded +for a vice; and we look in our experience, and find no vital +congruity in the wisest rules, but at the best a municipal +fitness. It is not strange if we are tempted to despair of +good. We ask too much. Our religions and moralities have +been trimmed to flatter us, till they are all emasculate and +sentimentalised, and only please and weaken. Truth is of +a rougher strain. In the harsh face of life, faith can read +a bracing gospel. The human race is a thing more ancient +than the ten commandments; and the bones and revolutions +of the Kosmos, in whose joints we are but moss and +fungus, more ancient still.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>I</h5> + +<p>Of the Kosmos in the last resort, science reports many +doubtful things, and all of them appalling. There seems +no substance to this solid globe on which we stamp: nothing +but symbols and ratios. Symbols and ratios carry us and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300" id="page300"></a>300</span> +bring us forth and beat us down; gravity, that swings the +incommensurable suns and worlds through space, is but +a figment varying inversely as the squares of distances; +and the suns and worlds themselves, imponderable figures +of abstraction, NH<span class="su">3</span> and H<span class="su">2</span>O. Consideration dares not +dwell upon this view; that way madness lies; science +carries us into zones of speculation, where there is no +habitable city for the mind of man.</p> + +<p>But take the Kosmos with a grosser faith, as our senses +give it us. We behold space sown with rotatory islands, +suns and worlds and the shards and wrecks of systems: +some, like the sun, still blazing; some rotting, like the +earth; others, like the moon, stable in desolation. All of +these we take to be made of something we call matter: a +thing which no analysis can help us to conceive; to whose +incredible properties no familiarity can reconcile our minds. +This stuff, when not purified by the lustration of fire, rots +uncleanly into something we call life; seized through all its +atoms with a pediculous malady; swelling in tumours that +become independent, sometimes even (by an abhorrent +prodigy) locomotory; one splitting into millions, millions +cohering into one, as the malady proceeds through varying +stages. This vital putrescence of the dust, used as we are +to it, yet strikes us with occasional disgust, and the profusion +of worms in a piece of ancient turf, or the air of a +marsh darkened with insects, will sometimes check our +breathing so that we aspire for cleaner places. But none +is clean: the moving sand is infected with lice; the pure +spring, where it bursts out of the mountain, is a mere issue +of worms; even in the hard rock the crystal is forming.</p> + +<p>In two main shapes this eruption covers the countenance +of the earth: the animal and the vegetable: one in +some degree the inversion of the other: the second rooted +to the spot; the first coming detached out of its natal mud, +and scurrying abroad with the myriad feet of insects or +towering into the heavens on the wings of birds: a thing +so inconceivable that, if it be well considered, the heart +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page301" id="page301"></a>301</span> +stops. To what passes with the anchored vermin, we have +little clue: doubtless they have their joys and sorrows, +their delights and killing agonies: it appears not how. +But of the locomotory, to which we ourselves belong, we +can tell more. These share with us a thousand miracles: +the miracles of sight, of hearing, of the projection of sound, +things that bridge space; the miracles of memory and +reason, by which the present is conceived, and, when it is +gone, its image kept living in the brains of man and brute; +the miracle of reproduction, with its imperious desires and +staggering consequences. And to put the last touch upon +this mountain mass of the revolting and the inconceivable, +all these prey upon each other, lives tearing other lives +in pieces, cramming them inside themselves, and by that +summary process, growing fat: the vegetarian, the whale, +perhaps the tree, not less than the lion of the desert; for +the vegetarian is only the eater of the dumb.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile our rotary island loaded with predatory life, +and more drenched with blood, both animal and vegetable, +than ever mutinied ship, scuds through space with unimaginable +speed, and turns alternate cheeks to the reverberation +of a blazing world, ninety million miles away.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>What a monstrous spectre is this man, the disease of +the agglutinated dust, lifting alternate feet or lying drugged +with slumber; killing, feeding, growing, bringing forth +small copies of himself; grown upon with hair like grass, +fitted with eyes that move and glitter in his face; a thing +to set children screaming;—and yet looked at nearlier, +known as his fellows know him, how surprising are his +attributes! Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so +many hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and +so inconsistent, savagely surrounded, savagely descended, +irremediably condemned to prey upon his fellow lives: who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page302" id="page302"></a>302</span> +should have blamed him had he been of a piece with his +destiny and a being merely barbarous? And we look and +behold him instead filled with imperfect virtues: infinitely +childish, often admirably valiant, often touchingly kind; +sitting down, amidst his momentary life, to debate of right +and wrong and the attributes of the Deity; rising up to +do battle for an egg or die for an idea; singling out his +friends and his mate with cordial affection; bringing forth +in pain, rearing with long-suffering solicitude, his young. +To touch the heart of his mystery, we find in him one +thought, strange to the point of lunacy: the thought of +duty; the thought of something owing to himself, to his +neighbour, to his God: an ideal of decency, to which he +would rise if it were possible; a limit of shame, below +which, if it be possible, he will not stoop. The design in +most men is one of conformity; here and there, in picked +natures, it transcends itself and soars on the other side, +arming martyrs with independence; but in all, in their +degrees, it is a bosom thought:—Not in man alone, for we +trace it in dogs and cats whom we know fairly well, and +doubtless some similar point of honour sways the elephant, +the oyster, and the louse, of whom we know so little:—But +in man, at least, it sways with so complete an empire +that merely selfish things come second, even with the +selfish: that appetites are starved, fears are conquered, +pains supported; that almost the dullest shrinks from the +reproof of a glance, although it were a child’s; and all but +the most cowardly stand amid the risks of war; and the +more noble, having strongly conceived an act as due to +their ideal, affront and embrace death. Strange enough if, +with their singular origin and perverted practice, they think +they are to be rewarded in some future life: stranger still, +if they are persuaded of the contrary, and think this blow, +which they solicit, will strike them senseless for eternity. +I shall be reminded what a tragedy of misconception and +misconduct man at large presents: of organised injustice, +cowardly violence and treacherous crime; and of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303" id="page303"></a>303</span> +damning imperfections of the best. They cannot be too +darkly drawn. Man is indeed marked for failure in his +efforts to do right. But where the best consistently miscarry, +how tenfold more remarkable that all should continue +to strive: and surely we should find it both touching and +inspiriting, that in a field from which success is banished, +our race should not cease to labour.</p> + +<p>If the first view of this creature, stalking in his rotatory +isle, be a thing to shake the courage of the stoutest, on this +nearer sight he startles us with an admiring wonder. It +matters not where we look, under what climate we observe +him, in what stage of society, in what depth of ignorance, +burthened with what erroneous morality; by camp-fires +in Assiniboia, the snow powdering his shoulders, the wind +plucking his blanket, as he sits, passing the ceremonial +calumet and uttering his grave opinions like a Roman +senator; in ships at sea, a man inured to hardship and vile +pleasures, his brightest hope a fiddle in a tavern and a +bedizened trull who sells herself to rob him, and he, for all +that, simple, innocent, cheerful, kindly like a child, constant +to toil, brave to drown, for others; in the slums of cities, +moving among indifferent millions to mechanical employments, +without hope of change in the future, with scarce +a pleasure in the present, and yet true to his virtues, honest +up to his lights, kind to his neighbours, tempted perhaps +in vain by the bright gin-palace, perhaps long-suffering +with the drunken wife that ruins him; in India (a woman +this time) kneeling with broken cries and streaming tears, +as she drowns her child in the sacred river; in the brothel, +the discard of society, living mainly on strong drink, fed +with affronts, a fool, a thief, the comrade of thieves, and +even here keeping the point of honour and the touch of pity, +often repaying the world’s scorn with service, often standing +firm upon a scruple, and at a certain cost, rejecting riches:—everywhere +some virtue cherished or affected, everywhere +some decency of thought and carriage, everywhere the ensign +of man’s ineffectual goodness:—ah! if I could show you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page304" id="page304"></a>304</span> +this! if I could show you these men and women, all the +world over, in every stage of history, under every abuse of +error, under every circumstance of failure, without hope, +without help, without thanks, still obscurely fighting the +lost fight of virtue, still clinging, in the brothel or on the +scaffold, to some rag of honour, the poor jewel of their souls! +They may seek to escape, and yet they cannot; it is not +alone their privilege and glory, but their doom; they are +condemned to some nobility; all their lives long, the desire +of good is at their heels, the implacable hunter.</p> + +<p>Of all earth’s meteors, here at least is the most strange +and consoling: that this ennobled lemur, this hair-crowned +bubble of the dust, this inheritor of a few years and sorrows, +should yet deny himself his rare delights, and add to his +frequent pains, and live for an ideal, however misconceived. +Nor can we stop with man. A new doctrine, received with +screams a little while ago by canting moralists, and still +not properly worked into the body of our thoughts, lights +us a step farther into the heart of this rough but noble +universe. For nowadays the pride of man denies in vain +his kinship with the original dust. He stands no longer +like a thing apart. Close at his heels we see the dog, prince +of another genus: and in him, too, we see dumbly testified +the same cultus of an unattainable ideal, the same constancy +in failure. Does it stop with the dog? We look at our +feet where the ground is blackened with the swarming ant; +a creature so small, so far from us in the hierarchy of brutes, +that we can scarce trace and scarce comprehend his doings; +and here also, in his ordered polities and rigorous justice, +we see confessed the law of duty and the fact of individual +sin. Does it stop, then, with the ant? Rather this desire +of welldoing and this doom of frailty run through all the +grades of life: rather is this earth, from the frosty top of +Everest to the next margin of the internal fire, one stage +of ineffectual virtues and one temple of pious tears and +perseverance. The whole creation groaneth and travaileth +together. It is the common and the god-like law of life. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page305" id="page305"></a>305</span> +The browsers, the biters, the barkers, the hairy coats of +field and forest, the squirrel in the oak, the thousand-footed +creeper in the dust, as they share with us the gift of life, +share with us the love of an ideal: strive like us—like us +are tempted to grow weary of the struggle—to do well; +like us receive at times unmerited refreshment, visitings of +support, returns of courage; and are condemned like us +to be crucified between that double law of the members and +the will. Are they like us, I wonder, in the timid hope of +some reward, some sugar with the drug? do they, too, +stand aghast at unrewarded virtues, at the sufferings of +those whom, in our partiality, we take to be just, and the +prosperity of such as, in our blindness, we call wicked? It +may be, and yet God knows what they should look for. +Even while they look, even while they repent, the foot of +man treads them by thousands in the dust, the yelping +hounds burst upon their trail, the bullet speeds, the knives +are heating in the den of the vivisectionist; or the dew +falls, and the generation of a day is blotted out. For these +are creatures, compared with whom our weakness is strength, +our ignorance wisdom, our brief span eternity.</p> + +<p>And as we dwell, we living things, in our isle of terror +and under the imminent hand of death, God forbid it should +be man the erected, the reasoner, the wise in his own eyes—God +forbid it should be man that wearies in welldoing, +that despairs of unrewarded effort, or utters the language of +complaint. Let it be enough for faith, that the whole creation +groans in mortal frailty, strives with unconquerable +constancy: Surely not all in vain.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page306" id="page306"></a>306</span></p> +<h3>IX</h3> + +<h3>A CHRISTMAS SERMON</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">By</span> the time this paper appears, I shall have been talking +for twelve months;<a name="FnAnchor_30" id="FnAnchor_30" href="#Footnote_30"><span class="sp">30</span></a> and it is thought I should take my +leave in a formal and seasonable manner. Valedictory +eloquence is rare, and death-bed sayings have not often hit +the mark of the occasion. Charles Second, wit and sceptic, +a man whose life had been one long lesson in human incredulity, +an easy-going comrade, a manœuvring king—remembered +and embodied all his wit and scepticism along +with more than his usual good humour in the famous “I +am afraid, gentlemen, I am an unconscionable time a-dying.”</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>I</h5> + +<p>An unconscionable time a-dying—there is the picture +(“I am afraid, gentlemen,”) of your life and of mine. The +sands run out, and the hours are “numbered and imputed,” +and the days go by; and when the last of these finds us, +we have been a long time dying, and what else? The very +length is something, if we reach that hour of separation +undishonoured; and to have lived at all is doubtless (in +the soldierly expression) to have served. There is a tale +in Tacitus of how the veterans mutinied in the German +wilderness; of how they mobbed Germanicus, clamouring +to go home; and of how, seizing their general’s hand, these +old, war-worn exiles passed his finger along their toothless +gums. <i>Sunt lacrymæ rerum</i>: this was the most eloquent +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page307" id="page307"></a>307</span> +of the songs of Simeon. And when a man has lived to a +fair age, he bears his marks of service. He may have never +been remarked upon the breach at the head of the army; +at least he shall have lost his teeth on the camp bread.</p> + +<p>The idealism of serious people in this age of ours is of +a noble character. It never seems to them that they have +served enough; they have a fine impatience of their virtues. +It were perhaps more modest to be singly thankful that we +are no worse. It is not only our enemies, those desperate +characters—it is we ourselves who know not what we do;—thence +springs the glimmering hope that perhaps we do +better than we think: that to scramble through this random +business with hands reasonably clean, to have played the +part of a man or woman with some reasonable fulness, to +have often resisted the diabolic, and at the end to be still +resisting it, is for the poor human soldier to have done right +well. To ask to see some fruit of our endeavour is but a +transcendental way of serving for reward; and what we +take to be contempt of self is only greed of hire.</p> + +<p>And again if we require so much of ourselves, shall we +not require much of others? If we do not genially judge +our own deficiencies, is it not to be feared we shall be even +stern to the trespasses of others? And he who (looking +back upon his own life) can see no more than that he has +been unconscionably long a-dying, will he not be tempted to +think his neighbour unconscionably long of getting hanged? +It is probable that nearly all who think of conduct at all, +think of it too much; it is certain we all think too much +of sin. We are not damned for doing wrong, but for not +doing right; Christ would never hear of negative morality; +<i>thou shall</i> was ever His word, with which He superseded +<i>thou shall not</i>. To make our idea of morality centre on +forbidden acts is to defile the imagination and to introduce +into our judgments of our fellow-men a secret element of +gusto. If a thing is wrong for us, we should not dwell upon +the thought of it; or we shall soon dwell upon it with +inverted pleasure. If we cannot drive it from our minds—one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page308" id="page308"></a>308</span> +thing of two: either our creed is in the wrong and +we must more indulgently remodel it; or else, if our morality +be in the right, we are criminal lunatics and should place +our persons in restraint. A mark of such unwholesomely +divided minds is the passion for interference with others: +the Fox without the Tail was of this breed, but had (if his +biographer is to be trusted) a certain antique civility now +out of date. A man may have a flaw, a weakness, that +unfits him for the duties of life, that spoils his temper, that +threatens his integrity, or that betrays him into cruelty. +It has to be conquered; but it must never be suffered to +engross his thoughts. The true duties lie all upon the +further side, and must be attended to with a whole mind +so soon as this preliminary clearing of the decks has been +effected. In order that he may be kind and honest, it +may be needful he should become a total abstainer; let +him become so then, and the next day let him forget the +circumstance. Trying to be kind and honest will require +all his thoughts; a mortified appetite is never a wise companion; +in so far as he has had to mortify an appetite, he +will still be the worse man; and of such an one a great +deal of cheerfulness will be required in judging life, and a +great deal of humility in judging others.</p> + +<p>It may be argued again that dissatisfaction with our +life’s endeavour springs in some degree from dulness. We +require higher tasks, because we do not recognise the height +of those we have. Trying to be kind and honest seems an +affair too simple and too inconsequential for gentlemen of +our heroic mould; we had rather set ourselves to something +bold, arduous, and conclusive; we had rather found a +schism or suppress a heresy, cut off a hand or mortify an +appetite. But the task before us, which is to co-endure +with our existence, is rather one of microscopic fineness, +and the heroism required is that of patience. There is no +cutting of the Gordian knots of life; each must be smilingly +unravelled.</p> + +<p>To be honest, to be kind—to earn a little and to spend +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page309" id="page309"></a>309</span> +a little less, to make upon the whole a family happier for +his presence, to renounce when that shall be necessary and +not be embittered, to keep a few friends, but these without +capitulation—above all, on the same grim condition, to +keep friends with himself—here is a task for all that a man +has of fortitude and delicacy. He has an ambitious soul +who would ask more; he has a hopeful spirit who should +look in such an enterprise to be successful. There is indeed +one element in human destiny that not blindness itself can +controvert: whatever else we are intended to do, we are +not intended to succeed; failure is the fate allotted. It is +so in every art and study; it is so above all in the continent +art of living well. Here is a pleasant thought for +the year’s end or for the end of life: Only self-deception +will be satisfied, and there need be no despair for the +despairer.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>But Christmas is not only the mile-mark of another +year, moving us to thoughts of self-examination: it is +a season, from all its associations, whether domestic or +religious, suggesting thoughts of joy. A man dissatisfied +with his endeavours is a man tempted to sadness. And in +the midst of the winter, when his life runs lowest and he +is reminded of the empty chairs of his beloved, it is well +he should be condemned to this fashion of the smiling face. +Noble disappointment, noble self-denial, are not to be +admired, not even to be pardoned, if they bring bitterness. +It is one thing to enter the kingdom of heaven maim; +another to maim yourself and stay without. And the +kingdom of heaven is of the childlike, of those who are +easy to please, who love and who give pleasure. Mighty +men of their hands, the smiters and the builders and the +judges, have lived long and done sternly and yet preserved +this lovely character; and among our carpet interests and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page310" id="page310"></a>310</span> +twopenny concerns, the shame were indelible if <i>we</i> should +lose it. Gentleness and cheerfulness, these come before all +morality; they are the perfect duties. And it is the +trouble with moral men that they have neither one nor +other. It was the moral man, the Pharisee, whom Christ +could not away with. If your morals make you dreary, +depend upon it they are wrong. I do not say “give them +up,” for they may be all you have; but conceal them like +a vice, lest they should spoil the lives of better and simpler +people.</p> + +<p>A strange temptation attends upon man: to keep his +eye on pleasures, even when he will not share in them; to +aim all his morals against them. This very year a lady +(singular iconoclast!) proclaimed a crusade against dolls; +and the racy sermon against lust is a feature of the age. +I venture to call such moralists insincere. At any excess +or perversion of a natural appetite, their lyre sounds of +itself with relishing denunciations; but for all displays of +the truly diabolic—envy, malice, the mean lie, the mean +silence, the calumnious truth, the backbiter, the petty +tyrant, the peevish poisoner of family life—their standard +is quite different. These are wrong, they will admit, yet +somehow not so wrong; there is no zeal in their assault on +them, no secret element of gusto warms up the sermon; +it is for things not wrong in themselves that they reserve +the choicest of their indignation. A man may naturally +disclaim all moral kinship with the Reverend Mr. Zola or +the hobgoblin old lady of the dolls; for these are gross and +naked instances. And yet in each of us some similar +element resides. The sight of a pleasure in which we cannot +or else will not share moves us to a particular impatience. +It may be because we are envious, or because we are sad, +or because we dislike noise and romping—being so refined, +or because—being so philosophic—we have an overweighing +sense of life’s gravity: at least, as we go on in years, we +are all tempted to frown upon our neighbour’s pleasures. +People are nowadays so fond of resisting temptations; here +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page311" id="page311"></a>311</span> +is one to be resisted. They are fond of self-denial; here +is a propensity that cannot be too peremptorily denied. +There is an idea abroad among moral people that they +should make their neighbours good. One person I have +to make good: myself. But my duty to my neighbour is +much more nearly expressed by saying that I have to +make him happy—if I may.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>III</h5> + +<p>Happiness and goodness, according to canting moralists, +stand in the relation of effect and cause. There was never +anything less proved or less probable: our happiness is +never in our own hands; we inherit our constitution; we +stand buffet among friend and enemies; we may be so +built as to feel a sneer or an aspersion with unusual keenness, +and so circumstanced as to be unusually exposed to +them; we may have nerves very sensitive to pain, and be +afflicted with a disease very painful. Virtue will not help +us, and it is not meant to help us. It is not even its own +reward, except for the self-centred and—I had almost said—the +unamiable. No man can pacify his conscience; if +quiet be what he want, he shall do better to let that organ +perish from disuse. And to avoid the penalties of the law, +and the minor <i>capitis diminutio</i> of social ostracism, is an +affair of wisdom—of cunning, if you will—and not of virtue.</p> + +<p>In his own life, then, a man is not to expect happiness, +only to profit by it gladly when it shall arise; he is on +duty here; he knows not how or why, and does not need +to know; he knows not for what hire, and must not ask. +Somehow or other, though he does not know what goodness +is, he must try to be good; somehow or other, though he +cannot tell what will do it, he must try to give happiness +to others. And no doubt there comes in here a frequent +clash of duties. How far is he to make his neighbour +happy? How far must he respect that smiling face, so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page312" id="page312"></a>312</span> +easy to cloud, so hard to brighten again? And how far, +on the other side, is he bound to be his brother’s keeper +and the prophet of his own morality? How far must he +resent evil?</p> + +<p>The difficulty is that we have little guidance; Christ’s +sayings on the point being hard to reconcile with each other, +and (the most of them) hard to accept. But the truth of +His teaching would seem to be this: in our own person and +fortune, we should be ready to accept and to pardon all; +it is <i>our</i> cheek we are to turn, <i>our</i> coat that we are to give +away to the man who has taken <i>our</i> cloak. But when +another’s face is buffeted, perhaps a little of the lion will +become us best. That we are to suffer others to be injured, +and stand by, is not conceivable, and surely not desirable. +Revenge, says Bacon, is a kind of wild justice; its judgments +at least are delivered by an insane judge; and in +our own quarrel we can see nothing truly and do nothing +wisely. But in the quarrel of our neighbour, let us be +more bold. One person’s happiness is as sacred as another’s; +when we cannot defend both, let us defend one with a stout +heart. It is only in so far as we are doing this, that we have +any right to interfere: the defence of B is our only ground +of action against A. A has as good a right to go to the +devil as we to go to glory; and neither knows what he +does.</p> + +<p>The truth is that all these interventions and denunciations +and militant mongerings of moral half-truths, though +they be sometimes needful, though they are often enjoyable, +do yet belong to an inferior grade of duties. Ill-temper +and envy and revenge find here an arsenal of pious disguises; +this is the playground of inverted lusts. With a little more +patience and a little less temper, a gentler and wiser method +might be found in almost every case; and the knot that +we cut by some fine heady quarrel-scene in private life, or, +in public affairs, by some denunciatory act against what +we are pleased to call our neighbour’s vices, might yet have +been unwoven by the hand of sympathy.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page313" id="page313"></a>313</span></p> +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p>To look back upon the past year, and see how little we +have striven, and to what small purpose; and how often +we have been cowardly and hung back, or temerarious and +rushed unwisely in; and how every day and all day long +we have transgressed the law of kindness;—it may seem +a paradox, but in the bitterness of these discoveries a +certain consolation resides. Life is not designed to minister +to a man’s vanity. He goes upon his long business most +of the time with a hanging head, and all the time like a +blind child. Full of rewards and pleasures as it is—so that +to see the day break or the moon rise, or to meet a friend, +or to hear the dinner-call when he is hungry, fills him with +surprising joys—this world is yet for him no abiding city. +Friendships fall through, health fails, weariness assails him; +year after year he must thumb the hardly varying record +of his own weakness and folly. It is a friendly process of +detachment. When the time comes that he should go, +there need be few illusions left about himself. <i>Here lies one +who meant well, tried a little, failed much:</i>—surely that may +be his epitaph, of which he need not be ashamed. Nor will +he complain at the summons which calls a defeated soldier +from the field: defeated, ay, if he were Paul or Marcus +Aurelius!—but if there is still one inch of fight in his old +spirit, undishonoured. The faith which sustained him in +his lifelong blindness and lifelong disappointment will +scarce even be required in this last formality of laying down +his arms. Give him a march with his old bones; there, out +of the glorious sun-coloured earth, out of the day and the +dust and the ecstasy—there goes another Faithful Failure!</p> + +<p>From a recent book of verse, where there is more than +one such beautiful and manly poem, I take this memorial +piece: it says better than I can, what I love to think; let +it be our parting word:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;</p> +<p class="i05">And from the west,</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page314" id="page314"></a>314</span></p> +<p class="i05">Where the sun, his day’s work ended,</p> +<p class="i05">Lingers as in content,</p> +<p class="i05">There falls on the old, grey city</p> +<p class="i05">An influence luminous and serene,</p> +<p class="i05">A shining peace.</p> + +<p class="s">“The smoke ascends</p> +<p class="i05">In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires</p> +<p class="i05">Shine, and are changed. In the valley</p> +<p class="i05">Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,</p> +<p class="i05">Closing his benediction,</p> +<p class="i05">Sinks, and the darkening air</p> +<p class="i05">Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night—</p> +<p class="i05">Night, with her train of stars</p> +<p class="i05">And her great gift of sleep.</p> + +<p class="s">“So be my passing!</p> +<p class="i05">My task accomplished and the long day done,</p> +<p class="i05">My wages taken, and in my heart</p> +<p class="i05">Some late lark singing,</p> +<p class="i05">Let me be gathered to the quiet west,</p> +<p class="i05">The sundown splendid and serene,</p> +<p class="i05">Death.”<a name="FnAnchor_31" id="FnAnchor_31" href="#Footnote_31"><span class="sp">31</span></a></p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30" href="#FnAnchor_30"><span class="fn">30</span></a> <i>i.e.</i> in the pages of <i>Scribner’s Magazine</i> (1888).</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31" href="#FnAnchor_31"><span class="fn">31</span></a> From “A Book of Verses,” by William Ernest Henley. D.</p> +Nutt, 1888. +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page315" id="page315"></a>315</span></p> +<h3>X</h3> + +<h3>FATHER DAMIEN</h3> + +<h5>AN OPEN LETTER TO THE REVEREND DR. HYDE +OF HONOLULU</h5> + +<p class="rt"><span class="sc">Sydney</span>, <i>February</i> 25, 1890.</p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Sir</span>,—It may probably occur to you that we have met, and +visited, and conversed; on my side, with interest. You +may remember that you have done me several courtesies, +for which I was prepared to be grateful. But there are +duties which come before gratitude, and offences which +justly divide friends, far more acquaintances. Your letter +to the Reverend H. B. Gage is a document which, in my +sight, if you had filled me with bread when I was starving, +if you had sat up to nurse my father when he lay a-dying, +would yet absolve me from the bonds of gratitude. You +know enough, doubtless, of the process of canonisation to +be aware that, a hundred years after the death of Damien, +there will appear a man charged with the painful office of +the <i>devil’s advocate</i>. After that noble brother of mine, and +of all frail clay, shall have lain a century at rest, one shall +accuse, one defend him. The circumstance is unusual that +the devil’s advocate should be a volunteer, should be a +member of a sect immediately rival, and should make +haste to take upon himself his ugly office ere the bones are +cold; unusual, and of a taste which I shall leave my readers +free to qualify; unusual, and to me inspiring. If I have +at all learned the trade of using words to convey truth and +to arouse emotion, you have at last furnished me with a +subject. For it is in the interest of all mankind, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page316" id="page316"></a>316</span> +cause of public decency in every quarter of the world, not +only that Damien should be righted, but that you and +your letter should be displayed at length, in their true +colours, to the public eye.</p> + +<p>To do this properly, I must begin by quoting you at +large: I shall then proceed to criticise your utterance +from several points of view, divine and human, in the +course of which I shall attempt to draw again, and with +more specification, the character of the dead saint whom +it has pleased you to vilify: so much being done, I shall +say farewell to you for ever.</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="rt">“<span class="sc">Honolulu</span>, <i>August</i> 2, 1889.</p> + +<p class="noind">“Rev. <span class="sc">H. B. Gage.</span></p> + +<p>“Dear Brother,—In answer to your inquiries about Father +Damien, I can only reply that we who knew the man are surprised +at the extravagant newspaper laudations, as if he was a most +saintly philanthropist. The simple truth is, he was a coarse, dirty +man, headstrong and bigoted. He was not sent to Molokai, but +went there without orders; did not stay at the leper settlement +(before he became one himself), but circulated freely over the whole +island (less than half the island is devoted to the lepers), and he came +often to Honolulu. He had no hand in the reforms and improvements +inaugurated, which were the work of our Board of Health, +as occasion required and means were provided. He was not a pure +man in his relations with women, and the leprosy of which he died +should be attributed to his vices and carelessness. Others have +done much for the lepers, our own ministers, the government physicians, +and so forth, but never with the Catholic idea of meriting +eternal life.—Yours, etc.,</p> + +<p class="sc rt">“C. M. Hyde.”<a name="FnAnchor_32" id="FnAnchor_32" href="#Footnote_32"><span class="sp">32</span></a></p> +</div> + +<p>To deal fitly with a letter so extraordinary, I must draw +at the outset on my private knowledge of the signatory and +his sect. It may offend others; scarcely you, who have +been so busy to collect, so bold to publish, gossip on your +rivals. And this is perhaps the moment when I may best +explain to you the character of what you are to read: I +conceive you as a man quite beyond and below the reticences +of civility: with what measure you mete, with that +shall it be measured you again; with you, at last, I rejoice +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page317" id="page317"></a>317</span> +to feel the button off the foil and to plunge home. And if +in aught that I shall say I should offend others, your +colleagues, whom I respect and remember with affection, +I can but offer them my regret; I am not free, I am inspired +by the consideration of interests far more large; +and such pain as can be inflicted by anything from me +must be indeed trifling when compared with the pain with +which they read your letter. It is not the hangman, but +the criminal, that brings dishonour on the house.</p> + +<p>You belong, sir, to a sect—I believe my sect, and that +in which my ancestors laboured—which has enjoyed, and +partly failed to utilise, an exceptional advantage in the +islands of Hawaii. The first missionaries came; they +found the land already self-purged of its old and bloody +faith; they were embraced, almost on their arrival, with +enthusiasm; what troubles they supported came far more +from whites than from Hawaiians; and to these last they +stood (in a rough figure) in the shoes of God. This is not +the place to enter into the degree or causes of their failure, +such as it is. One element alone is pertinent, and must +here be plainly dealt with. In the course of their evangelical +calling, they—or too many of them—grew rich. It may +be news to you that the houses of missionaries are a cause +of mocking on the streets of Honolulu. It will at least be +news to you, that when I returned your civil visit, the +driver of my cab commented on the size, the taste, and +the comfort of your home. It would have been news +certainly to myself, had any one told me that afternoon +that I should live to drag such matter into print. But you +see, sir, how you degrade better men to your own level; +and it is needful that those who are to judge betwixt you +and me, betwixt Damien and the devil’s advocate, should +understand your letter to have been penned in a house +which could raise, and that very justly, the envy and the +comments of the passers-by. I think (to employ a phrase +of yours which I admire) it “should be attributed” to you +that you have never visited the scene of Damien’s life and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page318" id="page318"></a>318</span> +death. If you had, and had recalled it, and looked about +your pleasant rooms, even your pen perhaps would have +been stayed.</p> + +<p>Your sect (and remember, as far as any sect avows me, +it is mine) has not done ill in a worldly sense in the Hawaiian +Kingdom. When calamity befell their innocent parishioners, +when leprosy descended and took root in the Eight +Islands, a <i>quid pro quo</i> was to be looked for. To that +prosperous mission, and to you, as one of its adornments, +God had sent at last an opportunity. I know I am touching +here upon a nerve acutely sensitive. I know that others of +your colleagues look back on the inertia of your Church, +and the intrusive and decisive heroism of Damien, with +something almost to be called remorse. I am sure it is +so with yourself; I am persuaded your letter was inspired +by a certain envy, not essentially ignoble, and the one +human trait to be espied in that performance. You were +thinking of the lost chance, the past day; of that which +should have been conceived and was not; of the service +due and not rendered. <i>Time was</i>, said the voice in your +ear, in your pleasant room, as you sat raging and writing; +and if the words written were base beyond parallel, the +rage, I am happy to repeat—it is the only compliment I +shall pay you—the rage was almost virtuous. But, sir, +when we have failed, and another has succeeded; when +we have stood by, and another has stepped in; when we +sit and grow bulky in our charming mansions, and a plain, +uncouth peasant steps into the battle, under the eyes of +God, and succours the afflicted, and consoles the dying, +and is himself afflicted in his turn, and dies upon the field +of honour—the battle cannot be retrieved as your unhappy +irritation has suggested. It is a lost battle, and lost for +ever. One thing remained to you in your defeat—some +rags of common honour; and these you have made haste +to cast away.</p> + +<p>Common honour; not the honour of having done anything +right, but the honour of not having done aught conspicuously +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page319" id="page319"></a>319</span> +foul; the honour of the inert: that was what +remained to you. We are not all expected to be Damiens; +a man may conceive his duty more narrowly, he may love +his comforts better; and none will cast a stone at him for +that. But will a gentleman of your reverend profession +allow me an example from the fields of gallantry? When +two gentlemen compete for the favour of a lady, and the +one succeeds and the other is rejected, and (as will sometimes +happen) matter damaging to the successful rival’s +credit reaches the ear of the defeated, it is held by plain +men of no pretensions that his mouth is, in the circumstance, +almost necessarily closed. Your Church and Damien’s +were in Hawaii upon a rivalry to do well: to help, to edify, +to set divine examples. You having (in one huge instance) +failed, and Damien succeeded, I marvel it should not have +occurred to you that you were doomed to silence; that +when you had been outstripped in that high rivalry, and +sat inglorious in the midst of your well-being, in your +pleasant room—and Damien, crowned with glories and +horrors, toiled and rotted in that pigsty of his under the +cliffs of Kalawao—you, the elect who would not, were the +last man on earth to collect and propagate gossip on the +volunteer who would and did.</p> + +<p>I think I see you—for I try to see you in the flesh as I +write these sentences—I think I see you leap at the word +pigsty, a hyperbolical expression at the best. “He had +no hand in the reforms,” he was “a coarse, dirty man”; +these were your own words; and you may think it possible +that I am come to support you with fresh evidence. In a +sense, it is even so. Damien has been too much depicted +with a conventional halo and conventional features; so +drawn by men who perhaps had not the eye to remark or +the pen to express the individual; or who perhaps were +only blinded and silenced by generous admiration, such as +I partly envy for myself—such as you, if your soul were +enlightened, would envy on your bended knees. It is the +least defect of such a method of portraiture that it makes the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page320" id="page320"></a>320</span> +path easy for the devil’s advocate, and leaves for the misuse +of the slanderer a considerable field of truth. For the truth +that is suppressed by friends is the readiest weapon of the +enemy. The world, in your despite, may perhaps owe you +something, if your letter be the means of substituting once +for all a credible likeness for a wax abstraction. For, if +that world at all remember you, on the day when Damien +of Molokai shall be named Saint, it will be in virtue of one +work: your letter to the Reverend H. B. Gage.</p> + +<p>You may ask on what authority I speak. It was my +inclement destiny to become acquainted, not with Damien, +but with Dr. Hyde. When I visited the lazaretto Damien +was already in his resting grave. But such information +as I have, I gathered on the spot in conversation with those +who knew him well and long: some indeed who revered +his memory; but others who had sparred and wrangled +with him, who beheld him with no halo, who perhaps regarded +him with small respect, and through whose unprepared +and scarcely partial communications the plain, +human features of the man shone on me convincingly. +These gave me what knowledge I possess; and I learnt it +in that scene where it could be most completely and sensitively +understood—Kalawao, which you have never visited, +about which you have never so much as endeavoured to +inform yourself; for, brief as your letter is, you have found +the means to stumble into that confession. “<i>Less than +one-half</i> of the island,” you say, “is devoted to the lepers.” +Molokai—“<i>Molokai ahina</i>,” the “grey,” lofty, and most +desolate island—along all its northern side plunges a front +of precipice into a sea of unusual profundity. This range +of cliff is, from east to west, the true end and frontier of +the island. Only in one spot there projects into the ocean +a certain triangular and rugged down, grassy, stony, windy, +and rising in the midst into a hill with a dead crater: the +whole bearing to the cliff that overhangs it somewhat the +same relation as a bracket to a wall. With this hint you +will now be able to pick out the leper station on a map; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page321" id="page321"></a>321</span> +you will be able to judge how much of Molokai is thus cut +off between the surf and precipice, whether less than a half, +or less than a quarter, or a fifth, or a tenth—or say, a +twentieth; and the next time you burst into print you +will be in a position to share with us the issue of your +calculations.</p> + +<p>I imagine you to be one of those persons who talk with +cheerfulness of that place which oxen and wain-ropes could +not drag you to behold. You, who do not even know +its situation on the map, probably denounce sensational +descriptions, stretching your limbs the while in your pleasant +parlour on Beretania Street. When I was pulled ashore +there one early morning, there sat with me in the boat two +sisters, bidding farewell (in humble imitation of Damien) +to the lights and joys of human life. One of these wept +silently; I could not withhold myself from joining her. +Had you been there, it is my belief that nature would have +triumphed even in you; and as the boat drew but a little +nearer, and you beheld the stairs crowded with abominable +deformations of our common manhood, and saw yourself +landing in the midst of such a population as only now and +then surrounds us in the horror of a nightmare—what a +haggard eye you would have rolled over your reluctant +shoulder towards the house on Beretania Street! Had you +gone on; had you found every fourth face a blot upon the +landscape; had you visited the hospital and seen the butt-ends +of human beings lying there almost unrecognisable, +but still breathing, still thinking, still remembering; you +would have understood that life in the lazaretto is an ordeal +from which the nerves of a man’s spirit shrink, even as his +eye quails under the brightness of the sun; you would +have felt it was (even to-day) a pitiful place to visit and a +hell to dwell in. It is not the fear of possible infection. +That seems a little thing when compared with the pain, the +pity, and the disgust of the visitor’s surroundings, and the +atmosphere of affliction, disease, and physical disgrace in +which he breathes. I do not think I am a man more than +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page322" id="page322"></a>322</span> +usually timid; but I never recall the days and nights I +spent upon that island promontory (eight days and seven +nights), without heartfelt thankfulness that I am somewhere +else. I find in my diary that I speak of my stay +as a “grinding experience”: I have once jotted in the +margin, “<i>Harrowing</i> is the word”; and when the <i>Mokolii</i> +bore me at last towards the outer world, I kept repeating +to myself, with a new conception of their pregnancy, those +simple words of the song—</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“’Tis the most distressful country that ever yet was seen.”</p> + +<p class="noind">And observe: that which I saw and suffered from was a +settlement purged, bettered, beautified; the new village +built, the hospital and the Bishop-Home excellently +arranged; the sisters, the doctor, and the missionaries, all +indefatigable in their noble tasks. It was a different place +when Damien came there, and made his great renunciation, +and slept that first night under a tree amidst his rotting +brethren: alone with pestilence; and looking forward +(with what courage, with what pitiful sinkings of dread, +God only knows) to a lifetime of dressing sores and stumps.</p> + +<p>You will say, perhaps, I am too sensitive, that sights as +painful abound in cancer hospitals and are confronted daily +by doctors and nurses. I have long learned to admire and +envy the doctors and the nurses. But there is no cancer +hospital so large and populous as Kalawao and Kalaupapa; +and in such a matter every fresh case, like every inch of +length in the pipe of an organ, deepens the note of the impression; +for what daunts the onlooker is that monstrous +sum of human suffering by which he stands surrounded. +Lastly, no doctor or nurse is called upon to enter once for +all the doors of that gehenna; they do not say farewell, +they need not abandon hope, on its sad threshold; they +but go for a time to their high calling, and can look forward +as they go to relief, to recreation, and to rest. But +Damien shut-to with his own hand the doors of his own +sepulchre. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page323" id="page323"></a>323</span></p> + +<p>I shall now extract three passages from my diary at +Kalawao.</p> + +<p><i>A</i>. “Damien is dead and already somewhat ungratefully +remembered in the field of his labours and sufferings. +‘He was a good man, but very officious,’ says one. Another +tells me he had fallen (as other priests so easily do) into +something of the ways and habits of thought of a Kanaka; +but he had the wit to recognise the fact, and the good sense +to laugh at” [over] “it. A plain man it seems he was; +I cannot find he was a popular.”</p> + +<p><i>B</i>. “After Ragsdale’s death” [Ragsdale was a famous +Luna, or overseer, of the unruly settlement] “there followed +a brief term of office by Father Damien which served only +to publish the weakness of that noble man. He was rough +in his ways, and he had no control. Authority was relaxed; +Damien’s life was threatened, and he was soon eager to +resign.”</p> + +<p><i>C</i>. “Of Damien I begin to have an idea. He seems to +have been a man of the peasant class, certainly of the peasant +type: shrewd; ignorant and bigoted, yet with an open +mind, and capable of receiving and digesting a reproof if it +were bluntly administered; superbly generous in the least +thing as well as in the greatest, and as ready to give his +last shirt (although not without human grumbling) as he +had been to sacrifice his life; essentially indiscreet and +officious, which made him a troublesome colleague; domineering +in all his ways, which made him incurably unpopular +with the Kanakas, but yet destitute of real authority, so +that his boys laughed at him and he must carry out his +wishes by the means of bribes. He learned to have a +mania for doctoring; and set up the Kanakas against the +remedies of his regular rivals: perhaps (if anything matter +at all in the treatment of such a disease) the worst thing +that he did, and certainly the easiest. The best and worst +of the man appear very plainly in his dealings with Mr. +Chapman’s money; he had originally laid it out” [intended +to lay it out] “entirely for the benefit of Catholics, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page324" id="page324"></a>324</span> +even so not wisely; but after a long, plain talk, he admitted +his error fully and revised the list. The sad state of the +boys’ home is in part the result of his lack of control; in +part, of his own slovenly ways and false ideas of hygiene. +Brother officials used to call it ‘Damien’s Chinatown.’ +‘Well,’ they would say, ‘your Chinatown keeps growing.’ +And he would laugh with perfect good-nature, and adhere +to his errors with perfect obstinacy. So much I have +gathered of truth about this plain, noble human brother +and father of ours; his imperfections are the traits of his +face, by which we know him for our fellow; his martyrdom +and his example nothing can lessen or annul; and only a +person here on the spot can properly appreciate their +greatness.”</p> + +<p>I have set down these private passages, as you perceive, +without correction; thanks to you, the public has them +in their bluntness. They are almost a list of the man’s +faults, for it is rather these that I was seeking: with his +virtues, with the heroic profile of his life, I and the world +were already sufficiently acquainted. I was besides a +little suspicious of Catholic testimony; in no ill sense, but +merely because Damien’s admirers and disciples were the +least likely to be critical. I know you will be more suspicious +still; and the facts set down above were one and +all collected from the lips of Protestants who had opposed +the father in his life. Yet I am strangely deceived, or they +build up the image of a man, with all his weaknesses, +essentially heroic, and alive with rugged honesty, generosity, +and mirth.</p> + +<p>Take it for what it is, rough private jottings of the worst +sides of Damien’s character, collected from the lips of those +who had laboured with and (in your own phrase) “knew +the man”;—though I question whether Damien would +have said that he knew you. Take it, and observe with +wonder how well you were served by your gossips, how ill +by your intelligence and sympathy; in how many points +of fact we are at one, and how widely our appreciations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page325" id="page325"></a>325</span> +vary. There is something wrong here; either with you +or me. It is possible, for instance, that you, who seem to +have so many ears in Kalawao, had heard of the affair of +Mr. Chapman’s money, and were singly struck by Damien’s +intended wrong-doing. I was struck with that also, and +set it fairly down; but I was struck much more by the fact +that he had the honesty of mind to be convinced. I may +here tell you that it was a long business; that one of his +colleagues sat with him late into the night, multiplying +arguments and accusations; that the father listened as +usual with “perfect good-nature and perfect obstinacy”; +but at the last, when he was persuaded—“Yes,” said he, +“I am very much obliged to you; you have done me a +service; it would have been a theft.” There are many (not +Catholics merely) who require their heroes and saints to be +infallible; to these the story will be painful; not to the +true lovers, patrons, and servants of mankind.</p> + +<p>And I take it, this is a type of our division; that you +are one of those who have an eye for faults and failures; +that you take a pleasure to find and publish them; and +that, having found them, you make haste to forget the +overvailing virtues and the real success which had alone +introduced them to your knowledge. It is a dangerous +frame of mind. That you may understand how dangerous, +and into what a situation it has already brought you, we +will (if you please) go hand-in-hand through the different +phrases of your letter, and candidly examine each from the +point of view of its truth, its appositeness, and its charity.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Damien was <i>coarse</i>.</p> + +<p>It is very possible. You make us sorry for the lepers +who had only a coarse old peasant for their friend and +father. But you, who were so refined, why were you not +there, to cheer them with the lights of culture? Or may +I remind you that we have some reason to doubt if John +the Baptist were genteel; and in the case of Peter, on whose +career you doubtless dwell approvingly in the pulpit, no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page326" id="page326"></a>326</span> +doubt at all he was a “coarse, headstrong” fisherman! +Yet even in our Protestant Bibles Peter is called Saint.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien was <i>dirty</i>.</p> + +<p>He was. Think of the poor lepers annoyed with this +dirty comrade! But the clean Dr. Hyde was at his food +in a fine house.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien was <i>headstrong</i>.</p> + +<p>I believe you are right again; and I thank God for his +strong head and heart.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien was <i>bigoted</i>.</p> + +<p>I am not fond of bigots myself, because they are not +fond of me. But what is meant by bigotry, that we should +regard it as a blemish in a priest? Damien believed his +own religion with the simplicity of a peasant or a child; +as I would I could suppose that you do. For this, I wonder +at him some way off; and had that been his only character, +should have avoided him in life. But the point of interest +in Damien, which has caused him to be so much talked +about and made him at last the subject of your pen and +mine, was that, in him, his bigotry, his intense and narrow +faith, wrought potently for good, and strengthened him to +be one of the world’s heroes and exemplars.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien <i>was not sent to Molokai, but went there without +orders</i>.</p> + +<p>Is this a misreading? or do you really mean the words +for blame? I have heard Christ, in the pulpits of our +Church, held up for imitation on the ground that His sacrifice +was voluntary. Does Dr. Hyde think otherwise?</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien <i>did not stay at the settlement, etc</i>.</p> + +<p>It is true he was allowed many indulgences. Am I to +understand that you blame the father for profiting by these, +or the officers for granting them? In either case, it is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page327" id="page327"></a>327</span> +mighty Spartan standard to issue from the house on Beretania +Street; and I am convinced you will find yourself +with few supporters.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien <i>had no hand in the reforms, etc</i>.</p> + +<p>I think even you will admit that I have already been +frank in my description of the man I am defending; but +before I take you up upon this head, I will be franker still, +and tell you that perhaps nowhere in the world can a man +taste a more pleasurable sense of contrast than when he +passes from Damien’s “Chinatown” at Kalawao to the +beautiful Bishop-Home at Kalaupapa. At this point, in +my desire to make all fair for you, I will break my rule +and adduce Catholic testimony. Here is a passage from +my diary about my visit to the Chinatown, from which you +will see how it is (even now) regarded by its own officials: +“We went round all the dormitories, refectories, etc.—dark +and dingy enough, with a superficial cleanliness, which +he” [Mr. Dutton, the lay brother] “did not seek to defend. +‘It is almost decent,’ said he; ‘the sisters will make that +all right when we get them here.’” And yet I gathered +it was already better since Damien was dead, and far better +than when he was there alone and had his own (not always +excellent) way. I have now come far enough to meet you +on a common ground of fact; and I tell you that, to a +mind not prejudiced by jealousy, all the reforms of the +lazaretto, and even those which he most vigorously opposed, +are properly the work of Damien. They are the evidence +of his success; they are what his heroism provoked from +the reluctant and the careless. Many were before him in +the field; Mr. Meyer, for instance, of whose faithful work +we hear too little: there have been many since; and some +had more worldly wisdom, though none had more devotion, +than our saint. Before his day, even you will confess, they +had effected little. It was his part, by one striking act of +martyrdom, to direct all men’s eyes on that distressful +country. At a blow, and with the price of his life, he made +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page328" id="page328"></a>328</span> +the place illustrious and public. And that, if you will consider +largely, was the one reform needful; pregnant of all +that should succeed. It brought money; it brought (best +individual addition of them all) the sisters; it brought +supervision, for public opinion and public interest landed +with the man at Kalawao. If ever any man brought reforms, +and died to bring them, it was he. There is not a +clean cup or towel in the Bishop-Home, but dirty Damien +washed it.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>Damien <i>was not a pure man in his relations with +women, etc</i>.</p> + +<p>How do you know that? Is this the nature of the conversation +in that house on Beretania Street which the cabman +envied, driving past?—racy details of the misconduct +of the poor peasant priest, toiling under the cliffs of Molokai?</p> + +<p>Many have visited the station before me; they seem +not to have heard the rumour. When I was there I heard +many shocking tales, for my informants were men speaking +with the plainness of the laity; and I heard plenty of +complaints of Damien. Why was this never mentioned? +and how came it to you in the retirement of your clerical +parlour?</p> + +<p>But I must not even seem to deceive you. This scandal, +when I read it in your letter, was not new to me. I had +heard it once before; and I must tell you how. There +came to Samoa a man from Honolulu; he in a public-house +on the beach volunteered the statement that Damien +had “contracted the disease from having connection +with the female lepers”; and I find a joy in telling you +how the report was welcomed in a public-house. A man +sprang to his feet; I am not at liberty to give his name, +but from what I heard I doubt if you would care to have +him to dinner in Beretania Street. “You miserable +little ——” (here is a word I dare not print, it would so +shock your ears). “You miserable little ——,” he cried, +“if the story were a thousand times true, can’t you see you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page329" id="page329"></a>329</span> +are a million times a lower —— for daring to repeat it?” +I wish it could be told of you that when the report reached +you in your house, perhaps after family worship, you had +found in your soul enough holy anger to receive it with the +same expressions; ay, even with that one which I dare +not print; it would not need to have been blotted away, +like Uncle Toby’s oath, by the tears of the recording angel; +it would have been counted to you for your brightest righteousness. +But you have deliberately chosen the part of the +man from Honolulu, and you have played it with improvements +of your own. The man from Honolulu—miserable, +leering creature—communicated the tale to a rude knot of +beach-combing drinkers in a public-house, where (I will so +far agree with your temperance opinions) man is not always +at his noblest; and the man from Honolulu had himself +been drinking—drinking, we may charitably fancy, to +excess. It was to your “Dear Brother, the Reverend +H. B. Gage,” that you chose to communicate the sickening +story; and the blue ribbon which adorns your portly bosom +forbids me to allow you the extenuating plea that you were +drunk when it was done. Your “dear brother”—a +brother indeed—made haste to deliver up your letter (as a +means of grace, perhaps) to the religious papers; where, +after many months, I found and read and wondered at it; +and whence I have now reproduced it for the wonder of +others. And you and your dear brother have, by this +cycle of operations, built up a contrast very edifying to +examine in detail. The man whom you would not care +to have to dinner, on the one side; on the other, the +Reverend Dr. Hyde and the Reverend H. B. Gage: the +Apia bar-room, the Honolulu manse.</p> + +<p>But I fear you scarce appreciate how you appear to your +fellow-men; and to bring it home to you, I will suppose +your story to be true. I will suppose—and God forgive +me for supposing it—that Damien faltered and stumbled in +his narrow path of duty; I will suppose that, in the horror +of his isolation, perhaps in the fever of incipient disease, he, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page330" id="page330"></a>330</span> +who was doing so much more than he had sworn, failed +in the letter of his priestly oath—he, who was so much a +better man than either you or me, who did what we have +never dreamed of daring—he too tasted of our common +frailty. “O, Iago, the pity of it!” The least tender +should be moved to tears; the most incredulous to +prayer. And all that you could do was to pen your letter +to the Reverend H. B. Gage!</p> + +<p>Is it growing at all clear to you what a picture you have +drawn of your own heart? I will try yet once again to +make it clearer. You had a father: suppose this tale were +about him, and some informant brought it to you, proof in +hand: I am not making too high an estimate of your +emotional nature when I suppose you would regret the +circumstance? that you would feel the tale of frailty the +more keenly since it shamed the author of your days? +and that the last thing you would do would be to publish +it in the religious press? Well, the man who tried to do +what Damien did is my father, and the father of the man +in the Apia bar, and the father of all who love goodness; +and he was your father too, if God had given you grace +to see it.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32" href="#FnAnchor_32"><span class="fn">32</span></a> From the Sydney <i>Presbyterian</i>, October 26, 1889.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page331" id="page331"></a>331</span></p> +<h3>XI</h3> + +<h3>MY FIRST BOOK—“TREASURE ISLAND”</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> was far indeed from being my first book, for I am not +a novelist alone. But I am well aware that my paymaster, +the Great Public, regards what else I have written with +indifference, if not aversion; if it call upon me at all, it +calls on me in the familiar and indelible character; and +when I am asked to talk of my first book, no question in +the world but what is meant is my first novel.</p> + +<p>Sooner or later, somehow, anyhow, I was bound to +write a novel. It seems vain to ask why. Men are born +with various manias: from my earliest childhood it was +mine to make a plaything of imaginary series of events; +and as soon as I was able to write, I became a good friend +to the papermakers. Reams upon reams must have gone +to the making of “Rathillet,” “The Pentland Rising,”<a name="FnAnchor_33" id="FnAnchor_33" href="#Footnote_33"><span class="sp">33</span></a> +“The King’s Pardon” (otherwise “Park Whitehead”), +“Edward Daven,” “A Country Dance,” and “A Vendetta +in the West”; and it is consolatory to remember that +these reams are now all ashes, and have been received again +into the soil. I have named but a few of my ill-fated +efforts, only such indeed as came to a fair bulk ere they +were desisted from; and even so they cover a long vista +of years. “Rathillet” was attempted before fifteen, “The +Vendetta” at twenty-nine, and the succession of defeats +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page332" id="page332"></a>332</span> +lasted unbroken till I was thirty-one. By that time I had +written little books and little essays and short stories; and +had got patted on the back and paid for them—though not +enough to live upon. I had quite a reputation, I was the +successful man; I passed my days in toil, the futility of +which would sometimes make my cheek to burn—that I +should spend a man’s energy upon this business, and yet +could not earn a livelihood: and still there shone ahead of +me an unattained ideal: although I had attempted the +thing with vigour not less than ten or twelve times, I had +not yet written a novel. All—all my pretty ones—had +gone for a little, and then stopped inexorably like a schoolboy’s +watch. I might be compared to a cricketer of many +years’ standing who should never have made a run. Anybody +can write a short story—a bad one, I mean—who has +industry and paper and time enough; but not every one +may hope to write even a bad novel. It is the length that +kills. The accepted novelist may take his novel up and put +it down, spend days upon it in vain, and write not any +more than he makes haste to blot. Not so the beginner. +Human nature has certain rights; instinct—the instinct +of self-preservation—forbids that any man (cheered and +supported by the consciousness of no previous victory) +should endure the miseries of unsuccessful literary toil +beyond a period to be measured in weeks. There must be +something for hope to feed upon. The beginner must +have a slant of wind, a lucky vein must be running, he +must be in one of those hours when the words come and +the phrases balance of themselves—<i>even to begin</i>. And +having begun, what a dread looking forward is that until +the book shall be accomplished! For so long a time the +slant is to continue unchanged, the vein to keep running, +for so long a time you must keep at command the same +quality of style: for so long a time your puppets are to +be always vital, always consistent, always vigorous! I +remember I used to look, in those days, upon every three-volume +novel with a sort of veneration, as a feat—not, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page333" id="page333"></a>333</span> +possibly, of literature—but at least of physical and moral +endurance and the courage of Ajax.</p> + +<p>In the fated year I came to live with my father and +mother at Kinnaird, above Pitlochry. Then I walked on +the red moors and by the side of the golden burn; the rude, +pure air of our mountains inspirited, if it did not inspire, +us, and my wife and I projected a joint volume of bogey +stories, for which she wrote “The Shadow on the Bed,” +and I turned out “Thrawn Janet” and a first draft of +“The Merry Men.” I love my native air, but it does not +love me; and the end of this delightful period was a cold, +a fly-blister and a migration by Strathardle and Glenshee +to the Castleton of Braemar. There it blew a good deal +and rained in a proportion; my native air was more unkind +than man’s ingratitude, and I must consent to pass a good +deal of my time between four walls in a house lugubriously +known as the Late Miss M<span class="sp">c</span>Gregor’s Cottage. And now +admire the finger of predestination. There was a schoolboy +in the Late Miss M<span class="sp">c</span>Gregor’s Cottage, home from the holidays, +and much in want of “something craggy to break +his mind upon.” He had no thought of literature; it was +the art of Raphael that received his fleeting suffrages; and +with the aid of pen and ink and a shilling box of watercolours, +he had soon turned one of the rooms into a picture-gallery. +My more immediate duty towards the gallery +was to be showman; but I would sometimes unbend a +little, join the artist (so to speak) at the easel, and pass the +afternoon with him in a generous emulation, making +coloured drawings. On one of these occasions, I made the +map of an island; it was elaborately and (I thought) +beautifully coloured; the shape of it took my fancy beyond +expression; it contained harbours that pleased me like +sonnets; and, with the unconsciousness of the predestined, +I ticketed my performance “Treasure Island.” I am told +there are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard +to believe. The names, the shapes of the woodlands, the +courses of the roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page334" id="page334"></a>334</span> +man still distinctly traceable up hill and down dale, the +mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries, perhaps the +<i>Standing Stone</i> or the <i>Druidic Circle</i> on the heath; here is +an inexhaustible fund of interest for any man with eyes to +see or twopence-worth of imagination to understand with! +No child but must remember laying his head in the grass, +staring into the infinitesimal forest and seeing it grow +populous with fairy armies. Somewhat in this way, as I +paused upon my map of “Treasure Island,” the future +character of the book began to appear there visibly among +imaginary woods; and their brown faces and bright weapons +peeped out upon me from unexpected quarters, as they +passed to and fro, fighting and hunting treasure, on these +few square inches of a flat projection. The next thing I +knew I had some papers before me and was writing out a +list of chapters. How often have I done so, and the thing +gone on further! But there seemed elements of success +about this enterprise. It was to be a story for boys: no +need of psychology or fine writing; and I had a boy at +hand to be a touchstone. Women were excluded. I was +unable to handle a brig (which the <i>Hispaniola</i> should have +been), but I thought I could make shift to sail her as a +schooner without public shame. And then I had an idea +for John Silver from which I promised myself funds of +entertainment: to take an admired friend of mine (whom +the reader very likely knows and admires as much as I do), +to deprive him of all his finer qualities and higher graces of +temperament, to leave him with nothing but his strength, +his courage, his quickness, and his magnificent geniality, +and to try to express these in terms of the culture of a raw +tarpaulin. Such psychical surgery is, I think, a common +way of “making character”; perhaps it is, indeed, the +only way. We can put in the quaint figure that spoke a +hundred words with us yesterday by the wayside; but +do we know him? Our friend with his infinite variety and +flexibility, we know—but can we put him in? Upon the +first, we must engraft secondary and imaginary qualities, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page335" id="page335"></a>335</span> +possibly all wrong; from the second, knife in hand, we +must cut away and deduct the needless arborescence of +his nature, but the trunk and the few branches that remain +we may at least be fairly sure of.</p> + +<p>On a chill September morning, by the cheek of a brisk +fire, and the rain drumming on the window, I began “The +Sea Cook,” for that was the original title. I have begun +(and finished) a number of other books, but I cannot +remember to have sat down to one of them with more +complacency. It is not to be wondered at, for stolen +waters are proverbially sweet. I am now upon a painful +chapter. No doubt the parrot once belonged to Robinson +Crusoe. No doubt the skeleton is conveyed from Poe. +I think little of these, they are trifles and details; and no +man can hope to have a monopoly of skeletons or make a +corner in talking birds. The stockade, I am told, is from +“Masterman Ready.” It may be, I care not a jot. These +useful writers had fulfilled the poet’s saying: departing, +they had left behind them Footprints on the sands of time, +Footprints which perhaps another—and I was the other! +It is my debt to Washington Irving that exercises my +conscience, and justly so, for I believe plagiarism was rarely +carried further. I chanced to pick up the “Tales of a +Traveller” some years ago with a view to an anthology +of prose narrative, and the book flew up and struck me: +Billy Bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, the +whole inner spirit, and a good deal of the material detail +of my first chapters—all were there, all were the property +of Washington Irving. But I had no guess of it then as I +sat writing by the fireside, in what seemed the spring-tides +of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, +after lunch, as I read aloud my morning’s work to the +family. It seemed to me original as sin; it seemed to +belong to me like my right eye. I had counted on one boy, +I found I had two in my audience. My father caught fire +at once with all the romance and childishness of his original +nature. His own stories, that every night of his life he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page336" id="page336"></a>336</span> +put himself to sleep with, dealt perpetually with ships, +roadside inns, robbers, old sailors, and commercial travellers +before the era of steam. He never finished one of these +romances; the lucky man did not require to finish them! +But in “Treasure Island” he recognised something kindred +to his own imagination; it was <i>his</i> kind of picturesque; +and he not only heard with delight the daily chapter, but +set himself acting to collaborate. When the time came for +Billy Bones’s chest to be ransacked, he must have passed +the better part of a day preparing, on the back of a legal +envelope, an inventory of its contents, which I exactly +followed; and the name of “Flint’s old ship”—the <i>Walrus</i>—was +given at his particular request. And now who should +come dropping in, <i>ex machinâ</i>, but Dr. Japp, like the disguised +prince who is to bring down the curtain upon peace +and happiness in the last act; for he carried in his pocket, +not a horn or a talisman, but a publisher. Even the ruthlessness +of a united family recoiled before the extreme +measure of inflicting on our guest the mutilated members +of “The Sea Cook”; at the same time, we would by no +means stop our readings; and accordingly the tale was +begun again at the beginning, and solemnly re-delivered +for the benefit of Dr. Japp. From that moment on, I have +thought highly of his critical faculty; for when he left us +he carried away the manuscript in his portmanteau to +submit to his friend (since then my own) Mr. Henderson, +who accepted it for his periodical, <i>Young Folks</i>.</p> + +<p>Here, then, was everything to keep me up, sympathy, +help, and now a positive engagement. I had chosen besides +a very easy style. Compare it with the almost contemporary +“Merry Men”; one reader may prefer the one +style, one the other—’tis an affair of character, perhaps of +mood; but no expert can fail to see that the one is much +more difficult, and the other much easier to maintain. It +seems as though a full-grown experienced man of letters +might engage to turn out “Treasure Island” at so many +pages a day, and keep his pipe alight. But alas! this was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page337" id="page337"></a>337</span> +not my case. Fifteen days I stuck to it, and turned out +fifteen chapters; and then, in the early paragraphs of the +sixteenth, ignominiously lost hold. My mouth was empty; +there was not one word of “Treasure Island” in my bosom; +and here were the proofs of the beginning already waiting +me at the “Hand and Spear”! Then I corrected them, +living for the most part alone, walking on the heath at +Weybridge in dewy autumn mornings, a good deal pleased +with what I had done, and more appalled than I can depict +to you in words at what remained for me to do. I was +thirty-one; I was the head of a family; I had lost my +health; I had never yet paid my way, never yet made +£200 a year; my father had quite recently bought back +and cancelled a book that was judged a failure: was this +to be another and last fiasco? I was indeed very close on +despair; but I shut my mouth hard, and during the +journey to Davos, where I was to pass the winter, had the +resolution to think of other things and bury myself in the +novels of M. du Boisgobey. Arrived at my destination, +down I sat one morning to the unfinished tale; and behold! +it flowed from me like small-talk; and in a second tide of +delighted industry, and again at the rate of a chapter a +day, I finished “Treasure Island.” It had to be transcribed +almost exactly; my wife was ill; the schoolboy +remained alone of the faithful; and John Addington +Symonds (to whom I timidly mentioned what I was engaged +on) looked on me askance. He was at that time very eager +I should write on the characters of Theophrastus: so far +out may be the judgments of the wisest men. But Symonds +(to be sure) was scarce the confidant to go to for sympathy +on a boy’s story. He was large-minded; “a full man,” +if there was one; but the very name of my enterprise would +suggest to him only capitulations of sincerity and solecisms +of style. Well! he was not far wrong.</p> + +<p>“Treasure Island”—it was Mr. Henderson who deleted +the first title, “The Sea Cook”—appeared duly in the story +paper, where it figured in the ignoble midst, without woodcuts, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page338" id="page338"></a>338</span> +and attracted not the least attention. I did not care. +I liked the tale myself, for much the same reason as my +father liked the beginning; it was my kind of picturesque. +I was not a little proud of John Silver, also; and to this +day rather admire that smooth and formidable adventurer. +What was infinitely more exhilarating, I had passed a +landmark; I had finished a tale, and written “The End” +upon my manuscript, as I had not done since “The Pentland +Rising,” when I was a boy of sixteen not yet at college. In +truth it was so by a set of lucky accidents; had not Dr. +Japp come on his visit, had not the tale flowed from me +with singular ease, it must have been laid aside like its +predecessors, and found a circuitous and unlamented way +to the fire. Purists may suggest it would have been better +so. I am not of that mind. The tale seems to have given +much pleasure, and it brought (or was the means of bringing) +fire and food and wine to a deserving family in which I +took an interest. I need scarcely say I mean my own.</p> + +<p>But the adventures of “Treasure Island” are not yet +quite at an end. I had written it up to the map. The map +was the chief part of my plot. For instance, I had called +an islet “Skeleton Island,” not knowing what I meant, +seeking only for the immediate picturesque, and it was to +justify this name that I broke into the gallery of Mr. Poe +and stole Flint’s pointer. And in the same way, it was +because I had made two harbours that the <i>Hispaniola</i> was +sent on her wanderings with Israel Hands. The time came +when it was decided to republish, and I sent in my manuscript, +and the map along with it, to Messrs. Cassell. The +proofs came, they were corrected, but I heard nothing of +the map. I wrote and asked; was told it had never been +received, and sat aghast. It is one thing to draw a map at +random, set a scale in one corner of it at a venture, and +write up a story to the measurements. It is quite another +to have to examine a whole book, make an inventory of all +the allusions contained in it, and with a pair of compasses, +painfully design a map to suit the data. I did it; and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page339" id="page339"></a>339</span> +map was drawn again in my father’s office, with embellishments +of blowing whales and sailing ships, and my father +himself brought into service a knack he had of various +writing, and elaborately <i>forged</i> the signature of Captain +Flint, and the sailing directions of Billy Bones. But somehow +it was never <i>Treasure Island</i> to me.</p> + +<p>I have said the map was the most of the plot. I might +almost say it was the whole. A few reminiscences of Poe, +Defoe, and Washington Irving, a copy of Johnson’s +“Buccaneers,” the name of the Dead Man’s Chest from +Kingsley’s “At Last,” some recollections of canoeing on +the high seas, and the map itself, with its infinite, eloquent +suggestion, made up the whole of my materials. It is, +perhaps, not often that a map figures so largely in a tale, +yet it is always important. The author must know his +countryside, whether real or imaginary, like his hand; the +distances, the points of the compass, the place of the sun’s +rising, the behaviour of the moon, should all be beyond +cavil. And how troublesome the moon is! I have come +to grief over the moon in “Prince Otto,” and, so soon as +that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which I +recommend to other men—I never write now without an +almanac. With an almanac and the map of the country, +and the plan of every house, either actually plotted on paper +or already and immediately apprehended in the mind, a +man may hope to avoid some of the grossest possible +blunders. With the map before him, he will scarce allow +the sun to set in the east, as it does in “The Antiquary.” +With the almanac at hand, he will scarce allow two horsemen, +journeying on the most urgent affair, to employ six +days, from three of the Monday morning till late in the +Saturday night, upon a journey of, say, ninety or a hundred +miles, and before the week is out, and still on the same nags, +to cover fifty in one day, as may be read at length in the +inimitable novel of “Rob Roy.” And it is certainly well, +though far from necessary, to avoid such “croppers.” +But it is my contention—my superstition, if you like—that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page340" id="page340"></a>340</span> +who is faithful to his map, and consults it, and draws from +it his inspiration, daily and hourly, gains positive support, +and not mere negative immunity from accident. The tale +has a root there; it grows in that soil; it has a spine of +its own behind the words. Better if the country be real, +and he has walked every foot of it and knows every milestone. +But even with imaginary places, he will do well in +the beginning to provide a map; as he studies it, relations +will appear that he had not thought upon; he will discover +obvious, though unsuspected, shortcuts and footprints for +his messengers; and even when a map is not all the plot, +as it was in “Treasure Island,” it will be found to be a +mine of suggestion.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33" href="#FnAnchor_33"><span class="fn">33</span></a> <i>Ne pas confondre</i>. Not the slim green pamphlet with the +imprint of Andrew Elliot, for which (as I see with amazement from +the book-lists) the gentlemen of England are willing to pay fancy +prices; but its predecessor, a bulky historical romance without a +spark of merit and now deleted from the world.—[R. L. S.]</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page341" id="page341"></a>341</span></p> +<h3>XII</h3> + +<h3>THE GENESIS OF “THE MASTER OF +BALLANTRAE”</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I was</span> walking one night in the verandah of a small house +in which I lived, outside the hamlet of Saranac. It was +winter; the night was very dark; the air extraordinary +clear and cold, and sweet with the purity of forests. From +a good way below, the river was to be heard contending +with ice and boulders: a few lights appeared, scattered +unevenly among the darkness, but so far away as not to +lessen the sense of isolation. For the making of a story +here were fine conditions. I was besides moved with the +spirit of emulation, for I had just finished my third or +fourth perusal of “The Phantom Ship.” “Come,” said +I to my engine, “let us make a tale, a story of many years +and countries, of the sea and the land, savagery, and +civilisation; a story that shall have the same large features, +and may be treated in the same summary elliptic method +as the book you have been reading and admiring.” I was +here brought up with a reflection exceedingly just in itself, +but which, as the sequel shows, I failed to profit by. I saw +that Marryat, not less than Homer, Milton, and Virgil, +profited by the choice of a familiar and legendary subject; +so that he prepared his readers on the very title-page; and +this set me cudgelling my brains, if by any chance I could +hit upon some similar belief to be the centre-piece of my +own meditated fiction. In the course of this vain search +there cropped up in my memory a singular case of a buried +and resuscitated fakir, which I had been often told by an +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page342" id="page342"></a>342</span> +uncle of mine, then lately dead, Inspector-General John +Balfour.</p> + +<p>On such a fine frosty night, with no wind and the +thermometer below zero, the brain works with much +vivacity; and the next moment I had seen the circumstance +transplanted from India and the tropics to the Adirondack +wilderness and the stringent cold of the Canadian border. +Here then, almost before I had begun my story, I had two +countries, two of the ends of the earth involved: and thus +though the notion of the resuscitated man failed entirely +on the score of general acceptation, or even (as I have since +found) acceptability, it fitted at once with my design of +a tale of many lands; and this decided me to consider +further of its possibilities. The man who should thus be +buried was the first question: a good man, whose return to +life would be hailed by the reader and the other characters +with gladness? This trenched upon the Christian picture +and was dismissed. If the idea, then, was to be of any use +at all for me, I had to create a kind of evil genius to his +friends and family, take him through many disappearances, +and make this final restoration from the pit of death, in the +icy American wilderness, the last and the grimmest of the +series. I need not tell my brothers of the craft that I was +now in the most interesting moment of an author’s life; +the hours that followed that night upon the balcony, and +the following nights and days, whether walking abroad or +lying wakeful in my bed, were hours of unadulterated joy. +My mother, who was then living with me alone, perhaps +had less enjoyment; for, in the absence of my wife, who +is my usual helper in these times of parturition, I must +spur her up at all seasons to hear me relate and try to +clarify my unformed fancies.</p> + +<p>And while I was groping for the fable and the character +required, behold I found them lying ready and nine years +old in my memory. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge +cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine years old. Was there +ever a more complete justification of the rule of Horace? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page343" id="page343"></a>343</span> +Here, thinking of quite other things, I had stumbled on the +solution or perhaps I should rather say (in stagewright +phrase) the Curtain or final Tableau of a story conceived +long before on the moors between Pitlochry and Strathardle, +conceived in Highland rain, in the blend of the smell of +heather and bog-plants, and with a mind full of the Athole +correspondence and the memories of the dumlicide Justice. +So long ago, so far away it was, that I had first evoked +the faces and the mutual tragic situation of the men of +Durrisdeer.</p> + +<p>My story was now world-wide enough: Scotland, India, +and America being all obligatory scenes. But of these +India was strange to me except in books; I had never +known any living Indian save a Parsee, a member of my club +in London, equally civilised, and (to all seeing) equally +Occidental with myself. <span class="correction" title="amended from 'If'">It</span> was plain, thus far, that I +should have to get into India and out of it again upon a +foot of fairy lightness; and I believe this first suggested to +me the idea of the Chevalier Burke for a narrator. It was +at first intended that he should be Scottish, and I was then +filled with fears that he might prove only the degraded +shadow of my own Alan Breck. Presently, however, it +began to occur to me it would be like my Master to curry +favour with the Prince’s Irishmen; and that an Irish +refugee would have a particular reason to find himself in +India with his countryman, the unfortunate Lally. Irish, +therefore, I decided he should be, and then, all of a sudden, +I was aware of a tall shadow across my path, the shadow +of Barry Lyndon. No man (in Lord Foppington’s phrase) +of a nice morality could go very deep with my Master: in +the original idea of this story conceived in Scotland, this +companion had been besides intended to be worse than the +bad elder son with whom (as it was then meant) he was +to visit Scotland; if I took an Irishman, and a very bad +Irishman, in the midst of the eighteenth century, how was +I to evade Barry Lyndon? The wretch besieged me, +offering his services; he gave me excellent references; he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page344" id="page344"></a>344</span> +proved that he was highly fitted for the work I had to do; +he, or my own evil heart, suggested it was easy to disguise +his ancient livery with a little lace and a few frogs and +buttons, so that Thackeray himself should hardly recognise +him. And then of a sudden there came to me memories +of a young Irishman, with whom I was once intimate, and +had spent long nights walking and talking with, upon a +very desolate coast in a bleak autumn: I recalled him as +a youth of an extraordinary moral simplicity—almost +vacancy; plastic to any influence, the creature of his +admirations: and putting such a youth in fancy into the +career of a soldier of fortune, it occurred to me that he +would serve my turn as well as Mr. Lyndon, and, in place +of entering into competition with the Master, would afford +a slight though a distinct relief. I know not if I have +done him well, though his moral dissertations always +highly entertained me: but I own I have been surprised +to find that he reminded some critics of Barry Lyndon +after all....</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page345" id="page345"></a>345</span></p> +<h3>XIII</h3> + +<h3>RANDOM MEMORIES: <i>ROSA QUO +LOCORUM</i></h3> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Through</span> what little channels, by what hints and premonitions, +the consciousness of the man’s art dawns first upon +the child, it should be not only interesting but instructive +to inquire. A matter of curiosity to-day, it will become +the ground of science to-morrow. From the mind of +childhood there is more history and more philosophy to be +fished up than from all the printed volumes in a library. +The child is conscious of an interest, not in literature but +in life. A taste for the precise, the adroit or the comely +in the use of words, comes late; but long before that he +has enjoyed in books a delightful dress rehearsal of experience. +He is first conscious of this material—I had +almost said this practical—pre-occupation; it does not +follow that it really came the first. I have some old +fogged negatives in my collection that would seem to +imply a prior stage. “The Lord is gone up with a shout, +and God with the sound of a trumpet”—memorial version, +I know not where to find the text—rings still in my ear +from my first childhood, and perhaps with something of my +nurse’s accent. There was possibly some sort of image +written in my mind by these loud words, but I believe the +words themselves were what I cherished. I had about the +same time, and under the same influence—that of my dear +nurse—a favourite author: it is possible the reader has +not heard of him—the Rev. Robert Murray M’Cheyne. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page346" id="page346"></a>346</span> +My nurse and I admired his name exceedingly, so that I +must have been taught the love of beautiful sounds before +I was breeched; and I remember two specimens of his +muse until this day:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Behind the hills of Naphtali</p> + <p class="i2">The sun went slowly down,</p> +<p class="i05">Leaving on mountain, tower, and tree,</p> + <p class="i2">A tinge of golden brown.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">There is imagery here, and I set it on one side. The other—it +is but a verse—not only contains no image, but is +quite unintelligible even to my comparatively instructed +mind, and I know not even how to spell the outlandish +vocable that charmed me in my childhood:</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">“Jehovah Tschidkenu is nothing to her”;<a name="FnAnchor_34" id="FnAnchor_34" href="#Footnote_34"><span class="sp">34</span></a></p> + +<p class="noind">I may say, without flippancy, that he was nothing to me +either, since I had no ray of a guess of what he was about; +yet the verse, from then to now, a longer interval than the +life of a generation, has continued to haunt me.</p> + +<p>I have said that I should set a passage distinguished by +obvious and pleasing imagery, however faint; for the child +thinks much in images, words are very live to him, phrases +that imply a picture eloquent beyond their value. Rummaging +in the dusty pigeon-holes of memory, I came once +upon a graphic version of the famous Psalm, “The Lord +is my Shepherd”: and from the places employed in its +illustration, which are all in the immediate neighbourhood +of a house then occupied by my father, I am able to date +it before the seventh year of my age, although it was +probably earlier in fact. The “pastures green” were +represented by a certain suburban stubble-field, where I +had once walked with my nurse, under an autumnal sunset, +on the banks of the Water of Leith: the place is long ago +built up; no pastures now, no stubble-fields; only a maze +of little streets and smoking chimneys and shrill children. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page347" id="page347"></a>347</span> +Here, in the fleecy person of a sheep, I seemed to myself +to follow something unseen, unrealised, and yet benignant; +and close by the sheep in which I was incarnated—as if +for greater security—rustled the skirts of my nurse. +“Death’s dark vale” was a certain archway in the Warriston +Cemetery: a formidable yet beloved spot, for children +love to be afraid,—in measure as they love all experience +of vitality. Here I beheld myself some paces ahead (seeing +myself, I mean, from behind) utterly alone in that uncanny +passage: on the one side of me a rude, knobby shepherd’s +staff, such as cheers the heart of the cockney tourist, on +the other a rod like a billiard cue, appeared to accompany +my progress: the staff sturdily upright, the billiard cue +inclined confidentially, like one whispering, towards my +ear. I was aware—I will never tell you how—that the +presence of these articles afforded me encouragement. +The third and last of my pictures illustrated the words:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“My table Thou hast furnishèd</p> + <p class="i2">In presence of my foes:</p> +<p class="i05">My head Thou dost with oil anoint,</p> + <p class="i2">And my cup overflows”:</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">and this was perhaps the most interesting of the series. I +saw myself seated in a kind of open stone summer-house +at table; over my shoulder a hairy, bearded, and robed +presence anointed me from an authentic shoe-horn; the +summer-house was part of the green court of a ruin, and +from the far side of the court black and white imps discharged +against me ineffectual arrows. The picture +appears arbitrary, but I can trace every detail to its source, +as Mr. Brock analysed the dream of Alan Armadale. The +summer-house and court were muddled together out of +Billings’ “Antiquities of Scotland”; the imps conveyed +from Bagster’s “Pilgrim’s Progress”; the bearded and +robed figure from any one of a thousand Bible pictures; and +the shoe-horn was plagiarised from an old illustrated Bible, +where it figured in the hand of Samuel anointing Saul, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page348" id="page348"></a>348</span> +had been pointed out to me as a jest by my father. It +was shown me for a jest, remark; but the serious spirit +of infancy adopted it in earnest. Children are all classics; +a bottle would have seemed an intermediary too trivial—that +divine refreshment of whose meaning I had no guess; +and I seized on the idea of that mystic shoe-horn with +delight, even as, a little later, I should have written flagon, +chalice, hanaper, beaker, or any word that might have +appealed to me at the moment as least contaminate with +mean associations. In this string of pictures I believe the +gist of the psalm to have consisted; I believe it had no +more to say to me; and the result was consolatory. I +would go to sleep dwelling with restfulness upon these +images; they passed before me, besides, to an appropriate +music; for I had already singled out from that rude psalm +the one lovely verse which dwells in the minds of all, not +growing old, not disgraced by its association with long +Sunday tasks, a scarce conscious joy in childhood, in age +a companion thought:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“In pastures green Thou leadest me,</p> + <p class="i2">The quiet waters by.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The remainder of my childish recollections are all of +the matter of what was read to me, and not of any manner +in the words. If these pleased me, it was unconsciously; +I listened for news of the great vacant world upon whose +edge I stood; I listened for delightful plots that I might +re-enact in play, and romantic scenes and circumstances +that I might call up before me, with closed eyes, when I +was tired of Scotland, and home and that weary prison of +the sick-chamber in which I lay so long in durance. “Robinson +Crusoe”; some of the books of that cheerful, ingenious, +romantic soul, Mayne Reid; and a work rather +gruesome and bloody for a child, but very picturesque, +called “Paul Blake”; these are the three strongest impressions +I remember: “The Swiss Family Robinson” +came next, <i>longo intervallo</i>. At these I played, conjured up +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page349" id="page349"></a>349</span> +their scenes, and delighted to hear them rehearsed unto +seventy times seven. I am not sure but what “Paul +Blake” came after I could read. It seems connected with +a visit to the country, and an experience unforgettable. +The day had been warm; H—— and I had played together +charmingly all day in a sandy wilderness across the road; +then came the evening with a great flash of colour and a +heavenly sweetness in the air. Somehow my playmate +had vanished, or is out of the story, as the sagas say, but +I was sent into the village on an errand; and, taking a +book of fairy tales, went down alone through a fir-wood, +reading as I walked. How often since then has it befallen +me to be happy even so; but that was the first time: +the shock of that pleasure I have never since forgot, and +if my mind serves me to the last, I never shall, for it was +then that I knew I loved reading.</p> + + +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>II</h5> + +<p>To pass from hearing literature to reading it is to take +a great and dangerous step. With not a few, I think a +large proportion of their pleasure then comes to an end; +“the malady of not marking” overtakes them; they read +thenceforward by the eye alone and hear never again the +chime of fair words or the march of the stately period. +<i>Non ragioniam</i> of these. But to all the step is dangerous; +it involves coming of age; it is even a kind of second +weaning. In the past all was at the choice of others; +they chose, they digested, they read aloud for us and sang +to their own tune the books of childhood. In the future +we are to approach the silent, inexpressive type alone, +like pioneers; and the choice of what we are to read is +in our own hands thenceforward. For instance, in the +passages already adduced, I detect and applaud the ear of +my old nurse; they were of her choice, and she imposed +them on my infancy, reading the works of others as a poet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page350" id="page350"></a>350</span> +would scarce dare to read his own; gloating on the rhythm, +dwelling with delight on assonances and alliterations. I +know very well my mother must have been all the while +trying to educate my taste upon more secular authors; +but the vigour and the continual opportunities of my nurse +triumphed, and after a long search, I can find in these +earliest volumes of my autobiography no mention of +anything but nursery rhymes, the Bible, and Mr. +M’Cheyne.</p> + +<p>I suppose all children agree in looking back with delight +on their school Readers. We might not now find so much +pathos in “Bingen on the Rhine,” “A soldier of the Legion +lay dying in Algiers,” or in “The Soldier’s Funeral,” in the +declamation of which I was held to have surpassed myself. +“Robert’s voice,” said the master on this memorable +occasion, “is not strong, but impressive”: an opinion +which I was fool enough to carry home to my father; who +roasted me for years in consequence. I am sure one should +not be so deliciously tickled by the humorous pieces:—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“What, crusty? cries Will in a taking,</p> +<p class="i05">Who would not be crusty with half a year’s baking?”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">I think this quip would leave us cold. The “Isles of +Greece” seem rather tawdry too; but on the “Address +to the Ocean,” or on “The Dying Gladiator,” “time has +writ no wrinkle.”</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“’Tis the morn, but dim and dark,</p> +<p class="i05">Whither flies the silent lark?”—</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">does the reader recall the moment when his eye first fell +upon these lines in the Fourth Reader; and “surprised +with joy, impatient as the wind,” he plunged into the +sequel? And there was another piece, this time in prose, +which none can have forgotten; many like me must have +searched Dickens with zeal to find it again, and in its proper +context, and have perhaps been conscious of some inconsiderable +measure of disappointment, that it was only +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page351" id="page351"></a>351</span> +Tom Pinch who drove, in such a pomp of poetry, to +London.</p> + +<p>But in the Reader we are still under guides. What a +boy turns out for himself, as he rummages the bookshelves, +is the real test and pleasure. My father’s library was a +spot of some austerity: the proceedings of learned societies, +some Latin divinity, cyclopædias, physical science, and, +above all, optics, held the chief place upon the shelves, and +it was only in holes and corners that anything really legible +existed as by accident. The “Parent’s Assistant,” “Rob +Roy,” “Waverley,” and “Guy Mannering,” the “Voyages +of Captain Woods Rogers,” Fuller’s and Bunyan’s “Holy +Wars,” “The Reflections of Robinson Crusoe,” “The +Female Bluebeard,” G. Sand’s “Mare au Diable”—(how +came it in that grave assembly!), Ainsworth’s “Tower of +London,” and four old volumes of <i>Punch</i>—these were the +chief exceptions. In these latter, which made for years +the chief of my diet, I very early fell in love (almost +as soon as I could spell) with the Snob Papers. I knew +them almost by heart, particularly the visit to the Pontos; +and I remember my surprise when I found, long afterwards, +that they were famous, and signed with a famous name; +to me, as I read and admired them, they were the works +of Mr. Punch. Time and again I tried to read “Rob Roy,” +with whom of course I was acquainted from the “Tales of +a Grandfather”; time and again the early part, with +Rashleigh and (think of it!) the adorable Diana, choked +me off; and I shall never forget the pleasure and surprise +with which, lying on the floor one summer evening, I struck +of a sudden into the first scene with Andrew Fairservice. +“The worthy Dr. Lightfoot”—“mistrysted with a bogle”—“a +wheen green trash”—“Jenny, lass, I think I ha’e +her”: from that day to this the phrases have been unforgotten. +I read on, I need scarce say; I came to Glasgow, +I bided tryst on Glasgow Bridge, I met Rob Roy and the +Bailie in the Tolbooth, all with transporting pleasure; and +then the clouds gathered once more about my path; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page352" id="page352"></a>352</span> +I dozed and skipped until I stumbled half asleep into the +clachan of Aberfoyle, and the voices of Iverach and Galbraith +recalled me to myself. With that scene and the +defeat of Captain Thornton the book concluded; Helen +and her sons shocked even the little schoolboy of nine or +ten with their unreality; I read no more, or I did not +grasp what I was reading; and years elapsed before I +consciously met Diana and her father among the hills, or +saw Rashleigh dying in the chair. When I think of that +novel and that evening, I am impatient with all others; +they seem but shadows and impostors; they cannot satisfy +the appetite which this awakened; and I dare be known +to think it the best of Sir Walter’s by nearly as much +as Sir Walter is the best of novelists. Perhaps Mr. Lang +is right, and our first friends in the land of fiction are +always the most real. And yet I had read before this +“Guy Mannering,” and some of “Waverley,” with no +such delighted sense of truth and humour, and I read +immediately after the greater part of the Waverley Novels, +and was never moved again in the same way or to the +same degree. One circumstance is suspicious: my critical +estimate of the Waverley Novels has scarce changed at all +since I was ten. “Rob Roy,” “Guy Mannering,” and +“Redgauntlet” first; then, a little lower, “The Fortunes +of Nigel”; then, after a huge gulf, “Ivanhoe” and +“Anne of Geierstein”: the rest nowhere; such was the +verdict of the boy. Since then “The Antiquary,” “St. +Ronan’s Well,” “Kenilworth,” and “The Heart of Midlothian” +have gone up in the scale; perhaps “Ivanhoe” +and “Anne of Geierstein” have gone a trifle down; Diana +Vernon has been added to my admirations in that enchanted +world of “Rob Roy”; I think more of the letters in “Redgauntlet” +and Peter Peebles, that dreadful piece of realism, +I can now read about with equanimity, interest, and I had +almost said pleasure, while to the childish critic he often +caused unmixed distress. But the rest is the same; I +could not finish “The Pirate” when I was a child, I have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page353" id="page353"></a>353</span> +never finished it yet; “Peveril of the Peak” dropped half +way through from my schoolboy hands, and though I have +since waded to an end in a kind of wager with myself, the +exercise was quite without enjoyment. There is something +disquieting in these considerations. I still think the visit +to Ponto’s the best part of the “Book of Snobs”: does +that mean that I was right when I was a child, or does it +mean that I have never grown since then, that the child +is not the man’s father, but the man? and that I came +into the world with all my faculties complete, and have +only learned sinsyne to be more tolerant of boredom?...</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34" href="#FnAnchor_34"><span class="fn">34</span></a> “Jehovah Tsidkenu,” translated in the Authorised Version as +“The Lord our Righteousness” (Jeremiah xxiii. 6 and xxxiii. 16).</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page354" id="page354"></a>354</span></p> +<h3>XIV</h3> + +<h3>REFLECTIONS AND REMARKS ON +HUMAN LIFE</h3> + + +<p>I. <span class="sc">Justice and Justification</span>.—(1) It is the business +of this life to make excuses for others, but none for ourselves. +We should be clearly persuaded of our own misconduct, +for that is the part of knowledge in which we are +most apt to be defective. (2) Even justice is no right of a +man’s own, but a thing, like the king’s tribute, which shall +never be his, but which he should strive to see rendered to +another. None was ever just to me; none ever will be. +You may reasonably aspire to be chief minister or sovereign +pontiff: but not to be justly regarded in your own character +and acts. You know too much to be satisfied. For justice +is but an earthly currency, paid to appearances; you may +see another superficially righted; but be sure he has got +too little or too much; and in your own case rest content +with what is paid you. It is more just than you suppose; +that your virtues are misunderstood is a price you pay to +keep your meannesses concealed. (3) When you seek to +justify yourself to others, you may be sure you will plead +falsely. If you fail, you have the shame of the failure; +if you succeed, you will have made too much of it, and be +unjustly esteemed upon the other side. (4) You have +perhaps only one friend in the world, in whose esteem it +is worth while for you to right yourself. Justification to +indifferent persons is, at best, an impertinent intrusion. +Let them think what they please; they will be the more +likely to forgive you in the end. (5) It is a question hard +to be resolved, whether you should at any time criminate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page355" id="page355"></a>355</span> +another to defend yourself. I have done it many times, +and always had a troubled conscience for my pains.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>II. <span class="sc">Parent and Child</span>.—(1) The love of parents for +their children is, of all natural affections, the most ill-starred. +It is not a love for the person, since it begins before the +person has come into the world, and founds on an imaginary +character and looks. Thus it is foredoomed to disappointment; +and because the parent either looks for too much, +or at least for something inappropriate, at his offspring’s +hands, it is too often insufficiently repaid. The natural +bond, besides, is stronger from parent to child than from +child to parent; and it is the side which confers benefits, +not which receives them, that thinks most of a relation. +(2) What do we owe our parents? No man can <i>owe</i> love; +none can <i>owe</i> obedience. We owe, I think, chiefly pity; +for we are the pledge of their dear and joyful union, we +have been the solicitude of their days and the anxiety of +their nights, we have made them, though by no will of +ours, to carry the burthen of our sins, sorrows, and physical +infirmities; and too many of us grow up at length to disappoint +the purpose of their lives and requite their care +and piety with cruel pangs. (3) <i>Mater Dolorosa</i>. It is +the particular cross of parents that when the child grows +up and becomes himself instead of that pale ideal they had +preconceived, they must accuse their own harshness or +indulgence for this natural result. They have all been like +the duck and hatched swan’s eggs, or the other way about; +yet they tell themselves with miserable penitence that the +blame lies with them; and had they sat more closely, the +swan would have been a duck, and home-keeping, in spite +of all. (4) A good son, who can fulfil what is expected of +him, has done his work in life. He has to redeem the sins +of many, and restore the world’s confidence in children.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>III. <span class="sc">Dialogue on Character and Destiny between +Two Puppets</span>.—At the end of Chapter <span class="sc">xxxiii</span>. Count +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page356" id="page356"></a>356</span> +Spada and the General of the Jesuits were left alone in +the pavilion, while the course of the story was turned upon +the doings of the virtuous hero. Profiting by this moment +of privacy, the Jesuit turned with a very warning countenance +upon the peer.</p> + +<p>“Have a care, my lord,” said he, raising a finger. +“You are already no favourite with the author; and for +my part, I begin to perceive from a thousand evidences +that the narrative is drawing near a close. Yet a chapter +or two at most, and you will be overtaken by some sudden +and appalling judgment.”</p> + +<p>“I despise your womanish presentiments,” replied +Spada, “and count firmly upon another volume; I see a +variety of reasons why my life should be prolonged to +within a few pages of the end; indeed, I permit myself to +expect resurrection in a sequel, or second part. You will +scarce suggest that there can be any end to the newspaper; +and you will certainly never convince me that the author, +who cannot be entirely without sense, would have been at +so great pains with my intelligence, gallant exterior, and +happy and natural speech, merely to kick me hither and +thither for two or three paltry chapters and then drop +me at the end like a dumb personage. I know you priests +are often infidels in secret. Pray, do you believe in an +author at all?”</p> + +<p>“Many do not, I am aware,” replied the General +softly; “even in the last chapter we encountered one, the +self-righteous David Hume, who goes so far as to doubt +the existence of the newspaper in which our adventures +are now appearing; but it would neither become my cloth, +nor do credit to my great experience, were I to meddle +with these dangerous opinions. My alarm for you is not +metaphysical, it is moral in its origin: You must be aware, +my poor friend, that you are a very bad character—the +worst indeed that I have met with in these pages. The +author hates you, Count; and difficult as it may be to connect +the idea of immortality—or, in plain terms, of a sequel—with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page357" id="page357"></a>357</span> +the paper and printer’s ink of which your humanity +is made, it is yet more difficult to foresee anything but +punishment and pain for one who is justly hateful in the +eyes of his creator.”</p> + +<p>“You take for granted many things that I shall not +easily be persuaded to allow,” replied the villain. “Do +you really so far deceive yourself in your imagination as +to fancy that the author is a friend to good? Read; read +the book in which you figure; and you will soon disown +such crude vulgarities. Lelio is a good character; yet +only two chapters ago we left him in a fine predicament. +His old servant was a model of the virtues, yet did he not +miserably perish in that ambuscade upon the road to +Poitiers? And as for the family of the bankrupt merchant, +how is it possible for greater moral qualities to be alive +with more irremediable misfortunes? And yet you continue +to misrepresent an author to yourself, as a deity devoted to +virtue and inimical to vice? Pray, if you have no pride +in your own intellectual credit for yourself, spare at least +the sensibilities of your associates.”</p> + +<p>“The purposes of the serial story,” answered the Priest, +“are, doubtless for some wise reason, hidden from those +who act in it. To this limitation we must bow. But I +ask every character to observe narrowly his own personal +relations to the author. There, if nowhere else, we may +glean some hint of his superior designs. Now I am myself +a mingled personage, liable to doubts, to scruples, and to +sudden revulsions of feeling; I reason continually about +life, and frequently the result of my reasoning is to condemn +or even to change my action. I am now convinced, for +example, that I did wrong in joining in your plot against +the innocent and most unfortunate Lelio. I told you so, +you will remember, in the chapter which has just been concluded +and though I do not know whether you perceived +the ardour and fluency with which I expressed myself, I +am still confident in my own heart that I spoke at that +moment not only with the warm approval, but under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page358" id="page358"></a>358</span> +direct inspiration, of the author of the tale. I know, Spada, +I tell you I <i>know</i>, that he loved me as I uttered these words; +and yet at other periods of my career I have been conscious +of his indifference and dislike. You must not seek to reason +me from this conviction; for it is supplied me from higher +authority than that of reason, and is indeed a part of my +experience. It may be an illusion that I drove last night +from Saumur; it may be an illusion that we are now in +the garden chamber of the château; it may be an illusion +that I am conversing with Count Spada; you may be an +illusion, Count, yourself; but of three things I will remain +eternally persuaded, that the author exists not only in the +newspaper but in my own heart, that he loves me when I +do well, and that he hates and despises me when I do +otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“I too believe in the author,” returned the Count. +“I believe likewise in a sequel, written in finer style and +probably cast in a still higher rank of society than the +present story; although I am not convinced that we shall +then be conscious of our pre-existence here. So much of +your argument is, therefore, beside the mark; for to a +certain point I am as orthodox as yourself. But where +you begin to draw general conclusions from your own +private experience, I must beg pointedly and finally to +differ. You will not have forgotten, I believe, my daring +and single-handed butchery of the five secret witnesses? +Nor the sleight of mind and dexterity of language with which +I separated Lelio from the merchant’s family? These were +not virtuous actions; and yet, how am I to tell you? I +was conscious of a troubled joy, a glee, a hellish gusto in +my author’s bosom, which seemed to renew my vigour +with every sentence, and which has indeed made the first +of these passages accepted for a model of spirited narrative +description, and the second for a masterpiece of wickedness +and wit. What result, then, can be drawn from two experiences +so contrary as yours and mine? For my part, +I lay it down as a principle, no author can be moral in a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page359" id="page359"></a>359</span> +merely human sense. And, to pursue the argument higher, +how can you, for one instant, suppose the existence of +free-will in puppets situated as we are in the thick of a +novel which we do not even understand? And how, +without free-will upon our parts, can you justify blame +or approval on that of the author? We are in his hands; +by a stroke of the pen, to speak reverently, he made us +what we are; by a stroke of the pen he can utterly undo +and transmute what he has made. In the very next +chapter, my dear General, you may be shown up +for an impostor, or I be stricken down in the tears +of penitence and hurried into the retirement of a +monastery!”</p> + +<p>“You use an argument old as mankind, and difficult of +answer,” said the Priest. “I cannot justify the free-will +of which I am usually conscious; nor will I ever seek to +deny that this consciousness is interrupted. Sometimes +events mount upon me with such swiftness and pressure +that my choice is overwhelmed, and even to myself I seem +to obey a will external to my own; and again I am sometimes +so paralysed and impotent between alternatives that +I am tempted to imagine a hesitation on the part of my +author. But I contend, upon the other hand, for a limited +free-will in the sphere of consciousness; and as it is in +and by my consciousness that I exist to myself, I will not +go on to inquire whether that free-will is valid as against +the author, the newspaper, or even the readers of the +story. And I contend, further, for a sort of empire or +independence of our own characters when once created, +which the author cannot or at least does not choose to +violate. Hence Lelio was conceived upright, honest, +courageous, and headlong; to that first idea all his acts +and speeches must of necessity continue to answer; and +the same, though with such different defects and qualities, +applies to you, Count Spada, and to myself. We must act +up to our characters; it is these characters that the author +loves or despises; it is on account of them that we must +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page360" id="page360"></a>360</span> +suffer or triumph, whether in this work or in a sequel. +Such is my belief.”</p> + +<p>“It is pure Calvinistic election, my dear sir, and, by +your leave, a very heretical position for a churchman +to support,” replied the Count. “Nor can I see how +it removes the difficulty. I was not consulted as to my +character; I might have chosen to be Lelio; I might have +chosen to be yourself; I might even have preferred to +figure in a different romance, or not to enter into the world +of literature at all. And am I to be blamed or hated, +because some one else wilfully and inhumanely made me +what I am, and has continued ever since to encourage me +in what are called my vices? You may say what you +please, my dear sir, but if that is the case, I had rather be +a telegram from the seat of war than a reasonable and +conscious character in a romance; nay, and I have a +perfect right to repudiate, loathe, curse, and utterly condemn +the ruffian who calls himself the author.”</p> + +<p>“You have, as you say, a perfect right,” replied the +Jesuit; “and I am convinced that it will not affect him +in the least.”</p> + +<p>“He shall have one slave the fewer for me,” added the +Count. “I discard my allegiance once for all.”</p> + +<p>“As you please,” concluded the other; “but at least +be ready, for I perceive we are about to enter on the scene.”</p> + +<p>And, indeed, just at that moment, Chapter <span class="sc">xxxiv</span>. +being completed, Chapter <span class="sc">xxxv</span>., “The Count’s Chastisement,” +began to appear in the columns of the newspaper.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>IV. <span class="sc">Solitude and Society</span>.—(1) A little society is +needful to show a man his failings; for if he lives entirely +by himself, he has no occasion to fall, and like a soldier +in time of peace, becomes both weak and vain. But a +little solitude must be used, or we grow content with +current virtues and forget the ideal. In society we lose +scrupulous brightness of honour; in solitude we lose the +courage necessary to face our own imperfections. (2) As +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page361" id="page361"></a>361</span> +a question of pleasure, after a man has reached a certain +age, I can hardly perceive much room to choose between +them: each is in a way delightful, and each will please best +after an experience of the other. (3) But solitude for its +own sake should surely never be preferred. We are bound +by the strongest obligations to busy ourselves amid the +world of men, if it be only to crack jokes. The finest trait +in the character of St. Paul was his readiness to be damned +for the salvation of anybody else. And surely we should +all endure a little weariness to make one face look brighter +or one hour go more pleasantly in this mixed world. (4) +It is our business here to speak, for it is by the tongue that +we multiply ourselves most influentially. To speak kindly, +wisely, and pleasantly is the first of duties, the easiest of +duties, and the duty that is most blessed in its performance. +For it is natural, it whiles away life, it spreads intelligence; +and it increases the acquaintance of man with man. (5) +It is, besides, a good investment, for while all other pleasures +decay, and even the delight in nature, Grandfather William +is still bent to gossip. (6) Solitude is the climax of the +negative virtues. When we go to bed after a solitary day +we can tell ourselves that we have not been unkind nor +dishonest nor untruthful; and the negative virtues are +agreeable to that dangerous faculty we call the conscience. +That they should ever be admitted for a part of virtue is +what I cannot explain. I do not care two straws for all the +<i>nots</i>. (7) The positive virtues are imperfect; they are even +ugly in their imperfection: for man’s acts, by the necessity +of his being, are coarse and mingled. The kindest, in the +course of a day of active kindnesses, will say some things +rudely, and do some things cruelly; the most honourable, +perhaps, trembles at his nearness to a doubtful act. (8) +Hence the solitary recoils from the practice of life, shocked +by its unsightlinesses. But if I could only retain that +superfine and guiding delicacy of the sense that grows +in solitude, and still combine with it that courage of performance +which is never abashed by any failure, but steadily +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page362" id="page362"></a>362</span> +pursues its right and human design in a scene of imperfection, +I might hope to strike in the long-run a conduct more tender +to others and less humiliating to myself.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>V. <span class="sc">Selfishness and Egoism</span>.—An unconscious, easy, +selfish person shocks less, and is more easily loved, than +one who is laboriously and egotistically unselfish. There +is at least no fuss about the first; but the other parades +his sacrifices, and so sells his favours too dear. Selfishness +is calm, a force of nature: you might say the trees were +selfish. But egoism is a piece of vanity; it must always +take you into its confidence; it is uneasy, troublesome, +seeking; it can do good, but not handsomely; it is uglier, +because less dignified, than selfishness itself. But here I +perhaps exaggerate to myself, because I am the one more +than the other, and feel it like a hook in my mouth, at +every step I take. Do what I will, this seems to spoil all.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>VI. <span class="sc">Right and Wrong</span>.—It is the mark of a good action +that it appears inevitable in the retrospect. We should +have been cut-throats to do otherwise. And there’s an +end. We ought to know distinctly that we are damned for +what we do wrong; but when we have done right, we have +only been gentlemen, after all. There is nothing to make +a work about.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>VII. <span class="sc">Discipline of Conscience</span>.—(1) Never allow your +mind to dwell on your own misconduct: that is ruin. The +conscience has morbid sensibilities; it must be employed +but not indulged, like the imagination or the stomach. +(2) Let each stab suffice for the occasion; to play with this +spiritual pain turns to penance; and a person easily learns +to feel good by dallying with the consciousness of having +done wrong. (3) Shut your eyes hard against the recollection +of your sins. Do not be afraid, you will not be able +to forget them. (4) You will always do wrong: you must +try to get used to that, my son. It is a small matter to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page363" id="page363"></a>363</span> +make a work about, when all the world is in the same case. +I meant when I was a young man to write a great poem; +and now I am cobbling little prose articles and in excellent +good spirits, I thank you. So, too, I meant to lead a life +that should keep mounting from the first; and though I +have been repeatedly down again below sea-level, and am +scarce higher than when I started, I am as keen as ever +for that enterprise. Our business in this world is not to +succeed, but to continue to fail, in good spirits. (5) There +is but one test of a good life: that the man shall continue +to grow more difficult about his own behaviour. That is +to be good: there is no other virtue attainable. The virtues +we admire in the saint and the hero are the fruits of a happy +constitution. You, for your part, must not think you will +ever be a good man, for these are born and not made. You +will have your own reward, if you keep on growing better +than you were—how do I say? if you do not keep on +growing worse. (6) A man is one thing, and must be +exercised in all his faculties. Whatever side of you is +neglected, whether it is the muscles, or the taste for art, +or the desire for virtue, that which is cultivated will suffer +in proportion. —— was greatly tempted, I remember, +to do a very dishonest act, in order that he might pursue +his studies in art. When he consulted me, I advised him +not (putting it that way for once), because his art would +suffer. (7) It might be fancied that if we could only study +all sides of our being in an exact proportion, we should attain +wisdom. But in truth a chief part of education is to exercise +one set of faculties <i>à outrance</i>—one, since we have not +the time so to practise all; thus the dilettante misses the +kernel of the matter; and the man who has wrung forth +the secret of one part of life knows more about the others +than he who has tepidly circumnavigated all. (8) Thus, one +must be your profession, the rest can only be your delights; +and virtue had better be kept for the latter, for it enters +into all, but none enters by necessity into it. You will +learn a great deal of virtue by studying any art; but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page364" id="page364"></a>364</span> +nothing of any art in the study of virtue. (9) The study +of conduct has to do with grave problems; not every action +should be higgled over; one of the leading virtues therein +is to let oneself alone. But if you make it your chief employment, +you are sure to meddle too much. This is the +great error of those who are called pious. Although the +war of virtue be unending except with life, hostilities are +frequently suspended, and the troops go into winter +quarters; but the pious will not profit by these times of +truce; where their conscience can perceive no sin, they +will find a sin in that very innocency; and so they pervert, +to their annoyance, those seasons which God gives to us +for repose and a reward. (10) The nearest approximation to +sense in all this matter lies with the Quakers. There must +be no <i>will</i>-worship; how much more, no <i>will</i>-repentance! +The damnable consequence of set seasons, even for prayer, +is to have a man continually posturing to himself, till his +conscience is taught as many tricks as a pet monkey, and +the gravest expressions are left with a perverted meaning. +(11) For my part, I should try to secure some part of every +day for meditation, above all in the early morning and the +open air; but how that time was to be improved I should +leave to circumstance and the inspiration of the hour. +Nor if I spent it in whistling or numbering my footsteps, +should I consider it misspent for that. I should have given +my conscience a fair field; when it has anything to say, +I know too well it can speak daggers; therefore, for this +time, my hard taskmaster has given me a holyday, and I +may go in again rejoicing to my breakfast and the human +business of the day.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>VIII. <span class="sc">Gratitude to God</span>.—(1) To the gratitude that +becomes us in this life, I can set no limit. Though we steer +after a fashion, yet we must sail according to the winds +and currents. After what I have done, what might I not +have done? That I have still the courage to attempt my +life, that I am not now overladen with dishonours, to whom +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page365" id="page365"></a>365</span> +do I owe it but to the gentle ordering of circumstances in +the great design? More has not been done to me than I +can bear; I have been marvellously restrained and helped; +not unto us, O Lord! (2) I cannot forgive God for the +suffering of others; when I look abroad upon His world +and behold its cruel destinies, I turn from Him with +disaffection; nor do I conceive that He will blame me for +the impulse. But when I consider my own fates, I grow +conscious of His gentle dealing: I see Him chastise with +helpful blows, I feel His stripes to be caresses; and this +knowledge is my comfort that reconciles me to the world. +(3) All those whom I now pity with indignation, are perhaps +not less fatherly dealt with than myself. I do right to be +angry: yet they, perhaps, if they lay aside heat and temper, +and reflect with patience on their lot, may find everywhere, +in their worst trials, the same proofs of a divine affection. +(4) While we have little to try us, we are angry with little; +small annoyances do not bear their justification on their +faces; but when we are overtaken by a great sorrow or +perplexity, the greatness of our concern sobers us so that +we see more clearly and think with more consideration. +I speak for myself; nothing grave has yet befallen me +but I have been able to reconcile my mind to its occurrence, +and see in it, from my own little and partial point of view, +an evidence of a tender and protecting God. Even the +misconduct into which I have been led has been blessed +to my improvement. If I did not sin, and that so glaringly +that my conscience is convicted on the spot, I do not know +what I should become, but I feel sure I should grow worse. +The man of very regular conduct is too often a prig, if he +be not worse—a rabbi. I, for my part, want to be startled +out of my conceits; I want to be put to shame in my own +eyes; I want to feel the bridle in my mouth, and be continually +reminded of my own weakness and the omnipotence +of circumstances. (5) If I from my spy-hole, looking with +purblind eyes upon the least part of a fraction of the +universe, yet perceive in my own destiny some broken +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page366" id="page366"></a>366</span> +evidences of a plan and some signals of an overruling +goodness; shall I then be so mad as to complain that all +cannot be deciphered? Shall I not rather wonder, with +infinite and grateful surprise, that in so vast a scheme I +seem to have been able to read, however little, and that +that little was encouraging to faith?</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>IX. <span class="sc">Blame</span>.—What comes from without and what +from within, how much of conduct proceeds from the spirit +or how much from circumstances, what is the part of choice +and what the part of the selection offered, where personal +character begins or where, if anywhere, it escapes at all +from the authority of nature, these are questions of curiosity +and eternally indifferent to right and wrong. Our theory +of blame is utterly sophisticated and untrue to man’s +experience. We are as much ashamed of a pimpled face +that came to us by natural descent as by one that we have +earned by our excesses, and rightly so; since the two +cases, in so much as they unfit us for the easier sort of +pleasing and put an obstacle in the path of love, are exactly +equal in their consequence. We look aside from the true +question. We cannot blame others at all; we can only +punish them; and ourselves we blame indifferently for a +deliberate crime, a thoughtless brusquerie, or an act done +without volition in an ecstasy of madness. We blame ourselves +from two considerations: first, because another has +suffered; and second, because, in so far as we have again +done wrong, we can look forward with the less confidence +to what remains of our career. Shall we repent this failure? +It is there that the consciousness of sin most cruelly affects +us; it is in view of this that a man cries out, in exaggeration, +that his heart is desperately wicked and deceitful +above all things. We all tacitly subscribe this judgment: +Woe unto him by whom offences shall come! +We accept palliations for our neighbours; we dare not, +in sight of our own soul, accept them for ourselves. +We may not be to blame; we may be conscious of no free +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page367" id="page367"></a>367</span> +will in the matter, of a possession, on the other hand, or +an irresistible tyranny of circumstance,—yet we know, +in another sense, we are to blame for all. Our right to +live, to eat, to share in mankind’s pleasures, lies precisely +in this: that we must be persuaded we can on the whole +live rather beneficially than hurtfully to others. Remove +this persuasion, and the man has lost his right. That +persuasion is our dearest jewel, to which we must sacrifice +the life itself to which it entitles us. For it is better to +be dead than degraded.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>X. <span class="sc">Marriage</span>.—(1) No considerate man can approach +marriage without deep concern. I, he will think, who +have made hitherto so poor a business of my own life, am +now about to embrace the responsibility of another’s. +Henceforth, there shall be two to suffer from my faults; +and that other is the one whom I most desire to shield +from suffering. In view of our impotence and folly, it +seems an act of presumption to involve another’s destiny +with ours. We should hesitate to assume command of an +army or a trading-smack; shall we not hesitate to become +surety for the life and happiness, now and henceforward, +of our dearest friend? To be nobody’s enemy but one’s +own, although it is never possible to any, can least of all +be possible to one who is married. (2) I would not so much +fear to give hostages to fortune, if fortune ruled only in +material things; but fortune, as we call those minor and +more inscrutable workings of providence, rules also in the +sphere of conduct. I am not so blind but that I know +I might be a murderer or even a traitor to-morrow; and +now, as if I were not already too feelingly alive to my +misdeeds, I must choose out the one person whom I most +desire to please, and make her the daily witness of my +failures, I must give a part in all my dishonours to the +one person who can feel them more keenly than myself. +(3) In all our daring, magnanimous human way of life, I +find nothing more bold than this. To go into battle is but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page368" id="page368"></a>368</span> +a small thing by comparison. It is the last act of committal. +After that, there is no way left, not even suicide, but to be +a good man. (4) She will help you, let us pray. And yet +she is in the same case; she, too, has daily made shipwreck +of her own happiness and worth; it is with a courage no +less irrational than yours, that she also ventures on this +new experiment of life. Two who have failed severally, +now join their fortunes with a wavering hope. (5) But it is +from the boldness of the enterprise that help springs. To +take home to your hearth that living witness whose blame +will most affect you, to eat, to sleep, to live with your most +admiring and thence most exacting judge, is not this to +domesticate the living God? Each becomes a conscience +to the other, legible like a clock upon the chimney-piece. +Each offers to his mate a figure of the consequence of +human acts. And while I may still continue by my inconsiderate +or violent life to spread far-reaching havoc throughout +man’s confederacy, I can do so no more, at least, in +ignorance and levity; one face shall wince before me in the +flesh; I have taken home the sorrows I create to my own +hearth and bed; and though I continue to sin, it must be +now with open eyes.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>XI. <span class="sc">Idleness and Industry</span>.—I remember a time when +I was very idle; and lived and profited by that humour. I +have no idea why I ceased to be so, yet I scarce believe +I have the power to return to it; it is a change of age. I +made consciously a thousand little efforts, but the determination +from which these arose came to me while I slept +and in the way of growth. I have had a thousand skirmishes +to keep myself at work upon particular mornings, and sometimes +the affair was hot; but of that great change of campaign, +which decided all this part of my life, and turned +me from one whose business was to shirk into one whose +business was to strive and persevere,—it seems as though +all that had been done by some one else. The life of +Goethe affected me; so did that of Balzac; and some very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page369" id="page369"></a>369</span> +noble remarks by the latter in a pretty bad book, the +“Cousine Bette.” I daresay I could trace some other +influences in the change. All I mean is, I was never conscious +of a struggle, nor registered a vow, nor seemingly +had anything personally to do with the matter. I came +about like a well-handled ship. There stood at the wheel +that unknown steersman whom we call God.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>XII. <span class="sc">Courage</span>.—Courage is the principal virtue, for all +the others presuppose it. If you are afraid, you may do +anything. Courage is to be cultivated, and some of the +negative virtues may be sacrificed in the cultivation.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p>XIII. <span class="sc">Results of Action</span>.—The result is the reward +of actions, not the test. The result is a child born; if it +be beautiful and healthy, well: if club-footed or crook-back, +perhaps well also. We cannot direct ...</p> + +<p class="rt">[1878?]</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page370" id="page370"></a>370</span></p> +<h3>XV</h3> + +<h3>THE IDEAL HOUSE</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Two</span> things are necessary in any neighbourhood where we +propose to spend a life: a desert and some living water.</p> + +<p>There are many parts of the earth’s face which offer +the necessary combination of a certain wildness with a +kindly variety. A great prospect is desirable, but the +want may be otherwise supplied; even greatness can be +found on the small scale; for the mind and the eye measure +differently. Bold rocks near hand are more inspiriting +than distant Alps, and the thick fern upon a Surrey heath +makes a fine forest for the imagination, and the dotted +yew trees noble mountains. A Scottish moor with birches +and firs grouped here and there upon a knoll, or one of those +rocky sea-side deserts of Provence overgrown with rosemary +and thyme and smoking with aroma, are places where the +mind is never weary. Forests, being more enclosed, are +not at first sight so attractive, but they exercise a spell; +they must, however, be diversified with either heath or +rock, and are hardly to be considered perfect without +conifers. Even sand-hills, with their intricate plan, and +their gulls and rabbits, will stand well for the necessary +desert.</p> + +<p>The house must be within hail of either a little river or +the sea. A great river is more fit for poetry than to adorn +a neighbourhood; its sweep of waters increases the scale +of the scenery and the distance of one notable object from +another; and a lively burn gives us, in the space of a few +yards, a greater variety of promontory and islet, of cascade, +shallow goil, and boiling pool, with answerable changes both +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page371" id="page371"></a>371</span> +of song and colour, than a navigable stream in many +hundred miles. The fish, too, make a more considerable +feature of the brook-side, and the trout plumping in the +shadow takes the ear. A stream should, besides, be narrow +enough to cross, or the burn hard by a bridge, or we are +at once shut out of Eden. The quantity of water need be +of no concern, for the mind sets the scale, and can enjoy +a Niagara Fall of thirty inches. Let us approve the +singer of</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Shallow rivers, by whose falls</p> +<p class="i05">Melodious birds sing madrigals.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">If the sea is to be our ornamental water, choose an open +seaboard with a heavy beat of surf; one much broken in +outline, with small havens and dwarf headlands; if possible +a few islets; and as a first necessity, rocks reaching out +into deep water. Such a rock on a calm day is a better +station than the top of Teneriffe or Chimborazo. In short, +both for the desert and the water, the conjunction of many +near and bold details is bold scenery for the imagination +and keeps the mind alive.</p> + +<p>Given these two prime luxuries, the nature of the +country where we are to live is, I had almost said, indifferent; +after that, inside the garden, we can construct a country +of our own. Several old trees, a considerable variety of +level, several well-grown hedges to divide our garden into +provinces, a good extent of old well-set turf, and thickets +of shrubs and evergreens to be cut into and cleared at the +new owner’s pleasure, are the qualities to be sought for in +your chosen land. Nothing is more delightful than a succession +of small lawns, opening one out of the other through +tall hedges; these have all the charm of the old bowling-green +repeated, do not require the labour of many trimmers, +and afford a series of changes. You must have much +lawn against the early summer, so as to have a great field +of daisies, the year’s morning frost; as you must have a +wood of lilacs, to enjoy to the full the period of their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page372" id="page372"></a>372</span> +blossoming. Hawthorn is another of the spring’s ingredients; +but it is even best to have a rough public lane at one +side of your enclosure which, at the right season, shall +become an avenue of bloom and odour. The old flowers +are the best and should grow carelessly in corners. Indeed, +the ideal fortune is to find an old garden, once very richly +cared for, since sunk into neglect, and to tend, not repair, +that neglect; it will thus have a smack of nature and +wildness which skilful dispositions cannot overtake. The +gardener should be an idler, and have a gross partiality +to the kitchen plots: an eager or toilful gardener mis-becomes +the garden landscape; a tasteful gardener will +be ever meddling, will keep the borders raw, and take the +bloom off nature. Close adjoining, if you are in the south, +an olive-yard, if in the north, a swarded apple-orchard +reaching to the stream, completes your miniature domain; +but this is perhaps best entered through a door in the high +fruit-wall; so that you close the door behind you on your +sunny plots, your hedges and evergreen jungle, when you +go down to watch the apples falling in the pool. It is a +golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose, and +the eyes will take care of themselves. Nor must the ear +be forgotten: without birds, a garden is a prison-yard. +There is a garden near Marseilles on a steep hill-side, walking +by which, upon a sunny morning, your ear will suddenly +be ravished with a burst of small and very cheerful singing: +some score of cages being set out there to sun the occupants. +This is a heavenly surprise to any passer-by; but the +price paid, to keep so many ardent and winged creatures +from their liberty, will make the luxury too dear for any +thoughtful pleasure-lover. There is only one sort of bird +that I can tolerate caged, though even then I think it hard, +and that is what is called in France the Bec-d’Argent. I +once had two of these pigmies in captivity; and in the +quiet, bare house upon a silent street where I was then +living, their song, which was not much louder than a bee’s, +but airily musical, kept me in a perpetual good humour. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page373" id="page373"></a>373</span> +I put the cage upon my table when I worked, carried it +with me when I went for meals, and kept it by my head +at night: the first thing in the morning, these <i>maestrini</i> +would pipe up. But these, even if you can pardon their +imprisonment, are for the house. In the garden the wild +birds must plant a colony, a chorus of the lesser warblers +that should be almost deafening, a blackbird in the lilacs, +a nightingale down the lane, so that you must stroll to +hear it, and yet a little farther, tree-tops populous with +rooks.</p> + +<p>Your house should not command much outlook; it +should be set deep and green, though upon rising ground, +or, if possible, crowning a knoll, for the sake of drainage. +Yet it must be open to the east, or you will miss the sunrise; +sunset occurring so much later, you can go up a few steps +and look the other way. A house of more than two stories +is a mere barrack; indeed the ideal is of one story, raised +upon cellars. If the rooms are large, the house may be +small: a single room, lofty, spacious, and lightsome, is +more palatial than a castleful of cabinets and cupboards. +Yet size in a house, and some extent and intricacy of +corridor, is certainly delightful to the flesh. The reception +room should be, if possible, a place of many recesses, which +are “petty retiring places for conference”; but it must +have one long wall with a divan: for a day spent upon a +divan, among a world of cushions, is as full of diversion as +to travel. The eating-room, in the French mode, should +be <i>ad hoc</i>: unfurnished, but with a buffet, the table, +necessary chairs, one or two of Canaletto’s etchings, and +a tile fire-place for the winter. In neither of these public +places should there be anything beyond a shelf or two of +books; but the passages may be one library from end to +end, and the stair, if there be one, lined with volumes in +old leather, very brightly carpeted, and leading half-way +up, and by way of landing, to a windowed recess with a +fire-place; this window, almost alone in the house, should +command a handsome prospect. Husband and wife must +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page374" id="page374"></a>374</span> +each possess a studio; on the woman’s sanctuary I hesitate +to dwell, and turn to the man’s. The walls are shelved +waist-high for books, and the top thus forms a continuous +table running round the wall. Above are prints, a large +map of the neighbourhood, a Corot and a Claude or two. +The room is very spacious, and the five tables and two +chairs are but as islands. One table is for actual work, +one close by for references in use; one, very large, for +MSS. or proofs that wait their turn; one kept clear for an +occasion; and the fifth is the map table, groaning under +a collection of large-scale maps and charts. Of all books +these are the least wearisome to read and the richest in +matter; the course of roads and rivers, the contour lines +and the forests in the maps—the reefs, soundings, anchors, +sailing marks and little pilot-pictures in the charts—and, +in both, the bead-roll of names, make them of all printed +matter the most fit to stimulate and satisfy the fancy. +The chair in which you write is very low and easy, and +backed into a corner; at one elbow the fire twinkles; close +at the other, if you are a little inhumane, your cage of +silver-bills are twittering into song.</p> + +<p>Joined along by a passage, you may reach the great +sunny, glass-roofed, and tiled gymnasium, at the far end +of which, lined with bright marble, is your plunge and +swimming bath, fitted with a capacious boiler.</p> + +<p>The whole loft of the house from end to end makes one +undivided chamber; here are set forth tables on which to +model imaginary or actual countries in putty or plaster, +with tools and hardy pigments; a carpenter’s bench; and +a spared corner for photography, while at the far end a +space is kept clear for playing soldiers. Two boxes contain +the two armies of some five hundred horse and foot; two +others the ammunition of each side, and a fifth the foot-rules +and the three colours of chalk, with which you lay +down, or, after a day’s play, refresh the outlines of the +country; red or white for the two kinds of road (according +as they are suitable or not for the passage of ordnance), +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page375" id="page375"></a>375</span> +and blue for the course of the obstructing rivers. Here +I foresee that you may pass much happy time; against a +good adversary a game may well continue for a month; +for with armies so considerable three moves will occupy +an hour. It will be found to set an excellent edge on +this diversion if one of the players shall, every day or so, +write a report of the operations in the character of army +correspondent.</p> + +<p>I have left to the last the little room for winter evenings. +This should be furnished in warm positive colours, +and sofas and floor thick with rich furs. The hearth, where +you burn wood of aromatic quality on silver dogs, tiled +round about with Bible pictures; the seats deep and easy; +a single Titian in a gold frame; a white bust or so upon a +bracket; a rack for the journals of the week; a table for +the books of the year; and close in a corner the three +shelves full of eternal books that never weary: Shakespeare, +Molière, Montaigne, Lamb, Sterne, De Musset’s comedies +(the one volume open at <i>Carmosine</i> and the other at +<i>Fantasio</i>); the “Arabian Nights,” and kindred stories, +in Weber’s solemn volumes; Borrow’s “Bible in Spain,” +the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” “Guy Mannering,” and “Rob +Roy,” “Monte Cristo,” and the “Vicomte de Bragelonne,” +immortal Boswell sole among biographers, Chaucer, +Herrick, and the “State Trials.”</p> + +<p>The bedrooms are large, airy, with almost no furniture, +floors of varnished wood, and at the bed-head, in +case of insomnia, one shelf of books of a particular and +dippable order, such as “Pepys,” the “Paston Letters,” +Burt’s “Letters from the Highlands,” or the “Newgate +Calendar.” ...</p> + +<p class="rt">[1884?]</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page376" id="page376"></a>376</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page377" id="page377"></a>377</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>LAY MORALS</h2> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page378" id="page378"></a>378</span></p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="noind"><i>The following chapters of a projected treatise on +Ethics were drafted at Edinburgh in the spring of +1879. They are unrevised, and must not be taken +as representing, either as to matter or form, their +author’s final thoughts; but they contain much that +is essentially characteristic of his mind.</i></p> +</div> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page379" id="page379"></a>379</span></p> + +<h2>LAY MORALS</h2> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> problem of education is twofold: first to know, and +then to utter. Every one who lives any semblance of an +inner life thinks more nobly and profoundly than he speaks; +and the best of teachers can impart only broken images of +the truth which they perceive. Speech which goes from +one to another between two natures, and, what is worse, +between two experiences, is doubly relative. The speaker +buries his meaning; it is for the hearer to dig it up again; +and all speech, written or spoken, is in a dead language +until it finds a willing and prepared hearer. Such, moreover, +is the complexity of life, that when we condescend +upon details in our advice, we may be sure we condescend +on error; and the best of education is to throw out some +magnanimous hints. No man was ever so poor that he +could express all he has in him by words, looks, or actions; +his true knowledge is eternally incommunicable, for it is +a knowledge of himself; and his best wisdom comes to +him by no process of the mind, but in a supreme self-dictation, +which keeps varying from hour to hour in its +dictates with the variation of events and circumstances.</p> + +<p>A few men of picked nature, full of faith, courage, and +contempt for others, try earnestly to set forth as much as +they can grasp of this inner law; but the vast majority, +when they come to advise the young, must be content to +retail certain doctrines which have been already retailed +to them in their own youth. Every generation has to +educate another which it has brought upon the stage. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page380" id="page380"></a>380</span> +People who readily accept the responsibility of parentship, +having very different matters in their eye, are apt to feel +rueful when their responsibility falls due. What are they +to tell the child about life and conduct, subjects on +which they have themselves so few and such confused +opinions? Indeed, I do not know; the least said, perhaps, +the soonest mended; and yet the child keeps asking, +and the parent must find some words to say in his own +defence. Where does he find them? and what are they +when found?</p> + +<p>As a matter of experience, and in nine hundred and +ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, he will instil into +his wide-eyed brat three bad things; the terror of public +opinion, and, flowing from that as a fountain, the desire +of wealth and applause. Besides these, or what might +be deduced as corollaries from these, he will teach not much +else of any effective value: some dim notions of divinity, +perhaps, and book-keeping, and how to walk through a +quadrille.</p> + +<p>But, you may tell me, the young people are taught to +be Christians. It may be want of penetration, but I have +not yet been able to perceive it. As an honest man, whatever +we teach, and be it good or evil, it is not the doctrine +of Christ. What He taught (and in this He is like all other +teachers worthy of the name) was not a code of rules, but +a ruling spirit; not truths, but a spirit of truth; not views, +but a view. What He showed us was an attitude of mind. +Towards the many considerations on which conduct is built, +each man stands in a certain relation. He takes life on a +certain principle. He has a compass in his spirit which +points in a certain direction. It is the attitude, the relation, +the point of the compass, that is the whole body and gist +of what he has to teach us; in this, the details are comprehended; +out of this the specific precepts issue, and by +this, and this only, can they be explained and applied. +And thus, to learn aright from any teacher, we must first +of all, like a historical artist, think ourselves into sympathy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page381" id="page381"></a>381</span> +with his position and, in the technical phrase, create his +character. A historian confronted with some ambiguous +politician, or an actor charged with a part, have but one +pre-occupation; they must search all round and upon +every side, and grope for some central conception which is +to explain and justify the most extreme details; until that +is found, the politician is an enigma, or perhaps a quack, +and the part a tissue of fustian sentiment and big words; +but once that is found, all enters into a plan, a human +nature appears, the politician or the stage-king is understood +from point to point, from end to end. This is a degree of +trouble which will be gladly taken by a very humble artist; +but not even the terror of eternal fire can teach a business +man to bend his imagination to such athletic efforts. +Yet without this, all is vain; until we understand the +whole, we shall understand none of the parts; and otherwise +we have no more than broken images and scattered +words; the meaning remains buried; and the language +in which our prophet speaks to us is a dead language in +our ears.</p> + +<p>Take a few of Christ’s sayings and compare them with +our current doctrines.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ye cannot</i>,” He says, “<i>serve God and Mammon</i>.” +Cannot? And our whole system is to teach us how we +can!</p> + +<p>“<i>The children of this world are wiser in their generation +than the children of light.</i>” Are they? I had been led to +understand the reverse: that the Christian merchant, for +example, prospered exceedingly in his affairs; that honesty +was the best policy; that an author of repute had written +a conclusive treatise “How to make the best of both +worlds.” Of both worlds indeed! Which am I to believe +then—Christ or the author of repute?</p> + +<p>“<i>Take no thought for the morrow.</i>” Ask the Successful +Merchant; interrogate your own heart; and you will have +to admit that this is not only a silly but an immoral position. +All we believe, all we hope, all we honour in ourselves or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page382" id="page382"></a>382</span> +our contemporaries, stands condemned in this one sentence, +or, if you take the other view, condemns the sentence as +unwise and inhumane. We are not then of the “same +mind that was in Christ.” We disagree with Christ. +Either Christ meant nothing, or else He or we must be in +the wrong. Well says Thoreau, speaking of some texts +from the New Testament, and finding a strange echo of +another style which the reader may recognise: “Let but +one of these sentences be rightly read from any pulpit in +the land, and there would not be left one stone of that +meeting-house upon another.”</p> + +<p>It may be objected that these are what are called +“hard sayings”; and that a man, or an education, may +be very sufficiently Christian although it leave some of +these sayings upon one side. But this is a very gross +delusion. Although truth is difficult to state, it is both easy +and agreeable to receive, and the mind runs out to meet it +ere the phrase be done. The universe, in relation to what +any man can say of it, is plain, patent, and staringly comprehensible. +In itself, it is a great and travailing ocean, +unsounded, unvoyageable, an eternal mystery to man; or, +let us say, it is a monstrous and impassable mountain, one +side of which, and a few near slopes and foothills, we can +dimly study with these mortal eyes. But what any man +can say of it, even in his highest utterance, must have +relation to this little and plain corner, which is no less +visible to us than to him. We are looking on the same +map; it will go hard if we cannot follow the demonstration. +The longest and most abstruse flight of a philosopher +becomes clear and shallow, in the flash of a moment, when +we suddenly perceive the aspect and drift of his intention. +The longest argument is but a finger pointed; once we get +our own finger rightly parallel, and we see what the man +meant, whether it be a new star or an old street-lamp. +And briefly, if a saying is hard to understand, it is because +we are thinking of something else.</p> + +<p>But to be a true disciple is to think of the same things +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page383" id="page383"></a>383</span> +as our prophet, and to think of different things in the same +order. To be of the same mind with another is to see all +things in the same perspective; it is not to agree in a few +indifferent matters near at hand and not much debated; +it is to follow him in his farthest flights, to see the force +of his hyperboles, to stand so exactly in the centre of his +vision that whatever he may express, your eyes will light +at once on the original, that whatever he may see to declare, +your mind will at once accept. You do not belong to the +school of any philosopher, because you agree with him +that theft is, on the whole, objectionable, or that the sun is +overhead at noon. It is by the hard sayings that discipleship +is tested. We are all agreed about the middling and +indifferent parts of knowledge and morality; even the most +soaring spirits too often take them tamely upon trust. +But the man, the philosopher or the moralist, does not +stand upon these chance adhesions; and the purpose of +any system looks towards those extreme points where it +steps valiantly beyond tradition and returns with some +covert hint of things outside. Then only can you be +certain that the words are not words of course, nor mere +echoes of the past; then only are you sure that if he be +indicating anything at all, it is a star and not a street-lamp; +then only do you touch the heart of the mystery; +since it was for these that the author wrote his book.</p> + +<p>Now, every now and then, and indeed surprisingly +often, Christ finds a word that transcends all commonplace +morality; every now and then He quits the beaten track to +pioneer the unexpressed, and throws out a pregnant and +magnanimous hyperbole; for it is only by some bold +poetry of thought that men can be strung up above the +level of everyday conceptions to take a broader look upon +experience or accept some higher principle of conduct. +To a man who is of the same mind that was in Christ, who +stands at some centre not too far from His, and looks at +the world and conduct from some not dissimilar or, at least, +not opposing attitude—or, shortly, to a man who is of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page384" id="page384"></a>384</span> +Christ’s philosophy—every such saying should come home +with a thrill of joy and corroboration; he should feel each +one below his feet as another sure foundation in the flux +of time and chance; each should be another proof that in +the torrent of the years and generations, where doctrines +and great armaments and empires are swept away and +swallowed, he stands immovable, holding by the eternal +stars. But, alas! at this juncture of the ages it is not so +with us; on each and every such occasion our whole +fellowship of Christians falls back in disapproving wonder +and implicitly denies the saying. Christians! the farce is +impudently broad. Let us stand up in the sight of heaven +and confess. The ethics that we hold are those of Benjamin +Franklin. <i>Honesty is the best policy</i>, is perhaps a +hard saying; it is certainly one by which a wise man of +these days will not too curiously direct his steps; but I +think it shows a glimmer of meaning to even our most +dimmed intelligences; I think we perceive a principle +behind it; I think, without hyperbole, we are of the same +mind that was in Benjamin Franklin.</p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page385" id="page385"></a>385</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">But</span>, I may be told, we teach the ten commandments, +where a world of morals lies condensed, the very pith and +epitome of all ethics and religion; and a young man with +these precepts engraved upon his mind must follow after +profit with some conscience and Christianity of method. +A man cannot go very far astray who neither dishonours +his parents, nor kills, nor commits adultery, nor steals, +nor bears false witness; for these things, rightly thought +out, cover a vast field of duty.</p> + +<p>Alas! what is a precept? It is at best an illustration; +it is case law at the best which can be learned by precept. +The letter is not only dead, but killing; the spirit which +underlies, and cannot be uttered, alone is true and helpful. +This is trite to sickness; but familiarity has a cunning +disenchantment; in a day or two she can steal all beauty +from the mountain tops; and the most startling words +begin to fall dead upon the ear after several repetitions. +If you see a thing too often, you no longer see it; if you +hear a thing too often, you no longer hear it. Our attention +requires to be surprised; and to carry a fort by assault, +or to gain a thoughtful hearing from the ruck of mankind, +are feats of about equal difficulty and must be tried by +not dissimilar means. The whole Bible has thus lost its +message for the common run of hearers; it has become +mere words of course; and the parson may bawl himself +scarlet and beat the pulpit like a thing possessed, but his +hearers will continue to nod; they are strangely at peace; +they know all he has to say; ring the old bell as you choose, +it is still the old bell and it cannot startle their composure. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page386" id="page386"></a>386</span> +And so with this byword about the letter and the spirit. +It is quite true, no doubt; but it has no meaning in the +world to any man of us. Alas! it has just this meaning, +and neither more nor less: that while the spirit is true, +the letter is eternally false.</p> + +<p>The shadow of a great oak lies abroad upon the ground +at noon, perfect, clear, and stable like the earth. But let +a man set himself to mark out the boundary with cords +and pegs, and were he never so nimble and never so exact, +what with the multiplicity of the leaves and the progression +of the shadow as it flees before the travelling sun, long ere +he has made the circuit the whole figure will have changed. +Life may be compared, not to a single tree, but to a great +and complicated forest; circumstance is more swiftly +changing than a shadow, language much more inexact than +the tools of a surveyor; from day to day the trees fall and +are renewed; the very essences are fleeting as we look; +and the whole world of leaves is swinging tempest-tossed +among the winds of time. Look now for your shadows. +O man of formulæ, is this a place for you? Have you +fitted the spirit to a single case? Alas, in the cycle of the +ages when shall such another be proposed for the judgment +of man? Now when the sun shines and the winds blow, +the wood is filled with an innumerable multitude of +shadows, tumultuously tossed and changing; and at every +gust the whole carpet leaps and becomes new. Can you +or your heart say more?</p> + +<p>Look back now, for a moment, on your own brief +experience of life; and although you lived it feelingly in +your own person, and had every step of conduct burned +in by pains and joys upon your memory, tell me what +definite lesson does experience hand on from youth to +manhood, or from both to age? The settled tenor which +first strikes the eye is but the shadow of a delusion. This +is gone; that never truly was; and you yourself are altered +beyond recognition. Times and men and circumstances +change about your changing character, with a speed of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page387" id="page387"></a>387</span> +which no earthly hurricane affords an image. What was +the best yesterday, is it still the best in this changed +theatre of a to-morrow? Will your own Past truly guide +you in your own violent and unexpected Future? And +if this be questionable, with what humble, with what +hopeless eyes, should we not watch other men driving +beside us on their unknown careers, seeing with unlike +eyes, impelled by different gales, doing and suffering in +another sphere of things?</p> + +<p>And as the authentic clue to such a labyrinth and +change of scene, do you offer me these two score words? +these five bald prohibitions? For the moral precepts are +no more than five; the first four deal rather with matters +of observance than of conduct; the tenth, <i>Thou shall not +covet</i>, stands upon another basis, and shall be spoken of +ere long. The Jews, to whom they were first given, in the +course of years began to find these precepts insufficient; +and made an addition of no less than six hundred and fifty +others! They hoped to make a pocket-book of reference +on morals, which should stand to life in some such relation, +say, as Hoyle stands in to the scientific game of whist. +The comparison is just, and condemns the design; for those +who play by rule will never be more than tolerable players; +and you and I would like to play our game in life to the +noblest and the most divine advantage. Yet if the Jews +took a petty and huckstering view of conduct, what view +do we take ourselves, who callously leave youth to go +forth into the enchanted forest, full of spells and dire +chimeras, with no guidance more complete than is afforded +by these five precepts?</p> + +<p><i>Honour thy father and thy mother</i>. Yes, but does that +mean to obey? and if so, how long and how far? <i>Thou +shall not kill</i>. Yet the very intention and purport of the +prohibition may be best fulfilled by killing. <i>Thou shall +not commit adultery</i>. But some of the ugliest adulteries +are committed in the bed of marriage and under the sanction +of religion and law. <i>Thou shalt not bear false witness</i>. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page388" id="page388"></a>388</span> +How? by speech or by silence also? or even by a smile? +<i>Thou shalt not steal.</i> Ah, that indeed! But what is <i>to +steal</i>?</p> + +<p>To steal? It is another word to be construed; and +who is to be our guide? The police will give us one construction, +leaving the world only that least minimum of +meaning without which society would fall in pieces; but +surely we must take some higher sense than this; surely +we hope more than a bare subsistence for mankind; surely +we wish mankind to prosper and go on from strength to +strength, and ourselves to live rightly in the eye of some +more exacting potentate than a policeman. The approval +or the disapproval of the police must be eternally indifferent +to a man who is both valorous and good. There is extreme +discomfort, but no shame, in the condemnation of the law. +The law represents that modicum of morality which can be +squeezed out of the ruck of mankind; but what is that +to me, who aim higher and seek to be my own more stringent +judge? I observe with pleasure that no brave man has +ever given a rush for such considerations. The Japanese +have a nobler and more sentimental feeling for this social +bond into which we all are born when we come into the +world, and whose comforts and protection we all indifferently +share throughout our lives:—but even to them, no +more than to our Western saints and heroes, does the law +of the state supersede the higher law of duty. Without +hesitation and without remorse, they transgress the stiffest +enactments rather than abstain from doing right. But the +accidental superior duty being thus fulfilled, they at once +return in allegiance to the common duty of all citizens; +and hasten to denounce themselves; and value at an +equal rate their just crime and their equally just submission +to its punishment.</p> + +<p>The evading of the police will not long satisfy an active +conscience or a thoughtful head. But to show you how +one or the other may trouble a man, and what a vast +extent of frontier is left unridden by this invaluable eighth +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page389" id="page389"></a>389</span> +commandment, let me tell you a few pages out of a young +man’s life.</p> + +<p>He was a friend of mine; a young man like others; +generous, flighty, as variable as youth itself, but always +with some high motives and on the search for higher +thoughts of life. I should tell you at once that he thoroughly +agrees with the eighth commandment. But he +got hold of some unsettling works, the New Testament +among others, and this loosened his views of life and led +him into many perplexities. As he was the son of a man +in a certain position, and well off, my friend had enjoyed +from the first the advantages of education, nay, he had +been kept alive through a sickly childhood by constant +watchfulness, comforts, and change of air; for all of +which he was indebted to his father’s wealth.</p> + +<p>At college he met other lads more diligent than himself, +who followed the plough in summer-time to pay their +college fees in winter; and this inequality struck him with +some force. He was at that age of a conversible temper, +and insatiably curious in the aspects of life; and he spent +much of his time scraping acquaintance with all classes of +man- and woman-kind. In this way he came upon many +depressed ambitions, and many intelligences stunted for +want of opportunity; and this also struck him. He began +to perceive that life was a handicap upon strange, wrong-sided +principles; and not, as he had been told, a fair and +equal race. He began to tremble that he himself had been +unjustly favoured, when he saw all the avenues of wealth, +and power, and comfort closed against so many of his +superiors and equals, and held unwearyingly open before so +idle, so desultory, and so dissolute a being as himself. +There sat a youth beside him on the college benches who +had only one shirt to his back, and, at intervals sufficiently +far apart, must stay at home to have it washed. It was +my friend’s principle to stay away as often as he dared; +for I fear he was no friend to learning. But there was +something that came home to him sharply, in this fellow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page390" id="page390"></a>390</span> +who had to give over study till his shirt was washed, and +the scores of others who had never an opportunity at all. +<i>If one of these could take his place</i>, he thought; and the +thought tore away a bandage from his eyes. He was +eaten by the shame of his discoveries, and despised himself +as an unworthy favourite and a creature of the back-stairs +of Fortune. He could no longer see without confusion +one of these brave young fellows battling up-hill against +adversity. Had he not filched that fellow’s birthright? +At best was he not coldly profiting by the injustice of +society, and greedily devouring stolen goods? The money, +indeed, belonged to his father, who had worked, and +thought, and given up his liberty to earn it; but by what +justice could the money belong to my friend, who had, as +yet, done nothing but help to squander it? A more sturdy +honesty, joined to a more even and impartial temperament, +would have drawn from these considerations a new +force of industry, that this equivocal position might be +brought as swiftly as possible to an end, and some good +services to mankind justify the appropriation of expense. +It was not so with my friend, who was only unsettled and +discouraged, and filled full of that trumpeting anger with +which young men regard injustices in the first blush of +youth; although in a few years they will tamely acquiesce +in their existence, and knowingly profit by their complications. +Yet all this while he suffered many indignant +pangs. And once, when he put on his boots, like any other +unripe donkey, to run away from home, it was his best +consolation that he was now, at a single plunge, to free +himself from the responsibility of this wealth that was not +his, and to battle equally against his fellows in the warfare +of life.</p> + +<p>Some time after this, falling into ill-health, he was sent +at great expense to a more favourable climate; and then +I think his perplexities were thickest. When he thought +of all the other young men of singular promise, upright, +good, the prop of families, who must remain at home to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page391" id="page391"></a>391</span> +die, and with all their possibilities be lost to life and mankind; +and how he, by one more unmerited favour, was +chosen out from all these others to survive; he felt as if +there were no life, no labour, no devotion of soul and body, +that could repay and justify these partialities. A religious +lady, to whom he communicated these reflections, could +see no force in them whatever. “It was God’s will,” said +she. But he knew it was by God’s will that Joan of Arc +was burnt at Rouen, which cleared neither Bedford nor +Bishop Cauchon; and again, by God’s will that Christ +was crucified outside Jerusalem, which excused neither +the rancour of the priests nor the timidity of Pilate. He +knew, moreover, that although the possibility of this favour +he was now enjoying issued from his circumstances, its +acceptance was the act of his own will; and he had accepted +it greedily, longing for rest and sunshine. And hence this +allegation of God’s providence did little to relieve his +scruples. I promise you he had a very troubled mind. +And I would not laugh if I were you, though while he +was thus making mountains out of what you think molehills, +he were still (as perhaps he was) contentedly practising +many other things that to you seem black as hell. Every +man is his own judge and mountain-guide through life. +There is an old story of a mote and a beam, apparently not +true, but worthy perhaps of some consideration. I should, +if I were you, give some consideration to these scruples of +his, and if I were he, I should do the like by yours; for it +is not unlikely that there may be something under both. +In the meantime you must hear how my invalid acted. +Like many invalids, he supposed that he would die. Now +should he die, he saw no means of repaying this huge loan +which, by the hands of his father, mankind had advanced +him for his sickness. In that case it would be lost money. +So he determined that the advance should be as small as +possible; and, so long as he continued to doubt his recovery, +lived in an upper room, and grudged himself all +but necessaries. But so soon as he began to perceive a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page392" id="page392"></a>392</span> +change for the better, he felt justified in spending more +freely, to speed and brighten his return to health, and +trusted in the future to lend a help to mankind, as mankind, +out of its treasury, had lent a help to him.</p> + +<p>I do not say but that my friend was a little too curious +and partial in his view; nor thought too much of himself +and too little of his parents; but I do say that here are +some scruples which tormented my friend in his youth, +and still, perhaps, at odd times give him a prick in the +midst of his enjoyments, and which after all have some +foundation in justice, and point, in their confused way, to +some honourable honesty within the reach of man. And +at least, is not this an unusual gloss upon the eighth commandment? +And what sort of comfort, guidance, or +illumination did that precept afford my friend throughout +these contentions? “Thou shall not steal.” With all +my heart! But <i>am</i> I stealing?</p> + +<p>The truly quaint materialism of our view of life disables +us from pursuing any transaction to an end. You +can make no one understand that his bargain is anything +more than a bargain, whereas in point of fact it is a link +in the policy of mankind, and either a good or an evil to +the world. We have a sort of blindness which prevents +us from seeing anything but sovereigns. If one man agrees +to give another so many shillings for so many hours’ work, +and then wilfully gives him a certain proportion of the +price in bad money and only the remainder in good, we +can see with half an eye that this man is a thief. But if +the other spends a certain proportion of the hours in smoking +a pipe of tobacco, and a certain other proportion in looking +at the sky, or the clock, or trying to recall an air, or in +meditation on his own past adventures, and only the +remainder in downright work such as he is paid to do, is +he, because the theft is one of time and not of money,—is +he any the less a thief? The one gave a bad shilling, +the other an imperfect hour; but both broke the bargain, +and each is a thief. In piecework, which is what most of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page393" id="page393"></a>393</span> +us do, the case is none the less plain for being even less +material. If you forge a bad knife, you have wasted some +of mankind’s iron, and then, with unrivalled cynicism, you +pocket some of mankind’s money for your trouble. Is +there any man so blind who cannot see that this is theft? +Again, if you carelessly cultivate a farm, you have been +playing fast and loose with mankind’s resources against +hunger; there will be less bread in consequence, and for +lack of that bread somebody will die next winter: a grim +consideration. And you must not hope to shuffle out of +blame because you got less money for your less quantity +of bread; for although a theft be partly punished, it is +none the less a theft for that. You took the farm against +competitors; there were others ready to shoulder the +responsibility and be answerable for the tale of loaves; +but it was you who took it. By the act you came under a +tacit bargain with mankind to cultivate that farm with +your best endeavour; you were under no superintendence, +you were on parole; and you have broke your bargain, +and to all who look closely, and yourself among the rest +if you have moral eyesight, you are a thief. Or take the +case of men of letters. Every piece of work which is not +as good as you can make it, which you have palmed off +imperfect, meagrely thought, niggardly in execution, upon +mankind who is your paymaster on parole and in a sense +your pupil, every hasty or slovenly or untrue performance, +should rise up against you in the court of your own heart +and condemn you for a thief. Have you a salary? If +you trifle with your health, and so render yourself less +capable for duty, and still touch, and still greedily pocket +the emolument—what are you but a thief? Have you +double accounts? do you by any time-honoured juggle, +deceit, or ambiguous process, gain more from those who +deal with you than if you were bargaining and dealing face +to face in front of God?—What are you but a thief? +Lastly, if you fill an office, or produce an article, which, in +your heart of hearts, you think a delusion and a fraud upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page394" id="page394"></a>394</span> +mankind, and still draw your salary and go through the +sham manœuvres of this office, or still book your profits +and keep on flooding the world with these injurious goods?—though +you were old, and bald, and the first at church, +and a baronet, what are you but a thief? These may seem +hard words and mere curiosities of the intellect, in an age +when the spirit of honesty is so sparingly cultivated that +all business is conducted upon lies and so-called customs +of the trade, that not a man bestows two thoughts on the +utility or honourableness of his pursuit. I would say less +if I thought less. But looking to my own reason and the +right of things, I can only avow that I am a thief myself, +and that I passionately suspect my neighbours of the +same guilt.</p> + +<p>Where did you hear that it was easy to be honest? +Do you find that in your Bible? Easy? It is easy to +be an ass and follow the multitude like a blind, besotted bull +in a stampede; and that, I am well aware, is what you +and Mrs. Grundy mean by being honest. But it will not +bear the stress of time nor the scrutiny of conscience. +Even before the lowest of all tribunals,—before a court of +law, whose business it is, not to keep men right, or within +a thousand miles of right, but to withhold them from going +so tragically wrong that they will pull down the whole +jointed fabric of society by their misdeeds—even before a +court of law, as we begin to see in these last days, our easy +view of following at each other’s tails, alike to good and +evil, is beginning to be reproved and punished, and declared +no honesty at all, but open theft and swindling; and +simpletons who have gone on through life with a quiet +conscience may learn suddenly, from the lips of a judge, that +the custom of the trade may be a custom of the devil. +You thought it was easy to be honest. Did you think it +was easy to be just and kind and truthful? Did you think +the whole duty of aspiring man was as simple as a hornpipe? +and you could walk through life like a gentleman and a +hero, with no more concern than it takes to go to church +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page395" id="page395"></a>395</span> +or to address a circular? And yet all this time you had +the eighth commandment! and, what makes it richer, you +would not have broken it for the world!</p> + +<p>The truth is, that these commandments by themselves +are of little use in private judgment. If compression is +what you want, you have their whole spirit compressed into +the golden rule; and yet there expressed with more significance, +since the law is there spiritually and not materially +stated. And in truth, four out of these ten commands, +from the sixth to the ninth, are rather legal than ethical. +The police-court is their proper home. A magistrate cannot +tell whether you love your neighbour as yourself, but he can +tell more or less whether you have murdered, or stolen, or +committed adultery, or held up your hand and testified +to that which was not; and these things, for rough practical +tests, are as good as can be found. And perhaps, therefore, +the best condensation of the Jewish moral law is in the +maxims of the priests, “neminem lædere” and “suum +cuique tribunere.” But all this granted, it becomes only +the more plain that they are inadequate in the sphere of +personal morality; that while they tell the magistrate +roughly when to punish, they can never direct an anxious +sinner what to do.</p> + +<p>Only Polonius, or the like solemn sort of ass, can offer +us a succinct proverb by way of advice, and not burst out +blushing in our faces. We grant them one and all and +for all that they are worth; it is something above and +beyond that we desire. Christ was in general a great enemy +to such a way of teaching; we rarely find Him meddling +with any of these plump commands but it was to open +them out, and lift His hearers from the letter to the spirit. +For morals are a personal affair; in the war of righteousness +every man fights for his own hand; all the six hundred +precepts of the Mishna cannot shake my private judgment; +my magistracy of myself is an indefeasible charge, and my +decisions absolute for the time and case. The moralist is +not a judge of appeal, but an advocate who pleads at my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page396" id="page396"></a>396</span> +tribunal. He has to show not the law, but that the law +applies. Can he convince me? then he gains the cause. +And thus you find Christ giving various counsels to varying +people, and often jealously careful to avoid definite precept. +Is He asked, for example, to divide a heritage? He +refuses: and the best advice that He will offer is but a +paraphrase of that tenth commandment which figures so +strangely among the rest. <i>Take heed, and beware of covetousness.</i> +If you complain that this is vague, I have failed +to carry you along with me in my argument. For no +definite precept can be more than an illustration, though +its truth were resplendent like the sun, and it was announced +from heaven by the voice of God. And life is so intricate +and changing, that perhaps not twenty times, or perhaps +not twice in the ages, shall we find that nice consent of +circumstances to which alone it can apply.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page397" id="page397"></a>397</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Although</span> the world and life have in a sense become +commonplace to our experience, it is but in an external +torpor; the true sentiment slumbers within us; and we +have but to reflect on ourselves or our surroundings to +rekindle our astonishment. No length of habit can blunt +our first surprise. Of the world I have but little to say +in this connection; a few strokes shall suffice. We inhabit +a dead ember swimming wide in the blank of space, dizzily +spinning as it swims, and lighted up from several million +miles away by a more horrible hell-fire than was ever conceived +by the theological imagination. Yet the dead ember +is a green, commodious dwelling-place; and the reverberation +of this hell-fire ripens flower and fruit and mildly warms +us on summer eves upon the lawn. Far off on all hands +other dead embers, other flaming suns, wheel and race in +the apparent void; the nearest is out of call, the farthest +so far that the heart sickens in the effort to conceive the +distance. Shipwrecked seamen on the deep, though they +bestride but the truncheon of a boom, are safe and near +at home compared with mankind on its bullet. Even to us +who have known no other, it seems a strange, if not an +appalling, place of residence.</p> + +<p>But far stranger is the resident, man, a creature compact +of wonders that, after centuries of custom, is still +wonderful to himself. He inhabits a body which he is +continually outliving, discarding, and renewing. Food +and sleep, by an unknown alchemy, restore his spirits and +the freshness of his countenance. Hair grows on him like +grass; his eyes, his brain, his sinews, thirst for action; he +joys to see and touch and hear, to partake the sun and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page398" id="page398"></a>398</span> +wind, to sit down and intently ponder on his astonishing +attributes and situation, to rise up and run, to perform +the strange and revolting round of physical functions. The +sight of a flower, the note of a bird, will often move him +deeply; yet he looks unconcerned on the impassable distances +and portentous bonfires of the universe. He comprehends, +he designs, he tames nature, rides the sea, +ploughs, climbs the air in a balloon, makes vast inquiries, +begins interminable labours, joins himself into federations +and populous cities, spends his days to deliver the ends of +the earth or to benefit unborn posterity; and yet knows +himself for a piece of unsurpassed fragility and the creature +of a few days. His sight, which conducts him, which takes +notice of the farthest stars, which is miraculous in every +way and a thing defying explanation or belief, is yet lodged +in a piece of jelly, and can be extinguished with a touch. +His heart, which all through life so indomitably, so athletically +labours, is but a capsule, and may be stopped with a +pin. His whole body, for all its savage energies, its leaping +and its winged desires, may yet be tamed and conquered +by a draught of air or a sprinkling of cold dew. What he +calls death, which is the seeming arrest of everything, and +the ruin and hateful transformation of the visible body, +lies in wait for him outwardly in a thousand accidents, and +grows up in secret diseases from within. He is still learning +to be a man when his faculties are already beginning to +decline; he has not yet understood himself or his position +before he inevitably dies. And yet this mad, chimerical +creature can take no thought of his last end, lives as though +he were eternal, plunges with his vulnerable body into the +shock of war, and daily affronts death with unconcern. +He cannot take a step without pain or pleasure. His life +is a tissue of sensations, which he distinguishes as they seem +to come more directly from himself or his surroundings. +He is conscious of himself as a joyer or a sufferer, as that +which craves, chooses, and is satisfied; conscious of his +surroundings as it were of an inexhaustible purveyor, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page399" id="page399"></a>399</span> +source of aspects, inspirations, wonders, cruel knocks and +transporting caresses. Thus he goes on his way, stumbling +among delights and agonies.</p> + +<p>Matter is a far-fetched theory, and materialism is +without a root in man. To him everything is important +in the degree to which it moves him. The telegraph wires +and posts, the electricity speeding from clerk to clerk, the +clerks, the glad or sorrowful import of the message, and +the paper on which it is finally brought to him at home, +are all equally facts, all equally exist for man. A word +or a thought can wound him as acutely as a knife of steel. +If he thinks he is loved, he will rise up and glory to himself, +although he be in a distant land and short of necessary +bread. Does he think he is not loved?—he may have the +woman at his beck, and there is not a joy for him in all the +world. Indeed, if we are to make any account of this +figment of reason, the distinction between material and +immaterial, we shall conclude that the life of each man as +an individual is immaterial, although the continuation +and prospects of mankind as a race turn upon material +conditions. The physical business of each man’s body is +transacted for him; like a sybarite, he has attentive valets +in his own viscera; he breathes, he sweats, he digests +without an effort, or so much as a consenting volition; for +the most part he even eats, not with a wakeful consciousness, +but as it were between two thoughts. His life is +centred among other and more important considerations; +touch him in his honour or his love, creatures of the imagination +which attach him to mankind or to an individual +man or woman; cross him in his piety which connects +his soul with heaven; and he turns from his food, he +loathes his breath, and with a magnanimous emotion cuts +the knots of his existence and frees himself at a blow from +the web of pains and pleasures.</p> + +<p>It follows that man is twofold at least; that he is not +a rounded and autonomous empire; but that in the same +body with him there dwell other powers, tributary but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page400" id="page400"></a>400</span> +independent. If I now behold one walking in a garden +curiously coloured and illuminated by the sun, digesting +his food, with elaborate chemistry, breathing, circulating +blood, directing himself by the sight of his eyes, accommodating +his body by a thousand delicate balancings to +the wind and the uneven surface of the path, and all the +time, perhaps, with his mind engaged about America, or +the dog-star, or the attributes of God—what am I to say, +or how am I to describe the thing I see? Is that truly a +man, in the rigorous meaning of the word? or is it not a man +and something else? What, then, are we to count the +centre-bit and axle of a being so variously compounded? +It is a question much debated. Some read his history in +a certain intricacy of nerve and the success of successive +digestions; others find him an exiled piece of heaven +blown upon and determined by the breath of God; and +both schools of theorists will scream like scalded children +at a word of doubt. Yet either of these views, however +plausible, is beside the question; either may be right; and +I care not; I ask a more particular answer, and to a more +immediate point. What is the man? There is Something +that was before hunger and that remains behind after a +meal. It may or may not be engaged in any given act or +passion, but when it is, it changes, heightens, and sanctifies. +Thus it is not engaged in lust, where satisfaction ends the +chapter; and it is engaged in love, where no satisfaction +can blunt the edge of the desire, and where age, sickness, +or alienation may deface what was desirable without +diminishing the sentiment. This something, which is the +man, is a permanence which abides through the vicissitudes +of passion, now overwhelmed and now triumphant, now +unconscious of itself in the immediate distress of appetite +or pain, now rising unclouded above all. So, to the +man, his own central self fades and grows clear again +amid the tumult of the senses, like a revolving Pharos +in the night. It is forgotten; it is hid, it seems, for ever; +and yet in the next calm hour he shall behold himself +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page401" id="page401"></a>401</span> +once more, shining and unmoved among changes and +storm.</p> + +<p>Mankind, in the sense of the creeping mass that is born +and eats, that generates and dies, is but the aggregate of +the outer and lower sides of man. This inner consciousness, +this lantern alternately obscured and shining, to and by +which the individual exists and must order his conduct, is +something special to himself and not common to the race. +His joys delight, his sorrows wound him, according as <i>this</i> +is interested or indifferent in the affair: according as they +arise in an imperial war or in a broil conducted by the +tributary chieftains of the mind. He may lose all, and +<i>this</i> not suffer; he may lose what is materially a trifle, and +<i>this</i> leap in his bosom with a cruel pang. I do not speak +of it to hardened theorists: the living man knows keenly +what it is I mean.</p> + +<p>“Perceive at last that thou hast in thee something +better and more divine than the things which cause the +various effects, and, as it were, pull thee by the strings. +What is that now in thy mind? is it fear, or suspicion, or +desire, or anything of that kind?” Thus far Marcus +Aurelius, in one of the most notable passages in any book. +Here is a question worthy to be answered. What is in +thy mind? What is the utterance of your inmost self +when, in a quiet hour, it can be heard intelligibly? It is +something beyond the compass of your thinking, inasmuch +as it is yourself; but is it not of a higher spirit than you +had dreamed betweenwhiles, and erect above all base considerations? +This soul seems hardly touched with our +infirmities; we can find in it certainly no fear, suspicion, +or desire; we are only conscious—and that as though we +read it in the eyes of some one else—of a great and unqualified +readiness. A readiness to what? to pass over +and look beyond the objects of desire and fear, for something +else. And this something else? this something which is +apart from desire and fear, to which all the kingdoms of +the world and the immediate death of the body are alike +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page402" id="page402"></a>402</span> +indifferent and beside the point, and which yet regards +conduct—by what name are we to call it? It may be the +love of God; or it may be an inherited (and certainly well +concealed) instinct to preserve self and propagate the race; +I am not, for the moment, averse to either theory; but +it will save time to call it righteousness. By so doing I +intend no subterfuge to beg a question; I am indeed ready, +and more than willing, to accept the rigid consequence, and +lay aside, as far as the treachery of the reason will permit, +all former meanings attached to the word righteousness. +What is right is that for which a man’s central self is ever +ready to sacrifice immediate or distant interests; what is +wrong is what the central self discards or rejects as incompatible +with the fixed design of righteousness.</p> + +<p>To make this admission is to lay aside all hope of definition. +That which is right upon this theory is intimately +dictated to each man by himself, but can never be rigorously +set forth in language, and never, above all, imposed +upon another. The conscience has, then, a vision like that +of the eyes, which is incommunicable, and for the most +part illuminates none but its possessor. When many people +perceive the same or any cognate facts, they agree upon +a word as symbol; and hence we have such words as <i>tree</i>, +<i>star</i>, <i>love</i>, <i>honour</i>, or <i>death</i>; hence also we have this word +<i>right</i>, which, like the others, we all understand, most of us +understand differently, and none can express succinctly +otherwise. Yet even on the straitest view, we can make +some steps towards comprehension of our own superior +thoughts. For it is an incredible and most bewildering +fact that a man, through life, is on variable terms with +himself; he is aware of tiffs and reconciliations; the +intimacy is at times almost suspended, at times it is renewed +again with joy. As we said before, his inner self or soul +appears to him by successive revelations, and is frequently +obscured. It is from a study of these alternations that we +can alone hope to discover, even dimly, what seems right +and what seems wrong to this veiled prophet of ourself. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page403" id="page403"></a>403</span></p> + +<p>All that is in the man in the larger sense, what we call +impression as well as what we call intuition, so far as my +argument looks, we must accept. It is not wrong to desire +food, or exercise, or beautiful surroundings, or the love of +sex, or interest which is the food of the mind. All these +are craved; all these should be craved; to none of these +in itself does the soul demur; where there comes an undeniable +want, we recognise a demand of nature. Yet we +know that these natural demands may be superseded, +for the demands which are common to mankind make but +a shadowy consideration in comparison to the demands +of the individual soul. Food is almost the first pre-requisite; +and yet a high character will go without food to the ruin +and death of the body rather than gain it in a manner +which the spirit disavows. Pascal laid aside mathematics; +Origen doctored his body with a knife; every day some +one is thus mortifying his dearest interests and desires, and, +in Christ’s words, entering maim into the Kingdom of +Heaven. This is to supersede the lesser and less harmonious +affections by renunciation; and though by this ascetic +path we may get to heaven, we cannot get thither a whole +and perfect man. But there is another way, to supersede +them by reconciliation, in which the soul and all the faculties +and senses pursue a common route and share in one desire. +Thus, man is tormented by a very imperious physical desire; +it spoils his rest, it is not to be denied; the doctors will tell +you, not I, how it is a physical need, like the want of food +or slumber. In the satisfaction of this desire, as it first +appears, the soul sparingly takes part; nay, it oft unsparingly +regrets and disapproves the satisfaction. But let +the man learn to love a woman as far as he is capable of +love; and for this random affection of the body there is +substituted a steady determination, a consent of all his +powers and faculties, which supersedes, adopts, and commands +the other. The desire survives, strengthened, +perhaps, but taught obedience, and changed in scope and +character. Life is no longer a tale of betrayals and regrets; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page404" id="page404"></a>404</span> +for the man now lives as a whole; his consciousness now +moves on uninterrupted like a river; through all the extremes +and ups and downs of passion, he remains approvingly +conscious of himself.</p> + +<p>Now to me this seems a type of that rightness which +the soul demands. It demands that we shall not live +alternately with our opposing tendencies in continual see-saw +of passion and disgust, but seek some path on which +the tendencies shall no longer oppose, but serve each other +to a common end. It demands that we shall not pursue +broken ends, but great and comprehensive purposes, in +which soul and body may unite like notes in a harmonious +chord. That were indeed a way of peace and pleasure, +that were indeed a heaven upon earth. It does not demand, +however, or, to speak in measure, it does not demand of +me, that I should starve my appetites for no purpose under +heaven but as a purpose in itself; or, in a weak despair, +pluck out the eye that I have not yet learned to guide and +enjoy with wisdom. The soul demands unity of purpose, +not the dismemberment of man; it seeks to roll up all his +strength and sweetness, all his passion and wisdom, into one, +and make of him a perfect man exulting in perfection. To +conclude ascetically is to give up, and not to solve, the +problem. The ascetic and the creeping hog, although they +are at different poles, have equally failed in life. The one +has sacrificed his crew; the other brings back his seamen +in a cock-boat, and has lost the ship. I believe there are +not many sea-captains who would plume themselves on +either result as a success.</p> + +<p>But if it is righteousness thus to fuse together our +divisive impulses and march with one mind through life, +there is plainly one thing more unrighteous than all others, +and one declension which is irretrievable and draws on the +rest. And this is to lose consciousness of oneself. In the +best of times, it is but by flashes, when our whole nature is +clear, strong and conscious, and events conspire to leave +us free, that we enjoy communion with our soul. At the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page405" id="page405"></a>405</span> +worst, we are so fallen and passive that we may say shortly +we have none. An arctic torpor seizes upon men. Although +built of nerves, and set adrift in a stimulating world, they +develop a tendency to go bodily to sleep; consciousness +becomes engrossed among the reflex and mechanical parts +of life; and soon loses both the will and power to look +higher considerations in the face. This is ruin; this is +the last failure in life; this is temporal damnation; damnation +on the spot and without the form of judgment. “What +shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and <i>lose +himself</i>?”</p> + +<p>It is to keep a man awake, to keep him alive to his own +soul and its fixed design of righteousness, that the better +part of moral and religious education is directed; not only +that of words and doctors, but the sharp ferule of calamity +under which we are all God’s scholars till we die. If, as +teachers, we are to say anything to the purpose, we must +say what will remind the pupil of his soul; we must speak +that soul’s dialect; we must talk of life and conduct as +his soul would have him think of them. If, from some conformity +between us and the pupil, or perhaps among all +men, we do in truth speak in such a dialect and express +such views, beyond question we shall touch in him a spring; +beyond question he will recognise the dialect as one that +he himself has spoken in his better hours; beyond question +he will cry, “I had forgotten, but now I remember; I too +have eyes, and I had forgot to use them! I too have a soul +of my own, arrogantly upright, and to that I will listen and +conform.” In short, say to him anything that he has once +thought, or been upon the point of thinking, or show him +any view of life that he has once clearly seen, or been upon +the point of clearly seeing; and you have done your part +and may leave him to complete the education for himself.</p> + +<p>Now the view taught at the present time seems to me +to want greatness; and the dialect in which alone it can be +intelligibly uttered is not the dialect of my soul. It is a +sort of postponement of life; nothing quite is, but something +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page406" id="page406"></a>406</span> +different is to be; we are to keep our eyes upon +the indirect from the cradle to the grave. We are to +regulate our conduct not by desire, but by a politic eye +upon the future; and to value acts as they will bring us +money or good opinion; as they will bring us, in one +word, <i>profit</i>. We must be what is called respectable, and +offend no one by our carriage; it will not do to make +oneself conspicuous—who knows? even in virtue? says +the Christian parent! And we must be what is called +prudent and make money; not only because it is pleasant +to have money, but because that also is a part of respectability, +and we cannot hope to be received in society without +decent possessions. Received in society! as if that were +the kingdom of heaven! There is dear Mr. So-and-so;—look +at him!—so much respected—so much looked up +to—quite the Christian merchant! And we must cut our +conduct as strictly as possible after the pattern of Mr. +So-and-so; and lay our whole lives to make money and +be strictly decent. Besides these holy injunctions, which +form by far the greater part of a youth’s training in our +Christian homes, there are at least two other doctrines. +We are to live just now as well as we can, but scrape at last +into heaven, where we shall be good. We are to worry +through the week in a lay, disreputable way, but, to make +matters square, live a different life on Sunday.</p> + +<p>The train of thought we have been following gives us +a key to all these positions, without stepping aside to +justify them on their own ground. It is because we have +been disgusted fifty times with physical squalls and fifty +times torn between conflicting impulses, that we teach +people this indirect and tactical procedure in life, and to +judge by remote consequences instead of the immediate face +of things. The very desire to act as our own souls would +have us, coupled with a pathetic disbelief in ourselves, +moves us to follow the example of others; perhaps, who +knows? they may be on the right track; and the more +our patterns are in number, the better seems the chance; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page407" id="page407"></a>407</span> +until, if we be acting in concert with a whole civilised +nation, there are surely a majority of chances that we must +be acting right. And again, how true it is that we can +never behave as we wish in this tormented sphere, and can +only aspire to different and more favourable circumstances, +in order to stand out and be ourselves wholly and rightly! +And yet once more, if in the hurry and pressure of affairs +and passions you tend to nod and become drowsy, here +are twenty-four hours of Sunday set apart for you to +hold counsel with your soul and look around you on the +possibilities of life.</p> + +<p>This is not, of course, all that is to be, or even should be, +said for these doctrines. Only, in the course of this chapter, +the reader and I have agreed upon a few catchwords, and +been looking at morals on a certain system; it was a pity +to lose an opportunity of testing the catchwords, and seeing +whether, by this system as well as by others, current +doctrines could show any probable justification. If the +doctrines had come too badly out of the trial, it would have +condemned the system. Our sight of the world is very +narrow; the mind but a pedestrian instrument; there’s +nothing new under the sun, as Solomon says, except the +man himself; and though that changes the aspect of +everything else, yet he must see the same things as other +people, only from a different side.</p> + +<p>And now, having admitted so much, let us turn to +criticism.</p> + +<p>If you teach a man to keep his eyes upon what others +think of him, unthinkingly to lead the life and hold the +principles of the majority of his contemporaries, you must +discredit in his eyes the one authoritative voice of his own +soul. He may be a docile citizen; he will never be a man. +It is ours, on the other hand, to disregard this babble and +chattering of other men better and worse than we are, and +to walk straight before us by what light we have. They +may be right; but so, before heaven, are we. They may +know; but we know also, and by that knowledge we must +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page408" id="page408"></a>408</span> +stand or fall. There is such a thing as loyalty to a man’s +own better self; and from those who have not that, God +help me, how am I to look for loyalty to others? The +most dull, the most imbecile, at a certain moment turn +round, at a certain point will hear no further argument, but +stand unflinching by their own dumb, irrational sense of +right. It is not only by steel or fire, but through contempt +and blame, that the martyr fulfils the calling of his dear +soul. Be glad if you are not tried by such extremities. +But although all the world ranged themselves in one line +to tell you “This is wrong,” be you your own faithful vassal +and the ambassador of God—throw down the glove and +answer “This is right.” Do you think you are only +declaring yourself? Perhaps in some dim way, like a child +who delivers a message not fully understood, you are +opening wider the straits of prejudice and preparing mankind +for some truer and more spiritual grasp of truth; +perhaps, as you stand forth for your own judgment, you +are covering a thousand weak ones with your body; perhaps, +by this declaration alone, you have avoided the guilt +of false witness against humanity and the little ones unborn. +It is good, I believe, to be respectable, but much +nobler to respect oneself and utter the voice of God. God, +if there be any God, speaks daily in a new language by the +tongues of men; the thoughts and habits of each fresh +generation and each new-coined spirit throw another light +upon the universe and contain another commentary on +the printed Bibles; every scruple, every true dissent, every +glimpse of something new, is a letter of God’s alphabet; +and though there is a grave responsibility for all who speak, +is there none for those who unrighteously keep silence and +conform? Is not that also to conceal and cloak God’s +counsel? And how should we regard the man of science +who suppressed all facts that would not tally with the +orthodoxy of the hour?</p> + +<p>Wrong? You are as surely wrong as the sun rose this +morning round the revolving shoulder of the world. Not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page409" id="page409"></a>409</span> +truth, but truthfulness, is the good of your endeavour. +For when will men receive that first part and pre-requisite +of truth, that, by the order of things, by the greatness of +the universe, by the darkness and partiality of man’s +experience, by the inviolate secrecy of God, kept close in +His most open revelations, every man is, and to the end +of the ages must be, wrong? Wrong to the universe; +wrong to mankind; wrong to God. And yet in another +sense, and that plainer and nearer, every man of men, who +wishes truly, must be right. He is right to himself, and +in the measure of his sagacity and candour. That let him +do in all sincerity and zeal, not sparing a thought for contrary +opinions; that, for what it is worth, let him proclaim. +Be not afraid; although he be wrong, so also is +the dead, stuffed Dagon he insults. For the voice of God, +whatever it is, is not that stammering, inept tradition +which the people holds. These truths survive in travesty, +swamped in a world of spiritual darkness and confusion; +and what a few comprehend and faithfully hold, the many, +in their dead jargon, repeat, degrade, and misinterpret.</p> + +<p>So far of Respectability: what the Covenanters used +to call “rank conformity”: the deadliest gag and wet +blanket that can be laid on men. And now of Profit. +And this doctrine is perhaps the more redoubtable, because +it harms all sorts of men; not only the heroic and self-reliant, +but the obedient, cowlike squadrons. A man, by +this doctrine, looks to consequences at the second, or third, +or fiftieth turn. He chooses his end, and for that, with +wily turns and through a great sea of tedium, steers this +mortal bark. There may be political wisdom in such a +view; but I am persuaded there can spring no great moral +zeal. To look thus obliquely upon life is the very recipe +for moral slumber. Our intention and endeavour should +be directed, not on some vague end of money or applause, +which shall come to us by a ricochet in a month or a year, +or twenty years, but on the act itself; not on the approval +of others, but on the rightness of that act. At every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page410" id="page410"></a>410</span> +instant, at every step in life, the point has to be decided, +our soul has to be saved, heaven has to be gained or lost. +At every step our spirits must applaud, at every step we +must set down the foot and sound the trumpet. “This +have I done,” we must say; “right or wrong, this have +I done, in unfeigned honour of intention, as to myself and +God.” The profit of every act should be this, that it was +right for us to do it. Any other profit than that, if it +involved a kingdom or the woman I love, ought, if I were +God’s upright soldier, to leave me untempted.</p> + +<p>It is the mark of what we call a righteous decision, that +it is made directly and for its own sake. The whole man, +mind and body, having come to an agreement, tyrannically +dictates conduct. There are two dispositions eternally +opposed: that in which we recognise that one thing is +wrong and another right, and that in which, not seeing any +clear distinction, we fall back on the consideration of consequences. +The truth is, by the scope of our present +teaching, nothing is thought very wrong and nothing very +right, except a few actions which have the disadvantage of +being disrespectable when found out; the more serious +part of men inclining to think all things <i>rather wrong</i>, the +more jovial to suppose them <i>right enough for practical +purposes</i>. I will engage my head, they do not find that +view in their own hearts; they have taken it up in a dark +despair; they are but troubled sleepers talking in their +sleep. The soul, or my soul at least, thinks very distinctly +upon many points of right and wrong, and often differs +flatly with what is held out as the thought of corporate +humanity in the code of society or the code of law. Am +I to suppose myself a monster? I have only to read +books, the Christian Gospels for example, to think myself a +monster no longer; and instead I think the mass of people +are merely speaking in their sleep.</p> + +<p>It is a commonplace, enshrined, if I mistake not, even +in school copy-books, that honour is to be sought and not +fame. I ask no other admission; we are to seek honour, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page411" id="page411"></a>411</span> +upright walking with our own conscience every hour of the +day, and not fame, the consequence, the far-off reverberation +of our footsteps. The walk, not the rumour of the +walk, is what concerns righteousness. Better disrespectable +honour than dishonourable fame. Better useless or seemingly +hurtful honour, than dishonour ruling empires and +filling the mouths of thousands. For the man must walk +by what he sees, and leave the issue with God who made +him and taught him by the fortune of his life. You would +not dishonour yourself for money; which is at least tangible; +would you do it, then, for a doubtful forecast in politics, or +another person’s theory in morals?</p> + +<p>So intricate is the scheme of our affairs, that no man +can calculate the bearing of his own behaviour even on +those immediately around him, how much less upon the +world at large or on succeeding generations! To walk +by external prudence and the rule of consequences would +require, not a man, but God. All that we know to guide +us in this changing labyrinth is our soul with its fixed +design of righteousness, and a few old precepts which +commend themselves to that. The precepts are vague +when we endeavour to apply them; consequences are +more entangled than a wisp of string, and their confusion +is unrestingly in change; we must hold to what we know +and walk by it. We must walk by faith, indeed, and not +by knowledge.</p> + +<p>You do not love another because he is wealthy or wise +or eminently respectable: you love him because you love +him; that is love, and any other only a derision and +grimace. It should be the same with all our actions. If +we were to conceive a perfect man, it should be one who +was never torn between conflicting impulses, but who, on +the absolute consent of all his parts and faculties, submitted +in every action of his life to a self-dictation as absolute and +unreasoned as that which bids him love one woman and +be true to her till death. But we should not conceive him +as sagacious, ascetical, playing off his appetites against each +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page412" id="page412"></a>412</span> +other, turning the wing of public respectable immorality +instead of riding it directly down, or advancing toward his +end through a thousand sinister compromises and considerations. +The one man might be wily, might be adroit, +might be wise, might be respectable, might be gloriously +useful; it is the other man who would be good.</p> + +<p>The soul asks honour and not fame; to be upright, not +to be successful; to be good, not prosperous; to be essentially, +not outwardly, respectable. Does your soul ask +profit? Does it ask money? Does it ask the approval +of the indifferent herd? I believe not. For my own +part, I want but little money, I hope; and I do not want +to be decent at all, but to be good.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page413" id="page413"></a>413</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> have spoken of that supreme self-dictation which keeps +varying from hour to hour in its dictates with the variation +of events and circumstances. Now, for us, that is ultimate. +It may be founded on some reasonable process, but it is +not a process which we can follow or comprehend. And +moreover the dictation is not continuous, or not continuous +except in very lively and well-living natures; and betweenwhiles +we must brush along without it. Practice is a more +intricate and desperate business than the toughest theorising; +life is an affair of cavalry, where rapid judgment and +prompt action are alone possible and right. As a matter +of fact, there is no one so upright but he is influenced by +the world’s chatter; and no one so headlong but he requires +to consider consequences and to keep an eye on profit. +For the soul adopts all affections and appetites without +exception, and cares only to combine them for some +common purpose which shall interest all. Now respect +for the opinion of others, the study of consequences and the +desire of power and comfort, are all undeniably factors in +the nature of man; and the more undeniably since we +find that, in our current doctrines, they have swallowed up +the others and are thought to conclude in themselves all +the worthy parts of man. These, then, must also be +suffered to affect conduct in the practical domain, much or +little according as they are forcibly or feebly present to +the mind of each.</p> + +<p>Now a man’s view of the universe is mostly a view of +the civilised society in which he lives. Other men and +women are so much more grossly and so much more intimately +palpable to his perceptions, that they stand +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page414" id="page414"></a>414</span> +between him and all the rest; they are larger to his eye +than the sun, he hears them more plainly than thunder; +with them, by them, and for them, he must live and die. +And hence the laws that affect his intercourse with his +fellow-men, although merely customary and the creatures +of a generation, are more clearly and continually before +his mind than those which bind him into the eternal system +of things, support him in his upright progress on this +whirling ball, or keep up the fire of his bodily life. And +hence it is that money stands in the first rank of considerations +and so powerfully affects the choice. For our +society is built with money for mortar; money is present +in every joint of circumstance; it might be named the +social atmosphere, since, in society, it is by that alone +men continue to live, and only through that or chance +that they can reach or affect one another. Money gives +us food, shelter, and privacy; it permits us to be clean +in person, opens for us the doors of the theatre, gains us +books for study or pleasure, enables us to help the distresses +of others, and puts us above necessity so that +we can choose the best in life. If we love, it enables us +to meet and live with the loved one, or even to prolong +her health and life; if we have scruples, it gives us an +opportunity to be honest; if we have any bright designs, +here is what will smooth the way to their accomplishment. +Penury is the worst slavery, and will soon lead to +death.</p> + +<p>But money is only a means; it presupposes a man to +use it. The rich can go where he pleases, but perhaps +please himself nowhere. He can buy a library or visit the +whole world, but perhaps has neither patience to read nor +intelligence to see. The table may be loaded and the +appetite wanting; the purse may be full and the heart +empty. He may have gained the world and lost himself; +and with all his wealth around him, in a great house and +spacious and beautiful demesne, he may live as blank a +life as any tattered ditcher. Without an appetite, without +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page415" id="page415"></a>415</span> +an aspiration, void of appreciation, bankrupt of desire +and hope, there, in his great house, let him sit and look +upon his fingers. It is perhaps a more fortunate destiny +to have a taste for collecting shells than to be born a +millionaire. Although neither is to be despised, it is +always better policy to learn an interest than to make a +thousand pounds; for the money will soon be spent, or +perhaps you may feel no joy in spending it; but the interest +remains imperishable and ever new. To become a botanist, +a geologist, a social philosopher, an antiquary, or an artist, +is to enlarge one’s possessions in the universe by an incalculably +higher degree, and by a far surer sort of property, +than to purchase a farm of many acres. You had perhaps +two thousand a year before the transaction; perhaps you +have two thousand five hundred after it. That represents +your gain in the one case. But in the other, you have +thrown down a barrier which concealed significance and +beauty. The blind man has learned to see. The prisoner +has opened up a window in his cell and beholds enchanting +prospects; he will never again be a prisoner as he was; +he can watch clouds and changing seasons, ships on the +river, travellers on the road, and the stars at night; happy +prisoner! his eyes have broken gaol! And again he who +has learned to love an art or science has wisely laid up +riches against the day of riches; if prosperity come, he +will not enter poor into his inheritance; he will not slumber +and forget himself in the lap of money, or spend his hours +in counting idle treasures, but be up and briskly doing; +he will have the true alchemic touch, which is not that of +Midas, but which transmutes dead money into living delight +and satisfaction. <i>Être et pas avoir</i>—to be, not to possess—that +is the problem of life. To be wealthy, a rich nature +is the first requisite and money but the second. To be of +a quick and healthy blood, to share in all honourable +curiosities, to be rich in admiration and free from envy, +to rejoice greatly in the good of others, to love with such +generosity of heart that your love is still a dear possession +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page416" id="page416"></a>416</span> +in absence or unkindness—these are the gifts of fortune +which money cannot buy and without which money can +buy nothing. For what can a man possess, or what can +he enjoy, except himself? If he enlarge his nature, it is +then that he enlarges his estates. If his nature be happy +and valiant, he will enjoy the universe as if it were his +park and orchard.</p> + +<p>But money is not only to be spent; it has also to be +earned. It is not merely a convenience or a necessary in +social life; but it is the coin in which mankind pays his +wages to the individual man. And from this side, the +question of money has a very different scope and application. +For no man can be honest who does not work. +Service for service. If the farmer buys corn, and the +labourer ploughs and reaps, and the baker sweats in his +hot bakery, plainly you who eat must do something in +your turn. It is not enough to take off your hat, or to +thank God upon your knees for the admirable constitution +of society and your own convenient situation in its upper +and more ornamental stories. Neither is it enough to buy +the loaf with a sixpence; for then you are only changing +the point of the inquiry; and you must first have <i>bought +the sixpence</i>. Service for service: how have you bought +your sixpences? A man of spirit desires certainty in a +thing of such a nature; he must see to it that there is +some reciprocity between him and mankind; that he +pays his expenditure in service; that he has not a lion’s +share in profit and a drone’s in labour; and is not a +sleeping partner and mere costly incubus on the great +mercantile concern of mankind.</p> + +<p>Services differ so widely with different gifts, and some +are so inappreciable to external tests, that this is not only +a matter for the private conscience, but one which even +there must be leniently and trustfully considered. For +remember how many serve mankind who do no more than +meditate; and how many are precious to their friends for +no more than a sweet and joyous temper. To perform the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page417" id="page417"></a>417</span> +function of a man of letters it is not necessary to write; +nay, it is perhaps better to be a living book. So long as +we love we serve; so long as we are loved by others, I +would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man +is useless while he has a friend. The true services of life +are inestimable in money, and are never paid. Kind words +and caresses, high and wise thoughts, humane designs, +tender behaviour to the weak and suffering, and all the +charities of man’s existence, are neither bought nor +sold.</p> + +<p>Yet the dearest and readiest, if not the most just, +criterion of a man’s services, is the wage that mankind +pays him, or, briefly, what he earns. There at least there +can be no ambiguity. St. Paul is fully and freely entitled +to his earnings as a tentmaker, and Socrates fully and freely +entitled to his earnings as a sculptor, although the true +business of each was not only something different, but +something which remained unpaid. A man cannot forget +that he is not superintended, and serves mankind on parole. +He would like, when challenged by his own conscience, +to reply: “I have done so much work, and no less, with +my own hands and brain, and taken so much profit, and +no more, for my own personal delight.” And though St. +Paul, if he had possessed a private fortune, would probably +have scorned to waste his time in making tents, yet of all +sacrifices to public opinion none can be more easily pardoned +than that by which a man, already spiritually useful to the +world, should restrict the field of his chief usefulness to +perform services more apparent, and possess a livelihood +that neither stupidity nor malice could call in question. +Like all sacrifices to public opinion and mere external +decency, this would certainly be wrong; for the soul should +rest contented with its own approval and indissuadably +pursue its own calling. Yet, so grave and delicate is the +question, that a man may well hesitate before he decides +it for himself; he may well fear that he sets too high a +valuation on his own endeavours after good; he may well +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page418" id="page418"></a>418</span> +condescend upon a humbler duty, where others than himself +shall judge the service and proportion the wage.</p> + +<p>And yet it is to this very responsibility that the rich +are born. They can shuffle off the duty on no other; they +are their own paymasters on parole; and must pay themselves +fair wages and no more. For I suppose that in the +course of ages, and through reform and civil war and invasion, +mankind was pursuing some other and more general +design than to set one or two Englishmen of the nineteenth +century beyond the reach of needs and duties. Society +was scarce put together, and defended with so much +eloquence and blood, for the convenience of two or three +millionaires and a few hundred other persons of wealth +and position. It is plain that if mankind thus acted and +suffered during all these generations, they hoped some +benefit, some ease, some well-being, for themselves and +their descendants; that if they supported law and order, +it was to secure fair-play for all; that if they denied themselves +in the present, they must have had some designs +upon the future. Now a great hereditary fortune is a +miracle of man’s wisdom and mankind’s forbearance; it +has not only been amassed and handed down, it has been +suffered to be amassed and handed down; and surely in +such a consideration as this, its possessor should find only +a new spur to activity and honour, that with all this power +of service he should not prove unserviceable, and that this +mass of treasure should return in benefits upon the race. +If he had twenty, or thirty, or a hundred thousand at his +banker’s, or if all Yorkshire or all California were his to +manage or to sell, he would still be morally penniless, and +have the world to begin like Whittington, until he had +found some way of serving mankind. His wage is physically +in his own hand; but, in honour, that wage must still +be earned. He is only steward on parole of what is called +his fortune. He must honourably perform his stewardship. +He must estimate his own services and allow himself a +salary in proportion, for that will be one among his functions. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page419" id="page419"></a>419</span> +And while he will then be free to spend that salary, great or +little, on his own private pleasures, the rest of his fortune +he but holds and disposes under trust for mankind; it +is not his, because he has not earned it; it cannot be his, +because his services have already been paid; but year by +year it is his to distribute, whether to help individuals +whose birthright and outfit have been swallowed up in +his, or to further public works and institutions.</p> + +<p>At this rate, short of inspiration, it seems hardly possible +to be both rich and honest; and the millionaire is under a +far more continuous temptation to thieve than the labourer +who gets his shilling daily for despicable toils. Are you +surprised? It is even so. And you repeat it every +Sunday in your churches. “It is easier for a camel to +pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to +enter the kingdom of God.” I have heard this and similar +texts ingeniously explained away and brushed from the +path of the aspiring Christian by the tender Greatheart of +the parish. One excellent clergyman told us that the +“eye of a needle” meant a low, Oriental postern through +which camels could not pass till they were unloaded—which +is very likely just; and then went on, bravely confounding +the “kingdom of God” with heaven, the future +paradise, to show that of course no rich person could +expect to carry his riches beyond the grave—which, of +course, he could not and never did. Various greedy sinners +of the congregation drank in the comfortable doctrine +with relief. It was worth the while having come to church +that Sunday morning! All was plain. The Bible, as +usual, meant nothing in particular; it was merely an obscure +and figurative school-copybook; and if a man were +only respectable, he was a man after God’s own heart.</p> + +<p>Alas! I fear not. And though this matter of a man’s +services is one for his own conscience, there are some cases +in which it is difficult to restrain the mind from judging. +Thus I shall be very easily persuaded that a man has +earned his daily bread; and if he has but a friend or two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page420" id="page420"></a>420</span> +to whom his company is delightful at heart, I am more than +persuaded at once. But it will be very hard to persuade me +that any one has earned an income of a hundred thousand. +What he is to his friends, he still would be if he were made +penniless to-morrow; for as to the courtiers of luxury +and power, I will neither consider them friends, nor indeed +consider them at all. What he does for mankind there are +most likely hundreds who would do the same, as effectually +for the race and as pleasurably to themselves, for the +merest fraction of this monstrous wage. Why it is paid, +I am, therefore, unable to conceive, and as the man pays it +himself, out of funds in his detention, I have a certain +backwardness to think him honest.</p> + +<p>At least, we have gained a very obvious point: that +<i>what a man spends upon himself he shall have earned by +services to the race</i>. Thence flows a principle for the outset +of life, which is a little different from that taught in the +present day. I am addressing the middle and the upper +classes; those who have already been fostered and prepared +for life at some expense; those who have some choice +before them, and can pick professions; and above all, +those who are what is called independent, and need do +nothing unless pushed by honour or ambition. In this +particular the poor are happy; among them, when a lad +comes to his strength, he must take the work that offers, +and can take it with an easy conscience. But in the richer +classes the question is complicated by the number of opportunities +and a variety of considerations. Here, then, this +principle of ours comes in helpfully. The young man has +to seek, not a road to wealth, but an opportunity of service; +not money, but honest work. If he has some strong propensity, +some calling of nature, some overweening interest +in any special field of industry, inquiry, or art, he will do +right to obey the impulse; and that for two reasons: the +first external, because there he will render the best services; +the second personal, because a demand of his own nature +is to him without appeal whenever it can be satisfied with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page421" id="page421"></a>421</span> +the consent of his other faculties and appetites. If he has +no such elective taste, by the very principle on which he +chooses any pursuit at all he must choose the most honest +and serviceable, and not the most highly remunerated. +We have here an external problem, not from or to ourself, +but flowing from the constitution of society; and we have +our own soul with its fixed design of righteousness. All +that can be done is to present the problem in proper terms +and leave it to the soul of the individual. Now the problem +to the poor is one of necessity: to earn wherewithal to +live, they must find remunerative labour. But the problem +to the rich is one of honour: having the wherewithal, they +must find serviceable labour. Each has to earn his daily +bread: the one, because he has not yet got it to eat; the +other, who has already eaten it, because he has not yet +earned it.</p> + +<p>Of course, what is true of bread is true of luxuries and +comforts, whether for the body or the mind. But the +consideration of luxuries leads us to a new aspect of the +whole question, and to a second proposition no less true, +and maybe no less startling, than the last.</p> + +<p>At the present day, we, of the easier classes, are in a +state of surfeit and disgrace after meat. Plethora has filled +us with indifference; and we are covered from head to foot +with the callosities of habitual opulence. Born into what +is called a certain rank, we live, as the saying is, up to our +station. We squander without enjoyment, because our +fathers squandered. We eat of the best, not from delicacy, +but from brazen habit. We do not keenly enjoy or eagerly +desire the presence of a luxury; we are unaccustomed to +its absence. And not only do we squander money from +habit, but still more pitifully waste it in ostentation. I +can think of no more melancholy disgrace for a creature +who professes either reason or pleasure for his guide, than +to spend the smallest fraction of his income upon that +which he does not desire; and to keep a carriage in which +you do not wish to drive, or a butler of whom you are afraid, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page422" id="page422"></a>422</span> +is a pathetic kind of folly. Money, being a means of +happiness, should make both parties happy when it changes +hands; rightly disposed, it should be twice blessed in its +employment; and buyer and seller should alike have their +twenty shillings’ worth of profit out of every pound. +Benjamin Franklin went through life an altered man, +because he once paid too dearly for a penny whistle. My +concern springs usually from a deeper source, to wit, from +having bought a whistle when I did not want one. I find +I regret this, or would regret it if I gave myself the time, +not only on personal but on moral and philanthropical +considerations. For, first, in a world where money is +wanting to buy books for eager students and food and +medicine for pining children, and where a large majority +are starved in their most immediate desires, it is surely +base, stupid, and cruel to squander money when I am +pushed by no appetite and enjoy no return of genuine +satisfaction. My philanthropy is wide enough in scope +to include myself; and when I have made myself happy, +I have at least one good argument that I have acted rightly; +but where that is not so, and I have bought and not enjoyed, +my mouth is closed, and I conceive that I have robbed the +poor. And, second, anything I buy or use which I do not +sincerely want or cannot vividly enjoy, disturbs the balance +of supply and demand, and contributes to remove industrious +hands from the production of what is useful or +pleasurable and to keep them busy upon ropes of sand and +things that are a weariness to the flesh. That extravagance +is truly sinful, and a very silly sin to boot, in which we +impoverish mankind and ourselves. It is another question +for each man’s heart. He knows if he can enjoy what he +buys and uses; if he cannot, he is a dog in the manger; +nay, if he cannot, I contend he is a thief, for nothing really +belongs to a man which he cannot use. Proprietor is +connected with propriety; and that only is the man’s +which is proper to his wants and faculties.</p> + +<p>A youth, in choosing a career, must not be alarmed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page423" id="page423"></a>423</span> +by poverty. Want is a sore thing, but poverty does not +imply want. It remains to be seen whether with half his +present income, or a third, he cannot, in the most generous +sense, live as fully as at present. He is a fool who objects +to luxuries; but he is also a fool who does not protest +against the waste of luxuries on those who do not desire +and cannot enjoy them. It remains to be seen, by each +man who would live a true life to himself and not a merely +specious life to society, how many luxuries he truly wants +and to how many he merely submits as to a social propriety; +and all these last he will immediately forswear. Let him +do this, and he will be surprised to find how little money it +requires to keep him in complete contentment and activity +of mind and senses. Life at any level among the easy +classes is conceived upon a principle of rivalry, where each +man and each household must ape the tastes and emulate +the display of others. One is delicate in eating, another +in wine, a third in furniture or works of art or dress; and +I, who care nothing for any of these refinements, who am +perhaps a plain athletic creature and love exercise, beef, +beer, flannel shirts and a camp bed, am yet called upon to +assimilate all these other tastes and make these foreign +occasions of expenditure my own. It may be cynical: +I am sure I shall be told it is selfish; but I will spend my +money as I please and for my own intimate personal +gratification, and should count myself a nincompoop indeed +to lay out the colour of a halfpenny on any fancied social +decency or duty. I shall not wear gloves unless my hands +are cold, or unless I am born with a delight in them. Dress +is my own affair, and that of one other in the world; that, +in fact, and for an obvious reason, of any woman who shall +chance to be in love with me. I shall lodge where I have a +mind. If I do not ask society to live with me, they must +be silent; and even if I do, they have no further right but +to refuse the invitation.</p> + +<p>There is a kind of idea abroad that a man must live +up to his station, that his house, his table, and his toilette, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page424" id="page424"></a>424</span> +shall be in a ratio of equivalence, and equally imposing +to the world. If this is in the Bible, the passage has +eluded my inquiries. If it is not in the Bible, it is nowhere +but in the heart of the fool. Throw aside this fancy. See +what you want, and spend upon that; distinguish what +you do not care about, and spend nothing upon that. +There are not many people who can differentiate wines +above a certain and that not at all a high price. Are you +sure you are one of these? Are you sure you prefer cigars +at sixpence each to pipes at some fraction of a farthing? +Are you sure you wish to keep a gig? Do you care about +where you sleep, or are you not as much at your ease in +a cheap lodging as in an Elizabethan manor-house? Do +you enjoy fine clothes? It is not possible to answer these +questions without a trial; and there is nothing more obvious +to my mind, than that a man who has not experienced +some ups and downs, and been forced to live more cheaply +than in his father’s house, has still his education to begin. +Let the experiment be made, and he will find to his surprise +that he has been eating beyond his appetite up to that +hour; that the cheap lodging, the cheap tobacco, the +rough country clothes, the plain table, have not only no +power to damp his spirits, but perhaps give him as keen +pleasure in the using as the dainties that he took, betwixt +sleep and waking, in his former callous and somnambulous +submission to wealth.</p> + +<p>The true Bohemian, a creature lost to view under the +imaginary Bohemians of literature, is exactly described by +such a principle of life. The Bohemian of the novel, who +drinks more than is good for him and prefers anything to +work, and wears strange clothes, is for the most part a +respectable Bohemian, respectable in disrespectability, +living for the outside, and an adventurer. But the man +I mean lives wholly to himself, does what he wishes, and +not what is thought proper, buys what he wants for himself +and not what is thought proper, works at what he believes +he can do well and not what will bring him in money or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page425" id="page425"></a>425</span> +favour. You may be the most respectable of men, and +yet a true Bohemian. And the test is this: a Bohemian, +for as poor as he may be, is always open-handed to his +friends; he knows what he can do with money and how +he can do without it, a far rarer and more useful knowledge; +he has had less, and continued to live in some contentment; +and hence he cares not to keep more, and shares his sovereign +or his shilling with a friend. The poor, if they are generous, +are Bohemian in virtue of their birth. Do you know where +beggars go? Not to the great houses where people sit +dazed among their thousands, but to the doors of poor +men who have seen the world; and it was the widow who +had only two mites, who cast half her fortune into the +treasury.</p> + +<p>But a young man who elects to save on dress or on +lodging, or who in any way falls out of the level of expenditure +which is common to his level in society, falls +out of society altogether. I suppose the young man to +have chosen his career on honourable principles; he finds +his talents and instincts can be best contented in a certain +pursuit; in a certain industry, he is sure that he is serving +mankind with a healthy and becoming service; and he +is not sure that he would be doing so, or doing so equally +well, in any other industry within his reach. Then that is +his true sphere in life; not the one in which he was born to +his father, but the one which is proper to his talents and +instincts. And suppose he does fall out of society, is that +a cause of sorrow? Is your heart so dead that you prefer +the recognition of many to the love of a few? Do you +think society loves you? Put it to the proof. Decline +in material expenditure, and you will find they care no +more for you than for the Khan of Tartary. You will lose +no friends. If you had any, you will keep them. Only +those who were friends to your coat and equipage will +disappear; the smiling faces will disappear as by enchantment; +but the kind hearts will remain steadfastly kind. +Are you so lost, are you so dead, are you so little sure of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page426" id="page426"></a>426</span> +your own soul and your own footing upon solid fact, that +you prefer before goodness and happiness the countenance +of sundry diners-out, who will flee from you at a report of +ruin, who will drop you with insult at a shadow of disgrace, +who do not know you and do not care to know you but +by sight, and whom you in your turn neither know nor +care to know in a more human manner? Is it not the +principle of society, openly avowed, that friendship must +not interfere with business; which being paraphrased, +means simply that a consideration of money goes before +any consideration of affection known to this cold-blooded +gang, that they have not even the honour of thieves, and +will rook their nearest and dearest as readily as a stranger? +I hope I would go as far as most to serve a friend; but +I declare openly I would not put on my hat to do a pleasure +to society. I may starve my appetites and control my +temper for the sake of those I love; but society shall take +me as I choose to be, or go without me. Neither they nor I +will lose; for where there is no love, it is both laborious +and unprofitable to associate.</p> + +<p>But it is obvious that if it is only right for a man to +spend money on that which he can truly and thoroughly +enjoy, the doctrine applies with equal force to the rich +and to the poor, to the man who has amassed many thousands +as well as to the youth precariously beginning life. +And it may be asked, Is not this merely preparing misers, +who are not the best of company? But the principle was +this: that which a man has not fairly earned, and, further, +that which he cannot fully enjoy, does not belong to him, +but is a part of mankind’s treasure which he holds as steward +on parole. To mankind, then, it must be made profitable; +and how this should be done is, once more, a problem +which each man must solve for himself, and about which +none has a right to judge him. Yet there are a few considerations +which are very obvious and may here be +stated. Mankind is not only the whole in general, but +every one in particular. Every man or woman is one of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page427" id="page427"></a>427</span> +mankind’s dear possessions; to his or her just brain, +and kind heart, and active hands, mankind intrusts some +of its hopes for the future; he or she is a possible wellspring +of good acts and source of blessings to the race. +This money which you do not need, which, in a rigid +sense, you do not want, may therefore be returned not only +in public benefactions to the race, but in private kindnesses. +Your wife, your children, your friends stand +nearest to you, and should be helped the first. There at +least there can be little imposture, for you know their +necessities of your own knowledge. And consider, if all +the world did as you did, and according to their means +extended help in the circle of their affections, there would +be no more crying want in times of plenty and no more +cold, mechanical charity given with a doubt and received +with confusion. Would not this simple rule make a new +world out of the old and cruel one which we inhabit?</p> + +<p class="center1 f90">[<i>After two more sentences the fragment breaks off.</i>]</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page428" id="page428"></a>428</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page429" id="page429"></a>429</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PRAYERS</h2> + +<h3>WRITTEN FOR FAMILY USE AT VAILIMA</h3> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page430" id="page430"></a>430</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page431" id="page431"></a>431</span></p> +<h2>PRAYERS</h2> + +<h3>WRITTEN FOR FAMILY USE AT VAILIMA</h3> + + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Success</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Lord</span>, behold our family here assembled. We thank Thee +for this place in which we dwell; for the love that unites +us; for the peace accorded us this day; for the hope +with which we expect the morrow; for the health, the +work, the food, and the bright skies, that make our lives +delightful; for our friends in all parts of the earth, and +our friendly helpers in this foreign isle. Let peace abound +in our small company. Purge out of every heart the lurking +grudge. Give us grace and strength to forbear and to +persevere. Offenders, give us the grace to accept and to +forgive offenders. Forgetful ourselves, help us to bear +cheerfully the forgetfulness of others. Give us courage +and gaiety and the quiet mind. Spare to us our friends, +soften to us our enemies. Bless us, if it may be, in all +our innocent endeavours. If it may not, give us the +strength to encounter that which is to come, that we be +brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, +and in all changes of fortune, and down to the gates of +death, loyal and loving one to another. As the clay to +the potter, as the windmill to the wind, as children of +their sire, we beseech of Thee this help and mercy for +Christ’s sake.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Grace</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Grant</span> that we here before Thee may be set free from the +fear of vicissitude and the fear of death, may finish what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page432" id="page432"></a>432</span> +remains before us of our course without dishonour to ourselves +or hurt to others, and, when the day comes, may +die in peace. Deliver us from fear and favour: from +mean hopes and cheap pleasures. Have mercy on each +in his deficiency; let him be not cast down; support the +stumbling on the way, and give at last rest to the weary.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>At Morning</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating +concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to +perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness +abound with industry. Give us to go blithely on our +business all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary +and content and undishonoured, and grant us in the end +the gift of sleep.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>Evening</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> come before Thee, O Lord, in the end of Thy day +with thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>Our beloved in the far parts of the earth, those who +are now beginning the labours of the day what time we +end them, and those with whom the sun now stands at +the point of noon, bless, help, console, and prosper them.</p> + +<p>Our guard is relieved, the service of the day is over, +and the hour come to rest. We resign into Thy hands our +sleeping bodies, our cold hearths and open doors. Give +us to awake with smiles, give us to labour smiling. As the +sun returns in the east, so let our patience be renewed +with dawn; as the sun lightens the world, so let our +loving-kindness make bright this house of our habitation.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>Another for Evening</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Lord</span>, receive our supplications for this house, family, and +country. Protect the innocent, restrain the greedy and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page433" id="page433"></a>433</span> +the treacherous, lead us out of our tribulation into a quiet +land.</p> + +<p>Look down upon ourselves and upon our absent dear +ones. Help us and them; prolong our days in peace and +honour. Give us health, food, bright weather, and light +hearts. In what we meditate of evil, frustrate our will; +in what of good, further our endeavours. Cause injuries +to be forgot and benefits to be remembered.</p> + +<p>Let us lie down without fear and awake and arise with +exultation. For His sake, in whose words we now conclude.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>In Time of Rain</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> thank Thee, Lord, for the glory of the late days and +the excellent face of Thy sun. We thank Thee for good +news received. We thank Thee for the pleasures we have +enjoyed and for those we have been able to confer. And +now, when the clouds gather and the rain impends over +the forest and our house, permit us not to be cast down; +let us not lose the savour of past mercies and past pleasures; +but, like the voice of a bird singing in the rain, let grateful +memory survive in the hour of darkness. If there be in +front of us any painful duty, strengthen us with the grace +of courage; if any act of mercy, teach us tenderness and +patience.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>Another in Time of Rain</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Lord</span>, Thou sendest down rain upon the uncounted millions +of the forest, and givest the trees to drink exceedingly. +We are here upon this isle a few handfuls of men, and how +many myriads upon myriads of stalwart trees! Teach us +the lesson of the trees. The sea around us, which this rain +recruits, teems with the race of fish; teach us, Lord, the +meaning of the fishes. Let us see ourselves for what we +are, one out of the countless number of the clans of Thy +handiwork. When we would despair, let us remember +that these also please and serve Thee. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page434" id="page434"></a>434</span></p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>Before a Temporary Separation</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">To-day</span> we go forth separate, some of us to pleasure, some +of us to worship, some upon duty. Go with us, our guide +and angel; hold Thou before us in our divided paths the +mark of our low calling, still to be true to what small best +we can attain to. Help us in that, our maker, the dispenser +of events—Thou, of the vast designs, in which we blindly +labour, suffer us to be so far constant to ourselves and our +beloved.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Friends</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">For</span> our absent loved ones we implore Thy loving-kindness. +Keep them in life, keep them in growing honour; and for +us, grant that we remain worthy of their love. For Christ’s +sake, let not our beloved blush for us, nor we for them. +Grant us but that, and grant us courage to endure lesser ills +unshaken, and to accept death, loss, and disappointment +as it were straws upon the tide of life.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For the Family</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Aid</span> us, if it be Thy will, in our concerns. Have mercy +on this land and innocent people. Help them who this +day contend in disappointment with their frailties. Bless +our family, bless our forest house, bless our island helpers. +Thou who hast made for us this place of ease and hope, +accept and inflame our gratitude; help us to repay, in +service one to another, the debt of Thine unmerited benefits +and mercies, so that when the period of our stewardship +draws to a conclusion, when the windows begin to be +darkened, when the bond of the family is to be loosed, +there shall be no bitterness of remorse in our farewells.</p> + +<p>Help us to look back on the long way that Thou hast +brought us, on the long days in which we have been served +not according to our deserts but our desires; on the pit +and the miry clay, the blackness of despair, the horror of +misconduct, from which our feet have been plucked out. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page435" id="page435"></a>435</span> +For our sins forgiven or prevented, for our shame unpublished, +we bless and thank Thee, O God. Help us yet +again and ever. So order events, so strengthen our frailty, +as that day by day we shall come before Thee with this +song of gratitude, and in the end we be dismissed with +honour. In their weakness and their fear, the vessels of +Thy handiwork so pray to Thee, so praise Thee. Amen.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>Sunday</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> beseech Thee, Lord, to behold us with favour, folk of +many families and nations gathered together in the peace +of this roof, weak men and women subsisting under the +covert of Thy patience. Be patient still; suffer us yet +a while longer;—with our broken purposes of good, with +our idle endeavours against evil, suffer us a while longer +to endure, and (if it may be) help us to do better. Bless +to us our extraordinary mercies; if the day come when +these must be taken, brace us to play the man under +affliction. Be with our friends, be with ourselves. Go +with each of us to rest; if any awake, temper to them the +dark hours of watching; and when the day returns, +return to us, our sun and comforter, and call us up with +morning faces and with morning hearts—eager to labour—eager +to be happy, if happiness shall be our portion—and +if the day be marked for sorrow, strong to endure it.</p> + +<p>We thank Thee and praise Thee; and in the words +of Him to whom this day is sacred, close our oblation.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Self-blame</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Lord</span>, enlighten us to see the beam that is in our own eye, +and blind us to the mote that is in our brother’s. Let us +feel our offences with our hands, make them great and +bright before us like the sun, make us eat them and drink +them for our diet. Blind us to the offences of our beloved, +cleanse them from our memories, take them out of our +mouths for ever. Let all here before Thee carry and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page436" id="page436"></a>436</span> +measure with the false balances of love, and be in their +own eyes and in all conjunctures the most guilty. Help +us at the same time with the grace of courage, that we be +none of us cast down when we sit lamenting amid the +ruins of our happiness or our integrity: touch us with +fire from the altar, that we may be up and doing to rebuild +our city: in the name and by the method of Him in whose +words of prayer we now conclude.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Self-forgetfulness</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Lord</span>, the creatures of Thy hand, Thy disinherited children, +come before Thee with their incoherent wishes and regrets: +Children we are, children we shall be, till our mother the +earth hath fed upon our bones. Accept us, correct us, +guide us, Thy guilty innocents. Dry our vain tears, wipe +out our vain resentments, help our yet vainer efforts. If +there be any here, sulking as children will, deal with and +enlighten him. Make it day about that person, so that +he shall see himself and be ashamed. Make it heaven +about him, Lord, by the only way to heaven, forgetfulness +of self, and make it day about his neighbours, so that they +shall help, not hinder him.</p> + +<p class="center1 f90"><i>For Renewal of Joy</i></p> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">We</span> are evil, O God, and help us to see it and amend. We +are good, and help us to be better. Look down upon Thy +servants with a patient eye, even as Thou sendest sun and +rain; look down, call upon the dry bones, quicken, enliven; +re-create in us the soul of service, the spirit of peace; +renew in us the sense of joy.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> + +<h5>END OF VOL. XVI</h5> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p class="center noind sc" style="font-size: 65%;"> +Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 16 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK R.L. 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